Stacy's Song (6 page)

The ro
om was amazingly neat and clean
although austere.
I decided t
he Norrises
would have made great Puritans
. My own bedroom was very different, a cluttered place where dolls, stuffed animals and other sentimental souvenirs of my misguided childhood filled every nook and cranny.

“Not much to look at
is it?” He had an uncanny way of sensing my thoughts.

“To tell the truth
I was thinking how tidy and well-ordered everything is.”

“That's Liz and Mom's doing. I can't take any credit. I'm just careful not to drop anything on the floor
or move things around. That way
I don't trip and I can find my own way.”

I remembered how I nearly made him fall before I knew about his lack of sight. I felt guilty. “I'll keep you company for a few minute
s more
if you like.”

He indicated a place on the bed beside him. I sat down a little uncertain.

“Not used to being
alone with a boy in his bedroom
are you?” Ther
e was a small smile on his lips and
I could tell he was teasing me.

I rose to the challenge. “Su
re
I am. I'm in and out of my brother's room all the time.”

“That isn't what I meant. I think maybe I frighten you.”

“Not at all!” I protested, my voice too loud.

“Must be my germs
then.”

“Not even if they starred in The Rocky Horror Show.”

He smiled
and I realized it was the first time I'd ever seen him smile. I noticed a dimple winking in his right cheek that made my heart hurt. He took my hand in his larger one and squeezed it gently.

“I was only kidding you a
little,” he said. “You've been
good to me today and I do appreciate it.”

“You ought to rest now
,
” I said, feeling weird.

He pressed my hand to his cheek
then surprised me by putting my hand to his lips and
kissing it. When he released me
I couldn't find any word
s to say. So I left him to rest still
touched by his gesture. He wasn't the only one feeling feverish at that moment.

***
*

Downstairs
it seemed that Liz and Jimmy were waiting for me.
I talked with them for a while
then decided it was time to go home. Jimmy insisted on driving me. I tried to talk him out of it, certain I was intruding on his evening with Liz, but they were both in agreement. Jimmy was as friendly as ever on the drive home. I
let him do most of the talking
,
still dazed
thinking about the way Michael had kissed my hand.

“How long have you known Liz and Michael?” I asked him as we rode through the humid summer night.

“Seems like forever. Michael was in my class way back in elementary school. We got to be friends then. I always admired him. He was such a terrific athlete and all. Liz tagged after us
when we played. I think she's
awesome, don't you?”

I agreed with him.

“Liz likes you a lot
too. She says you're the best thing that ever happened to Michael.”

I looked quickly away out the side window. “She said that?”

“Sur
e did. You think Liz likes me, I mean likes me likes me
?” He spoke with surprising shyness.

“I'm certain she does.”

“Good,” he said with a wide grin. “‘Cause I'm crazy about her. I never would have got this far with music if it were
n't for Liz. I mean
I
always liked to play the drums
but just to fool arou
nd. Liz made me want to do more but
you know how she
can be. My old man thinks
its
dumb stuff just
a waste of valua
ble time. He's a good
auto mechanic
. Anyway
,
he wants me in the garage with him just as soon as I finish high school. He says my real education will start when I leave school.”

“Is that where you're working for the summer?”

“Yeah, the old man's teaching me the business first-hand. He's a foreign car specialist, a real artist. He wants me to become every bit as good as
he is and
better even.”

“Is that what you want?” I glanced over at him.

“Me? I don't know what I want. I'm just a kid, right? My old man knows what's right for me. He says so all the time.”

I shrugged. “Do you like playing music as much as fixing cars?”

“I like doing both. I hope I'm not forced to choose, you know?”

I did know. I could see Jimmy might have problems with his father over this situation. I wondered if it would be the same for me. I thought of my dad and how he did the
“
father knows best
”
routine. Would he let me make my own decisions about what I wanted to do with my life or would he interfere?

“My
old man's right about one thing
though, being a mechanic is good steady work and a guy needs an income if he's ever going to support a family. Like he says, a fella's got to be practical if he's gonna live life in the real world.”

“Have you and Liz talked about this?”

“No way. Liz wouldn't understand. She and Michael have bought into this music dream scheme. I know it's probably just kid stuff and nothing
's likely to come of it but when I'm with Liz, well
I just naturally have to believe it too.”

I agreed with him on that. “I think it's more than a dream for the
m. They're both willing to work hard and
give it everything they've got. People have to try to find the kind of work that will make them happy and satisfied. Money
and security
isn't always enough.”

“You make a lot of sense.”

“I don't usually.” I felt uneasy. I was getting much too serious about things. “That's as thoughtful as I'm willing to get. I'm glad we don't have to make any decisions right now.”

Jimmy grinned. “Me too.”

As we reached my street I thought about Michael Norris
wondering if he would ever be happy or co
ntent, wondering what it was I
felt for him.

 

Wednesday evening, we performed at the club again. Except for the fact that Michael looked paler than usual and his hands trembled afte
r performing an extended number
he seemed all right. Liz and I made sure he drank plenty of liquids during our breaks. After all, one of the benefits about working for Mr. Kemp was that he included all the root beer you could float.

After our final set
Mr. Kemp took us aside and smiled
at us
through his nicotine-stained te
eth. “You kids are a good group and
real dependable. And the audience keeps increasing. I like that a lot, a whole lot. So I'm giving you a little raise. I also want you to perform for the pool members on Labor Day when I throw my annual party for the swim club. I'll pay
you
extra. Just make sure you're good. I want everyone renewing for next summer.”

“Fine with us,” Michael responded without hesitation. He and Mr. Kemp shook hands on it.

We drove home that evening in a good mood. In fact, I'd never seen Micha
el in such high spirits. “S
oon now
we'll have enough money for the right kind of equipment. We can pick out the amplifiers together. No more second-hand junk
that you have to keep repairing
,
Jimmy. I'll get the best synthesizer on the market. We'll be able to make ourselves sound like a symphony orchestra if we feel like it.”

“Outstanding!” Jimmy responded with a broad grin.

“That's right
,
outstanding is just what we're going to be.” I never heard Michael sound so hopeful before.

I was beginning to understand just what the music meant to him. Probably he saw it as a chance to escape from poverty and isolation, his ticket to a better life. But his emotions were too complex for me to comprehend fully. I recognized that his mind was a lot deeper, darker and more complicated than mine.

***
*

The next morning, the temperature took a dip into the mid-seventies. It was a beautiful day, but more like spring than summer. I made an impulsive decision and told my Mother I was going out to visit with a friend for a while. I didn't tell her who that friend was. I wasn't sure she would approve.

I had to wait nearly half an hour for the cross-town bus to arrive. Whole groups of teenagers have been known to die of exposure and dehydration in the time it took the local bus to show up. But nothing was going to daunt my own cheerfulness, not even Michael's unmistakably displeased expression when he answered the door and found me standing there.

“I hope you don't mind me coming over today.”

“Stacy? We don't have practice until tomorrow evening.”

“I know. That wasn't why I came.”

“Okay, you realize this d
oesn't make any sense
,
don't you? Liz is at work. There's no one here but me.”

“The very person I came to see.”

“Wish I could return the favor.”

“Yeah, well, I thought we could go for a walk together. It's a fantastic day out here.”

He looked as if he would faint. “What?”

Now
I was filled with doubt. I started talking fast to hid
e my nervousness. “You heard me
,
Mr. Norris. It seems to me
this is an absolutely perfect day for a walk. And I'm not taking no for an answer.” I studied his pale face. “How much time do you spend outdoors?”

“Hardly any and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Terrible answer,
u
nacceptable!
”

“Look, I'll sit with
you in the backyard for a while but as for a walk
forget it!”

“Are you opposed to physical exercise?” I persisted.

“No
as a m
atter of fact I work out regularly b
ut I don't like to be on display for strangers like some kind of sideshow freak.”

“Since you can't see them you won't know
will you?”

He sighed in an exasperated manner. “I didn't realize you were so stubborn and pushy.”

“Those
are my good qualities. Come on
,
Michae
l
,
there's
no one out now. The streets are deserted.”

“All right, I can tell you're not going to leave me alone. I'll just get some shoes on.” He wiggled his stocking feet.

“You've got holes in your socks.”

“Your point being?”

“Do Liz or your mother know?”

“They both have a lot more important stuff to do besides worrying about my bare toes.”

“I'll sew them for you when we get back. Sewing is one of my talents. I mend par excellence. Not that I would brag.”

Michael placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. “No, you won't. I don't want you doing things for me because you're sorry for the poor blind kid.”

“You're impossible, you know that? I'm not throwing a pity party for you. Friends do things to help each other. It's no big deal.”

“It is if your socks smell. Just let it alone, Stacy.”

I follow
ed him into the house. As usual
the
living room was gloomy and dark
curtains and shades drawn. He went upstairs while I waited. I paced around the room looking at the o
ld-fashioned
over-stuffed furniture and the dark mahogany of the wood. On the marble mantle over the old brick fireplace was a gilt-framed photograph of a man, woman, boy and little girl. They were all smiling and anyone could see how much they loved each other and how happy they were together as a family. I felt a deep sadness knowing how that family life had been shattered. The living room filled with its shabby furniture spoke only of yesterday.

Michael returned dressed comfortably in a blue, short-sleeved knit shirt, faded jeans and sneakers. He had ev
en combed his
hair.

“Ready?” I asked.

“We're missing two things.”

“What?”

“A red-tipped cane and a tin can. We might as well make some money along the way.”

“Don't start!” I warned him.

“Look
let's just go for a walk another time. I don't feel right about this.”

“What are you so afraid of
,
Michael?”

“
I don't like going out. In here
I'm secure. I know
my way around. I'm independent and in control. Out there
it's a different matter. Anything can happen.”

“But you go out to play for the band.”

“Different. Jimmy and Liz are there. They get things set up for me. They know what I need.”

“You should get a seeing-eye dog.”

“Not interested. Never had a pet. Wouldn't know how to t
ake care of one. As I'm sure you noticed
I can bare
ly take care of myself. Besides
nobody walks anywhere these days.”

“Well
they should. It's still a good idea to take a walk now and then. People in cities walk all the time. Allow me to be you
r German shepherd and guide you
just for now.”

“Only if you promise not to bark. I don't want people to say I'm so hard up I only go out with dogs.”

“Ha, ha! Very funny.”

“Let's go
,
my faithful furry friend,” he said in a teasingly voice.

He extended his hand to me and I realized what an exercise in trust this was, especially for a boy who never seemed to trust anyone ve
ry much. We walked out together
strolling along the old tree-lined streets. I enjoyed being with him, even having him depend on me if only for a little while.

“Have you seen my mother?” he asked. I tol
d him I hadn't. “Neither have I,” he responded and then smiled
.
“Want to hear another blind guy joke?”

“I didn't know you were able to joke about it. That's progress.”

“Not,
” he responded. “My jokes always come out sounding bitter. My music better be good because I'm not about to make it in stand-up comedy.”

I was getting a glimpse into another Michael Norris, one with a sense of humor who existed before the accident. We walked along for a w
hile. It all seemed to be going well
until Michael got a step ahead
of me. Before I could warn him
he tripped on a break in the concrete. We collided together as I tried to prevent him fr
om falling. As I landed
in his arms
,
something like a jolt of electricity sho
t through my body. For a moment
I thought he must have felt it too because he didn't release me immediately. W
hen he asked if I was all right
I could hardly answer. I couldn't breathe. We didn't talk much after t
hat
but he held my hand tight.

Back at the house
he turned to me. “You were right. It did feel good being outdoors, even if we did make fools of ourselves
almost
falling down. I forgot what being outside
was like. I guess in some ways
we all create our own prisons. Noth
ing like the warmth of sunshine
,
the breath of a fresh summer breeze or the song of a bird and.
..
” His voice broke off. “Why don't
you stay for a while? This time
I'll fix the orange juice.”

We sat togeth
er in the old-fashioned kitchen
,
neither of us doing much talking. It felt ri
ght being with him in the large
sunny room. I felt comfortable sitting opposite Mic
hael drinking juice. Afterwards
he stood me up and put his hands to my face. He moved his hands over my
forehead
my cheeks and then my lips. His motions were gentle and slow. He had such a delicate sensual touch.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding out what you look like.”

“You could have asked.”

“Some things a person likes to discover for himself.”

“And what have you discovered?”

“That what I suspected is true. You're beautiful.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. I wondered if he could feel it with his fingers. “Your hands lied to you.”

“Mouths often lie but hands
,
they always tell the truth.” He stroked my hair. “Like silk. What color is it?”

“Just ordinary dark brown
and so are my eyes.”

“Brown is a
warm color.”

Michael thought I was beautiful
but I realized it was only because he couldn't see me.

“You don't have to compliment me,” I told him.

“I'm not.” He took my han
d. “Maybe I can't see your face
but I sense your s
oul and it is lovely.” Suddenly
Michael seemed to consider what he'd said and now he colored with embarrassment. “I've been working on a new song. Would you like to hear it? I could use some help with it.” I realized he wanted to change the subject and decided it was for the best. This thing between us was becoming too intense.

“I'd like to listen, but you know I don't compose.”

“You have more ability than you think.”

“I could say that cuts both ways.”

We
sat down together at the piano
shoulders touching. He began to play for me and I was swept up into the beauty of the sound. Michael had a genius for creating melody. The
n he began to sing in that warm
velvet voice, a voice that both caressed and thrilled me.

“Sun comes out after rain.

Thought it never would.

Thought I'd never see the sun smile again.

Should have known it wasn't gone for good,

but your eyes were dark, open graves

where I was buried alive,

catacombs at midnight, cavernous caves,

where no love could thrive.

But sun comes out after rain,

and, baby, your eyes are glowing again.

Sun comes out after rain,

‘cause, baby, you love me again.”

The sound was as smooth as kitten's fur. I let out a deep sigh as he stopped playing and turned to me.

“What do you think? Is it any good?” Michael asked in a hesitant voice. I put my hand to his face. He was so vulnerable I could have cried.

“It's a wonderful song! I felt like you were letting me into your soul. Thank you for
playing it for me.” Impulsively
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. For a moment, he held me away and I felt the strength in his arms and the tension in his body. Then Michael surprised me by pulling me closer and kissing me with great tenderness. I felt such stirrings, such a strange sense of yearning. I kissed him back with more feeling than I ever knew existed in me. He buried his face in my hair. His dark glasses drop
ped to the floor. I held to him
just as
he clung to me. For that moment
there were no obstacles between us. There were no words either. We didn't need any.

The kiss lasted an eternity. Then, without warning, Michael pushed away from me. Something was wrong. He began groping around the floor in desperation for his dark glasses, located them and put them back on. Then he rose to his feet, thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and paced the room. His movements were like those of a caged tiger.

“What is it?” I asked. I didn't understand his mood swing.

“Look, we better keep it just friends. I'm not good for you. I bring nothing but grief and misery to the people I care about.”

“That's not true,” I tried to reassure him, but I realized I couldn't.

“I'm trouble,” he returned, shaking with anger. The old Michael was back again.

“I
care about you,” I told him. I d
on't know where I got the nerve
but I've never been one for pretenses anyway.

“I have feelings for you too, but it's wrong. I can't allow it to happen.”

“Let's talk about i
t.” I put my hand on his arm;
he brushed it away.