Stacy's Song (13 page)

Mother lowered her eyes. “You mustn't be too harsh in your judgments of people. We all make mistakes.”

“I know. I'm bother
ed about a lot of things. I told Liz I w
as quitting the band today. It
upset her. Sure, Dad thinks it's the right thing to do, but...”

“You're not certain?”

“I'm…confused.”

She patted my head gently as she used to when I was small. “Rites of passage.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Growing up is never easy.”

“When you decided to give up your musical career, was it difficult for you, Mom?”

She met my gaze wit
h directness. “Darling, I never
had a career.”

“But you have so much talent. You could have been a concert pianist. And you have such a beautiful singing voice.”

She laughed, her voice like a flute. “Not as good a voice as yours, Stacy. No, I always opted for the safe thing. That's why I became a music teacher and not a musician.”

“Deep in your heart, do you sometimes regret it?”

“Sometimes, but not often. I'm very glad I married your father and had you children. I've never regretted my choices. I love having a family. My choices were right for me, but the same choices might not be right for you. Yes, sometimes, late in the night, when I'm lying awake, I wonder what it might have been like if I had chosen to be a real musician, if I had taken the road less traveled and pursued my original ambition.”

There was a sudden light in my mother's eyes. “Who can say what would have happened?” She dismissed the idea with a deep sigh. “All I know is, when the time comes, you're going to have to make certain decisions for yourself. Your dad and I can give you suggestions, advice and opinions, but it would be wrong if either one of us attempted to dictate what you should do with you life.”

“Isn't that just what Dad's been doing?”

My mother lowered her eyes. “Talk with him tomorrow if you feel that way. Your father can be
somewhat dictatorial at times
,
however
,
he does mean well. Get some sleep now.”

I put my head on the pillow, although I didn't sleep much. I just couldn't turn my mind off; it went on and o
n like a racecar on an endless
circling course.

 

Saturday morning dawned gray and cold. I yearned for spring, except that we were heading into winter. But the kitchen was warm and my mother made it seem almost sunny. She was singing and flipping pancakes when I walked into the room. My little brother sat at the kitchen table fork in hand.

“Are they ready yet, Mom?”

“Almost,” she responded.

He crinkled his pert, freckled nose at her. “It's taking forever!”

“Where's Dad?” I asked.

My mother turned and smiled at me. “Talking to the man he hired to do the new roof. He'll be right in.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ten in the morning? I can't believe I slept so late.”

“You didn't get much sleep. I heard you tossing around for hours.”

There was no fooling my mother. “How come you were up, too?” I asked her.

“I suppose I had some things on my mind, just like you.” She gave me a wan smile and turned back to the cooking. I studied her for a few moments. Except for a few gray hairs, she looked young.

My father came into the kitchen, smelling of the fresh, cold air. He was dressed in a casual work jacket and jeans. I liked him best this way instead of attired in his usual, conservative business suits.

“That fellow will do just fine. I wish I had time to do it myself, but I don't. Come spring, I want everything to be first-rate around here.” He kissed my mother on the cheek. “I could stand another one of those pancakes.”

Andy protested in a loud voice.

“There's plenty for everyone,” my mother responded and placed a large pancake on my brother's plate. “What about you, Stacy?”

“Just some juice and toast. I'll help myself.”

“I think you should eat more.” My mother threw me a concerned look although she herself was quite slender. “You've lost weight that you can ill afford.”

“I'm not too hungry today.” I turned to my father. “Dad, could I talk to you about something?”

He looked at me, his body tensed. “About school?”

“Not exactly.” I sat down at the table and my father stood over me. I had no idea what I would say to him although I'd been thinking about it a good part of the night. “I'm not going to be seeing Greg much anymore. I know how much you think of him, but he's not right for me.”

“You're sure of that?” The color rose in my father's cheeks. He scowled at me.

I began to pluck at the strands at the edge of the tablecloth. “I don't have those kind of feelings for Greg.”

“Why not, because he's a smart, decent kid who's going to get ahead in the world? You want a loser like that blind musician, I suppose?”

“Keith, don't get angry. Listen to Stacy! Please let her talk.” My mother voiced reason and moderation.

“Daddy, there's nothing between Michael and me but music. That's the way Michael wants it. Although I do confess to loving his music, my decision has nothing to do with Michael. I just thought I ought to tell you about Greg, that's all.” I wanted to say more, to ask him to let me continue with the band, but I was afraid to say another word.

He looked so angry and disappointed. “What's happening to you? You used to be so good, so sensible. You used to listen to me, value what I had to tell you.”

I lowered my head. “I always want to please you, to make you proud of me. That hasn't changed, but you don't live inside my head. You don't know how I feel.”

His eyes met mine. “You're wrong. Why can't you see that? I know the kind of boy Greg is. He's perfect for you. I doubt you will ever meet another boy like him. It hurts me to see you throw away your opportunities.”

“I don't see it that way.”

“You're making a big mistake.”

I stood up. “Don't I have a right to find out for myself?”

Dad's features contorted. “Annie, don't bother with those extra pancakes. I'm not hungry after all.” He stalked away. The basement door opened and then slammed shut again. Dad often went down there to work with his tools when he felt tense or upset.

“He'll come around,” my mother said, “just give him time.”

“He'll never forgive me,” I said. A heavy sense of sadness descended upon me.

My mother touched my head. “I guess it's a price you sometimes have to pay for becoming your own person.”

I nodded, still feeling wretched. But at least she understood.

“Why did you have to go and put Dad in a bad mood?” Andy said, pointing his fork at me accusingly. “I was gonna ask him for an advance on my allowance so I could go to the movies today.”

“Listen, Smurf, since it is my fault, I'll advance you the loan.”

He brightened.

“It is just a loan though.”

“Sure,” he agreed with an eager nod.

I'd never see the money again, but it di
dn't
matter.

“I have some last minute shopping to do for the holidays. Stacy, would you like to come with me?” Mom asked.

“No
, but could you drop me at the Norris house? I have to talk to Michael. I've been postponing telling him that I'm quitting the band. I guess I better face up to it. I don't see any way out of that.”

I didn't feel like eating the juice and toast either, but somehow I choked them down. My mother insisted on a glass of milk as well.

I phoned the Norris house, not willing to just barge in on them. Michael answered and told me he would be home all day so I could drop by anytime. It was a very short conversation. He didn't ask why
I wanted to see him, which was
just as well. I couldn't have discussed it on the phone.

My mother dropped me off before taking Andy to the movies with his friend, Billy, and herself to the mall. She offered to pick me up on her way back, but I told her I'd take the bus. What I had to say to Michael wouldn't take very long.

The door to the Norris house was open, so I rang the doorbell and walked in without waiting. No point standing on formalities at this point. Michael was at the piano in the darkened living room. I walked to the heavy draperies and pulled them open. He might not need light but I did.

“Stacy?” he called out.

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Want to join me on the bench? I've been working on some new stuff, something I want you to hear.” His saying that right at this moment made me feel like crying.

“I think you should apologize for the way you behaved the other night.” Why did I bother to say that?

“Maybe I should, but I won't.” He started to play and when he did, I forgot everything else.

The music was so beautiful. It touched my soul. I felt nothing but the powerful passion of his sound. When he finished, he turned to me. “What do you think?”

“Do you care about my opinion?”

He sighed in exasperation. “Why else would I ask?”

“It's wonderful. All your music is wonderful. Maybe it's the sadness that makes it special. Even the fast pieces have it. Your work is outstanding.”

He touched my hand and then quick as a hummingbird withdrew his own. “I appreciate your encouragement,” he said in a reserved manner.

“It's only the truth. In a way, that just makes it harder for me to tell you what I have to say.”

“That you're leaving?”

I looked at him in surprise. “I should have known Liz would tell you even though she said she wouldn't.”

He stood up and began pacing the room. “Liz didn't tell me anything, but I knew. I sensed it the night Greg came for you. I knew I had lost you to him.”

“If you recall, you didn't want me anyway.”

“Not true! But that's a different issue entirely. Being in the group is as right for you as it is for the rest of us.”

“Not according to my father.”

“Your father doesn't understand. He also doesn't like me, though I can't say I blame him very much.”

“It has nothing to do with that. It's about my grades. I've been doing miserably in school this year. He says I have to drop something. He says I have to quit the band so I'll have time to study and concentrate.”

“I see.” He ran his hands through the sand-colored hair that resembled a lion's tawny mane in its unkempt appearance. “Well, how can I argue with that kind of logic?” A hint of sarcasm colored his voice. “I don't suppose it would ever occur to you or your father that you might give up the rah-rah stuff?”

“It always impresses the colleges when you've been involved in extracurricular activities.”

“Right, and being a musician only marks you as scum.”

“I never said that!”

“Come on, Stacy. You come down here from beautiful snoburbia. Everyone is looking for status there. I'm strictly an outsider. No middle class respectability in what we're doing. I understand your father's thinking only too well. Become part of the establishment, be part of the status quo. Do what the old man says.” He turned toward me in an accusing manner. “Well, see you around, kid! Have I made it easy enough for you?”

“Too easy! Now I have something to tell you.” I faced him even though he couldn't see me. “You are so full of self-pity. You are so angry against the world, so bitter and hostile that you don't give anyone a chance to know you or like you. You've been nothing but cruel to me for months on end. Why should I stay and take it?”

“No reason. You shouldn't. I agree with you. But I will say just one t
hing and then you can go if you
want to. You're a creative person. You've got a gift for music, a passion for it. It's in your soul, just the way it's in mine, and if you deny it, you'll never be happy, not with Greg, not with anyone. We have a chance together. It might not pan out to anything, of course, but it's worth a try. That agent who talked to us, remember him? Well, he came to see me, asked me for tapes. I invited him over here to talk some more; then I gave him the CDs we burned. He took them to a recording producer he knows. It seems the guy was very impressed. Anyway, the music company is willing to sport for a professional CD including distribution and promotion. The agent said they only do that when they think a group shows a lot of promise.”

Excitement gathered in the pit of my stomach. “Michael, that's terrific! But you don't need me for this. It's your music they like. It's so wonderful and original. You can get someone else to replace me. That kid who
did the Thanksgiving Dance was
better on guitar than I am.”

“You don't understand. I can always find a good technician, that's true, especially when there's something like this involved. But they want you. The agent says they liked your voice. The fact is, they want us to record a series of duets. He says we've got a unique sound. But if you're not with us, then there's no chance.” He spoke in a quiet, deliberate manner, without any trace of emotion, just calmly stating the facts.

“I know what you must think, that I'm trying to pressure you to stay with the group, that I want to use you. I just want you to know what's going on, and also that you have options. Don't say anything now, but promise you'll give this thing some thought. I want this chance very badly, but you've got a right to your own life, so I won't pressure you. Maybe that other life is where you belong and what's best for you. Maybe your father is right. I am a very selfish person, Stacy, but I do care about you. Do what you think is best. I know I've made fun of cheerleading, mocked it out pretty hot and heavy but that's because to me it seems like you're wasting your time doing it. There's no future in it. You've got a gift that you could share with the world. When you cheer, all you're doing is reflecting in someone else's glory. You can be so much more in your own right!” He didn't physically touch me but I felt touched, moved. His mind reached out to mine. His emotion clawed at my heart, striking like a tiger.

“I'm going now,” I told him finally.

“Stacy!”

I turned back for a moment. “Yes, Michael?”

“One last thing… That song I wrote for you, please give it words.”

“I'll try.” I swallowed hard.

I hurried out the door more confused than ever. Which way to turn, what to do?

I went home and tried to study for physics, but my mind wouldn't focus. Finally, I opened the desk drawer where I had placed Michael's music months ago. I stared at Liz's neat handwriting that boldly proclaimed this work of music to be Stacy's Song.

What was Stacy's Song? I didn't have a song. I didn't have a clue. My father wanted me to be a good student so I tried to study. Karen wanted me to be a cheerleader so I obliged. All my life, I wanted to please other people. I was a good girl, a girl who got her identity and sense of worth from the approval of other people, friends and family. But
who and what was Stacy? That, I
didn't know.