Swing Time Ch. 06
"I wasn't born yet," she said dully. "I was born in 1989. You know that from my record. Is 1970 when you were born? That would make you nineteen years older than me, right?"
Olaffsen couldn't help a slight snort of laughter. Had this girl even taken arithmetic?
"Miss Fairchild, I turned fifty-five this year. I am thirty-seven years older than you are. With poor family planning, you could even be my granddaughter."
"But love conquers all." Even as she said it, she knew she had lost. Several more tears rolled down her pretty face.
Jake tried another tack. "Let's back up a second, okay?" Hearing no answer, he continued. "Do you remember what you wanted me to do?"
Hillary raised her head. "To sleep with me. To take my virginity." Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her.
He nodded. "I did that." The urge to hold her, to comfort her, was powerful. Olaffsen called on every form of discipline he had ever known to stay exactly where he was.
Hillary's answering nod was more of a trembling of her chin. "I guess I should say thank you."
"No, I don't mean that. Hillary, there is no future for us. I'm telling you we had a wonderful time, and that's all we were entitled to. It's more than we were supposed to have."
She stood to go and struggled into her backpack. The gesture was a blatant reminder of her youth, a billboard she failed to notice.
Olaffsen looked at the defeat in her face. It killed him. Yet he refused to stand up for her; he could not take a chance on her running into his arms. It was better this way. He clenched his molars.
"I guess you don't want me to sue you," she said at last.
His only answer was in his eyes. He didn't speak; she was almost out the door.
"Just one thing," she turned back.
"Yes?"
"What's up with 1970? Does this have something to do with the 7 on your arm?"
He lied to her for the first and only time. "No. It was just an example."
Hillary Fairchild nodded, and shut the door behind her.
* * *
The last week of school was bittersweet for Hillary. She treasured the glimpses of her lover in the hall, and dreaded them at the same time. All of her classmates wondered about her red eyes. There was gossip and speculation. At one point she was even summoned to the guidance counselor's office. The lady demanded to know if Hillary was pregnant.
Hillary laughed out loud. "No! Not a chance." Jake had never failed to use a condom. She probably ought to thank him for that, too.
"What's wrong, then?"
The senior simply shook her head. The blonde curls rustled over her shoulders.
"Miss Fairchild, it's not only my job to look after your mental health. I really care about you. Did you break up with a boyfriend?"
"My grandmother died. She and I were very close."
The counselor could not force the truth; neither could she help a child who refused to talk. She wrote up the hall pass, a slip of increasingly meaningless paper, and handed it over.
* * *
It was a beautiful day for the exercises. The school set up a temporary stage at one end of the football field. The graduating seniors sat in rows of uncomfortable folding chairs, while their parents sat on the hard benches of the stadium.
The school board superintendent made the first speech. Most of the students had no idea who he was, and didn't particularly care. They thought of him as a droning old man, a pompous ass who stood up for no other reason than that he liked to hear himself talk.
They were not entirely correct.
True, he gave them the typical admonishments to which graduating seniors are subject: success in life is not measured in gold, or status. And the word "commencement" means "beginning."
The speech then took an uncommon turn.
"Students,... proud parents,... community. Four years ago in the wake of budget cuts we looked for ways to tighten our belts, and the music program suffered drastic cutbacks."
Jake Olaffsen did not smile, but his shoulders were exceptionally straight. The superintendent continued.
"This year our school experienced some unfortunate incidents. I cannot help but think, that perhaps a student engaged in musical practice, might avoid spending that time in criminal activity."
Craig Stewart inwardly rolled his eyes. The man made it sound as if Craig was some kind of thug, just waiting for a chance to commit mayhem. Don't shoot! Learn this chart first! He held still, only slightly pursing his lips.
"I am so proud of you, ladies and gentleman, for voting this spring, to reinstate, full funding, for the music program. I am moved, that two of our young people, missed the music, so much, that they requested, private auditions, in order to play.
"An old administrator, even older than myself, if you can believe it —" he paused in hopes of laughter, and the crowd gave him a little "— he told me, on occasions such as these, 'Be brief. They'll think you're a genius.' " This time the crowd did laugh. A few people cheered.
"I don't know if I'm a genius, but I do know, that showing you, something, is more important than telling you. And so, without further ado, to show you, the power of music, I give you, in their final performance: Swing Time."
Allie warmed up a tweedly-dee note and pointed at Hillary. The two women smiled at each other, and Hillary stepped in close to the mike.
"You're nobody 'til somebody loves you
You're nobody 'til somebody cares
You may be king, you may possess the world and its gold
But gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing old.
"The world still is the same, BUT WE CAN CHANGE IT!"
The seniors roared.
"...As sure as the stars shine above
You're nobody 'til somebody loves you
So find yourself somebody to love."
To her credit, Hillary didn't cry. She repeated the last verse, and didn't even glance at the man who had taught her so much. All of her energy funneled into the music. Her bearing was proud and passionate.
After the music, after the cheering and the noise and the speaking of each name, the crowd broke up fairly quickly. The high school principal and school board superintendent thanked the band members and wish them well, and at last, Swing Time stood on the stage by themselves.
Stan cleared his throat and addressed his fellows. "We will not pass this way again. I would like to offer a short preayer to bless our journey."
"Agreed," said Jake. He stood up from behind his drums and put one arm around Allison and the other around Craig. Stan put his arms around the shoulders of Craig and Hillary; the circle drew in.
Stan spoke a simplified version of the traditional blessing.
"Lord our God, God of our ancestors, lead us toward peace, guide our footsteps toward peace, and make us reach our desired destination for life, gladness, and peace. May You rescue us from every foe and ambush along the way, and may You bless the work of our hands. Lord grant us grace, kindness, and mercy in Your eyes and in the eyes of all who see us. May You hear the sound of our humble request, Adonai, Who hears all prayers."
"Amen," said everyone. Each hugged the other in turn. Their emotions were bittersweet, even those of Allison and David, whose futures were promised to one another. Swing Time would never be again.
Stan helped Dave roll away the piano, and Allison carried the bass and clarinet toward the car. Hillary had nothing to carry but her diploma and the day's program; she wandered toward the school to get the last of her things from her locker. Craig's guitar took but a moment to zip away.
Olaffsen was the last man in the theatre. Packing up a drum kit takes time. He went through the practiced movements with his customary care.
Stan Katz took his daughter and future son-in-law to a nice café. Allison made a big deal out of waving her left hand around. The diamond on her finger wasn't huge, but it was true. It twinkled and sparkled in every ray of light.
Craig Stewart drifted back to the music room. He thought maybe he'd intercept Mr. Olaffsen, and thank him in some final kind of way, for having taken a chance on him back in January. He wandered about the room.
Memories brushed a swirling fog in every corner. He really was glad he'd picked up a guitar, and offered up thanks for his parents, too.
For no special reason, he sat down at the upright piano and opened the lid. His ear was still so inexpert that he couldn't tell whether it was in tune or not. Clumsily he tapped at the keys. Plink, plink, plink. Plink, plink, plink. Jingle all the way. David Hemingway. Christ. Some people were so fucking lucky, and had no idea.
The door swung open, and in walked Hillary Fairchild. She sat down beside him on the bench.
"I wonder if I should apologize to you, too."
Hillary looked surprised. "What for?"
"You know. For fall semester. For all the stupid things I did."
"You never did anything to me."
"That's true...physically, anyway." Craig was so, so tired of being judged for his past.
Hillary didn't really seem to be where he was. She, too, looked as if memories were pouring through her hands like hypnotic gems. A deep breath roused her and she seemed to shake it off.
"So are you here to see Mr. Olaffsen?"
"Yeah, I wanted to thank him."
"For the lesson."
"You mean lessons, don't you?"
"No." Hillary shook her head. "Don't you remember that plaque in his office? 'Here and Now.' You can't live in the future, or the past. I think that's the most important thing he taught us."
-FIN-
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LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
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