Chapter 195

“We were nostalgic for a time that wasn’t yet over.”
—Nina LaCour, We Are Okay

16 MAY 2022

It’s hard to imagine a more perfect after-prom than my family had. The event was fun but getting to our suite was perfect. We even had a ritual undressing. Usually, we just fall on each other and get out of our clothes. Saturday night, we undressed one at a time, helping fold clothes and admiring our mate as she (or I) was unveiled. Then we spent time as the subject of the moment stood naked in front of us, telling our lover why each of us loved her and what she meant to us. Yeah. There were tears.

And there was lovemaking.

But we spent most of the night crammed together on one bed, talking about the future and how we were going to deal with what was coming. I’m spending a lot of my weekend time with Emily and Cindy because of our performances. I didn’t want to bother anyone else to come along. But my wives all expressed a desire to join us as they’re able. Rachel says when we start our June tour, she’ll have a bus that can accommodate as many of us as want to tour. Reflections of California, but she was confident the service wouldn’t let us suffer.

Donna said she plans to keep the farm when we move to DC. I’m glad. First, it’s hers. She owned it before our partnership came about, just as Nanette owns the house my mom and dad are still living in. From Donna’s perspective, though, she feels that we need to keep a base in Indiana for the near term because even moving to DC could be a temporary thing and no longer be necessary after our two years of service.

Em and Joan have both agreed to reenlist for two years when the rest of us take our pledge. They both have solid job offers at the OCS and assurance they will be working with Rachel and Beca. Sophie has an offer from the National School to teach dance. Donna has had a few inquiries about teaching in the public school system.

Desi, Brittany, Cindy, and I have all been recruited to join the National School. It was made clear that our education and training would be combined with touring and performing, either on behalf of the school or the service. Dr. D is a little antsy to get us started, I think. That’s why we’re doing an independent tour in June before we join the service. She said we all still need to go through a basic training, but it might be more intense and compact than the usual training so they can get us out in the field before Labor Day. It will be tight.

And today starts the final three weeks of school. I’ll have final exams in physics, Latin, and business math. There’s no final in orchestra. I have major term papers due next week in constitutional government and senior English. And we have five concerts in that time. V1’s mother was fond of saying ‘No rest for the wicked.’ But in her book, everyone was wicked.

“What’s that they say about a prophet being accepted in his own land?” LeBlanc laughed as he held Cindy and me back from lunch on Tuesday.

“A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and among his own relatives,” I said. “I think it’s from the gospel of Mark. Pastor Bob quoted it to me after we did the GBU video.”

“Right. Well, you haven’t played that well here at Mad Anthony,” LeBlanc continued. “I’ve been checking, and even among the faculty, you have low name recognition.”

“I noticed we weren’t recognized that much,” I said. Cindy just sat silently next to me, waiting to see what the heck he wanted.

“Well, you got some notice at the prom this weekend, but it wasn’t really for your music. So, I took the liberty of talking with Principal Rice and he has agreed to feature you for an hour on senior activities day next week. It won’t make you widely known in the school, except among your graduating class. I’m afraid the best I could do was get you on the program at the end of the day, so you’ll perform at 1:30.”

“You just booked us? Without checking?” I asked.

“Well, if you have something against it, I can cancel. I’m doing this as a favor to you,” he said, a little huffily.

“It’s not that we’re unwilling,” Cindy said softly, squeezing my leg to shut me up. “We’re just supposed to clear all our performances through our National Service contact at the Office of Civilian Service. I’m sure they’ll approve it. We just have to follow protocol.”

“Oh,” LeBlanc said, a little deflated. “I didn’t think of that. To me you are still just two of my students. Is there someone I should call?”

“We’ll take care of it,” Cindy said. “Thank you for thinking of us.”

What’s one more performance? At least we won’t have to travel to it.

Before we got to the Mad Anthony concert, we had to travel to Indy for a senior assembly at Ben Davis High School on Friday and two performances on Saturday at the Christel DeHaan Fine Arts Center. We were told that its recital space was one of the finest in America and seated 500 people. We’d do a Saturday afternoon matinee and a Saturday night performance.

Sophie and Nanette decided to take Friday off work and travel to the high school with us. It was nice to have our lovers with us on the two-and-a-half-hour drive to the west side of Indianapolis. I read the profile on the school as Emily drove and my wives chatted. Our performance was in the afternoon, so we were less rushed getting out the door in the morning.

Ben Davis was about the most balanced integrated school on our tour. It was thirty-three percent black, thirty-seven percent white, and twenty-two percent Hispanic. It was also one of the poorer cross-sections. Two-thirds of the student population was considered ‘free lunch eligible.’ I tried to imagine myself in the audience listening to what I had to say about the National Service. It was hard to do.

Mad Anthony was a little smaller than Ben Davis. Our student population was over eighty percent white. Less than ten percent were considered ‘free lunch eligible.’ We lived in different worlds and I was supposed to relate to them. I wondered if they would even like the kind of music Cindy and I performed.

“I’m a vocal proponent of National Service Reform,” I said to nearly a thousand seniors gathered in the auditorium. They’d been appreciative of our first set and were set to rock into our tangoes. “The process of placing people in service jobs based on aptitude testing might not provide as much opportunity for some as others. One of the things we’ve been focused on is getting the testing balanced to include interest as well as aptitude. Be sure you carry a strong attitude about what you are interested in when you take your placement tests. You and Cindy and I are going to be part of the same class entering service this summer. Let’s try to make it as good an experience as we can by supporting each other and by electing representatives who favor service reform. The only way our voice can be heard is through our ballots.”

We played our tangoes and I put in another plug for pro-reform candidates. Then we headed to south Indianapolis where we had a couple of suites reserved in a LaQuinta Suite Hotel. By the time we were all checked in, Donna, Beca, and Brittany arrived and we went out to dinner.

Our performances Saturday were well-attended. The Ruth Lilly Performance Hall in the Christel DeHaan Fine Arts Center is acoustically perfect. We rehearsed our program in the morning and even on stage, I could hear Donna whisper an “I love you,” to Beca in the back of the hall.

The afternoon crowd was a little less than the 500-seat capacity, but they were enthusiastic. It seemed terms like ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’ were irrelevant to this audience as well. Everyone was in favor of service reform—some for better interpretation of rules and some for stricter discipline. That was fine with me. As long as they elected people who would get the bill heard on the floor, the details could be hammered out in Congress.

The evening house was packed. I was told just before the show that the Mayor of Indianapolis and the Governor of the state were both in the audience. No one mentioned anything about the representative or senators. They were supposed to be in Washington.

“Congratulations on a fine performance,” Governor Byron said after the show. Our hosts at the University had provided a small reception after the performance. “You have a most effective message. I wish you great success with it.”

“Thank you, Governor. We were driven to discover as much about the National Service as we could due to the experiences of a number of our friends and family. Once we discovered what was going on, there was little choice about speaking up.”

“Do you plan on a career in politics once your service is over?” he asked.

“I plan on a career in music. As long as my partner here will have me by her side, I’ll be playing for her.” Cindy blushed a little and hugged my arm.

“We will see that you are always welcome to return to Indianapolis to perform,” the Governor said before excusing himself. We chatted with some other dignitaries and professors, and finally went back to the suite to cuddle up and sleep.

We drove back to Fort Wayne Sunday morning and spent the day on general maintenance of our lives. We had laundry, cooking, dishes, vacuuming, mowing of the driving range, and some homework. Donna agreed to review my paper for Mr. Richards while I checked literary journals from her class. I found I enjoyed reading the students’ perspective on stories I’d read a couple of years ago and had written of in my own journal.

“Do you have documentation for this, Jacob?” she asked. “The issue of who is making money off the National Service could be explosive. You need to make sure your sources are genuine and accurate.”

“It’s difficult to track down everything without having court-ordered access,” I said. “Mr. Forsythe was kind enough to get me these numbers. They didn’t know about it until January when they took over and started moving housing in for the field workers. It was appalling.”

“It still is, according to this. Why are they still paying all this money?”

“Someone signed a contract and the money is due whether services are provided or not. There’s some creative accounting going on and the service is deducting the actual cost of housing, food, and services they pay for directly from the balance owed to the company. It will literally take an act of Congress to void the contract.”

“Come here, my lover. Reading this fills me with such anger that I need to be held. And knowing you’ve uncovered this fills me with such pride in you that I need you to make love to me.”

I gladly set aside the reading and followed Donna to her bed.

Senior Day was the day when seniors have to complete all the prep for graduation and commencement. There’s a lot of paperwork that needs to be filled out and, apparently, one of the qualifications for graduating is that you be able to sign your name. Over and over and over.

And we had to order our caps and gowns, various cords for honor societies and clubs, and invitations, thank you notes, and keepsakes. After lunch, the assembly began. There were hundreds of awards for everything from athletic letters to perfect attendance. I got a cross country badge for my letter jacket and recognition for having placed second in the State in the half marathon.