Chapter 10

Wednesday, May 30, 1979

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Dr. Duncan strikes his baton on his music stand. 

“Okay, trumpets, let’s go again, from measure 12,” he says. “1, 2, 3, 4!”

Today is the first day of band practice. Because the school district’s elementary band will march in the Cowboy Parade during Sunflower Days, we will rehearse this one song over and over again — “Summertime.” The first line of that song says something about summertime being free and easy. My own summer? Not so much, so far. We’ll see …

I look over at Freddy Billings, the saxophone player beside me, and roll my eyes. He snickers. Once again, the horn players are having a hard time getting the rhythm of this song. It’s the fifth or sixth time our director has had them play it. This may take a while.

I sit with my sax on my knee and look at it. The brass of the body gleams intensely. The keys pearl iridescently, seeming to change color when I bounce my leg. I silently play a scale. As my fingers run down the instrument, the lower pads make a familiar “clop.” Clickity-click-clack, cloppity-clop-clop-clop. I finger the scale over and over again. I like playing the sax. Well, now I do. It took me a while to learn to enjoy it, though. 

In fourth grade, we could start taking music lessons and perform in the school band. The music director, Dr. Duncan, gave weekly lessons on every instrument. I wanted to play the trumpet. I wanted to make the high “da-da-da-Da-ta-Da! Charge!” I wanted to lead the cavalry: “Root-de-toot-de-toot-de-toot, de-Root-de-toot-de-toot!” 

Also, Mama was a member of a mail-order record club, and she received a new LP every month. I listened to all kinds of music — country western, easy listening, show tunes, classical (which she called “longhair music”), and Dixieland jazz. She never ordered anything modern, such as rock or pop. Among the selections she did endorse, jazz became my favorite. I especially liked Al Hirt, and my favorite song of his was “Theme from the Green Hornet.” This buzzy tune (like a hornet …) is fast and filled with arpeggios going up and down the scale over and over. I had seen the Green Hornet TV show in reruns; it was similar to the Batman series, but it wasn’t quite as “Pow! Biff! Crash!” crazy. Bruce Lee played the Green Hornet’s sidekick, Kato, and I liked his karate chops and judo flips.

Mama, however, preferred Boots Randolph, a tenor sax player, whose main song was “Yakety Sax.” I thought that song sounded fun, like something they would play on a show with a goofy chase scene. She wanted me to play the saxophone. 

“A sax sounds so much prettier than a trumpet,” she said.

I told her that I did not want to play the saxophone. If I couldn’t play the trumpet, then I didn’t want to be in the band. When lessons began, I found myself sitting in a half-circle with my fellow … saxophonists. Mama had won the battle of the brass. I accepted my defeat, and over time, I got good at playing my (mother’s) chosen instrument. Now, I am sitting in the section’s first chair.

There are about 40 people in the school band. We have practiced our song about a million times so far. We are playing it in the rehearsal hall today. Next week, we will start marching in the streets around the building. However, this song is not a march. Dr. Duncan said George Gershwin wrote it for an opera, and he said it’s a lullaby! He said the slow tempo will make it easier to march to. That is, if those trumpeters can manage two things at once. Hah!

I glance toward the flute section and see Paige. Third chair. She’s gotten a haircut. Her blonde curls are gone! Is that hairstyle called a bob? I think so. Her nose is small, like a button. Ha, a bob and a button nose! She is chatting with her fellow flutist. They laugh at something one of them said. Her eyes get all crinkly. Cute. I never noticed that before, but I’ve never stared at her like I am now. Suddenly, she looks up at me. My eyes dart away. Caught! I blink and look back at her. She’s still looking at me, smiling. I nod and smile back, my face turning red.

“Okay! Everyone, from the top!” Dr. Duncan interrupts my embarrassment. I pick up my sax and put the mouthpiece to my embouchure. My mouth is dry. I lick and suck the reed a few times to get it ready. We start playing, and amazingly, we make it through the whole song. I look back at Paige. She is looking at me, too, smirking. My face turns red again.

“Good job, all!” Dr. Duncan says. “Next week, we will start marching. And please, everyone, wear some actual shoes. No sandals, no thongs, no flip-flops ... We’re marching, people, not going for a stroll on the beach! Okay, you’re dismissed!”

We all drift to our instrument cases. I swab my sax, running the cleaning cloth on a cord through its insides to get all the spit out. I brush the mouthpiece. I use my shorts to wipe the reed dry, and I put it back in its plastic case. I keep an eye out for Paige because I want to talk to her. I see her near the door.

“Hey, Paige,” I call.

She looks around and sees me. She waves and smiles. So far, so good, I think.

“Are you as sick of ‘Summertime’ as I am?” I ask.

Her brow furrows.

“No, summer just got started,” she says.

“No, no, I mean the song,” I say, shaking my head.

“Oh! Ha-ha!” she laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Good thing we are practicing it so much, since we won’t be using music in the parade.”

“I didn’t know that!” I say.

“That’s what Dr. Duncan was talking about when you were gawking at me,” she says.

“Oh, huh, yeah,” I say. “Well, I like your haircut.”

“Oh, thanks! I needed it. This is much cooler,” she says, as she swings her head around, causing her short strands to swirl. 

“Is that called a bob, since you’re bobbing it around,” I ask.

“Oh, Riley, you’re so funny!” she says.

I take my shot.

“Hey, can we go somewhere a little more private? I have something to ask you.”

“Okay, come this way,” she says, grabbing my hand.

She takes us down a dark hallway. She seems to know where we’re going. At the end, she directs us into an alcove. She leans against the wall and looks up at me.

“What do you want to ask me, Riley?”

“Um, so, during Sunflower Days, would you wanna, maybe, go on some rides with me — the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Giant Slide, the Ferris Wheel …?

“Yeah, I would like that,” she says.

“You would?” I respond. “Cool!”

“What else do you wanna do, Riley?” she asks as she caresses my arms.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess we could …”

She puts her other hand on my arm and draws me in closer.

“Yeah?”

“We could …”

She closes her eyes and puckers her lips. 

I blink and take the hint. I lean in and give her a kiss. I mean to just give her a quick smooch, but she latches onto me and hugs me tightly. I respond by putting my arms around her waist. Her hands go all over me. On my neck and down my back. She squeezes my butt! I do the same. Tingles run through my entire body as we connect. I can feel every hair on my head bristle. My heart is beating faster. I can feel my skin getting warmer as the blood flows. It especially flows in a certain location. Damn it, Riley, do not get a boner now!

We both open our eyes and smile.

“You are a good kisser, Riley,” she says.

“I am?” I say. “Thanks! You are, too.”

I don’t tell her this is the first time I have ever kissed a girl — not counting the Mindy episode.

A car horn honks.

“That’s my mom. Bye! Gotta go!” she says as she runs out of the hall.

My so-far rotten summer has just turned a whole lot better.