Chapter 194

“Maybe we’ll have a vampire prom.”
He shot me an appalled look. “What is this, Twilight?”
—Veronica Wolff, Vampire’s Kiss

OUR LIVES were defined by concerts. Saturday, we performed in our first ‘public’ venue at Marion Civic Center. There were around five hundred in attendance. Doesn’t sound like much compared to the thousands we performed for in California. Cindy and I lowered our expectations. We weren’t in a huge production with a cast of hundreds. We were two classical musicians performing a free two-hour show in smalltown Indiana. We were lucky there weren’t hogs in the audience. Our reception was positive, though. The audience balanced toward our teen demographic but because of the kind of music, a good many parents attended with them.

V1, a presence I seldom thought about these days, would have been in that audience rather than on stage. I’d have tested high in math and physics aptitude and be preparing for a life as an engineer of some sort. I could expect to spend my National Service repairing conveyor belts or some similar activity.

V2 ... He would have been dead. I’d come to better understand the fourteen-year-old who stepped in front of a bus three years ago. The experience of being buried alive, his unnatural lust for his sister, his unending nightmares, all indicated a depressed and tortured soul. If he had failed in his first attempt, he would have tried again.

That’s when I merged and became V3. The old man distanced himself from the memory of the childhood trauma, substituting his own life memories and ultimately coming to understand and master the nightmares. I still had an occasional nightmare; that’s part of life. Our subconscious attempts to make sense of the multiple sensory inputs in life and the random combination of synapses firing isn’t always pleasant. My nightmares were far more likely to be about a different kind of pressure than being buried alive. If that popped into my sleeping brain, it was figurative.

And the relationship with my sister was resolved by my simply not recognizing her as the same person as my miserable and bitter V1 sister. I couldn’t equate in my mind or my heart a relationship with her as a forbidden incestuous crime. I embraced my love for her and she had found a way to embrace me.

Where V2 had attempted to pour out his misery through music, V3 was filled with joy from it. Picking up my guitar was almost as sensual an experience as caressing a lover. I’d let the love of music totally overwhelm my aptitude for math and physics. Which didn’t mean I couldn’t sit down and describe the exact frequencies of each string and the difference in tone between plucking a string with the flat of my finger and the tip of my nail. I knew the physics of music as well as the artistry of it. I could tell exactly when a certain tone of Cindy’s flute would blend with a tone from my guitar.

And on stage, I let the music carry me into the magical world of our relationship. Something I couldn’t describe with physics.

“You need to focus your time on getting your classes finished,” Em said as I sat strumming my guitar on Sunday morning. “I know some of these things like physics and business math come easy to you but even as a musician, you need to have a solid enough foundation to proceed at the National School. You’ll get more art and music training, but they aren’t going to let you slide by without history, English, and science.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. I’d slipped into a rock star mindset. I didn’t need to study because I made tons of money playing music. And money was all that mattered for a successful life. I knew the fallacy of that line of thinking and mentally kicked myself. If I hadn’t devoted the time it took to learn about the National Service and the law and regulations that governed it, I’d never be in the position of playing promotional concerts for them.

“J, what’s been on your mind lately? I know it’s been busy as hell since we got back from DC, but you seem a little distracted.”

“You know me so well,” I laughed. “I guess I’ve been worried about the impact we’re having on the family. I feel like I’ve forced a decision on everyone. The pod was supposed to help us support each other when we were away in service. It wasn’t supposed to force everyone to join up.”

“Everyone isn’t,” Em said. “I’ve agreed to reenlist for two years when you, Cindy, Desi, Beca, and Brittany go in. And believe me, I’m getting my contract inspected before I ever sign it. They are offering me a great job that will let me manage the logistics of your travel and performance. I’ll also have Desi and Brittany to manage when they start performing, if they go out on deputation assignments like you do. It’s an ideal career step and someone insisted that important management positions within the service be filled by members of the service.”

“See? That’s what I mean. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have been able to just get hired by them to manage logistics without being forced to reenlist.”

“It’s all good, J. I’m going to love having Rachel as my boss. And don’t be surprised in two years if we’re all sitting down together to discuss reupping for another term.”

“What a change, huh?”

“If you need distractions from your schoolwork, you should be focusing on prom. You have eleven dates.”

I’d been so focused on adulting that I’d ignored the growing excitement around me at school. There are two capstones to a high school career: Senior prom and commencement. They were both rushing toward us. It was less than three weeks until prom and six until commencement.

My girlfriends ... Scratch that. My wives had orchestrated a coup on the principal of our school. We’d obligingly let the Valentine’s Dance slide in exchange for guaranteed admission of the entire pod for senior prom. With only three weeks between prom and the end of the school year, Principal Rice had assured us there would be no issue in attending the prom as a complete plural domestic partnership. A table would be reserved at the prom for Pod Octave.

But that still meant everyone was in all-out prom prep mode. All of us except Cindy had attended at least one prom in our lives. As a result, she became the focus of all the prep, even calling her mother in to help shop for a prom dress—which pleased Betty no end. Shopping for dresses for dinner at the White House was easy compared with prom shopping.

Of course, Cindy’s and my concert schedule made it even more difficult. Friday after our senior assembly at Northrop, Betty met Emily, Cindy, and me to do our prom shopping. I’m not sure how I survived. I think Emily and Cindy tried on a hundred dresses between them. I had to inspect each one. A couple, I had to surreptitiously check to see if I could get my hand inside. Well, it was prom. There had to be a little subtle access.

I was afraid Emily would go for something plain and simple like she had for her own senior prom. She looked lovely but the dress was something she could wear to church, too. I wanted her to go a little wild. And she did. The top was a stretchy blue band that wrapped her breasts and down to her waist. That was really easy to get a hand inside. The skirt blew me away. It was yellow with an abstract geometric print. And was completely translucent. You could see right through it to the matching blue tap pants beneath. I was having some serious thoughts about leaving Cindy and her mom to finish while I took Emily home to ravish her.

Then I saw the dress Cindy chose. It was the picture of pink innocence. Spaghetti straps held up the form-fitting bodice that hugged her body down to the flare of her hips and then fell in satiny folds to her feet. The neckline was cut in a vee to below her breasts making it obvious there was nothing but Cindy under the dress. When Betty went to check on something with the sales clerk, I checked to make sure the access to Cindy’s beautiful breasts was truly as easy as it looked. It was. I don’t know how it is possible for a girl to look so completely shy and innocent and ready to fuck as she did.

Of course, I had to stop at Louie’s to order a tux. He outdid himself again. I was so pleased with this one, I decided to buy it instead of rent it. He made a few alteration chalk marks to be sure it fit perfectly and told me it would be ready next weekend. It had a cutaway jacket with a thin silver lapel stripe. The vest was a matching silver gray with a black lapel stripe. And the tie wasn’t really a tie. It was a kind of cravat that had a ruffled band that slid up to hold it together instead of being knotted. The silver and black combination was worn over a black formal shirt—no ruffles, but French cuffs and studs. Even Betty seemed to be enthused about the suit, based on the way she kept touching it and running her hands inside the lapels and over the back. Or maybe she was just checking for ease of access.

Beca, Brittany, Sophie, Donna, and Nanette took off for Chicago that afternoon. They decided to shop on Saturday with Joan while Cindy, Emily, and I headed to our concert at the Legion Hall in Anderson.

That was interesting. I did my usual spiel about the service changing and needing the reform legislation to pass but, to my surprise, got heckled.

“Just play the music. Nobody needs your politics!” a guy yelled from the back of the room.

“This is one of the reasons everyone who opposes service reform needs to be voted out of congress this year,” I said. “This district needs to come out strong on behalf of the youth who are here and are going to be serving in just a few months.”

That got a couple more jeers but Cindy and I went into a lively tango in which we chased each other a few steps across the stage and back. I was a bit upset by the heckler but I tried not to show it.

“I got information on the heckler,” Em said when we were packed and leaving the hall. I saw some guys standing around in the parking lot head toward us. I got our instruments in the truck and slammed the door as Em started the engine. She pressed the door locks as the truck came to life and we pulled out. Someone pounded on the side of the truck with his fist.