Chapter 12: Not Just Another New Year's Eve

December 10, 1980

November turned into December; Thanksgiving flew by and Christmas approached. Patti and Evie were regular visitors in our house every Saturday. I was proud of myself for arranging that weekly get-together; it was proving to be quite beneficial not only for myself and both of them, but for my family as well.

I continued to focus on my schoolwork. I believed things were improving drastically, especially in French class, where Patti’s assistance had given me a big boost. The real indication would come in the round of exams right before Christmas break. But I already felt certain that my second quarter report card would show the great improvement I needed to push all thoughts of my accident from everyone’s mind.

Two other academic issues also captured some of my attention. I’d taken the SAT for the second time the previous weekend, and had taken steps ahead of time to prepare myself for it. I wanted to make sure I scored well, again, to avoid speculation about long-term effects of my lightning strike. Also, our school guidance counselor had pushed everyone in the senior class to get their college applications out before Christmas break. That is very early, almost absurdly so, but his rationale was that it would give us time to make an informed decision. I’d already completed and sent the application to Rutgers, which for me, was the only one that really mattered. But for my parents’ sake, I had to make an honest effort in appearing to consider other schools. To humor Dad, I was planning to apply to Princeton and Penn, although I knew I didn’t stand an ice cube’s chance in hell of getting into either of those places. I also planned to apply to the University of Delaware, and one of three Philly-area schools: Villanova, St. Joseph’s or Drexel.

Socially, I was treading water, mostly because school was taking up so much of my time these days. I’d seen Diana around the school a time or two, but she appeared to want to have nothing to do with me. Oh, well. C’est la vie. I still hung out with the same group of people at lunch time.

Today, at lunch, the main topic of conversation was something that was on everyone’s mind: the tragic murder of John Lennon two days previously. Eventually, the dialogue veered in another direction: the status of our college applications.

“I feel like an idiot in this crowd,” Andy joked. He was the one among us who was likely not college-bound, for he was a struggling student, although he was a hell of a nice guy. “I might be going to a community college in the fall. We’ll see. Where are the rest of you applying? I’m curious.”

I spoke first, running down my list of schools. “But I’m going to Rutgers. No question about that.”

Joe went next. “I want to go out of state,” he said, “but not too far away. I’m applying to Delaware, Penn State, and a few of the Philly schools.” Thus, I’d probably be wishing Joe good luck and good-bye at graduation.

After Joe came Patti; she was in a completely different league from the rest of us. “I want a top-notch pre-med program. I’m looking at Princeton, Columbia, Penn; also Johns Hopkins, and Duke.” I had already figured that Patti was destined to follow a different path from the rest of us, and I felt a little sad about that. But she could unquestionably get into schools like those, so why wouldn’t she? She was a special case.

“Most likely I’m going to Rutgers,” Evie offered, smiling in my direction. “Mom is trying to talk me into going someplace else, so I’ll probably apply to a couple of other schools, just to please her.”

God bless your Mom, Evie, but you have to resist her! I thought. Not only regarding your college choice, but your hair as well! Of course, Evie had chosen Rutgers in the other timeline; I fervently hoped nothing would happen to influence that choice this time.

Finally it was Dave’s turn. “Rutgers all the way, baby,” he grinned. “A top-notch, grade A party school. Not even gonna bother applying anywhere else.”

I sighed inwardly, wondering just what I was going to do about Dave.

That evening, I was in my bedroom, strumming away on the guitar which Eileen had lent to me. Learning the guitar was one non-academic pleasure I’d allowed myself to continue to enjoy. Hey, I needed some outlet, or else I’d lose my mind. I’d blown through the beginner and intermediate lessons on my own. I didn’t think I’d ever be an outstanding guitarist; I just wanted to become competent.

I began to dig into my collection of sheet music, the vast majority of which I’d acquired before the lightning strike, in search of other tunes to learn on the guitar. One in particular, buried near the bottom of the box, grabbed my attention: “Morning Has Broken”, for guitar and piano. An idea began to form inside my head. Specifically, I envisioned another brother-sister bonding experience, if only Eileen would be agreeable.

I knew that the musically talented Eileen had gotten her start with church music. “Morning Has Broken” is, in essence, a religious song. In fact, it was better known as a hymn until Cat Stevens recorded the popular version in the early seventies. Stevens’ version is pretty much a simple mix of piano, acoustic guitar and vocals. I spent the next hour or so getting the chords down. Then, I decided to convince Eileen to learn the piano part.

I knocked on her door. The usual “Come in!” was, this time, accompanied by giggles. I stepped inside the room. Eileen was there, along with Chrissy Hannigan, who seemed to be all but living at our house these days.

I muttered a quick greeting to Chrissy, then spoke to Eileen. “I had a crazy idea just now. Do you think you could learn this piece on the piano?” I handed her the sheet music.

Eileen looked at me doubtfully. “I dunno ... why?”

“Just an idea I had for a little collaboration,” I grinned.

My sister appeared on the verge of saying no, when Chrissy stepped in and saved the day.

“Why not, Eileen? Give it a try. It should be fun.”

Eileen sighed, but then a smile of resignation crossed her face. “Okay, Mr. Piano Instructor. You win. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Eileen. And thanks, Chrissy,” I said with a smile. Sometimes, peer pressure is a good thing.

They went downstairs; I stayed behind, but listened carefully as Eileen began to pound the ivories. She was clumsy at first, but in typical fashion, she learned quickly. When I believed she was almost ready, down the stairs I went with the guitar.

“My idea is very simple,” I explained to Eileen. “You do the piano part, and I’ll handle the vocals and the guitar.”

“Oh, this should be amazing!” Chrissy squealed. Eileen didn’t seem as confident about that, but she nonetheless nodded, motioning for me to begin.

It took us several tries to even approximate mastering it. Of course, no one else knew this, but I had experience in coordinating with other musicians, whereas Eileen really didn’t, except when it came to vocals. I had to coach her through it.

“As soon as you hear me sing ‘word,’ come right in with the piano,” I directed.

But it wasn’t long until we almost had it down. Then Eileen surprised me with a little innovation of her own. She began to sing along with me, harmonizing beautifully. I nodded my head in pleasant surprise. Wow!

When that run-through was complete, a burst of applause exploded behind us. Mom and Dad had wandered in. The two of them, along with Chrissy, had been watching in amazement.

“Pat, Eileen, that was simply gorgeous!” gushed Mom, bursting with pride.

Dad added, “You two should record that one!”

We performed it a couple more times, for our very appreciative audience, then I put an end to the mini-concert.

“My voice is getting hoarse,” I rationalized, waving off all requests for one more encore.

“Now I need to ask a favor of you, Pat,” Eileen whispered to me, out of earshot of the others.

“What kind of favor?” I asked curiously.

“Chrissy wants to play a duet with you on the piano. Can you humor her?”

And so, I motioned Chrissy over. We went through “Heart and Soul” a couple of times, and then the two girls dashed upstairs.

As I was heading up to my own room, I passed Dad, who was sitting in his favorite chair, inexplicably grinning at me.

“What’s so funny?” I asked him.

“I think little Chrissy has a crush on you,” he said, laughing.

I just shrugged off that remark. I had too many other things on my plate right now, and in truth, Chrissy was not even close to being on my radar, girl-wise.

December 20, 1980

“I think you’ll manage without my help this week,” Patti had said to me the day before, a Friday. “Way to go! All you needed was a little help with the basic stuff.”

I’d just learned that I’d gotten a B-plus on what amounted to the mid-term exam for the second quarter in French class. Yes, I was making solid progress.

“Don’t be modest. You deserve some of the credit for that,” I told her. “And I’ll miss having you and Evie over tomorrow.”

“We’ll continue our little Saturday tradition after the holidays, okay? But I have some family stuff to do tomorrow. It’s the Saturday before Christmas.”

Thus, I had a free Saturday afternoon. But I still had exams scheduled on Monday and Tuesday of next week, before Christmas break got underway. I needed to find a quiet place to study. My solution? The public library. Mom dropped me off at around noon.

I buried my face into my books for a couple of hours, then decided to take a break. I happened to notice the library’s large collection of telephone directories from all over the country. I had a rare opportunity to research a couple of topics of interest. My parents, of course, had a copy of the local directory delivered to our house every year, but the most recent one had long since disappeared.

However, here at the library, I found the current local directory in short order. I flipped to the “L” section, and then looked for the name “Li”. And there it was: the listing for Paul Li’s parents. Here was actual confirmation that Paul, my good friend in the other timeline, and bassist extraordinaire as well, was pretty certain to be alive and well in this one too. Not only that, but he lived at the same address where he’d grown up the first time around. In this life, his place would be about five miles away from ours.

So, what to do about that? I had the same dilemma I had upon meeting Evie for the first time in this life. I couldn’t very well walk up to his front door, ring the bell, and say to him, “Hi! I’m Pat O’Malley. We’re destined to be good friends.” But I had to figure something out! Paul had been a very faithful, lifelong friend in the other life, even closer in some ways than Dave. I’d grown up with him, and then worked with him professionally as an adult. His level-headedness had often kept me grounded.

But all I could tell myself at this point was... I need to give some more thought to this matter.

And so, I put aside the local directory and switched to my other concern of this nature. I found several directories from Florida; Miami, Jacksonville, Tampa, Orlando and the like. I began searching for one surname: Trujillo.

I tried to recall the information about Inez that the older version of Evie had given me right before I was sent back to 1980. At this point in time, Inez was supposed to be living in Florida with her parents, who would die in a car accident a few years from now. Inez herself was probably about to get knocked up by an abusive boyfriend.

But I quickly realized that this project would bear no fruit; at least not right now. Evie had not mentioned the part of Florida where Inez had grown up. And there were many Trujillos in the various directories, particularly in the Miami one. Furthermore, any listing would have used the names of her parents, not Inez. And their names were, of course, unknown to me.

In 2007, I could have just Googled “Inez Trujillo” and probably gathered enough information to find her. This was 1980, however, and if the phone book wouldn’t suffice, I was shit out of luck. Remember, I was a 17-year old with no transportation and no income. I sure couldn’t afford a detective or a trip to Florida. I concluded that any attempt to track down Inez, to find out what she knew about my trip back in time, would not happen soon. Maybe I’d even have to wait till I reached full adulthood. Thus, I pushed all thoughts of Inez, and what I believed she’d done to me, back into the furthest corners of my mind.

Mom picked me up at about four o’clock and mentioned that I’d received a phone call.

“Dave called,” she related. “I told him you’d call him as soon as you got home.”

“Hey buddy,” Dave’s voice came over the phone, a few minutes later, “wanna come over? I had a brainstorm.”

“Really?” I uttered in response, curious as to what his idea was.

“Yeah. I just talked to Evie, and she’s coming, too. Think you can manage to bring your keyboard over here?”

I grinned widely. Now this was something to look forward to!

I sheepishly asked Mom if she’d give me another lift. I then managed to squeeze my keyboard into the back seat of her car. I had to partially disassemble it.

At the Mancuso residence, Dave and Evie helped me put the keyboard back together in the garage. Dave, of course, had his drums set up there. Evie had brought her saxophone. This, naturally, conjured up memories. Lots of them. In this very same location, we as high school seniors had jammed together, laying the foundation for our band. In the other timeline, it had been Dave, Paul, and myself. This time around, it was Dave, Evie and me.

There was one song I wanted to try right away: the tune Evie and her two friends had performed at the talent show, “Just the Way You Are”. And as luck would have it, Evie had brought a copy of the music.