Tuesday, August 27

1. He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

(The Hollies)

"You know, Jason," Stephen said to his best friend across the worktable that separated them, his voice wistful, yet filled with reproach, "Barry was only joking with us."

The table, located in the studio Stephen shared with his father at home, was almost completely covered by sheet after sheet of music paper filled with neatly marked notations. The fifteen year old boys had traded pages back and forth for days now and finally neared the end of their task.

A CD played in the background; soft ocean sounds with the cry of an occasional tern thrown in for color filled the room's companionable silence. Neither musician liked working with actual music in the background—especially when composing; the relaxing, natural sounds blanketed background noises from elsewhere in the house, allowing the twosome to focus on the job before them.

Jason looked across at Stephen, noting his friend's not-quite-so-haunted expression. Stephen's square face had filled out somewhat in their year-old friendship. Wavy hair of an earthy brown woven through with red highlights framed that face. Stephen's wide mouth was expressive, especially when he smiled, but Stephen's eyes were the feature that grabbed everyone's attention. They were a pleasant brown filled with amber flecks. The amber highlights proved an excellent indicator of Stephen's mood. If he was content, they hardly showed. If he was angry, those amber flecks seemed to fly right out of his eyes as sparks. At the moment, they were barely visible.

"Yes, and no," Jason commented, wryness touching his voice. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, and when standing something over an inch taller than Stephen, Jason's oval face was mobile in expressing his emotions. Now, his lips crinkled into a wry smile, matching the tone in his voice. "In a sense," he told Stephen, "Barry was joking with us when he made sure the audience knew we were creating the arrangements for the concert; on the other hand, he also knew that keeping you busy with writing down all those arrangements was one way I could help you put distance between the present and Arianne's death."

Stephen looked across the room at Jason's words. This had been the most rewarding ... and most difficult ... summer of his life. He'd finally figured out what girls were all about, managed to win the love of a wonderful, beautiful, and talented girl named Arianne Peters, and then had to lose her when leukemia overwhelmed her body. He was holding her when she died; they had six weeks together—six weeks he knew he'd treasure for the rest of his life because Ari managed to cram a lifetime of experiences into that short span of time despite her illness. He loved her deeply, a love she enthusiastically returned.

They met at a music conservatory—and knew they were meant for each other from the instant their eyes first locked. Everyone around them knew, too, including Barry Manilow, who visited as a guest of the conservatory to work with the talented group of young musicians.

Barry cared enough to help him through her funeral, and, when Stephen conducted the Clarkstowne Symphony in the premiere performance of the Rhapsody he wrote for Arianne, Barry attended and even performed a special encore honoring both Arianne and him.

That led to a one night, special performance—just Barry, Jason, and him—at a dinner club in Clarkstowne. Barry depended on them to arrange and perform the songs he sang. It was a fantastically uplifting experience; during the performance, Barry jokingly commented that the two of them had a homework assignment to write down the music they were playing out of their heads. They'd laughed, right along with the audience.

Now, the shoe was on the other foot. Here they were, with those very arrangements spread all over the worktable.

Barry was right. Doing this had helped.

Stephen raised his head. "Writing has helped me put some breathing space into the turmoil of this summer."

"I know," Jason responded softly. "Except for our conversation the day she died, you haven't said a word about her; since we've been doing these arrangements, though, you've begun talking, remembering. You're not as closed up as you have been." Jason grinned encouragingly. "Don't stop just because I told you I noticed, now!"

Stephen chuckled. "I won't," he assured his blond friend. "You above all, of everyone I know, can appreciate what I have to say about her, because you knew her almost as well as I did."

"That is a compliment I will treasure."

"I miss her terribly, Jason."

"I know, Stephen. There's a black pit in the center of your heart; you know it's there, you can sense it, though you're no longer in danger of falling in." Jason saw his words' truth in Stephen's eyes.

Stephen nodded his agreement.

"You have one, too," he told Jason softly. "It's one reason I know you understand when I talk about her."

Jason nodded, his blue eyes darkened with memory. Tony Clark had been his best friend through his early childhood in Cleveland. One terrible day in March a year and a half ago, they had been playing a duet in their neighborhood park. It had been just after sunset, and both were almost ready to go home. The moon had been shining in the darkening sky, and that had made them think of a little-known song recorded by the Carpenters years before called "Crescent Noon." They'd decided to play it as the perfect way to end their afternoon of playing together, and during the duet, a drunk driver tore through the park, hit and killed Tony. Jason spent eight months in a wheelchair, though the accident didn't injure him. The trauma of Tony's death robbed him of the use of his legs, along with his ability to play and compose music.

That lasted until he met Stephen Ingalls.

Jason's family moved to Clarkstowne, West Virginia and Jason reluctantly joined the high school orchestra—where he met Stephen. Stephen slowly, painstakingly wormed his way into Jason's life, taking over the empty place left behind by Tony.

Stephen had helped him face Tony's death and regain both his legs and his music. As the doctors had assured him, it was all in his head. The shared experience had made them closer than most brothers.

Jason's face settled into thoughtful lines as he looked at his best friend. "I do miss Tony," he admitted softly. "Once in a while, I take out one or another of the solo violin pieces he wrote, and play, remembering. I'm not haunted by memories of the accident as I once was," Jason continued. "I have new memories, someone else to take the empty place." His gaze settled firmly on Stephen. "I have a new best friend."

"And I have a best friend who's been an anchor for me through the past couple of months," Stephen added, completing his side of the picture. "You helped me through the upside-down world of finding a girlfriend." His gaze was direct, and he locked eyes with Jason. "More importantly, you didn't toss me out on my ear when I couldn't do anything else but talk about her." Jason chuckled, but then listened once more as Stephen continued. "You also helped me face the ordeal of her illness and death. You picked me up, even when I wanted to just lie on the floor and die." Stephen shook his head, wonder coloring his voice, appreciation filling his eyes. "Finally, you've pushed me along until I could begin taking steps for myself again."

"I had help," Jason reminded him.

"Michael and Judith have made a big difference," Stephen admitted, "but you're the one who understood my feelings and my moods best, and I don't know how to thank you for all you've done."

Jason grinned. "Finish this?" he gestured to the music scattered before them.

Stephen started chuckling. "All right," he agreed, and pulled the page back into position, lifted his pencil, and began writing the piano part of one of the songs they'd played while Jason returned to work on the flute part of another song.

Late that afternoon, they finished the arrangement of "This One's For You," which had been their encore. With an extra special flourish, they marked the end of the entire book of music.

The actual pile of manuscript paper was about two inches thick and contained everything they'd played, except for two already published works by Chopin. Stephen and Jason had not included the pieces by Chopin they'd used in their warm-up for the concert.

Stephen boldly wrote "An Intimate Evening with Barry Manilow, Arrangements by Stephen Ingalls, Jason Anderson, & Arianne Peters" on a blank piece of manuscript paper. He wrote the comment, "created July 11th and August 1st, performed August 1st" and the year, and added it to the top of the stack.

Next, he located a piece of blank white paper and wrote in his neatest script:

August 27

Dear Barry:

Jason Anderson

Stephen signed the note, and passed it across to Jason.

Jason read it, chuckled, and then signed his name below Stephen's.

Stephen glanced at the paper, then pulled it back and added a note:

PS: Jason and I wrote the parts we played; I tried to write the part you played, Barry, but I may not have it completely correct. Feel free to change Piano 1 as you need.

Enjoy!—S. I.

With that final inscription, Stephen lifted the note and placed it on top of the manuscript as both of them chuckled over the reaction they anticipated Barry would have when he received their work.

Judith Easton walked into the studio while Stephen and Jason were still chuckling over their note to Barry. The two composers had been so focused on what they were doing that they hadn't heard the doorbell ring, or Mrs. Ingalls direct her toward the laughter.

"Hi, guys!" she smiled, flashing an impish grin at both of them. "Have you finally finished whatever it is you're doing?" She slipped through the room to Jason's side, where she wrapped a companionable and innocently possessive arm around him.

Jason smiled in return, stretched, and slipped his arm behind her back, pulling her against his side. "Yes, we have," he told his girlfriend, "and the best part is that you were in on it from the first."

"What?"

Jason pointed toward the stack of paper. "We just finished writing down all those arrangements we played for Barry three weeks ago."

"Oh!" Judith exclaimed, her face lit with excitement, along with a hint of color, at the memory of the fluttery feeling in her stomach that evening because Barry paid attention even to her ... in fact, he specifically, personally invited her to be a part of that wonderful, intimate concert he, Jason, and Stephen performed.

Stephen watched them, pleasure at the closeness they so obviously felt for each other evident on his face, along with just a touch of sadness that Arianne wasn't there with him. If wishes were horses ...

He saw the piece of paper dangling from her other hand, and knew what made her seek them out.

"Get a letter, Judith?" Stephen asked innocently, yet a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Judith raised the paper, waving it about. "Yes, I—" She froze in mid-wave at the expression on their faces. "You both knew about this!" she accused.

"Of course," Jason told her. "We worked with Dr. Donaldson on choosing chair placements for those he brought in. We lost half the clarinets last spring at graduation."

"Then you didn't have any say in ...?" her voice trailed off.

Jason shook his head. "No, and especially no in your case," he told her. "Though Stephen, Doug, and I sit in on and even have input from challenges, Dr. Donaldson is the one who decides who is moved up or down. Chair placement within the orchestra is our responsibility, however."

"That keeps us," Stephen told her firmly, "from being accused of favoritism, plus it clearly says that Dr. Donaldson's the one in charge."

"We're very pleased to have you in the orchestra with us this year," Jason told her, then kissed her lightly on the cheek—which embarrassed her—right there, unexpected and in front of Stephen—but only just a little bit.

"Michael's joining us on merit, too—just as you are—his letter probably arrived today, also," Stephen added.

Just then, Mr. Ingalls came into the room.

Evan Ingalls, Principal Conductor of the Clarkstowne Symphony Orchestra, was tall and slim, with black hair touched in places by gray, giving the distinguished appearance to go with his prestigious position. The Clarkstowne Symphony was known around the world for its excellence, and Evan was the one responsible for that reputation.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "I've finally managed to get here before you put things away. Now I can find out what you two have been up to for the past three weeks!"

"It's just homework, Dad," Stephen replied, grinning, as both he and Jason laughed at his father's comic behavior. "All you had to do was ask!"

"Trying to sneak in on you was much more fun," his father countered. "Hello, Judith," Mr. Ingalls greeted Jason's brunette girlfriend. He gestured toward the manuscript. "May I?"

"Sure," they chorused.

Stephen rose from his chair, and waved his father into it. Evan sat, his eyes drawn to the music paper. He read the note and began laughing, then lifted it from the stack—and his laughter died away.

He flipped through the pages, quickly reading the notations, matching what he saw with what he remembered.

"That photographic memory of yours never ceases to amaze me, Stephen," he told his son as he put the pages he'd moved back onto the stack. "From what I can recall of the evening, this repeats exactly what the two of you performed for Barry."

"Thanks, Dad," Stephen accepted the compliment with a grin.

"Are you planning to number it?"

Stephen looked across at Jason, who encouraged him to answer, his expression saying he'd agree with whatever Stephen decided.

"No," Stephen replied after a moment of reflection. "It's not truly original work, but only arrangements. It was fun to do, but it isn't going to be Opus 15 for me; there's something else to claim that number."

Jason caught on quickly. "You've been writing some more?"

A small gasp of surprise escaped Judith as she, too, caught on.

Stephen nodded. "The concept flowed from our conservatory," he told them. "It's not finished, yet."

"What's the concept?" his father wanted to know.

"Four sonatas," Stephen answered, "One each for oboe, flute, trumpet, and violin, each with a piano accompaniment. They're based on thematic material I heard at the conservatory."

"How much do you have done?" Jason pressed.

Stephen smiled. "Number one, the oboe sonata, is finished—at least in its first draft. I've started work on the flute piece and have sketches for the other two."

"May we see it?" his father asked softly.

"Sure," Stephen agreed with a soft chuckle, and left the room.

Jason and Mr. Ingalls traded a long look while Stephen was gone.

"What do you think?" Mr. Ingalls asked.

"I think he's coping wonderfully well," Jason replied. "Better than I did, actually," he admitted ruefully, as Judith squeezed his shoulders in support. "I'm glad of that, too; I wouldn't want him to go through what I did over those long months after Tony died."

"Thank you for all you've done, Jason," Evan said gently, reaching across to squeeze Jason's arm in appreciation and approval.

"He's my friend," Jason mumbled in answer.

Just as Mr. Ingalls released Jason's arm, Stephen returned carrying the manuscript and a hard-shell instrument case. Jason knew the oboe contained within once belonged to Arianne. Stephen handed the music to his father.

"I'd say," Evan commented as he accepted the paper, "the oboe indicates you'd be willing to play the piece."

"I suppose," Stephen admitted. "I haven't played what I've written as yet, and it would be nice to hear for real what I hear in my head."

"I'm no George Kleinfeldt," Evan warned them with a smile. George was the Clarkstowne Symphony's Pianist in Residence, and Stephen's piano instructor.

"You don't have to be," Stephen told his father. "However," he asserted, "you and I both know your skills are just as good as George's. Don't sell yourself short, Dad, since you won't let me sell myself short." He grinned to be able to reprimand his father and get away with it, also noting the stunned look on Judith's face at their banter. "Besides, this piece won't tie your fingers in knots," he said, exchanging a wink with her as his father and Jason both laughed. "It's melodic, as opposed to technical."