The Summer I Became, by Karin Bishop

Part 4

Chapter 10: Splashing About

The next-to-last day was clear and sunny and hot and gave no indication there’d been rain. In Improv class I told Michael that I wouldn’t be hanging around after. He got such a hang-dog expression, but I told him that a bunch of us were going to ‘the cove’, a prized swimming place that had a rock to jump from and a rope swing. He nodded and I almost relented, but I was feeling close to my girlies and Becky had scored the cove, so that was that.

After sessions we all changed quickly and trooped down to the lake and along the shore to the cove, and some of us dove in and some of us–Lulu and I–spread towels and applied sunblock. I planned to catch some rays and listen to my iPod until I got too hot and then go in. I was wearing my skimpiest bikini, since it was just us girls in the cove; it was a peach string-tie that made me feel sexy just wearing it. Lulu was in a tankini with a really neat famous painting on it; she said it was a Renoir. In between bursts of iPod listening, we chatted about this and that and just felt close. I thought that boys didn’t have anything to compare to the closeness of girls.

Finally I was so hot that sweat had pooled in my belly button and run over, trickling down my waist. Off with the iPod, I stood uncertainly, getting my balance, and then walked down to the water and kept walking. Some of the girls were out sunning themselves but Roxy and Terri and Becky were still splashing around. Suddenly there was a yell above us.

“Cowabunga!”

Of course it was the only phrase boys knew …

Two guys came zooming overhead; one had leapt from the rock and other must have gotten a running jump on the rope swing because he swung way out before releasing. They cannonballed into the water with great splashes, but as soon as they came up Becky lashed into them, yelling that this was our cabin’s beach for the day and to leave now. Roxy told her that Gabby was seeing one of the guys, and the other was kind of cute, so …could they stay a little, as long as they didn’t roughhouse too much? Becky relented and Gabby was alerted and joined them in the water. I noticed Lulu paddling along next to me and we grinned at each other.

Around the tip of the cove I could see the edge of the big floating dock in the middle of the regular swimming area. It was huge and had ladders to climb up onto it and a slide at one end, where half a dozen kids clustered. I asked Becky if I could go there for a little bit; she knew I was a strong swimmer but didn’t want to have to keep an eye out for me, but finally relented. Terri said she’d join me; she told Becky that she did laps in a pool at her ranch and was itching for some straight-ahead swimming. If we were boys we would have raced each other to the float, but it was a leisurely swim out there. We hoisted ourselves up and streamed the water from our hair. The float had Astroturf so we laid out on our tummies, chins on hands, and looked at the world.

It seemed like the whole camp was in the water, frolicking because of the heat and being cooped up last night.

Then, out of the blue, Terri said, “You know, I was scared of you at first.”

I had to laugh. “Of me? Why?”

“Because you’re so …cool. You play jazz piano, you know who you are and carry yourself like a woman of the world. I feel like a little girl around you, like Roxy.”

“God, Terri, I’m so not cool!”

She nodded. “That’s part of your coolness; you don’t think you’re cool. And you’re really pretty and curvy, not a straight up-and-down board like me.”

“Terri, you’re too hard on yourself. You kind of remind me of a young Katherine Hepburn, slim and with an elegant bearing.”

“You’re crazy. I’m a flat-as-a-pancake ranch hand, more boy than tomboy.”

I made a face, squinting my eyes as I looked at her, and then shook my head. “Nope. Don’t see it. Slim elegance, yes; more boy than tomboy? Nope.”

She wasn’t truly buying it but I could tell she was pleased. “Anyway,” she said after a moment, “I just thought you were out of my league to …you know, to hang with. But you’re not. You’re just a regular girl.”

“Terri …” I sighed. “That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

“Was the divorce really rough?” Then she laughed with shame. “I’m sorry; of course it was; they all are.”

It took me a second to remember my cover story. “It’s …roughest on Mom. Not just for the usual reasons between a husband and wife, but because of me. Um …I think she feels more of a failure at not providing a stable family for me than she does about the failure of the marriage.”

Terri looked at me sideways and smiled. “You’re going to be a great psychologist.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re just good with people; you get them. I don’t. But I get horses. They’re way more complicated than most people think but they’re not mean. Well,” she chuckled. “One or two are. But none that I’ve raised …but you see into people and want to help them feel better and I think that’s great.”

“Thanks, Terri. I just wish …”

After a pause. “What?”

I took a deep breath. “I just wish I’d had you all in my life earlier. It would’ve made things easier.”

As she had in the past, she reached out and squeezed my hand and then released it. I rolled onto my back and she did the same awhile later. The gentle rocking of the float, with the small waves splashing against it, lulled me and I may have dozed, but then I heard a male voice.

“Two-five-one in A flat major.”

“B flat minor, dominant seventh optional, E flat dominant seventh. And A flat major seventh. Hey, Michael.” I shaded my eyes and turned; he was in the lake, holding onto the edge of the float next to my head.

“I thought you guys got the cove today?” He used a hand to wipe water from his face.

“We did. We do. They’re all …” I vaguely pointed. “Terri and I wanted some straight-out swimming so we came here.”

“Gotta go back,” Terri said. “I’m heading for Lobster-ville!” She looked down her front, frowning.

Michael pulled himself onto the float effortlessly and I couldn’t help but look at his body. It was muscled and more mature than the boy slumped over the piano would indicate. He sat opposite me, leaning back on his hands.

“Hey,” he grinned.

“Hey,” I grinned back.

“Yeah …right,” Terri snickered. “Hey, listen, I’m heading back to the cove.”

“We’re not supposed to separate, remember?” I said, rising slowly.

There was a moment, a pause, and Terri said, “I think I see a girl I need to talk to in my …Conducting class. Um …can you wait a bit before we swim back?”

Knowing full well that she was allowing me time to talk to Michael, I nodded and said, “Yeah, I suppose so. I mean …Conducting …yeah, go talk to her.”

She gave me a look of ‘why-I-oughta!’ and then grinned and went over to the group of kids on the end of the float, near the slide.

We watched her go and then looked at each other. I was amazed again at how fit he looked, and suddenly realized I was staring, and then realized that he was staring at me, and that my breasts were rising and falling with my breathing and were only barely covered by the skimpy bikini. And my bikini bottoms just covered my crotch. Instinctively I put my ankles together, touching knees, too.

“You didn’t think I got the two-five-one thing?” I asked, for want of anything else to say that wasn’t embarrassing.

It’s one of the standard chord structures that popular music–and many jazz standards–use. Like the opening of As Time Goes By; the lyrics ‘You must remember this’ are built around the minor chord built up on the second note of the scale the song’s written in. ‘A kiss is just a kiss’ uses the chord built on the fifth note of the scale, written in Roman Numerals as V, with a dominant seventh note, meant to flat the seventh note of the scale, and then ‘A sigh is just a sigh’ brings you back home to the tonic, the key the song’s written in, the base. Home. For Sound of Music lovers, it would be ‘re-so-do’. In jazz the minor chords are written in lower case, so Michael’s little quiz were the chords I’d told him, and would be written as ii-V7-I in A flat.

For someone coming from a classical background like I had, it was Brave New World. With classical music, I never had to bother with the interior structure of the music I was playing; all I had to do was read the notes and my fingers went straight to them without thinking–thank you, Madame Berdichev! But in jazz, I had to learn the scalar notes in all twelve keys, and visualize the chords built upon every scalar note in each key, as well as the structure of each chord. I mean, really learn them, by heart, like I’d just recited to Michael. I learned a lot in my Jazz Theory and Improv classes, but it was those after-class sessions with Michael that really drilled this stuff into me.

“I know you got it; but it seemed like a nice conversation starter,” he grinned.

I liked his honesty. I liked his strong body. I liked his intuitive creativity at the keyboard. I liked his maleness. I liked him.

And I blushed, but it probably wasn’t noticeable in the late afternoon light.

We sat next to each other, facing each other, legs outstretched and leaning on our hands. I looked from his chest to his face and into his eyes, and we locked eyes. I could feel something between us; I knew it wasn’t my imagination.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for …” He lowered his voice, glancing around. “Thank you for the kiss.”

“You deserved it; you were sweet,” I said, with a little voice in my head thrilled at how easily I took to girlspeak.

“Still …” He looked off, and then back to me. “It was very nice.”

“Michael,” I began. “I know the rules say that girls aren’t supposed to let on that they like a boy …”

“Um …” he said with a noncommittal nod of the head.

“…until the boy makes the first move. But we’re only here two weeks.”

“That’s true,” he said.

The rat! He was going to make me do all the work! Alright, then, I thought …

“So I’m suspending the rules for a bit. Michael, I like you. I’m having trouble concentrating when we work together in session.”

“Me, too. To both. I like you, Hannah. Not just because you’re a very pretty girl, but your mind, your …playing …” He shrugged. “And I have trouble concentrating around you.”

“Could we …” I looked over at the group of kids and saw Terri watching us, an eyebrow raised. I turned back to Michael. “Could we maybe get together later to …you know, to talk?”

“You mean like tonight? I think it’s Stupid Counselor Tricks,” he said, referring to the scheduled event.

“After. I gotta cheer Becky on, but there’s an hour after that …”

“Piano lab?”

“It’s locked at that hour.”

“No, no; I meant meet at the piano lab. Maybe take a walk?”

I felt a burst of happy anticipation. “Yeah. Um …see you!” I said and got up quickly, motioning to Terri who was already moving toward me. I said to her, “Ready?” and we both dove–taking care to secure our tops!–and headed back, this time swimming strongly as if we were racing. But not racing; we were just enjoying the strong feeling of moving fast. Halfway to the cove I turned and looked back; Michael was still sitting there but shielding his eyes with one hand and watching me. I smiled, turned, and followed Terri.

Chapter 11: Night Moves

Either Terri told the other girls or they knew by some chick-radar, but everybody knew I was going to take A Walk In The Woods with Michael later that night. They bustled about, deciding what clothes I should wear and what makeup I should wear. Becky pulled me aside and reminded me of the camp’s policy on PDAs–Public Displays of Affection–which was loosely upheld in practice, but walking in the woods …well, something might happen, and though Michael seemed a decent guy, she gave me some tips for self-protection.

“Becky, he’s a nice guy and he’s not gonna jump me,” I grinned.

“You never know; you never know,” she said vaguely.

“You never know what?”

Becky grinned wickedly. “You never know who’s gonna do the jumping!”

It was decided I’d wear a tiered denim skirt of Gabby’s with a poet’s blouse that Lauren had, oddly enough. Roxy did something with my hair and a ribbon and I thought I looked like a young Judy Garland, sort of. I wore more makeup than I normally would to a campfire (‘normally’ equaled ‘zero’) and had lipstick in a pocket of the skirt. And finally, like a benediction or something, a small spritz of some fantastic perfume from Becky. The girls clustered around me, loving the scent, and then off we went, arm-in-arm-in-arm, to support Becky, who would be playing guitar and singing.

The campfire was raucous once more, and we sat and yelled and laughed and clapped and cheered. Some of the counselors were musicians and some obviously weren’t; their job wasn’t music instruction, it was to take care of us. Becky surprised me, though. She came at a point where everyone was tired from laughing, and she played a guitar figure over and over, gentle and hypnotic, until everybody settled, and she began singing an early Joni Mitchell song, “For Free”, in a clear soprano. By the time she got to the lines, “But the one man band, by the quick lunch stand; He was playing real good, for free” the entire camp was absolutely silent, in awe, carried along by the purity of her voice and the poignancy of the song. And since some of us might become big stars like the woman in the song, and some of us might be playing on street corners like the man in the song, it meant more than almost any other song could have.

She finished and there was a lingering moment as we all savored the last ringing chord and then a thunderous applause caused Becky to blush, bob her head, and rejoin our group. The applause didn’t die down; now campers were standing and looking at her; she bobbed her head again and waved like it was just a little thing. We all stood, facing her, clapping and cheering loudly. Terri hugged Becky, and whispered in her ear, and whatever she said got Becky to stand as the applause washed over. The bonfire gave a particularly loud ‘pop!’ of cracking wood that startled everyone; then they laughed and the applause ended and we all sat. If Becky could have smiled any bigger her face would split. We were all so proud of her!

There were no prizes or places announced; it was to be a night of fun but everybody knew Becky had contributed something special and after the final camp song we all headed back to our cabins with a glow of happiness from Becky’s singing.

Making my way through our girls, I hugged Becky and told her how incredible she’d been. She waved it away but was blushing and then looked me in the eyes. “Thank you, Hannah. Hearing it from you …it means a lot to me. Okay,” she drew a deep breath. “I’m going to send you out into the wilderness. Come back in one piece? Please?”

I hugged her again and felt a tear in my eye. All I said was, “You bet.” Then Becky turned and led the girls toward our cabin; one by one they turned and looked at me. Roxy gave me a thumbs-up, Lulu gave me a jumping wave, and Terri gave me a deep, deep smile and a sigh. Then they disappeared up the trail and I followed other clumps of people in the direction of the piano lab.

And Michael was there at the steps to the lab, wearing a jean jacket, black t-shirt and jeans and not looking like James Dean or anything but looking very cool.

“Hi,” I said brilliantly.

“Hi. Um …I’m glad you could come,” he said, and then blushed, at least as far as I could tell in the mercury lamps.

“Locked?” I gestured to the doors.

“Yeah. I knew they would be …but I knew that you knew where it was.”

“Do we sit, or …”

“We could walk …”

He started walking slowly and I fell into step with him, conscious of how light my blouse was, the slight jiggle of my breasts with every step, the swishing of my skirt, and my light scent in the breeze. I was intensely conscious of how feminine I felt. And I was intensely conscious of how male Michael was. Walking one of the paths toward the lake, we were alone, and I had this fleeting feeling that there was nobody else on earth, like we were the only male and only female …and I don’t think I’d ever felt less male than that moment.

Michael led me off the path through the trees. He seemed to know where he was going but wasn’t familiar with it; twice he stopped, looked at the trees and slightly changed direction as we moved uphill.

“A guy in my cabin told me about this place; he said it should be right …about …”

We came out onto a slight promontory overlooking the lake. I recognized the cove off to our left, but hadn’t noticed this place from the water. There was a nearly-full moon out, reflecting on the lake. A tree had fallen close to the edge and Michael sat. I sat next to him, smoothing my skirt under me and folding my hands in my lap.

Michael slightly cleared his throat. “Um …I wasn’t sure why you stayed after, the first few times. I mean, you didn’t seem to …know anything about jazz. Sorry if that sounds snobby or something.”

“No, no; you’re right. I didn’t know anything about jazz. I mean, I’d heard some, you know, Dixieland and Big Band, and that Charley Brown stuff.”

“Vince Guaraldi. Great guy. Died too young.”

There was a moment of silence. I said, “I really didn’t know. So, yeah, I didn’t know anything, but I liked what I was learning, and I liked …”

He looked at me questioningly, but I frowned trying to put into words feelings that I’d only discovered recently. “I love playing piano. I love the physical feel of it and I love the music. The precision of Bach and Scarlatti, the emotion and passion of Debussy, and, omigod–Mozart …but lately I’ve been feeling that it’s all …I don’t know …retreads.” I giggled a little.

“Retreads?”

“People have been playing Mozart for over two hundred years. So when I play a C sharp at measure 156, I know that over two hundred years of people–thousands and thousands, millions of people, probably–have played that C sharp at measure 156. There’s a really neat …continuity about it, like passing the torch through the generations, sort of, but …”

“You’re just retreading the tire?”

“Well, I thought of it as walking where they’d walked, but, yeah. But with jazz …sure, you’ve got standards in jazz, too, but the looseness of it, the ability to have ten different people play the same song–the same structure–with ten different interpretations …it’s scary and exhilarating at the same time.”

He grinned at me in the darkness. “You’re converted.”

I grinned back. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, during lunch today I slipped into the lab and cranked out some Bach and it felt great, you know, but then the seat-of-the-pants thing with jazz …” I shook my head with wonder.

“I don’t think you were seat-of-the-pants; from what I remember, you were wearing a skirt today. And now.”

I blushed for some stupid reason and turned away. “You know what I mean. So I don’t want you to think I’m …dabbling or anything. I want to keep studying jazz when I get home.” I chuckled at a thought. “I’ll have to find a new teacher; jazz would give my teacher a heart attack. Russian.”

“Yeah, I know teachers like that,” he said, nodding. “But, where is home? That’s kind of why I wanted to talk with you tonight. You know, to find out things about you. I don’t even know where you live.”

“I’m not sure where I live right now.” I knew I’d have to stick to my camp story, so I told him the general details that I’d worked out, about the divorce, with the new info from Mom’s recent letter. “I think I know where I’m going to be living,” and I told him about the apartment. It wasn’t important where I’d lived before, so we glossed over that.

Michael told me about his town, about an hour’s drive from our new apartment, and some funny stories about his quest to learn about jazz.

“You’re dedicated,” I said, admiringly.

“You’re pretty dedicated, yourself,” he smiled.

“I love the piano but I don’t think I can make a career of it.”

“And what do you want to do?”

I told him about wanting to study psychology, and he told me about a famous jazz musician–like another Bill Evans, Michael said!–in San Francisco, named Denny Zeitlin, who was also a practicing psychiatrist. I realized, why does it have to be either-or? I was living, walking proof that there weren’t as many limitations as people thought.

“You’re an amazing girl, Hannah,” Michael said.

I stifled a laugh. ‘You don’t know the half of it’, I thought. Instead, I said, “Um …just a girl. But thanks.”

I was embarrassed and sheepishly looked at him. The light from the moon overhead, and reflected off the water, made his face glow slightly. I realized he was leaning slowly to me, and without thinking I inhaled as I tilted my head, rising to meet his. Our lips touched, pulled away, and touched again, more firmly. His lips were soft but strong and I found my lips moving on their own and there was a catch in my breath and I pulled away, looking into his eyes for a moment, and then my right arm went around him as my left gently touched his cheek and I leaned in to kiss him again. It was sweet; it was amazing; it was all I’d ever dreamed a kiss could be …

When that kiss ended, he put his arm around me squeezed me gently, then kissed the top of my head and we sat there, holding hands and gazing at the view as a slight wind came up, rippling the water and the moon’s image, rustling my hair and my blouse. I shivered involuntarily and Michael took his arm away, stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. My arms crossed, holding it closed, and I looked up at him again and we kissed again and his arm draped around me.

We sat there, rocking slightly to some unknown music.

Chapter 12: New Home

The last day was filled with mini-closing ceremonies. The instructors in each session had little ribbons or certificates to hand out to everybody, serious or humorous, from ‘Best Fingering’, to ‘Best Friend to Dog’s Hearing’, for a particularly squeaky clarinet. There was no indication from Michael that we were anything other than classmates; we’d discussed this and had it planned. Still, the thought of no more after-session sessions with him–and no more kisses–brought a lump to my throat.

Most of us had done our packing before the day started, but there was this flurry of activity after the last session and before the final flag-lowering ceremony. Everything we’d brought was tagged and placed in piles in front of our cabin for pickup, and we went to the flag ceremony. These girls were so important to me; they were my initiation into girlhood, without their knowing it, and while a part of me felt terrible for having deceived them, I knew now–beyond any dispute–that I was a girl through-and-through. I had fully, completely, become a girl. So I was proud and humbled to stride into the campfire area for the last time, holding hands with Becky, Lauren, Roxy, Gabby, Terri, and Lulu–my girlies.

We heard some speeches and sang the camp song for the last time and then walked slowly to the parking lot area where the buses were being loaded with our color-tagged belongings. Every cabin group clustered around itself, hugging and crying if they were girls, or high-fiving and shouting ‘yo!” if they were boys. Then kids that had made friends with other kids from other cabins drifted off to say goodbye. I was standing with Lulu, giving her a special hug, and then she tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to Michael in the distance and gave me a gentle shove in his direction.

I walked slowly to him, shyly at first, and then with more urgency the closer I got to him. The next thing I knew I had walked right up to him, flung my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was heaven, but when it ended, I grinned at him and dimly heard some yells of approval from some of my cabin mates. We’d already exchanged emails and phone numbers–I couldn’t give him one yet since we were moving–and the buses all did a group honk and it was time to go. I stood on tiptoes to give Michael one last kiss, squeezed his hands and turned to run to my bus.

The bus ride home passed as in a dream; I was tired and happy beyond words. We pulled into the parking lot and there was Mom, waiting with the others, and I got off the bus and flung myself into her arms. She pulled me back and held me at arms’ length.

“I can’t believe you’re the same girl!”

“I’m not, Mom,” I grinned.

“So tanned, and so …so …”

“So happy to be a girl, Mom,” I said softly.

She hugged me again. “Oh, my lord, honey, camp seems to have agreed with you.”

“Oh, it did, it did; although you might discover that I’m into jazz now!”

“Oh, my lord, jazz …well, I always liked it. Have you heard of Bill Evans?”

“Mo-ther! Have you been holding out on me?” I teased.

She grinned. “Part of my checkered past. But enough about my past, you can tell me all about your past two weeks while we drive home.”

“Home …and where is home, now?”

We started walking to the car, her arm around me. “Well, it was a close thing–somebody else wanted the apartment–but we got that lovely one around the pool. And I paid a bonus and got your room painted.”

“A bonus?”

“Yeah, like a cleaning deposit. So your room is a light lavender color with white trim, and they delivered your bedroom set. I put all your clothes away in a …you know, a general way. You can rearrange them, of course.”

“I’m in your hands, Mom,” I grinned. “God, my own room …”

She chuckled. “Honey, you’ve always had a room!”

“Not a girl’s room!”

She hugged me. “And you’re a girl; so why wouldn’t you have a girl’s room?”

The End

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“Waltz for Debby”
Bill Evans Trio (1965)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dH3GSrCmzC8
Swedish television, I believe. Chuck Israels on bass; Larry Bunker, drums.

Solo with Tony Bennett (no video) (1975)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsb8mYrYycE&feature=related
Yes, it’s Evans with weight and a beard. He didn’t accompany singers, but did two great albums with Bennett.

Oscar Peterson Trio (1964)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBvf30C_x-8
With Ray Brown, bass, and Ed Thigpen, drums.

Oscar Peterson Solo (starting at 3:30) (1983)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02ogyvI5GM8
JATP All Stars in Japan, playing “’Round Midnight” and “Waltz for Debby” (prodigious technique!)

“For Free”
Joni Mitchell live on BBC (1970)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmzN1p5q2sY

Denny Zeitlin On Psychiatry and Jazz
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKN_yHX0frk