Three Girls Book Two Chapter Seven Serenades and Sadness by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

Perugino’s Restaurant, Luzerne, Pennsylvania, Wednesday evening...

Alan smiled politely at the "patrons" as they departed, despite the teasing and catcalls. Boys of a certain age…maybe of many ages…love to tease their peers whom they deem not masculine enough. At 5’9” and barely 155 pounds, Alan’s stature seemed to call for attention. That he wished he were a waitress instead of a wait person, as his supervisor had called him, remained thankfully unknown to all but a handful of humanity, or he might have invited more teasing. Maybe it was pheromones; maybe it was a psychic vibe he sent out. Nevertheless, it was fortunate that no one knew that his name of choice was Elaine.

He made his way to the kitchen to drop off the last of the plates he had picked up from another table before punching out for the evening. A familiar face greeted him warmly as he headed for the door.

“Hey…Alan…Wait up,” Genevieve O'Hara called to him as he walked past, nearly ignoring her, which was not his intent. He was just tired of the teasing and hadn’t even noticed her standing there. She walked over to him and grabbed his arm.

“Hey, kid…what’s wrong…you look upset, and I know something bad has to be going on to make you lose your smile.”

“Oh…it’s the same…here and at home. Mostly here tonight, but I can never seem to get away from it all.” He sighed.

“Your dad still raggin’ you?” Gennie half-frowned in commiseration. Her father and mother had been divorced for some time as well, and her parents both had remarried, she knew the pull of the expectations of two separate households. That Alan faced so much more made her wish all the more that she could be there for him.

“Not so much…He just doesn’t understand. I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep up everything, and with his hours cut back at the lab, I’ve got to keep working here…at least until the fall when I go away to school…” Alan bit his tongue, as if a full scholarship at the University of Illinois * were a death sentence.

“And of course there’s track, right?”

“Well…no track…no scholarship. I wish I had an in with the music…the department at school is okay, but we sorta get lost in the shuffle with the bigger high schools, and we don’t have the resources for me to trek all the way back to Pittsburgh since we moved, so I don’t even have an orchestra to audition for.”

He frowned as he recalled how his mother was a part of an orchestra, and yet it bore no weight when it came to any consideration. That his talent was almost as honed as his mother’s made no difference, and his viola remained virtually unheard except by a discerning few. That he wished that it were Elaine instead of Alan playing in the orchestra gained no consideration, even in his own home, where his mother was quite aware of her son’s….her daughter’s gender issues.

“Hey…I’ve got an idea, honey.” The girl was at least five years older than him, still young, but a college girl none the less. Out of his league…or rather out of her league to be exact, not taking into account to whom she might be attracted. But she was a very caring and understanding friend.

“I know it’s difficult to get time for your mom to talk, and I know your dad would be so pissed…” Her voice trailed off before she continued with a shake of her head.

“I’m sorry, kid…he’d be fucking livid, and I bet you’d never hear the end of how fucked up you are.” Her voice trailed off once again as she realized just how painful her reminder was. She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, Alan…sometimes I say stuff before thinking…It’s so hard for you, and I know it’s like being pulled in so many fucking directions.” She looked around the kitchen. Gino the chef had stepped out and none of the wait staff was there. She leaned even closer, noticing the boy had begun to cry, his face red with embarrassment and shame.

“It’s okay…Elaine…” She whispered in the boy’s ear.

“You’re off tomorrow and you don’t have band practice tomorrow, right? Anything going on for track?”

“No…coach gave us off tomorrow since we have a meet on Friday.” He said as he wiped his face with the towel from his pocket.

“Come over tomorrow. My mom doesn’t know anything about you…I promise I haven’t said anything, but if you need someone to talk to, she’ll understand. Okay?”

“Okay…thanks, Gen…you’re...oh...just thanks.”

“It’s okay, kid…we’re friends, right? And friends stick together. Tomorrow after school then?”

“Okay.” The boy touched her softly on the arm in parting and walked out.

“Just friends,” Gennie sighed as she watched the boy depart.

Alan walked into his bedroom…almost tiptoeing even though he would be alone for the next four days. His father was on a business trip to Syracuse for the lab so he wouldn’t be spending his weekend at his Dad’s place. And his mother was playing with her orchestra at a concert in Cincinnati so he had the house to himself. He walked to his closet and pulled down the large box that came with his DVD system. Placing it on the bed, he went back to the closet and pulled an old suitcase. He handled the case as if it held a treasure; to him it did. He recalled the conversation he had with his mother before she left.

“You’re acting like a fool, Alan…I won’t have it. You’ve come too far to throw it away on a whim.” She pointed to the papers sitting on the kitchen counter even as she felt horrible about the words she had just spoken.

“Mom…this isn’t a whim…it’s as much a part of me as my viola…you have to let me…I…” She cut him off:

“I don’t have to do anything. You have a scholarship…to the University of Illinois…do you understand what that means?” She tried to be stern, but it wasn't in her; still she remained somewhat adamant.

“Mom…I know…I’ve looked it up…if I start now, I can go in the fall next year…I won’t miss a beat.” Len held out his arms.

“You can, but your scholarship won’t be guaranteed with just academics alone, and I can’t afford to send you to school…not with what your father sends us.” She practically scowled at the boy.

“He does what he can, Mom…to take care of us…what more do you want from him…He still loves you…isn’t that enough?”

“He does what he can…and yes…I know he still loves me…but…” Her voice trailed off and grew sad as the anger slipped away.

“Mom…I need to do this. This is who I am.” The boy choked back a sob.

“I’m not saying no….just think about putting it off…a year or so, while you get established. Once you make a name for yourself, you can do whatever you like…write your own ticket. It will be okay. Trust me on this, honey…I’m sorry for being so hard, but you have to face facts…”

“Mom…please…”

“I’ve got to get going…I’ll call you when I get to the hotel… Alan?” The boy turned and saw his mother had teared up.

“We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay. I’m sorry about that ‘fool’ remark. You think about what I said, and I promise I think about what you told me.” She smiled as she wiped away her tears. The boy walked to her and hugged her.

“I know this will work, Mom…it just has to.” The boy resisted the urge to cry in her arms and pulled back, wiping his own tears with his sleeve.

“You do take after us so much, honey.” She turned her head and looked out the front window of the house.

“You’re just as stubborn as your Dad ever was and you have my ear for music.” She finally smiled and he took that as welcome for his next comment.

“I take after you in another way as well.” His mother went to frown, but she couldn’t deny what she saw.

“Well, yes…I guess there is that. Honey…I just don’t know…I want the best for you, and I’m afraid you’re moving too fast…” She noted his smile had turned to a very sad frown and she quickly added,

“We’ll talk when I get home….Okay? That’s the best I can do at this point. I love you.” She kissed him once and walked to the car and was gone. Something in her expression gave him hope…her hope that things would be okay.

He opened the case and smiled; what rested inside was meager but gave him a strength that nearly nothing else did besides his music. He pulled out the contents and went inside the bathroom.

The girl sat in the chair. She looked at her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. Her hair, still a bit shorter than she liked, was up, done as you might usually see at a recital. Her makeup was modest and her look was enhanced by a rare sereneness that visited her only on her times of playing. She smiled as she eyed her gown; purple and off the shoulder. She sighed in relief at the way her gown fit; she had worried understandably however needlessly since she had purchased it on the internet.

She picked up the bow and placed it gently on the strings of the viola; her face continuing its serene display as she began to play…Serenade for Strings by Tchaikovsky…Third Movement. She even knew the violin part by heart…Cello was a stretch, but she begged her mother, and owned all three instruments; her only money from her allowance besides music went to purchasing what she was wearing.
She closed her eyes as the music soothed her heart; the sad but hopeful melody and countermelodies evoking tears, which cleansed her hurt even as they lifted her soul.

She had given up almost all hope for a life that would include both her music and her…HER…that her life would include the woman she had hoped she would become; already helping others come to know. For now, Elaine was a good friend to as many as she could be, even if only a few of them knew her as someone other than Alan Peterson. The music seemed to wrap her in a blanket of knowing acceptance; as if Pyotr himself had written the piece with a mind to warm her soul. Bright and hopeful and joyful would visit her with the next movement, but for now it was the strong connection that she bore with the near despairing tune that would touch her heart. First with her beloved Viola…then with the violin and finally her cello. It struck her as ironic that she was named in a manner after her favorite composer, Pyotr; her musical father in away...Elaine Petronova.

Next: Adagios and Acceptance!

Serenade for Strings in C major, Op. 48
Third Movement
composed by Pyotr Illych Tchaikovsky
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDk2aYGh8W8&feature=related

* School changed from U of Chicago to U of Illinois to reflect athletic scholarship availability. Mea Maxima Culpa!