by A. C. Katt
Then it hit Milo, right between the eyeballs. Something about Liam struck him as off. The longer he watched him, the more apparent it became. Liam was gay. He didn’t walk with the hitching gait of all the other boys he knew. He glided gracefully. Liam was much too young to realize his sexual orientation, but in Milo’s opinion, the kid definitely leaned toward bent. Milo knew the neighborhood. If Liam acted too effeminate, he’d be crucified.
Milo’s brow furrowed in thought. All of a sudden he began to feel very protective of the younger boy. Milo knew Liam would need all the guidance he could muster, especially without a father figure on whom to pattern his masculinity.
When they finished supper, Milo thanked Lily by helping with the dishes. He read Liam a story and bid them both good night. It was only seven thirty, so he headed back down the block and around the corner to call for Sam.
Milo parked his bike in the driveway, well away from the car. Sam answered the door and Milo asked him to take a walk. Sam agreed and Rick, Sam’s younger brother, tagged along.
“What’s the dad like?”
“There is no dad. He died in a car wreck a few months ago. They moved here to get away from the memories.”
“That’s gotta be tough on a little kid.”
“Not as tough as it’s going to be.”
Rick piped in, “Can’t see it getting any rougher than that, I mean losing your dad.”
Both Sam and Milo looked up with a start. As usual, they forgot Rick tagged along. Rick never said much. He lent himself to being forgotten.
“Do you remember what we discussed last night, Sam?” Milo asked him in a quiet voice. “The kid has the same problem.”
“How do you know this? You just realized it yourself, and suddenly you’re an expert?”
“No, not an expert, just picking up the signals a little easier. Hey, you knew about me before I knew. Believe me, this kid’s in for a shitload of hurt, and his mother doesn’t have a clue.”
Sam shook his head. “What can we do?”
“Let him hang out with us and teach him boy stuff so he won’t stick out. As it is, he looks like a girl. We got to make sure he looks like a boy by the time school comes around. We’re going to be in middle school and not able to watch out for him.” Milo bit his lip.
“I can watch out for him,” Rick piped up. “I’ve got another year before I go on with you guys.”
“Ricky, you’re always in trouble,” Sam blustered. “How are you going to watch out for a little kid?”
“I may get in trouble, but I know something about him you don’t know.”
“What, snot nose?”
“He’s already in third grade, even though he’s only six. I heard Mom talking about it to Mrs. Rowe.”
“Who is Mrs. Rowe?” Milo asked.
“The gifted teacher. They set up all sorts of special classes for him because of some dumb law. His mother refused to put him in private school when the principal suggested he might be more comfortable in one.”
“Ah shit, Sammmm,” Milo said.
“I guess Ricky can help, but you can’t get him into trouble. He’s got to fly under the radar as much as he can. He lives between us so it shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll just let him tag along.”
Over the summer, Liam started trailing after Milo and Sam, right alongside Ricky. Initially, Milo patted himself on the back for helping the kid navigate the deep end of the pool. Later he admitted, if only to himself, he enjoyed Liam’s company. Milo felt as if he walked a tightrope.
He couldn’t bring himself to shoo the kid away, or make him hide under the cloak of conformity. He did the only thing he knew how to do—he protected. The other jocks stayed away because Milo claimed Liam as a relative and treated him like a kid brother. If the kid seemed a bit delicate for their tastes, they figured Milo would set him straight soon enough. Milo got Liam a de facto pass from the rest of the guys in town.
* * * *
May 1991, Hazlet
Sam’s Garage
The boys finally formed their band, but the afternoon’s rehearsal went steadily downhill.
“I can’t do this weepy shit, Milo,” said Mike, the band’s lead singer.
“The weepy shit is for the slow dances. You have to have slow dances so the couples can dance together.”
“Then you do the slow dance tunes.”
“My voice isn’t suited for the arrangement. I’m singing backup.”
“Yeah, I get to be the wuss and you get to remain Macho Man.”
“You asshole. That has nothing to do with it. It’s the music.”
“Fuck the music, Milo, and fuck your friggin’ band. I’ve got me an invite to join a band from over in Union Beach, and I’m taking it. They do metal, man. None of these freaking ballads.”
Milo threw up his hands as Mike walked out of the garage. “Shit. Why can’t we find a decent singer who’ll just keep his mouth shut and do as he’s told? That’s the third singer we’ve had in as many months.”
“What are we going to do now?” Sam asked. “You pissed him off, and we have our first gig for the prom on Saturday.”
Milo paced, furrowing his eyebrows and biting his lip. “The stupid son of a bitch, the prom is why we needed the ballads. Girls like ballads.”
“How would you know?” Rick teased.
“Shut the fuck up! I’ve dated and fucked more than my share.” Even if I did it to get the old man off my back. Red hot heat crawled up Milo’s neck, his anger almost steaming from his ears.
Liam spoke up from the corner. “Milo, can I talk to you a minute?”
“When did you show up? Never mind. Sit down and be quiet till we figure this out.”
“I can do it,” Liam insisted. “I know all the songs.”
Sam and Rick laughed so hard tears ran down their cheeks. Initially, Milo also enjoyed the joke. But once the others began to mock Liam, and Milo saw his elfin features scrunch up in an attempt to hide his disappointment, he shouted, “Shut up. We can’t begin to audition anyone else until tomorrow. Even if we find someone, can they learn the book before Saturday night? Give the kid a shot. If he’s awful, he won’t ask again. If he’s passable, we get to do the gig and can look elsewhere afterward.”
“Fuck, Milo, he’s a baby,” Sam complained. “He’ll look ridiculous on stage.”
“No, he’s not a baby, more like the Devil’s Imp,” Milo snapped back. “If he can sing, we can sell it, at least until we find a replacement.”
Rick, always the peacemaker, stepped between them. “Sam, how can it hurt to listen to the kid mangle one set? If he stinks, we send him home and he doesn’t come back. If he doesn’t stink, we do the gig and no one loses. This way I don’t have to put up with a shitty mood from either you or Milo for days on end. Come on, let’s do it.”
“Ah, fuck, all right, all right,” Sam assented, while holding on to his piss-poor attitude. Milo paced impatiently, and Liam trembled as he took the mic.
Rick handed him the play list, which contained most of the number one chart singles from the early eighties, everything from Van Halen’s “Jump” to Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong.” Milo stopped pacing to watch which track the kid would pick. They had no idea of the range of his voice, or even if he could sing on key.
Liam put the list down and asked to use the keyboard left behind by Mike the deserter.
Milo nodded. “What do you have in mind?”
Liam pulled a wrinkled and smeared piece of sheet music out of the pocket of his jeans. Milo peered over his shoulder. He could see the original music was rewritten for two voices and backup.
Liam blushed and said, “I’m a tenor. I can hit a good range. I’ve been taking piano, guitar, and voice lessons since I turned five, every Wednesday.”
Milo screwed up his face. “I knew you took lessons, buddy, but I didn’t know you took so many. You never sang along with the band or made a suggestion about the music. Why?”
“I wanted to keep coming to practice
and didn’t want to get in the way.”
“You’ve been at my heels for six years,” growled Milo. “If you got in the way, don’t you think I would have said something?”
“You got copies of the chords?” Rick interrupted.
Liam nodded and gave one to each of the guys.
Sam kept acting pissy and didn’t want to give the kid a shot. “Who are you kidding? That’s a girl’s song,” Sam said with disgust. He threw the piece of sheet music on the garage floor and began to walk.
“Hold it, a-hole,” Milo shouted. “Back to me. Did you look at this? He’s changed the lyrics so it can be done as a duet between a tenor and a baritone. He even provided backup harmony.”
“Milo, I have to get something from my bike,” Liam said.
“How the fuck long is it going to take?” Sam asked. “I thought we were supposed to be rehearsing. This isn’t a good idea, Milo. It’s gonna put him in the spotlight, you know, call attention to his mannerisms.”
“That’s enough.” Milo pounced on his friend, about to pummel him for his ill treatment of the kid.
“Enough,” said Rick, again stepping between them. “Sam, read the music and let’s run it through once, before Milo walks and takes the kid with him. You’re the one who needs the bucks for law school. If the kid thinks he can pull it off, why not give him a shot? You can always walk afterward.”
Sam took a step back into the garage and eyed Milo warily.
“I’m not going to slug you, Sam. Let’s just run it through once,” Milo pleaded.
“Once,” Sam stated.
Sam’s stance said it all. Liam had one chance and only one chance. Milo thought, I’ll put it on the line for Liam this one time. Sam’s my best friend. Little bro or no, one shot is all Liam gets.
The guys picked up the music. The kid had arranged Johnny Borchoi’s “Lover’s Suite.” It was daring, and it looked too sophisticated for the high school crowd, but one gig could lead to another. They studied the cords and tuned their guitars. Liam slipped outside. Milo followed.
He watched Liam go over to his bicycle. Milo didn’t see Liam’s bike often. While other kids his age owned sleek racers or rugged mountain bikes, Liam rode a bike which looked like it belonged to one of the homeless. Two monstrous folding metal baskets sat on both sides of the rear wheel.
Lily bought Liam what she believed to be a useful bike and refused to buy a more stylish model. Milo approached as Liam tugged on the bungee cord attached to the saxophone case in one of the side bins.
“It’s not Wednesday. Why do you have your music and your sax with you?”
“Today’s your birthday. I did the arrangement for you and the band. I didn’t have money for a great present. I wanted to give you something. It’s what I had to give,” Liam answered simply.
Milo watched as Liam pulled out his sax. Sam’s gaze moved to the sheet music on his stand. “There is no sax in this arrangement, kid,” he called from the garage. “Did someone else do this for you? Are you messing with our heads?”
“I have a second arrangement to show you, if you like the first one,” Liam said. “The second one has a sax solo between two of the refrains.”
“Put the sax down,” Milo ordered as he returned to the garage. “Let’s get started.” The guys heard his drill-sergeant tone and scrambled to their instruments, Sam to the drums, Rick to the bass, and Liam to the keyboard.
“Run it through once for an instrument check,” Rick said. “Then we play the music on the sheet, but you are on your own.” He chucked Liam’s shoulder with his fist and stood next to Milo, who played lead guitar.
They played “Lover’s Suite” first for a sound check, and a second time to set the beats and cues. Milo noticed Liam used the long version of the song. Liam stood up to bat, and Milo knew he must hit it out of the park. Milo played the cord combo. It repeated four times, then he slid his mellow voice over the intro. “Turn around…”
Liam picked up his cue exactly three beats after Milo.
Turn around, look at the view
Know that I’m in love with you,
Waiting for the time you see
That you can be in love with me
It’s way too early to feel this way
But I need you to let me stay
Until the day you see me
The lover who will set you free
And then we can begin
The process where you let me in
To your heart. The day you start
To see the light within my heart
For only you my passion true
Milo’s jaw hit the floor. He almost lost his place on the sheet music. Liam sang with a bright, full tenor smoothed with a hint of bourbon. He sounded nothing like a twelve-year-old boy. Liam hit the second stanza not in weak acceptance of his fate, as Johnny Borchoi composed the original arrangement, but as a man, steel-voiced and determined to fight for his love.
My lover and friend
I’m yours till the end
Of time, or eternity
What a night bright with heat
When our bodies finally meet
The guys played with heart and heat they never managed before. As they played the song, they knew it sounded hot. As Milo and Liam hit the chorus and last verse, what started as a garage band miraculously turned into four serious musicians.
I will sing this song to you
And finally you will know
That I love you so
And I’ll never let you go
Too far away from me.
Liam finished with a triumphant riff. He turned around, his expression blazing triumphantly. Sam and Rick broke out in spontaneous applause. Milo just stood there with his mouth agape. This rare talent sat under their noses for six years and never said a word.
Milo kept looking at Liam and only half-heard Sam. “Liam, you’re it. You are the lead singer of Shattered Glass, and I don’t give a flying fuck who complains about it. You have real talent. I’ve never heard a voice that good outside of the radio.” Sam’s enthusiastic praise constituted the best apology he could offer.
“Fucking awesome, man,” Rick said as he put down his bass. “Milo, his voice melds with yours. It’s red hot and crystal clear. I’ve never heard anything like it.” Rick shook his head. “Thank the good Lord I didn’t walk out. When Mike hears him sing next week, he’ll know he made the mistake of a lifetime. Cleveland, here we come!”
“Cleveland?” Liam asked.
“The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, stupid. Anybody who has ever been somebody in rock and roll is represented there. I’ve never been, but I’m sure it would be the best museum tour I ever took. Much better than the dinosaurs Dad is always dragging our asses to see in New York and Philly. This kid is going to Cleveland and taking us with him. Right, kid?”
“Leave him be, Rick,” Milo said quietly. “I’ll admit he is even better than advertised, but we need to talk to his mom.”
“I’ll do it,” said Sam.
“I’m coming with you,” Liam said, sticking out his chin in defiance.
“No, you’re not, because if your mom says no, it’s going to be no.” Milo acted disinterested in the outcome.
“Milo!” Rick, Sam, and Liam all shouted in a whining chorus.
“Look, buddy, I’ve been telling you to pay attention to what Lily tells you since you moved into this neighborhood. I’m not going to change my tune now.” Milo turned on the two brothers. “He’s twelve. Do you want the responsibility of keeping him safe, whole, and healthy, Sam? It’s true we are only playing at a prom, but we want so much more. What then? What happens when we start doing the rounds of the local clubs? What about you, Rick? You’re sixteen, and you’re already guzzling beer. And when you’re not guzzling, you act like a wacko. I’m going to have to take responsibility and to do that, I have to talk to his mother. Any objections?”
Sam spoke up in a low, but firm voice. “I’ll come with you, Milo. We’ll both take on the responsibi
lity. Our burdens shouldn’t always fall on you.”
“Me too,” piped Rick.
Sam looked at Rick in disgust. “Bro, you are a very promising musician and you play a banging bass, but you can’t take responsibility for a houseplant without it withering in the pot. Stay here with the kid and work him through the play list and the planned sets for Saturday. Then, at least, you would be useful.” Sam and Milo took off, both shaking their heads.
Chapter 2
Hidden in the Garden of Ego
Planted beneath the vines
Are all the deepest darkest secrets
That prey upon the mind
You stroll the garden pathways
Basking in the sun, but
Underneath the rocks they lie
To taunt you, each and every one
—Milo Stamis, “Secrets,” Words Without Music
* * * *
Sam and Milo left the garage and walked down the block to see Lily. Milo, no stranger to Liam’s home, ate supper with them twice a week over the past six years, babysat Liam when necessary, and sometimes just shared a cup of coffee with Lily when it looked like she needed the company.
He’d noticed that in the last few months she’d been steadily losing weight and rarely went out. She always spoke at the Earth Day celebrations and hadn’t this year. Nowadays, although Lily just turned thirty-six, she looked and moved like a sixty-year-old. Milo had tried to screw up the courage to ask her about her health, but put it off because he feared the answer.
Lily answered the door, wearing a ratty robe. Her eyes looked puffy and her forehead lined with pain. Her skin drew tight over her bones. A rash covered her legs, neck, hands, and arms.
“Uh, Mrs. O’Shea,” Sam began.
“Sam, Milo, I’m glad to see you boys. Come, sit down, let me pour you some fresh lemonade, then we’ll talk. Come on into the kitchen. It is brutal out there.” They followed her to the kitchen. “Did Liam send you to see me, Milo?” Lily asked.
“No, I came down because I have something important to discuss. Liam hasn’t said a word about you. Why do you ask?”
