Chapter 124

“The string slices into the skin of his fingers and no matter how tough the calluses, it tears.”
—Melina Marchetta, The Piper’s Son

5 OCTOBER 2020

There is so much we don’t understand and aren’t being told. I didn’t know there were state-run creches—a kind of cross between daycare and an orphanage. I was so pissed last winter at the thought Francie and her baby would be separated and she’d have to serve two years without him. I wasn’t shocked that the government would do that, based on what had been happening along our southern border in the last years of the old man’s life. It just seemed like a stupid thing to do. But Francie’s service was assigned to a creche and she could take her son with her.

And what’s with Francie popping in and wanting to have sex? I feel guilty about it. Not enough that I wouldn’t do it, of course. She looks a hell of a lot hotter now than she ever did in high school. I guess she has gym time every morning. But what is she to me? She’s not part of my pod or a girlfriend. It was like sex with her was grandfathered in because we’d had sex before I had a pod. I need to talk to Rachel. She seems to understand how our relationships work better than anyone. I mean to explain them so my thick head can understand. I guess we just click on that level. I hope she doesn’t get mad at me.

Maybe she can explain Cindy, too. I should have expected that. For four months, we’ve treated her like a member of the pod. Of course, she’d become one. And with our music, I spend as much or more time with her than with anyone else in the group. I’m expecting a long talk with Mom about how to treat her. I think Mom and Dad have planned dinner with Mark and Betty again this week while the pod is all gathered out at Donna’s.

Here’s something the old man in me never understood. Being an artist, a musician, a writer, a poet, or even an athlete is hard work. He would scoff at teens who wasted their time playing instead of doing real work in a profession. Granted, I know teens in my class who do just that. They have more games on their phones than text messages. They’re chasing after Pokemon or Angry Birds or some stupidity. But I know eighty kids in orchestra who all spend as much time practicing their instruments as they do on the rest of their homework. Many of them more time. They’re serious about their music. Desi is in rehearsal for the school play more hours a week than I’m practicing cross country. And she’s serious about becoming a performer. If I want to be as good a musician and writer as the old man was an engineer, I will probably have to work harder at it than he ever worked at math.

Where and when am I going to find the time to simply understand the world I live in?

The first three days of the week were capital HARD. I wasn’t running in the morning because that was when I was getting my homework done. Teachers were getting us ready for the end of term tests next week. I was running hard in the afternoon to get ready for the sectionals on Saturday and then grabbing a shower so I could make it to orchestra rehearsal. The fall concert was Wednesday night and we were doing full rehearsals both Monday and Tuesday. I’d get home about ten and try to do homework, most of which would wait for me to wake up in the morning.

“You guys were great last night,” Rachel said at lunch Thursday. She gave Cindy a big hug and then latched onto me. I melted into her kiss and Beca finally gave us a nudge so we wouldn’t get reprimanded in the cafeteria. Then she kissed me, too. It looked like Cindy had been passed around the table getting hugs.

“You should get class off today,” Livy said. “As much as you’ve rehearsed this week it would only be fair.”

“LeBlanc is going through every piece measure-by-measure critiquing everyone in the orchestra. I don’t know how he even remembers what we played,” I moaned.

“Speaking of which, what are we playing next?” Cindy asked. “It’s already the second week of October and we don’t have a November performance set.”

“It’s too early for holiday music, that’s for sure,” Rachel said.

“Remember, you don’t have to do a whole concert every month,” Desi said. “You’ve kicked off with two major productions—Mountain Monster and Suite Buenos Aires—and could do something a little lower key for November.”

“That’s a good point,” I said. “We should take a look at how often some of the other artists are doing a production and how big it is. We all like Lindsey Stirling but she’s only releasing three or four videos a year, not one a month.”

“You won’t need to release that frequently once we get your audience established,” Livy said. “Right now, we’re attracting patrons with new material. Eventually, we’ll be able to attract listeners with existing material. Even solo work by both of you.”

“I’m cutting my regular morning concerts,” I said. “Everything on my channel will be available.”

“I might have an idea,” Cindy said. “Can we talk tonight?”

“I’ll be over after cross country practice,” I said.

“Light practice tomorrow, right?” Rachel said. I nodded. “Then I’m taking you right after practice for the night. I want to make sure you are good and rested before sectionals Saturday.”

“What about me?” Livy pouted. “I want to be good and rested.”

“I get you,” Beca said. “I want to make sure you’re good and rested but not too sore to run. You can only have Jacob after races.”

I headed to Cindy’s after practice and was immediately invited to stay for dinner. After texting Mom, I agreed. Cindy and I went to her music room and she handed me a Mozart piece.

“You can play this can’t you?” she asked. I scanned the music and thought it looked familiar. It was a piano score for Mozart’s Turkish March. I started plucking out the notes on my guitar. Suddenly it was very familiar.

“This is Mozart in Hell!” I said.

“Yes, but it’s really Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A Major,” she said. “I know we can’t do the arrangement Vinnie gave us because it is Gambetta’s. But we can arrange Mozart and it’s ours.”

“You’re a genius, Piper!” I said, grabbing her in a bear hug and swinging her around. I set her down and returned to the music. “It can be anything we want. Can you do the arrangement?” There was no answer. I turned and looked at Cindy. She was just standing there with her eyes kind of glazed over. “Cindy?”

“Um ... Yeah. Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Fine. You just took me by surprise. I’m good. Hug me again?”

Oh, shit!

Thirteen schools competed in the sectionals at Northrop. One of the schools didn’t field a full team, so there were only twelve teams competing. Nonetheless, the top runner from the school that didn’t have a full team came in 17th and won a position at regionals. Any individual placing in the top forty got a berth at regionals. The top five teams advanced. 10 individuals who weren’t on qualifying teams also advanced.

Then it was time for the 10k. We all knew we were advancing to regionals because there were only five full teams. Those thirty runners were joined by twenty individual runners for the 10k, so fifty of us started the race and at least forty would advance to regionals. Jock talked to me right before the race and told me I couldn’t let up just because it was a short field. There would be more competition for these forty slots than for the top forty in a field of a hundred. I took his warning to heart and ran a solid thirty-six for the first time this season. Our top five runners were in the top fifteen places and we took the team honors.

Livy took first in the girls’ 5k with her closest competitor only a step behind her at 18:34. Mad Anthony took first place in all three races. We were headed to regionals next week.

I spent the night Saturday at Donna’s. She spent the night with Nanette and Beca. I just needed a place where I could sink into oblivion for a few hours. I didn’t want a girlfriend with me or anything else. I took one of the upstairs bedrooms and turned on the TV. Discovered Donna has cable for the TVs in all rooms and I found an old movie.

Ha! Old movie. V1 thought I was looking for something from the thirties or forties. William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles. No. V3 was looking at M.A.S.H. I wonder if the old adage that anything over fifty years old is an antique still holds true.

I think I fell asleep by ten. I don’t remember the end of the movie.

When I got up Sunday, I went for a gentle run through the woods, then showered and ate breakfast. It seemed strange not to be doing a concert, so I grabbed my guitar and just played for a while. I needed to remind myself that the reason I loved playing the guitar was because I loved playing the guitar and feeling the music flow from my fingertips. It wasn’t because of the fan club and subscriptions and helping Cindy. Those were all great, but what I wanted more than anything was just to feel the music.

I wondered if it was a remnant of V2 escaping from the nightmares and the forbidden love he felt. Ultimately, for him, it hadn’t been enough. I just let the music flow and wash away the tensions. I had a big decision to make. If I wanted the music—this peace and calm and creative energy—to be the thing I focused on, I needed to let something else go. Assuming I could continue to win or place in the long races, I had three more cross country meets to get me through state finals. I’d already decided I wouldn’t be running track in the spring. Running was a V3 addition to my life that made me feel good, but I didn’t need to compete. I could feel just as good with a 3k or 5k run each morning before school.