Mistis Adventures Part 147
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“Reese sucked in a breath and played faster, hurling the anger through his fingers until it spun all his fear, all his rage, into the gentle voice of music.”
—Willowy Whisper, This Hostile Land
FRIDAY AFTER SCHOOL, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I picked up the five remaining members of pod two and took them to King Arthur’s Camelot for a sundae. We didn’t get the super king size sundae with its attendant bells and whistles. We just got dishes of ice cream and sat at a big booth.
“How are you guys doing?” I asked. What a stupid question. I had five crying kids in front of me and the tears were rolling down my cheeks, too.
“What are we supposed to do, Jacob? How are we supposed to go on without Peyton?” Lisa cried. She was the oldest of the group at thirteen and obviously felt responsible for the younger members.
“I ask myself that all the time,” I sighed. These poor kids. You weren’t supposed to lose a friend when you were a child. “Um ... Why do you think I brought you here?”
“To talk,” Richard said.
“But why here?”
“Um ... Because this was Peyton’s favorite place?” Barb ventured.
“Yeah. At first when I thought about bringing you here, I thought it would be terrible. That everywhere I looked, I’d see Peyton’s smile and how much she liked ice cream. And you know what? I do. And that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to forget her happy face. I don’t want to avoid the places she liked to go. I want to feel like she’s still near me.”
“So, we shouldn’t avoid places or not play Michigan Rummy because it was what she liked?” Lisa asked.
“Right.”
“She told me she was going to be my girlfriend when we got older,” Donnie said.
“I think she told all of us that,” Joyce offered with a little giggle.
“Yeah. She was our carbon element,” Richard said. “Jacob, what holds us together when our carbon element is gone?”
“Wow. Yeah. That’s tough. Um...” How the hell am I going to answer that? “I guess ... um ... Don’t give up on each other. Peyton brought something special to each of our lives. But you each bring something special to the others, too. I guess, don’t try to substitute one of you for the kind of things Peyton did, but learn what you each have to offer. Dance at Joyce and Lisa’s house. Watch sports at Barb and Donnie’s house. Play games at Richard’s house. Whatever you each bring to the others, do that and depend on one another. You’re young ... Well, we all are. You might discover a different carbon element among you. Or you might attract one to your pod.”
“Like Luke,” Lisa ventured, calling out Cindy’s younger brother.
“I like him,” Joyce said. “Will you share?”
“We’re talking about the pod,” Lisa said. “Of course I’ll share.”
A few others were mentioned as potential members of the pod. We found we were eating our ice cream as we talked and soon, I wasn’t needed as anything more than transportation and paying for the ice cream.
“Jacob, can you drop us all at our house. We’ve decided to dance tonight. Peyton loved that,” Lisa said.
No matter what I told pod two, I couldn’t watch our Easter video when it was released on Saturday. Granted, it had been edited and cut to just the sextet playing one piece, but the crew had also put a memorial of photos of my sister they captured from the various times she’d sat beside me as I played Sunday concerts. It was too much for me to endure but everyone said it was appropriate and sweet. Someday, maybe, I’ll be able to watch it. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I could ever go back to church on Easter.
The week was strange. With Nanette having returned to Kansas with Em, Mom and Dad had a private space from which to put their lives back together. Pey’s death devastated me and I found my mind drifting into nothingness at odd times as I thought of her and thought of mortality. I could only imagine what my parents were going through having lost their youngest child. I spent as much time as I could with them but I spent my nights at Donna’s. In fact, after my Monday night holding Cindy, I spent my nights in Donna’s bed. It wasn’t until Thursday that we made love, after the orchestra concert. After I dropped the kids off Friday night, I took Cindy to the party for the orchestra at LeBlanc’s house and it did a little to lighten my spirits.
Saturday afternoon, Nanette flew from Kansas to Boston so she could get acclimated for the big race on Monday. I wished I could be there for it but with 26,000 runners, it would be a miracle if I even saw her during the race.
I talked to Em for a long time on Sunday. We just needed to connect and I wanted to make sure she would be okay for the next few weeks. Mom and Dad said they were going to go visit her in May. I’d be out in Kansas for the Ren Faire the last of June and it worked out so I could go join her for her last week of service on July fourth.
So far, I’d only committed to that one Faire with Desi, Riko, and Riley. They were looking at a different schedule of events this year and I wasn’t sure when I was going to Washington DC to audition for the National School of the Arts. Joan’s dad and Mr. LeBlanc were both looking into what it meant to go there and how it worked with National Service.
At lunch Monday, we all had our phones out to check the results of the Boston Marathon. We had to search for a while before we found Nanette’s name. She’d run a personal best 3:25:42 which was good for 7,840th place in the grand race. She was 200th in her division of women age 40-44. She did well. There were 1,840 runners who finished in her division. I guess having a qualifying race at 3:35:00 didn’t mean you ran that consistently. The last finisher in the division took more than six hours!
We all sent congratulatory text messages and she sent back a selfie with her medal. We were all damned proud and told her in explicit detail what we planned to do for her when she got home.
With the spring concert out of the way, Cindy and I no longer had sextet rehearsals after school. Instead, I was quickly immersed in my viola da gamba at school. But I had no instrument to practice on, since Herr Richter took it back and forth with him. And I had to admit I was really beginning to enjoy it. He’d switched me over to traditional tuning right after the concert. It took a little while to get used to the fingering but I was getting to love the drone and was making good progress on the music.
Herr Richter had also brought me several printouts of instruments for sale.
“You don’t need to start with the most expensive antique instrument you can find,” he said. “These are fine instruments from reputable viol makers. Perhaps you will be able to squeeze out enough from the insurance money to acquire both a guitar and a viol. It is up to you, of course. But this instrument has potential the guitar does not. It gives you versatility.”
I took the printout with me and looked it up online that night. Getting a second instrument would be a good thing. I just didn’t like the idea of replacing my wonderful guitar with something that wasn’t as good.
And that’s when Vinnie showed up at school. I could tell LeBlanc was expecting him, but it was a surprise to me. LeBlanc suggested the two of us go into a practice room during the class. It was Friday, and I didn’t make it to lunch.
Vinnie opened a hard case and revealed an incredible guitar. It had a German spruce top with an aged sheen that was beautiful. The sides and back were Brazilian rosewood and the neck was ebony on spruce. He handed it to me and encouraged me to try the tuning. What a sound! I fell into a Bach piece that I always loved to play and the music seemed to come from the guitar without my effort. Unbelievable!
“This is a 1967 Manuel Velazquez guitar,” Vinnie said. “He was a Puerto Rican who started building guitars when he was twelve years old. He moved to New York and was widely considered to be the finest luthier in the Western Hemisphere up until his death in 2014. His son and daughter have acceded to that position.”
“This is beautiful, Vinnie. If I had the insurance money, I’d buy it right now. It feels like magic in my hands.”
“It sounds like magic as well. You really like this? You don’t want me to keep looking?”
“Not if I can afford this. Is it comparable in price to what my other guitar was so the insurance will cover it?”
“No. It’s easily half again what that guitar cost. This is truly a concert instrument. Segovia, Bream, Williams ... They’ve all played Velazquez guitars.”
“Why show it to me and get my hopes up when you know I can’t afford it?” I said, a little put out. Half again what my former guitar cost? $18,000? Damn it!
“It’s yours.”
I looked at Vinnie blankly. Mine?
“What?”
“I was contacted by a collector who had this guitar. He heard your story and looked up your videos on YouTube. He said that if this guitar suited you, I was to give it to you.”
“Who? This ... It can’t just be a gift!”
“He’s asked that his name be withheld. I have to honor that request. But if you take this guitar, it will free you to use the insurance money for a couple of other instruments. LeBlanc says you are shopping for a viola da gamba. Maybe you’d also want the guitar I loaned you for the concert. Having multiple instruments and matching the right sound to the piece of music you are playing is the next level of musicianship that you are ready for.”
I was shocked silent and petted the guitar as tears ran down my cheeks. Nothing would ever replace my baby sister, but I would dedicate this guitar and every song I played on it to her.
I didn’t make it to classes that afternoon. I stayed in the practice room making love to this beautiful guitar.
I was still in the practice room when my girlfriends all showed up after school to see what happened to me. Cindy had told them at lunch that Vinnie had come with a guitar. I showed them the beautiful instrument and then had to rush to my viol lesson with promises that I would bring it to Donna’s that night.
I ended up not getting a lot of practice on the viol. Herr Richter wanted to examine the guitar in minute detail, going so far as to pull out a jeweler’s loupe to examine the surface and joints for cracks. He plucked each string and listened to the resonance from different parts of the guitar. In short, by the time our lesson was over, he’d given the guitar a complete physical exam and pronounced it in good health.
I stopped at Mom and Dad’s (Nanette’s) for a while after school and showed them the guitar. They were impressed with the story of the anonymous donor and wanted to hear something on it. I played for them for a while, sending a prayer for my little angel in heaven. Finally, I left to go have dinner with the pod at Donna’s.
“So, I got a call from the school yesterday,” I told Cindy after we’d played a couple of duets for our pod and finally put our instruments away so we could just enjoy the rest of the evening. “They want me to set a date to come and audition. They were unusually specific about ‘we’ coming to visit the week of July 19 and suggested that we come early over the weekend because there would be a concert at Kennedy Center Saturday night.”
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