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Three girls find they have a lot more in common than their music...
yuki's wish - playing, freedom, music...all for what if not to be the girl i am

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yuki's wish

playing, freedom, music
all for what if not to be
the girl i am

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The Takahashi home...Perth Amboy, New Jersey...Monday morning...

“Luke? I’m off to work,” the voice called from the living room.

“Okay, Mama San,” Luke Takahashi called from the hallway. He walked into the livingroom just in time to say a proper good bye to his mother, Margaret Karenski.

“Did you call the salon to see if Marty is working this afternoon?” Margaret stared at his head; more to the point, his hair, which had grown down to his shoulders.

“He’s off to visit his mom in the city…won’t be back until Tuesday.” Luke smiled and kissed his mother on the fly as she flitted from the living room to the kitchen.

“Lukey…have you seen my car keys?” She was almost in a panic. Newly promoted to department manager, she wanted to make a strong impression on her first day. Her drive to work was only ten minutes and work started more than an hour later. Luke grabbed her sleeve as she rushed by and pulled her close and kissed her once again.

“Right on the counter where you always leave them, Mom!” He chuckled and scooped them off the counter and tossed them to her like a pitcher leading the first baseman on a close play at first.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said as she stepped toward the front door.

“Mom…you’re a manager in a big company. You’d do fine.” He nodded but she shook her head.

“If I didn’t have you, my sweet baby boy, I’d be nothing.”

While he reluctantly agreed that her life would be diminished if she didn’t have him in her life, part of him…maybe most of him argued with her regarding the ‘sweet baby boy’ part of her statement.

“Go gettem’ Momma San,” he said playfully as she ran out the door. He rushed to the front window of their living room and watched her SUV pull out onto the road. A moment later he breathed out a big sigh and bit his tongue. He walked over to the Yamaha spinet and patted it on the top as if talking to an old friend.

“Be right back, okay?” He smiled and walked back down the hall to his bedroom.

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Her fingers flew across the keyboard, almost pouncing at times like a cat; other times softly like a fawn cautiously approaching a stream. She wondered if Rachmanoff would grin or grimace at her playing of his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, but she needn’t have worried. Her playing was lively and precise; superb. She, however, would be hard to convince, since she gained satisfaction only in the joy of her performance and failed to realize why everyone else considered her to be an artist at the keyboard.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and it literally bobbed as her head moved in concert with her hands. She had opted for the clip on hoops; the best she could do without alerting an already suspicious group of friends. The gold choker gleamed in the glow of the light over the music, illuminating in flashes an otherwise darkened living room.

She chose the black flats; she had not yet mastered Rachmaninoff in heels. The dress was a cream cotton, covered by a black sweater; it hugged her small breasts and draped softly across her knees and displayed her legs, which were just as animated as her hands as she pressed her sole against the pedal.

Almost in a trance, she closed her eyes. The lashes fluttered as she saw colors and shapes as the music filled the room; it became almost aromatic as well, as if the piano were in a flower-strewn meadow instead of her house in Perth Amboy. She finished the piece just as the alarm went off on the watch she had laid on top of the spinet. She wished for a Steinway Baby Grand every night at bedtime, but woke up every morning to an altogether too small house and an quite accomodating spinet.

She picked up the watch and frowned as she turned off the alarm.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay,” she said as she patted the piano before going back to her bedroom to change. If her spinet had ears, it would have heard her lying on her bed down the hall, sobbing into her pillow.

That afternoon...

“Luke, did you start supper yet?” Margaret pushed open the front door with her hip and walked quickly to the kitchen, putting the takeout on the table. She looked at the stove and noticed nothing cooking.

“Oh, crap…” She frowned as she pulled the baseball schedule off the fridge. Even on a teacher’s workday Luke still had practice. She had resigned herself to eating alone when Luke walked into the kitchen from the back door.

“Coach let us go early today; he’s got some family thing to attend. Is that Thai? Great!” Luke smiled at his mother, but his face didn’t seem happy at all.

“Honey…you can’t kid a kidder; what’s wrong?” Margaret grabbed his arm when he sat down. He turned and smiled again and was less convincing than the time before.

“I’m okay, Mom…really.”

“Yeah….well.” He got up and grabbed plates and tableware before sitting down again. They ate in silence other than the sound of the purring of their big tom who sat on the chair next to them.

“Want some Thai Beef, Ivan?” Margaret placed some food on the lid of the carryout dish in front of the cat. He eagerly went at it while Margaret turned toward Luke once again.

“Which is it?” She smiled. It was likely both, but depending upon his mood, it was likely one or the other.

“Baseball.” He lied.

“Okay…you’re the number one left hander on the team. You probably will start the first game of the season. You already have a scholarship to Seton Hall if you want, but we both know that’s not where you’re headed, honey, so what is it.

“Piano…I’m anxious.” He lied again. He was anxious, but the upcoming recital had nothing to do with it.

“EEEEahhhh.” Margaret made the sound of a buzzer from a game show. “Wrong answer, dear son of mine.” At the word son, Luke winced.

“Okay…now I’ve got something to work with. Honey, come on with me.” She stood up and started out of the kitchen, leaving him sitting at the table. A moment later she returned, only to find Luke with his head down on the table, crying.

“Honey…it’s okay…I know…come here, okay?”

He looked up to see her smiling. He stood up and followed her down the hall to her bedroom. She pointed to the bed, motioning for him to sit down. She stepped into her walk in and pulled down a box from the overhead shelf.

“These look familiar?” She pointed to the pair of navy pantyhose with very obvious runs and snags.

“And this?” She reached in and grabbed a hanger; the blue silk blouse looked rumpled.

“Honey; you’re not the first boy to ever wear his mother’s clothing. If it’s a phase, no big deal. If it’s more than that? Still no big deal.” She smiled at him until he burst into tears.

“Oh, gosh, Luke…what’s wrong. I’m okay with this; I love you, baby and nothing you could do would upset me. Okay…maybe going through a pair of Wolfords instead of the Hanes isn’t my idea of a great thing, but it’s still just clothing.” She shook her head as his tears continued and were joined by the sobbing that was only partially muffled by the comforter on the bed.

“You…yuyyyyoouuu don’t under…understaaaahnd.”

She sat down on the bed and rubbed his back.

“What don’t I understand, honey?”

“It…it’s not….” He continued to sob.

“Not what?” She said softly

“I don’t…I don’t….” He looked up into her eyes, and her solace and acceptance pulled his heart into hers.

“Ihhh…it’s not….Mom…I’m a girl.”

“I…” Margaret was at a loss for words; she wanted to comfort her son; even accept what he was saying, but it was all too confusing and unfamiliar. She tried anyway.

“Oh…..oh…okay, honey. We’ll….work through this….we….” She didn’t want to make it about her, but she immediately called to mind the day they found out that Luke Senior wasn’t coming home from London after his company laid him off. They hadn’t seen Luke’s dad in eighteen months, and with no word, they had struggled but had nearly worked through the inevitable conclusion that they’d never seen him again.

“Mommm…..I’m…soooo soorreeee……” He buried his face on her arm and continued to sob.

She felt helpless; literally, since her soulmate of nearly twenty years no longer helped at all and both she and her son still felt abandoned even after months of counseling and support. She stroked his hair and spoke softly.

“I know honey, I know.” She knew he was sorry; for exactly what she still remained unsure. But she was willing to know, which is pretty much all what any of us could ever ask for anyway.

“Mommm…..Mommma San?” He used his playful name for her. Luke was born in Perth Amboy to Shenji Takahashi and Margaret Karenski and had never set foot more than thirty or so miles outside of his home town in his nearly eighteen years of life. Never the less, he closed his eyes and thought of his grandparents, especially his grandmother in Osaka and said quietly,

“Mommy…can you call me….Yuki?”

Next: Baseball and Brahms

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Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
in A Minor, Opus 43: Variations 1 - 6
composed by Sergei Rachmaninoff
Piano solo by Yuja Wang
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYZNtApENG4