We rolled around the middle of the roof, swiping at each other with our rollers.
“Hey, kids, what’s going on?”
I was perched over Axel trying to strike, but he had me by my wrists. We stopped wrestling and looked at Aunt Agatha guiltily.
“Dear hearts, perhaps you misunderstood. The idea is to paint the steel, not each other.” Then she laughed. “You’d better start applying turpentine before you dry completely and end up needing to scrub with a wire brush. And whatever you do, don’t light any matches while you’re doing it.”
* * *
It turned out to be a long, stinky process, cleaning ourselves off with turpentine-soaked rags. We held our breath as much as we could while we rubbed, but we had to breathe sometime and those nasty fumes stung. When we were finally finished, we looked like we’d applied some sort of bad henna treatment to our skin. Aunt Agatha promised it’d wear off eventually.
Hank picked us up and gave us a funny look. “Strange tans,” he commented.
Axel and I eyed each other and laughed.
“You get the tickets, Hank?” he asked.
“Yup. I did.”
“So what are we seeing?”
Please don’t let it be Hamlet, I silently prayed.
“Romeo and Juliet.”
“A tale of star-crossed lovers,” said Axel.
“More like family-crossed,” I said. “Didn’t you ever feel like slapping those Capulets and Montagues?”
“Uh, no,” Axel said. “And I hope you can refrain from those hostilities tonight.”
“I’ll do my best.”
* * *
It was a beautiful evening to be outdoors. The temperature was at that perfect spot between warm and cool, and the park air smelled of grass and pretzels. Kids were shrieking with glee in the playground we passed, as they went flying on swings and slipping down slides. We held hands and walked among the tall trees toward the theater.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I am, actually.” He smiled. “I’m feeling pretty good.”
“I’m glad, because I was hoping I wouldn’t have to return the favor and carry you through the park with your eyes closed.”
He laughed, pulled me to a stop. “Thanks for getting me in here. You were right. I was punishing myself.”
Again, our lips came so close, they almost joined. Time seemed frozen as he paused, breathing heavily. I knew he wanted to do it, to kiss me. Really kiss me. But he just couldn’t, somehow.
I wanted to kiss him, too. All I had to do was move forward a fraction of an inch. But it might as well have been a mile.
He who hesitates is lost. Aunt Agatha was right again, damn it.
He ran his fingers through my hair, pushed some back behind my ear, and stroked my cheek. “I’m sorry, Willow … ” he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Don’t ever be sorry,” I told him. “You’ve given me everything you could.”
We headed down the path arm in arm, farther into the park.
The show was about to begin.
* * *
After the applause ended, we milled onto the path with the crowd, then sat on a bench to let the chattering people pass. Neither of us liked walking in groups.
The park had a different look in the lamp-lit night. It was kind of enchanted, like maybe your fairy godmother might decide to pop in and stir up some magic.
The temperature had gone down, but it was still comfortable, not cold. There was just the slightest breeze, a reminder that at any moment, Mother Nature could make you wish you’d brought a sweater.
“So, what’d you think?”
“It was even more beautiful to see than read,” I said. “But so sad!”
“Yeah, fate sucks, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean, ‘fate’?” I asked.
“Well, like I said before, it’s a tale of star-crossed lovers. They were doomed from the very beginning.”
I shifted my position to face him, leaning my elbow on the bench back, with my leg still on the seat.
“So you think they couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome?” I asked.
He shrugged. “They tried, didn’t they? It still didn’t work out.”
“Maybe if they’d tried something different … like telling their families to go fuck themselves?”
“Yeah, I wonder why Shakespeare didn’t use that line.”
“I’m serious here. Those feuding fools were the problem, not fate. Look how easily they forgot their differences when they found Romeo and Juliet dead. Why couldn’t they work it out sooner?”
“Because it wasn’t in the stars.”
I swatted the idea away with my palm. “People cause trouble, not stars.”
Axel focused on one of the tall metal lamps glowing onto the path.
“Axel, you don’t really buy into that predestination crap, do you? Like we’re puppets or something?”
He looked at me, his eyes shimmering in the lamp’s beam. “Or something.”
“Get out of here. Then what’s our motivation for doing anything—for trying to get anywhere in life—if we have no control?”
He lowered his stare to his sneakers, scraped his feet on the pavement, saying nothing.
We sat like that for a while. The breeze started nipping, and I shivered.
He put his arm around me. “We better get going,” he said, smoothing the hairs on my arm back down.
We walked down the curved path, spotted only sporadically with light. A lot of the lamps weren’t working.
“So what are you gonna do with yourself when I leave?” I asked.
He pressed his fingers into my arm. “Get some sleep.”
* * *
It was the day before I had to go back to my mother’s. I asked Axel why he never sailed his boat. He said it’d never occurred to him, but why not set sail now?
So we did.
An hour and a half later, we sat on the red vinyl cushions on the deck, surrounded by ocean. It was funny; we hadn’t used them the whole summer, and now here we were.
The boat swayed more out there, out on the open water. It was kind of like moving slowly in a big rocking chair. I leaned back and looked up at the sun. It didn’t seem so harsh or so stinging. For once, it actually appeared to be beaming.
“You decide what to do about school yet?” I asked. “Maybe you can go in January, if you pick one.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared out at the water.
“Axel?”
He looked startled.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I was just thinking about Shakespeare’s references to life being a play: ‘All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players,’ ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets its hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.’”
He hadn’t been like this in so long, until the other night at the play. I’d thought he was breaking away from the sorrow, but here it was again.
“Axel, those are just words.” I tried to make light of it. “Shakespeare’s whole world was the theater. Of course he compared life to the stage. It’s like a butcher comparing life to a rump roast.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s it exactly.”
“Anyone can make analogies. Shakespeare just wrote them really well.”
“But Shakespeare was right,” he said. “We are all just players. We have no control. Someone else wrote the script, and we’re all at their mercy. It’s like the witches in Macbeth predicting his fate, luring him to it. The die is cast.”
“I’d say Macbeth’s fate had more to do with his pushy wife.”
“I’d just like some choice. I’d like to write the script for once.”
“Then pick up a pen.”
“Do you think we can change our destinies?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “We all have options. We get to choose between doors one through three. But sometimes … I guess we don’t think through those choices
before we act on them.”
“Is it taking action or just acting your role?” He stared at the water again. “Anyway, I never saw any doors, so I never got to try their handles to see if they were locked.”
God, I hated him talking like this. It scared me. “Axel … you had a horrible childhood. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any doors now. What about Juilliard?”
He shrugged, looked at the deck. “You were trapped in a box. And so am I. Except that I can see, and all too clearly. It’s a room with no way out. And even though I know that on the other side of these walls there are incredible things waiting … I’ll never have them.”
I took his hand. “You can have them, if you break down the walls.”
He turned to me, his eyes filled with pain and tears, and shook his head. “I can’t.”
I learned close, my lips almost brushing his. “You can,” I whispered.
I kissed him.
His lips were gentle and sweet, like he was. They felt like shelter.
Our kiss deepened, our tongues comfortable, compatible mates.
A warm tingle spread through me. Not unbridled lust, but a powerful, growing love.
This was it. What I’d been looking for all along. I’d almost rushed right past it, trying to be someone I wasn’t ready to be.
He stopped, then ran his fingers down my cheek. “I can’t… I can’t make love with you. I swear to God, Willow, I want to. But I just can’t.”
“It’s okay,” I said, kissing his lips lightly. “This is all I need.”
We lay on the cushions, kissing, necking, touching, and holding each other in a whole new way for us. This was so different from the gentle hugs and protective caresses that had been a part of our friendship. It was a new level of connection, one we hadn’t known before. And the water rocked us, and the breeze fanned us; and for once, the world was on our side.
We kissed for hours, until my stomach growled. We laughed, and we ate, and then we kissed some more.
“This was the best day of my life,” Axel said when we were sailing back.
“Mine too.”
* * *
That night, falling asleep in Axel’s arms on the barge, I knew that I’d finally come home.
28
Rounded with a Sleep
“Where are you going?” Axel had slept past Aunt Agatha’s practicing for the first time ever, and I was up before him, for a change. So he wanted to know where I was off to.
“I’m going over to your boat. I want to get something.”
“What’s that?”
“Julius Caesar. I know there’s a quote in there that says we control our own destinies. I just can’t remember it.”
“C’mere,” he said, patting the bed. “Where’s your aunt?”
“She went to get coffee.”
“Quick, then.”
When I got close, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down, kissing me deeply. “I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he said, running his fingers through my hair.
He kissed me again.
“I’ll be back next weekend,” I said.
Then Axel said, “Men at sometime are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”
“That’s it!” I said.
“That’s not what Shakespeare thinks. It’s what Cassius thinks.”
“How do you know that?” God, he was so exasperating!
“Because Shakespeare writes overwhelmingly about the futility of man fighting fate. ‘Our wills and fates do so contrary run, that our devices still are overthrown; our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.’
“And ‘What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide’ and ‘It is the stars, the stars above us, govern our conditions,’ and—”
“Oh, I give up,” I groaned, giving him a whack on the arm. “I can’t match you in the Shakespeare department, and I’m not even gonna try. You want to be gloomy, O Prince of Bleakness, I guess that’s your choice.”
The door creaked open. Aunt Agatha headed our way with coffee and rolls for herself and Axel, and a melon cup for me. “Ah, good to see you’re finally awake,” she said to Axel, as she handed us our food.
“Thanks, Agatha. Sorry I slept through our date,” he told her. “I guess I was really beat.”
“Don’t worry. We have many more dates to look forward to.”
Aunt Agatha bit a crust off of her roll, swallowed, and said, “Dear hearts, you’re not going to believe this, but my tire rolled off my car again yesterday! I was going up the ramp onto the Queensborough Bridge, and—voom!”
“Oy vey,” I said. “What happened?” “Luckily, it was the time a lot of musicians head into the city. A saxophonist I know passed by while the tow truck was hooking up the VW. He stopped and told me to hop in.”
“Uh, Agatha,” Axel said, “you might want to consider retirement for your car.”
“Why? I think that car has several good years left in it.”
“At least have the lug nuts checked a little more often. Tires don’t usually fall off cars for no reason,” he said.
“You may have a point, love.”
* * *
Hank was waiting in the parking lot to drive me home. Axel brought my suitcase to the limo while I said good-bye to Aunt Agatha on the front deck.
“I don’t know what to say,” I told her. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You don’t need to thank me, darling,” she said, giving me a gigantic hug. “It’s the other way around. You give my life its real meaning, Willow. You really are the music.”
She gave me a kiss, and I headed down the ladder. When I got to the end of the dock, I turned around. She stood there, watching me. I waved. “See you next weekend,” I shouted.
* * *
Axel was standing next to the limo. “Ready?”
“I guess.”
He held the door for me, then got in too and shut the door. Falstaff was seated across from us. Axel must have gotten him off the boat for me.
“You taking a ride, Axel?” Hank asked.
“No. Just need a minute. Don’t take this personally, Hank.” Axel pushed the privacy screen button, and it rose up.
Axel took my face in his hands and drew it to his. We kissed.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
“Gee, you sound so serious. I’m gonna see you in a few days.”
“Don’t let them get to you at school.”
I laughed. “There’s only three days this week. I think I can handle it.”
He kissed me again, holding me so tight it hurt.
Then he let go, opened the door, and got out. He leaned in, just looking at me with those beautiful, enigmatic green eyes.
“What is it?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing. It’s—nothing. Good-bye, Willow.”
Then he shut the door.
* * *
I let the privacy screen down. “You know how to get to Atlantic Beach?” I asked Hank.
“Yup.”
The limo started rolling through the gravel. I looked through the back window at Axel as he got farther and farther away.
We turned through the gate, into the world again.
I put on my headset, looking forward to hearing Jim. I hadn’t had much time to listen to my music lately. Not that I would have traded one minute of the time spent with Axel. But it was good to slip back to my old comfort zone.
I pressed “Play,” and “When the Music’s Over” came on. A sad song, but I loved it.
Hank was yelling over the song. I hit stop, annoyed. I hated it when people insisted on talking to me. Weren’t the headphones a clue that I wanted to veg?
“What?” I asked.
“I said, you’re gonna have lots of reading to do at home.”
“Meaning what?” I was being a little snippy and just wanted to get back to my music.
“Aw, I forgot. I wasn’t supposed to s
ay anything. Don’t tell Axel I ruined the surprise, okay?”
“Hank, you’re speaking in tongues. What are you talking about?”
Hank sighed. “Axel’s sending all his books home with you. He had a truck pick ’em up this morning. It’s meeting us at your house.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“Beats me. He said he didn’t need ’em any more. I’ve got all the Shakespeare in my trunk. He didn’t trust those guys with ’em.”
My pulse picked up the tempo, and I felt heavy in my chest.
Something was wrong, wrong, wrong.
And Axel had been acting so weird. So … final.
I thought of the razor blade. I thought of the rough, raised line on Axel’s wrist.
The hairs stood up on my arms.
“Hank, turn around. I have to go back. Hurry!”
He laughed, oblivious to my rising panic. “What’d you forget, a book?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, flipped it open, found Axel’s number, and hit “Send.”
I got his voicemail. “Axel, I’m coming back there. Wait for me… . Wait for me, Axel… . ”
I hit “End,” tried again. But his voicemail still picked up.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
“Something wrong?” Hank asked.
“I hope not, Hank. Just hurry up and get me back there.”
* * *
I jumped out while the car was still coming to a stop. “Hey,” Hank called from the window. “You gotta be more careful.”
“Listen, Hank. Just go home. Come back tomorrow, okay? I’m staying another day.” There was no way I could leave Axel right now.
I ran off before Hank could even reply.
Let Axel be okay. Let him have a more deluxe volume of Shakespeare coming for himself, I begged as I sprinted to the dock.
Aunt Agatha was just coming off it. “Willow, what are you doing back?”
“I can’t talk now,” I puffed out, running past her.
“Do you want Axel’s note?” she called after me.
I stopped. “What?”
“He said something came up, and he had to go away suddenly—his father was coming to get him—and would I give it to you.”
I snatched the note from her hand, tore it open.
Dear Willow,
Forgive me. I lied. I never went to therapy.
Saved By The Music Page 18