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...