"Not as any as I expected he would be. He didn't even ask about the cause of the fight and he hasn't said a bad word about you. Ice. I don't mind the days off. I'll work on my music. I'll finish your song, too," he vowed.
"Balwin' ..."
"You'll come over after dinner tomorrow night, won't you? Please? I'll feel like a total idiot if you don't," he explained. "Like it's all been for nothing, a waste."
I smiled to myself.
"Are you sure. Baiwin? It won't stop at school, you know."
"I know, I don't care. Matter of fact," he said, his voice deepening, "I think I'm going to start to enjoy it. They're just jealous, that's all.
"Here, the prettiest girl in the school and the most talented, too, is friends with me, coming to my house," he bragged. "I guess they just don't
understand the power of music as well as we do. right. Ice?"
He waited,
"Right?"
"Right, Balwin," I said.
"Okay. Same time. okay?"
"All right. Balwin," I said.
"I can't think of anyone I would rather get in trouble over than you. Ice," he said. Then he quickly said. "Good night," and hung up.
It was just like before when I felt he had stolen a kiss. It brought a deeper smile to my face.
Music is powerful. I thought. It can make you feel so much better about yourself and your life, it can help you visualize your dreams, it can give you hope and strength. Just like Daddy. Balwin and I would wrap our music about ourselves snugly and shut out the nasty world.
Let them curse and laugh, ridicule until they're blue in the face.
All we'll hear is the rhythm and the blues or the melody of Birdland. I'll sing louder, better and longer.
And I'll drown them all out.
7 Sweet Harmony
I decided not to say anything to Balwin about his father visiting me. Of course. Balwin was confused as to why his father was so cooperative about my coming over to practice music, giving him the car to pick me up, never questioning what we were doing and never complaining about the noise. It filled him with suspicions, and he often wondered aloud about it when I was there. I thought it would just break his heart even to think that I might be seeing him only because his father was paving me.
"It's almost as if he's happy I got into a fight at school," Balwin said. "My mother was far more upset than he was about it. In fact, she was the one to suggest I should stop seeing you."
"Maybe you should." I quickly said.
"No, no, it's all become nothing," he promised. He was back in school and back at the piano for
our chorus rehearsals. An unexpected and happy result of the fight and of all the trouble we both had with other students was Balwin's loss of shyness. He was no longer reluctant about talking to me and sitting with me at lunch. It was as if the fight had been some sort of initiation he had to endure in order to be accepted. Almost immediately afterward, fewer and fewer boys teased him, and those who did, didn't do it with any enthusiasm.
"They're making things up about us behind our backs anyway," Balwin rationalized after I had made a remark about it. He gazed around the cafeteria, still searching for wry smiles and sly glances.
"We never needed their permission to talk to each other. Ballwin," I told him.
"Right. Who even cares about them?" he asked with his new bravado.
Despite my fury toward his father and the insulting proposal he had made to me.. I had to admit to myself that what he had predicted was coming true anyway. Balwin began to take better care of himself He loosened up, wore less formal clothing, actually had his hair styled and began to do more vigorous exercise and lose weight. I started to wonder if Balwin didn't suspect something because he began to report his losses to me on a regular basis, almost as if he believed I had some sort of personal stake in his physical improvement. After two and a half weeks, he was down ten pounds and it became very apparent in his face. His cheeks lost their plumpness and I thought he looked a lot more handsome.
Exercise made him proud of his budding muscularity. One afternoon, he just had to roll up his sleeves to show me his emerging biceps.
"My father's happy because I'm finally making use of the expensive weight lifting equipment he bought me three years ago."
I felt funny encouraging him. I couldn't help experiencing the guilt, even though I had specifically and vehemently turned down his father's offer. Nevertheless. Balwin was so excited and proud about his process. I had to compliment him.
He no longer avoided physical education classes and he began to make friends with boys who previously had no use for him. Now they were inviting him to participate in their pickup basketball games and then, nearly a month after the fight he had had with Joey Adamson, I saw the two of them talking and joking with each other between classes as if they had been lifelong friends.
Even Thelma Williams began to eat her own words because some of her girlfriends were making positive remarks about Balwin's new look.
Reluctantly, she approached me after our physical education class and said. "Looks like you're having a good influence on your man."
She spoke the words as though they each left the taste of rotten eggs in her mouth.
"Whatever he does, he does because he wants to do it. Not because of me," I said. "'And he's not my man. He's his own man," I snapped.
Everyone's eyebrows went up. Even I was changing, talking more these days, and they all took note of it.
Thelma smirked looked at the others and shook her head.
"Sure," she said. "'Just shut him off and you'll see whose man he is and whose he isn't."
They all laughed and walked on, leaving me pondering what they all believed. Balwin and I had hardly exchanged a friendly kiss. What made them assume otherwise? Was it simply our spending so much time with each other?
"It's the music." I told Arlene Martin and Betty Lipkowski one afternoon when they asked me why I spent so much time with Balwin as compared to some of the better-looking, more outgoing boys who had shown interest in me.
"Music?" Arlene asked.
"Balwin feels it like I do. When we're doing a song together, we're connected. We touch each other more deeply. In here." I said with my hand over my breast. "and here," I added pointing to my temple.
They sat there staring at me for a moment. Then Betty shook her head and smiled.
"You make it sound like sex," she said with an air of jealousy. "Maybe it's better than sex," I said.
The two looked at each other and then gazed at me as if I was truly insane. Soon, there was something else about me and Balwin, something else to fill the pot of gossip and to be stirred and spread. Betty and Arlene were telling people we were in some kind of weird, kinky- relationship related to music. It kept us on the idle-chatter theater marquee, kept us moving through spotlights and made us aware of every word we said to each other, every touch or smile. It was as if we both felt we were under glass, in the camera's eye, being recorded. Ironically, it made Balwin even more self-conscious about his appearance and he looked more handsome.
When I sang in chorus now. I could feel everyone's eyes and ears on me, watching how I gazed at Balwin behind the piano, all of them looking for some special light, some special sin that would reveal the magic we shared. I suppose I sang even better. I know I sang louder. but Mr. Glenn 1.xras very pleased.
"This will be the best concert ever," he predicted.
Two nights before the concert. Balwin picked me up for another special rehearsal at his house. He had completed his song about me and wanted me to hear all of that as well as complete our preparations for my second audition number. His father, pleased with Balwin's physical changes, was talking about buying him his own car.
"He told me if I was going to have girlfriends and dates and such, there would be a greater need for my own transportation. I didn't even bring it up!" he cried, ecstatic over his father's new face.
Whenever his father greeted me now, he always wore a ve
ry pleased smile. Balwin said it was having an effect on their whole family. When his father was happy, his mother was happy.
"I can't believe the changes that have come over my home these past few weeks," he told me as we drove to his house. "My father and I actually talk to each other these days. I don't know how to explain it. but I'm sure it has a lot to do with you," he added.
"Me? Why?" I asked quickly. He shrugged.
"I said I don't know how to explain it. All I know. Ice, is ever since you and I started working together, the world turned into rainbow colors from the gray and black it used to be. You're just going to have to accept the compliment," he insisted.
I turned from him, feeling my heart skip beats. These were nice things to hear said about me, but somehow they made me very anxious. It was as if my heart knew more than my brain and with every beat was warning me that rainbows don't come until after the storm.
We had yet to have the real storm.
Balwin's house was always very quiet, but this evening it seemed more so. His father didn't make his usual appearance in the living room doorway either.
"My parents are having dinner at the home of one of my father's clients," Balwin explained. "My mother wanted me to go, too. but I told her I had already made plans. My father said it was fine." Balwin quickly added before I could complain that he shouldn't have turned her down. He smiled at me and shook his head. 'He is the one who always insists I go along to show my respect for his clients. I sure can't figure him out these days," he said and continued down the basement stairs.
A dark shadow moved over the hallway toward me, but it was only a cloud floating across the moon, shutting down the light that passed through the windows. I followed Balwin who was already at the piano.
"It's ready," he declared. "I've finally figured out the last verse." I knew he was speaking about the song he had written for me.
I stood at the side of the piano and he began, singing through the part I had heard before and then looking at me during the finished final verse, he sang:
.
Yes, there is music in the silence of her smile. There is a melody in her eyes.
Then she looks at me,
I feel my heart begin to sing.
I feel the glory that her lips can bring. I understand the true reason for the spring The burst of blossoms, the song of birds And I lift my own lips and eyes to be caressed
by her bejeweled voice.
So Play, play this song of you.
Play for the old and play it for the new. Play at the break of day and pay in the twilight
how... Play away the sadness and the sorrow. Walk before the saddest eyes you see. Walk and bring the music back to me. .
When he lifted his finders from the keys and sat
back. I just stared at him. The music was still riming in my ears. He formed a tentative, insecure smile. "Is it all right?" he finally asked.
I nodded and then he stood up quickly, his face twisted with confusion.
"Ice," he said. "Ice, there are tears streaking down your cheeks. What is it?" he asked stepping closer. He touched one of my tears as if he had to feel it to believe it. Then he brought his fingers to his lips.
"Beautiful," I whispered.
"Like you." he said.
His face moved toward mine in such small incremental movements, it was silly slow motion. but I didn't step back or turn away. We kissed, a soft, long kiss, neither of us lifting our hands from our sides. When he pulled away, his eyes were still closed as if he was trying to savor every lingering delicious moment.
"When I kiss you, it's like bringing the words to the music, making it complete," he said.
I smiled and he kissed me again. His left hand went to my waist and his right to my shoulder. I put my arms around him and we held each other, our lips holding us as though all the magnetic magic was there at our mouths.
"The song was the only way I could tell you how I felt about you," he said softly. "I feel it all here," he added, placing his hand over his heart.
I nodded and he took me by the hand and walked me to the settee. We sat beside each other just looking at each other. When someone has so much creativity and talent inside him as Balwin has. I thought, it becomes a more solid identity, far deeper than any mask of male good looks. His feelings for me weren't only in his eyes and on his lips; they were in his very being. I was overwhelmed by his sincerity and his hunger for my approval and love.
Yet. I couldn't help feeling a little afraid as well, but not afraid for myself as much as I was afraid for him. Such total love as Balwin was expressing for me made someone, especially someone like him, as vulnerable as a turtle out of its shell. I did not know myself if I loved or cared for him half as much as he apparently cared for me. He longed to hear me say so. His eyes told me that.
But I did not know if what I felt for him at the moment was all or as much as any woman could feel for any man. Was this what love was? Instinctively, I felt that love meant caring for someone more than you cared for anyone else, even yourself, but I also understood that you needed him to feel the same way or you were incomplete, lost. Could I feel anywhere as intense about Balwin as he obviously could feel about me? Wouldn't he feel incomplete, lost, if I didn't? It took the greatest trust to utter the words, "I love you." to anyone because he might laugh or reject you and leave you as exposed as that turtle.
What would happen then?
Would you be afraid to ever utter those words again? Silence. I realized, was so safe.
As if he could hear the debate in my mind. Balwin leaned forward to end it with a long and far more passionate kiss. He moved his lips over my cheek and up to my eyes. He kissed my forehead, my hair and then my lips again. I did not stop him or pull back and his excitement built faster and faster. I thought I could hear his heart beating against mine, or was that only my own, pounding?
"Ice," he whispered, his hands slipping under my blue cotton blouse and then up to my breasts. His fingers moved in quick side motions over my nipples, hardening them. My back softened and I lowered myself as he moved over me. I felt my bra clip snap and then his fingers on my skin, making every place he touched feel like a tiny firecracker had been lit over it, exploding, the heat building up and down my stomach and my chest, circling my ribs and making me soften and soften until I felt so helpless, so willing to be touched everywhere, kissed everywhere.
I closed my eyes and felt as if I was sinking into the settee.
"I love you, Ice. There. I said it without singing it," he bragged.
I opened my eyes and looked into his to see the Great happiness. He kissed me again, his tongue slipping over mine and then he struggled with his own clothes until I felt his naked thighs and his hardened excitement emerging. It had the opposite effect from what I imagined it was supposed to have. It was more like a wake-up call, a quick splash of cold water or even an electric shock.
What was I doing?
Was this what I wanted to happen? And even so, was it what I wanted to happen now?
Had I already passed that moment when you could still think and decide, that moment before the heat in your blood took control and turned you into to an obedient slave to your own passions?
"Wait, stop," I said. "Please, Balwin. Don't," I cried sharply.
He lifted himself from me and looked down, his eyes so hot. I could see the fire burning inside him. I shook my head.
"Oh," he moaned and then looked down at himself as if he just realized what he had been doing. "Oh. I'm sorry," he muttered and struggled to get himself dressed.
I sat up and fixed my bra. He rushed about, getting his clothes on, hurrying like someone who had to flee the scene of some crime. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he stopped and looked at me, his face full of desperation.
"I'm just not ready for that," I said.
He looked like he would burst into tears. He nodded quickly and completed dressing. Then he rose and for a moment looked in every direction.
"Well
... we... well... let's get back to work," he said.
I watched him hurry back to the piano and sift through pages of music, keeping his eyes off me.
"I'm sorry. I know that wasn't fair of me," I said. He looked up and started to shake his head. "No, it wasn't fair of me. I wasn't sure myself." I admitted. I thought about a spiritual I often sang. "Youweren't the only one in muddy waters." I told him.
He smiled.
"You mean you never..." I shook my head.
He looked relieved.
"I'm no expert," I said. "but it seems to me it's better if it takes its proper time. If it's meant to be, that is." I added.
"Like a baby being born?" he suggested. "You shouldn't rush it. huh?"
I laughed.
"Maybe. I'm no expert when it comes to that either." I said and he laughed too.
"Back to the music," he said and I rose to join him at the piano.
It was truly as if we had rid ourselves of some cobwebs, some of the darkness and the shadows that always hung between us like Spanish moss, draped over our every expression, our every word. We had to get past the feelings, the need to touch and know each other in more intimate ways before we could draw closer to each other than we already were. Once we had done that, the music followed. blossomed. His fingers were freed and so was my voice. We sounded so good together, we both cried out for joy, both knowing it was special.
"If you sing like that, you'll get in that school for sure,' Balwin declared when we finished.
"I will if you come along to accompany me. Can you?"
"We've got to find out if they permit it first," he said. "If they do. sure I will.'
"Thank you. Balwin. You've given me so much," I said.
I hugged him and he held on to me a moment longer, his head pressed to my bosom, his eyes closed.
"You've given me much more," he whispered, his voice cracking.
I lifted his head away, looked down at his loving face and lowered myself to kiss him. The music, his devotion, made him the most handsome man in the world to me at that moment. His hands reached around my waist and pressed my rear as he brought his lips to my lower stomach and then lower and lower until I felt a rush of excitement shoot with lightning speed through my blood to my heart. He looked up at me again, his eyes drawing me. Did I have the strength to say. "stop," again?
Shooting Stars 02 Ice Page 10
