A THING FOR GENEVA

 

A THING FOR GENEVA

By Gerard Thornton

 

               Marcus Allen ambled his way down the corridor towards his next class.  Slaloming through groups of students who were congregating in the hall, he caught a glimpse of his friend Chris, who stood slouched outside of the band room.  No one liked band class, especially for first period.

               “Hey dude, how’s it going,” Chris muttered, briefly looking up from his cell phone as he scrolled through his social media page.

               “’Sup,” Marcus responded, trading a flaccid fist bump with the other teen.

               Chris stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and held up a battered black case.

               “You ready to solo today?”

               Marcus held up his matching case and nodded.

               “As ready as I’ll ever be.  Of course it won’t do me any good, I’ll still suck.”  The two young men laughed and stepped aside to let an instructor pass by.  Chris shook his head, resigned. 

“Dude, alto sax will never be my thing.”

“Me neither,” Marcus agreed, without sounding the slightest bit disappointed in his limitations as a musician.  “But at least sax is cooler than the clarinet.”

Just then Marcus glanced to his right as a small throng of students strode past, on their way to the practice rooms.  Amongst them, was a young woman who was the most beautiful person Marcus had ever seen in his short 17 years of life.  Normally, he found all the girls at Alameda Regional High School to look somewhat similar.  Not many stood apart from the others.  But this girl caught his attention in a big way.  The first thing he noticed was her gait.  She didn’t clomp along the tile floors in sneakers like the others.  She wore hard-soled black leather character shoes that gave an authoritative click with each step.  She had a walk that was measured and purposeful.  Graceful.  She held her head high and her shoulders back in a way that Marcus’ grandmother would have called dignified.  Her hair was the most beautiful shade of chestnut brown, cut to just below shoulder length, a swooping strand fell across one eye, giving her a sleek, mysterious appearance.   Marcus stared as the girl’s head turned ever so slightly in his direction, and for perhaps only the briefest moment, they locked eyes.  Marcus was sure he hadn’t seen the girl before in school, for he would have taken notice at first glance.  Perhaps she had just moved to the city or transferred from another school.  Whatever the case was, he promised himself he had to learn more about her.  He had to know everything about her.

“…dude, are you even paying attention?”  Chris’ high, nasal voice suddenly roused Marcus from his reverie.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“Never mind,” Chris said.  He jutted his chin out towards the form of the music teacher that was heading towards them.  “Here comes Mr. Brooks.  It’s show time.”

Marcus took a glance back over his shoulder, but the girl was gone, swept away amongst the other students as they broke up to enter the practice halls. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Mr. Brooks said with his usual chipper-sounding greeting.  Mr. Brooks was well liked by the students.  Even though he was strict with the student’s instruction and the mastery of their instruments, he was always supportive and allowed any student who was struggling to make up grades with extra credit, whether it be an after-class recital piece, or a written composition.  The man was always nattily dressed with a dark blue suit, and a polka dot bow tie.  The teacher unlocked the door and swung it inwards, then turned on the classroom lights. 

The floor of the room was terraced, with three levels, each higher than the one before it.  The perimeter of the room was lined with instruments, including a pair of large copper kettle drums, a full-sized harp, and a baby grand piano.  Rows of uncomfortable black plastic and chrome chairs were arranged in orchestral order.  The students noisily filed in behind him, each heading for their assigned seat.  The students placed their sheet music on the music stands in front of them, then began to retrieve their instruments from the carry cases they had each brought with them.

“Okay, brass,” Mr. Brooks called over the ensuing racket of chair legs scratching on the floor, instruments being tuned, and cases being slammed open and closed.  “Make sure you get a good pitch; the brass was flat yesterday.  Make sure you work on the mouthpiece position.”

There was a muffled response from the students as they began to get their pitch.   Mr. Brooks stood by the piano, striking a single note, letting it ring out each time.

“You hear that class?  That’s concert A.”  He accompanied the note with his own voice as he called out “Ayyyyyyy.  Get that note, people.”

The teacher waited for the din of the instruments to finally fade away.  He gave a big, beaming smile and held up his baton.  He pointed it to Marcus’ section. 

“Remember brass, pitch needs to be on point.”  

Marcus and the four other students nodded dutifully.  With this, Mr. Brooks counted off the tempo and launched the band into the song Cyclone by Michael Oare.  Marcus did not play in the first movement of the song, and he felt his mind wander out of the room.  It had turned the corner and walked down the hall towards the practice rooms.  The room where she was playing music right at that moment.  Marcus’ focus returned when he heard the end of the xylophone intro.  He fingered the keys of the sax as he awaited his cue.  For Marcus, the rest of the class was a blur. 

 

 

 

 

Marcus was determined to head to the practice rooms.  But to his chagrin, Mr. Brooks kept the class to the last minute, and even a little while longer, as he explained the rehearsal schedule for the upcoming graduation performance that the class would be part of.  Naturally, they would be learning Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance.  By the time class filed back out into the hall, and Marcus got to the practice rooms, he realized he was too late, as all of the rooms were now vacant.  He glumly started his way back towards the staircase and biology class.

 

Over the next week, Marcus became preoccupied by the young woman he had sighted.  He spent every available moment of his free time at school wandering the halls near the music rooms.  Even his music professor had taken notice of Marcus’ sudden apparent interest in the music wing.  One Friday, just before the final bell rang, Marcus tasked himself with sitting in one of the practice rooms on the off chance the girl would happen by.  In order to appear legit, he actually broke out his saxophone, landed his music on the stand, and began to practice sight reading some scales.  There was a fumbling at the door.

Marcus looked up and saw Mr. Brooks peering in.  The man had a big grin on his face, and looked very much pleased.

“Well, well, Mr. Allen, good to see you taking some extra time with your instrument.  Have you been working on your Elgar?”

Marcus gave the man an informal salute.

“Well, I haven’t really dove into it yet, but I’m just going over some scales and modes.”  He tried to sound believable.

“Very good, Marcus, very good.  Don’t forget, once you get to Pomp and Circumstance, the first horn plays in F.”

Marcus wasn’t sure what to make of that bit of instruction, so he only nodded.

“Yes, sir.  Thanks for that.”

“You’re very welcome, and keep in mind the school spring music fling is coming up.  We have some very good acts lined up.  Nothing for the class, but some of the students have shown interest in playing.  Do you think you’d be interested?”

Marcus tossed the idea around in his head.  He could envision sitting up on stage, just him and his alto sax, creating the most offensive cacophony the school had ever been subjected to.  Played in the key of F, as in fail, he thought with grim resignation.

“I’ll think about it Mr. Brooks,” he lied.

The teacher nodded, his smile not faltering.

“Well ok, let me know, auditions will be coming up soon.  Anyway, I’ll let you get on with your practice, I’ll see you on Monday.”

The teacher shut the door behind him and Marcus found himself alone in the room, the horn cold in his hands.  He waited a few minutes, his eyes never leaving the window facing the hall.  Maybe he’d get lucky that day and the girl would walk by.  He wasn’t even sure what he’d do if that happened, but he was sure he’d take advantage of the opportunity if it presented itself.  Maybe he’d even talk to her.

He worked on some scales, then flipped to Elgar’s composition and began working his way through the first movement.  After about ten minutes, he lost interest.

“Ah, the hell with it,” he sighed to himself, and laid the saxophone into its case, bending low to close the catches of the cover.

He left the room, turning to shut the light as he did.  School had only been out of session for about twenty minutes, but the place was already deserted.  There wasn’t even the murmur of voices in the halls.  Nothing.  The absolute absence of sound and commotion in such a large building was startling.  It was almost eerie. 

He hoisted his book bag over one shoulder and made for the stairs.  That’s when he heard it.  The faint strains of a violin floated almost imperceptibly down the hall.  Light, short tugs of the bow, then confident, deliberate vibrato caused the notes to sustain, lilting softly.  Marcus laid his horn case and book bag on the ground and softly padded down the deserted hall to the practice rooms.  Most of the overhead fluorescent lights in the hall had gone out, and Marcus felt a slight sense of apprehension as he approached the closed door of practice room 2-E.  Slowly, he stepped in front of the window and peered in.

It was her.  The girl from the hallway.  She stood almost motionless, poised with her violin, peering down at her music on the stand before her. She brought the bow down onto the strings with a deft touch.  A most beautiful sound radiated from the instrument, the woman’s hand moving with unbelievable precision along the fretboard as the bow worked side to side.  Marcus recognized the part she was playing as being from Sibelius’ concerto for violin. 

Marcus stood, transfixed at the door, as the girl worked into the piece with such concentration in intensity, it was like she wasn’t even aware of her surroundings anymore.  Her body swayed as the song gathered momentum, all the while her eyes focused on the music.  Marcus closed his eyes and fell into the song, moving along with each note.  The violin played with such fluidity and purpose, transitioning from long and low streaks of color to rapid fire bursts.  Then, the music slowed again, settling to soft hiss.

Marcus slowly opened his eyes.  The woman’s back was fully turned to him, her figure long and lithe.  Her hair swayed rhythmically as the movement entered a more somber and dramatic atmosphere.  All at once she stopped playing, her body suddenly standing erect, the bow poised above the strings.  She turned slowly on her heel, her head turning towards the door.  Startled, and afraid he would be caught spying on the woman, he immediately spun away from the door, his back banging against the wall.  Mortified, he was almost certain she had caught sight of him.  Or had she?  He held his breath for a moment, pulse racing.  If she came outside of the room right now, he would never be able to live down the embarrassment.

He counted to ten, but there was no sound at the door.  Instead, to his relief, the violin began again.  Gathering his resolve, he inched his face closer to the window, then looked in.  To his shock, the girl was gazing right at him, her eyes black and fiery, seeming to burn through the space between them. Just then, she heard footsteps coming from down the hall.  It was Daria, one of the girls from Marcus’ music class.  She played both xylophone and vibraphone in the school band.  She was a short, stocky girl, with thick-rimmed black glasses and close-cut dark hair.  Everyone assumed that she was a lesbian. She never seemed to go to any trouble to cast any doubt on this presumption, as if she prided herself on that notion.  Or maybe she just didn’t care what people thought about her.

“What are you doing here,” she asked Marcus, looking honestly shocked to see him there at this time of day.

The boy averted her accusatory stare, trying to cobble up some reasonable explanation.  His mind quickly rifled through its Rolodex of lies and snagged the first one that came into view.

“I left my sax here.  Stupid me.  I was all the way at the bus stop when I realized it wasn’t with me.”

He watched her eyes as they seemed to actively process his explanation.  Her face was impassive, non-committal.

“Oh.”  That’s all she said.

“Well, here it is, my sax.”  Marcus pointed down to the case and bookbag that sat at their feet.

“Ok.”  Daria responded in the same flat tone as before.

“Well, see you on Monday.”  Marcus said, picking up his gear and heading towards the stairs without looking back.

 

 

 

After an uneventful weekend, where the high point of Saturday was a family outing to a local lavender farm, Marcus actually found himself looking forward to school that Monday.  While waiting for class to begin, Marcus chatted with his friend Chris.  He told Chris about a beautiful girl he had spotted in the halls and how she was not only beautiful but also a gifted violinist.  Chris’ attention flagged and the conversation wavered.  Finally, Marcus caught sight of Daria, who was standing at the xylophone, organizing her mallets.  He got up from his seat and walked over.

“Hey there,” he started with a curt wave.

Daria looked up, her eyes squinting from behind her large glasses.

“Oh hey,” she replied awkwardly, not used to holding conversation with other students, especially boys.

“Today I won’t forget my sax,” Marcus continued, wincing at the lame segue.  The girl looked lost for a moment, then she nodded, as she remembered their brief encounter in the hallway on Friday.

“Oh right, right.

“Listen,” the boy continued, walking out onto thin ice. “On Friday, there was a girl playing violin in the practice room.  Do you know her?”

The girl leaned back slightly, her eyes scanning Marcus from head to toe, appraising him, somewhat critically.

“You mean Geneva, Geneva Pearce, the violinist?”

Marcus stood there for a moment, letting the sound of the girl’s name permeate his being.  Geneva.  Of course she would have a name like that, he reckoned.  Someone of such bearing wouldn’t be named An or Mary or anything like that.  It had to be something fitting.  It had to be something special.  Something like Geneva.

“Yes, that’s her,” Marcus nodded emphatically.

“What about her,” Daria asked skeptically, as if it was somehow her duty to vet anyone wishing to inquire about her friend.

“She’s good.  I mean she’s really good on violin, isn’t she?”

“Well, yeah, she is, she’s been playing since she was six.  She studied at the university in Leipzig for a semester.”

“Leipzig,” Marcus repeated almost breathlessly. “I don’t remember seeing her before.  Is she a junior?”

“No, she’s a senior, like us.  I knew her from when she was a freshman here. She studied in Germany during this past fall semester.”

The boy nodded his head, admitting to himself he was unapologetically fascinated with the girl named Geneva.

“You know she’ll be playing in the Spring Concert Fling.  Did Mr. Brooks tell you about it?”

“Yes, he did, he asked me if I’d like to audition.”

This seemed to put off Daria, her eyes narrowed to slits, and Marcus could tell she didn’t feel that he was worthy of that performance venue.  He couldn’t disagree with her on that point.

“Oh,” was all she said, her voice low, disappointed. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t find me there.  I know when I’m out of my depth,” he chuckled, a mischievous grin on his face.

To this, Daria looked away, suddenly realizing that her true feelings had been detected.  

“Good mor-ning!” Mr. Brooks’ sing-song voice called out from the doorway.   “Let’s talk about the upcoming Spring Concert Fling.”

Marcus gave Daria a smile and returned to his seat.  She forced a smile in return.

 

In the weeks leading up to the Spring Concert Fling, Marcus kept on the lookout for Geneva.  One day, he was heading to biology class along with his friend Chris.  The two were immersed in a conversation about the ongoing college hunt.  Suddenly, Marcus stopped walking, and jabbed an elbow into Chris’s side.

“Ow!” Chris exclaimed, rubbing his side, a snarl on his face.

“Look, there she is,” Marcus said in  a hushed tone that bordered on reverence.

“There’s who? Chris asked, confused. “

“That’s that girl Geneva I was telling you about.”  Chris nodded, looking somewhat bewildered. He followed the gaze of his friend and saw a girl walking towards them.   The girl was slender and pretty, and wore a crisp white blouse, with a black skirt and boots.  One hand clutched a violin case.  She looked straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to all the people swarming around her.

Marcus felt his heart flutter as she drew closer.  His knees began to tremble, and he placed a hand on the hall water fountain for fear that he may lose all control of his legs.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  Geneva was the portrait of beauty.  Her eyes were the darkest brown, framed with impeccably shaped black eyebrows.  Her skin was like the finest porcelain.  Marcus swore the girl wasn’t walking but gliding.  She was perfection incarnate.

Marcus waited for the girl to turn the corner, maintaining his silence until she passed from view.  He turned back to his friend.

“Did you see her?”

Chris gave him a half-shrug.

“Yeah, I mean she’s cute but…”

“Cute? What are you talking about, she’s freaking phenomenal.”  Marcus was shocked that his friend wasn’t similarly smitten by the girl named Geneva.

“She looks a little full of herself, don’t you think?”

Marcus gave his friend a look of exasperation bordering on disgust.

“Chris man, she studied in Leipzig for crying out loud, she doesn’t hang with losers you know.”

“Lype what?” Chris asked, scratching his head in confusion. 

“Chris, she’s a classically trained violinist, she’s not just some marching band shlub.”

Chris pondered this for a moment then shook his head.

“Whatever dude, listen I’m almost late for class, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Marcus nodded, then traded a fist bump with his friend, and started back towards his biology class.  The teacher had already started the lesson by the time he got to the classroom.  He had the unfortunate need to open the class door, interrupting the teacher in the process.  All eyes swung towards Marcus, and he felt his flush.   Whatever fallout came from his tardiness, it was worth it to get a glimpse of Geneva, he reasoned.

 

Thes days leading up to the spring concert were ones of tension in the music department for the students that were performing.  Three students from Mr. Brook’s class were playing selections, as well as five students from the other classes.  There was also a performance by the school’s marching band, and the glee club.  Ther performance was a time-honored tradition that was highly anticipated by the students, families and faculty alike. 

Among the performers this year was a brilliant female violinist named Geneva Pearce.  Aside from her regular music classes, she spent at least three hours a day either practicing or else taking advanced lessons in theory and performance.  For the concert, she had chosen the song Meditation, a symphonic intermezzo from the opera Thaïs by French composer Jules Massenet.  The song was just over five minutes in length

By the evening of the concert, the air was electric with excitement.  The show was held in the large auditorium with a capacity of over 800 seats.  The show was to begin at 7:00 PM.  Marcus tried to convince Chris to attend with him, but Chris didn’t want to be anywhere near the school on a weekend.  Marcus went alone and hung around the grounds of the school for an hour before the doors finally opened.  Long lines of ticket holders queued up along the side of the building.  Some held signs, others carried flower for their children who were performing that evening.  As Marcus shuffled forward with the rest of the line, he recognized Mr. Brooks and one of the other music teachers entering the school.  The Vice Principal came next, followed by Mr. Krauss, the Principle.  From deep within the auditorium came the sounds of instruments anxiously being readied for performance.

It took about half an hour before Marcus was finally in a seat.  Somehow, he was able to find an open seat just in front of stage right.  He sat somewhat compressed by the bulky women who sat on each side of him, so he abandoned the armrests and kept his hands in his lap.  He craned his neck and saw the auditorium was getting packed.  He was hopeful that his seat would be close to where Geneva would be standing when she performed, but by the sight of the scattered seats and instruments on stage, it was anyone’s guess.

Finally, the lights began to dim.  Principal Krauss came to the stage just then and adjusted the microphone, which was centered on the stage, there was a loud pop followed by a brief chirp of feedback in the PA system.  The audience responded with laughs and a scattering of applause.    The principal waved at the crowd and smiled.

“If you liked that performance, you should see what else we have in store for you tonight.”

The audience erupted in laughter at this.  The Principal paused until the noise subsided.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.  Most of you may know me, but for those who aren’t familiar, I’m Principal Skinner and I’ll be your emcee tonight.  We are tremendously proud of our students, who put in so much effort over the past few months as they prepared for tonight’s Spring Concert Fling.” 

As the man continued with his preamble, Marcus gave one last glance around He estimated that there was close to 600 people in the audience.  He returned his attention to the stage as the members of the Alameda High Glee Club filed out from behind one of the tall dark curtains.  The group was met with raucous applause.  The Principal gave a short bow to the singers, then left the stage.

The leader of the Glee Club pulled out a pitch pipe and counted off the time as the group began their a cappella rendition of Prince’s Purple Rain.

Marcus’ attention drifted in and out, as his mind was focused intently on the one student in the show he had come for in the first place.  The lady to his right elbowed him in her attempt to pull a snack out of her purse.  Apparently, she hadn’t noticed that she had struck him, because she said nothing, only popped a handful of the chocolates into her mouth, and began chewing.  Marcus leaned away from the woman to give him more space.  The glee club ended the first song, then the vocal beat boxer pressed the microphone up to his lips and gave a hip-hop beat for the intro to Katy Perry’s Roar. 

The glee club performed three songs, and they were followed by a senior who Marcus knew from science lab.  The boy played an original song on guitar, and closed his set with a cover of John Lennon’s Imagine on piano.  After that set, Marcus grew antsy in his uncomfortable seat, as he watched with some disappointment yet another performer that wasn’t Geneva come on the stage.  This was a sophomore duet consisting of two girls playing guitar and violin for country songs Marcus didn’t recognize.

Marcus was getting the urge to urinate, but he dared not leave his seat for fear of missing the only performance that mattered that night.  After the two girls cleared the stage.  There were a few moments of silence, and then Principal Krauss came back on the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am so profoundly pleased to introduce this next act.  Coming up now for your enjoyment is a senior who has really dedicated herself to her music, both here at Alameda High, and while studying abroad at the Hochschule for Music and Theatre in Leipzig, Germany.  Performing Meditation from the Massenet’s opera Thaïs, won’t you please join me in welcoming our very own Geneva Pearce.”

The audience came alive, and Marcus was perhaps the most lively in his response.  He clapped his hands together until the palms were sore, then gave a loud whistle with a pinky tucked in the corner of his mouth.  Then, she came forth from the left stage wing, and he grew motionless.    He watched, enraptured as she strode across the stage, wearing a floor length short-sleeve black dress that was slit up to the knee.  Marcus saw she was wearing black, open-toe heels that gave her a striking height, adding to her almost majestic appearance.  She looked ravishing. Geneva gave a small bow to the audience, her face framed in that gorgeous head of auburn hair.  She then brought her instrument to her shoulder.  For the performance, Geneva was playing an 1891 Mittenwald violin crafted by Neuner & Hornsteiner.  The instrument’s dark-rubbed body and ebony fingerboard added to Geneva’s somber, dark stage aura.

“She’s very good I hear,” the lady next to Marcus whispered to him, her breath redolent of chocolate.

Marcus gave her a perfunctory nod, not wishing to miss a moment of the performance.  This was the moment he had been waiting for.  To Marcus’ astonishment, she stood almost directly in front him.  He was a mere twenty feet away. The houselights dimmed away, leaving Geneva alone on the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight.  The house fell completely silent.

She raised her bow with in a practiced, graceful arc.  In that moment before the first note, Marcus felt his throat tighten.  He was sure his life was never going to be the same after this night.

Geneva’s eyes looked out towards the audience briefly, then closed slightly as she drew the bow downwards across the strings.  

The music floated above the strings, soft and rolling, gaining slowly in force, Geneva’s hands expertly coaxing the voice of the violin to match the song’s story as it unfolds.  In act II of the opera, the monk Athanael beckons the Priestess Thaiis to convert away from her hedonistic lifestyle and to embrace Christianity and salvation.  The song conveys Thaiis as she ponders her life as it is, and as it might be should she follow the Athanael’s proposition.  Despite the monk’s overt intentions, he secretly fosters a burning love for Thaiis, and he can no more offer salvation for her, than he can for himself, as his hunger for her becomes overwhelming.

Geneva’s vibrato was particularly effective, as the resonance of the notes evoked a profound silent attention from the audience, each person seemingly entranced within their own thoughts.

As Geneva’s delicate yet powerful tone arched through the space above the stage, Marcus felt the edges of his eyes grow moist.  Although he had heard the song maybe once or twice on a classical music playlist he had listened to for school, Geneva brought the full emotion of the song to him in a way he would never have imagined possible.  He watched as she ducked slightly with the long bowing motion, her body mirroring the pathos of the song with exquisite form and nuance.  Her dark eyes, resting now on the fingerboard, would sometimes look out at the audience.  Marcus watched her face throughout the performance, here it looked soft and placid, at other times her face was passionate, eyes pressed tight as her head swayed in rhythm.  Then, without warning, the girl spun slightly to her eft, and her eyes came to rest directly on Marcus.

The bow rose and fell with each note, and Marcus swallowed with a click as Geneva appeared to be connecting directly with his innermost soul.  His eyes began to brim over, as the music reached crescendo.  He tried to look away, but failed, and still Geneva played on, seemingly sworn to destroy him emotionally.  Marcus pushed back into his seat, trying to somehow increase the distance between himself and the woman who was now looking right into him, each note from her violin seeming to weaken his resolve, threatening his entire person to collapse upon itself.  Her dark, unfaltering eyes burned down on him, beneath their black, crescent brows.  She appeared at once haughty and aloof, and yet loving, capable of the most tender affections.

Tears streamed down now, and he fought the urge to get up and flee.  He hated himself at that moment for being so vulnerable.  What had gotten into him?  He had been to numerous recitals with not so much as a twitch of emotion.  What was so different about Geneva, he wondered hopelessly.

Geneva suddenly stopped, and looked back down at her fingerboard, the pause lasting just the right interval to build tension entering the coda.

As the last long note of the song pealed out, then fell silent, Marcus was no longer sniffling, he was bawling.  The crowd erupted in applause, all rising in unison for a standing ovation.  Geneva bowed once, gave a half smile, bowed again, and then was met by the Principal, who came out to shake her hand.  That was enough for Marcus, and he clumsily threaded his way between the seats, his waterlogged eyes looking for the nearest exit.  The chocolate woman seemed to have noticed the boy’s appearance, for he heard her remark, “Is he okay?”  come from somewhere behind him.  It didn’t matter, he wasn’t turning back.

By the time he had reached the exit, he had regained some of his composure.  He welcomed the warm May night as it came upon him.  He tugged the back of his arms across his face to blot away the tears that had come during the performance.  Suddenly he was glad that his friend Chris had not joined him that night.  Thank God for small miracles, he thought, he would never have been able to live it down.  Another one of God’s little miracles was the fact that it was Friday night, and Marcus would have another two days before he returned to class, just in case one of the students had witnessed his embarrassing lack of emotional composure.  He was sure by Monday the show, and every facet of its existence would be blotted from the memory of every student in the audience.

By Monday, Marcus had had some time to resume his decorum and get settled back into the cool-senior mode of high school.  He hung out at lunch with Chris and some other friends, and tried not to give too much thought to Geneva, if that was entirely possible. That was the plan.

Everything was going as planned, until Marcus was walking through the senior locker bays near the cafeteria.  He was half looking forward to a meal of the pepper steak and rice when he opened the swinging door to the cafeteria and almost smashed headlong into a girl and her friend.  He recognized the short, stocky girl as Daria from music class, but it took him a moment to realize who the taller girl was.  Maybe it was the jeans and sneakers that threw him off, or maybe it was the hair tied haphazardly into a ponytail.  It was the eyes that made him come to the start realization that the girl he was looking at was Geneva Pearce.  She stood there patiently, probably expecting him to step to the side to let her pass.

Marcus worked his jaw, fretfully trying to get words to come out.  Geneva hiked one eyebrow ever so slightly, in a show of, what was it, bemusement, frustration, or was it something else?

“You… you’re Geneva,” he muttered, finally breaking the awkward silence.  “You played at the Spring Concert Fling Friday.”

The two girls gave each other a glance and chuckled.  Up until that moment, Marcus realized he had never heard Geneva speak.  She had never even uttered one word in his presence.  He knew for certain that she would have a well-bred and sophisticated speaking style, one that bespoke of her cultured upbringing and pedigree.

“Yup, that was me,” Geneva said with an aw-shucks shrug.

Before he could measure his reply, he blurted out “Do you know what you did?”

Again, the girls looked at each other, but this time their expression was confusion.

“I’m sorry…?” Geneva sked, her voice low, uncertain.

“You killed me with that piece you performed.  I mean, you flayed me.  My soul was laid bare, and you killed me with each note.”  Marcus surprised even himself by the level of passion he was displaying in front of the stranger.  Was his voice too loud for that school setting?   In his periphery thought he saw a few students pause in their activity, taking note of the weird exchange between seniors.

Unfortunately for Marcus, Geneva had misunderstood him, and thought he accused her of fileting him, like a fish, and she stifled a burst of nervous laughter.  Daria rolled her eyes, showing her disapproval for being held up by the kid from music class that played a lousy sax.

“Well, thanks,” Geneva searched for a good way to wrap up the conversation as best as possible.  “I’m glad you liked it.”  There, she thought to herself, that should do it.

At that moment, Marcus became acutely aware of two things.  One, there were indeed several students who were languishing in the hall, whispering amongst themselves, seeming to eagerly await the outcome of this shameless display of fan-boying.  The second thing Marcus noticed, was that Geneva’s voice was nowhere near what he had envisioned for her.  He had thought she would elocute her words with a pronounced Middle Atlantic accent, like Katherine Hepburn had used.  But instead, her voice was flat, dull, pedestrian even.  It bore no trace of the mystery or intrigue of her on stage persona.

“You’re glad I liked it?  He repeated, emphasizing the word that had served to demolish the pedestal he had built for the girl, sending her jeans-wearing, ponytail-topped butt right to the tiled floor in his mind.  There was another awkward silence, this one even longer, as both sides waited for the next move to be made.

“You were staring right at me, didn’t you see me there in the first row?  I mean you looked right at me…”  Marcus’ voice trailed away, and he felt as though a hole might open up beneath his feet at any moment, swallowing him up in its darkness for eternity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see much, I wasn’t wearing my contacts, and I couldn’t see anything past the edge of the stage.”

Marcus now wished for a hole to open up in the floor.  Hell, he’d dig one himself, just to extricate himself from this embarrassment.

LOSER, someone in the background coughed into their hand, making the jeer just audible enough for all to hear.  A chorus of chuckles broke out in the hallway.

Marcus felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he found himself once again looking for an immediate escape route.  He gave up on the conversation at that moment, he gave up on the pepper steak and rice, and he spun on his heel and pin-balled his way through the students that stood in the hall.

 

For the rest of the semester, Marcus avoided the practice rooms in the music wing of the school.  He also avoided eye contact with Daria while the class was warming up for the next song called for by Mr, Brooks.

The next time Marcus played anything outside of the classroom was when Mr. Brooks stood with the class band on the track of the school field on a warm June day as the school prepared for graduation. The days before graduation had dragged by, with endless practices for Elgar’s songs, and the rehearsals for the ceremony itself.  At all times, Marcus found himself keeping one eye open for Geneva, hoping to avoid her at all costs. As the graduating class sat silently in their gowns listening to the commencement speech, he thought he caught a glimpse of her two sections ahead of him, but he couldn’t be sure.  There were just so many people milling around, and everyone looked similar in the red gowns.

His mind focused on the ceremony, and he found himself being taken more than he had expected, upon hearing the school glee club singing the lama mater.  He began to think of where he had come from, and what he wanted to do in the years ahead.  The Principal duly announced that the graduating class should remember everything they learned in the esteemed has of Alameda High, and to keep the strong bond of friendship amongst friends, faculty and family in the coming years.  Then he instructed the class to turn their tassels.

When it came time for the processional out of the ceremony, Mr. Brooks tapped off the intro of Elgar’s Pomp with his baton and the band played.  After the ceremony ended, the school band placed their instruments on wheeled dollies that had been brought into the stadium.  The janitors would come by and return everything to the music wing after the students and guests departed.  Marcus traded some good=byes with friends, then spotted his parents standing at the edge of the bleachers.  His mother was beaming.  His father and brother even looked proud of him.  His sister looked up from her phone just long enough to smile, then continued scrolling.

Marcus tucked his cap under an arm and unzipped the front of his gown, trying to cool down a bit, after being immersed in that sea of bodies all afternoon.  A voice called out to him from somewhere, and he stopped in his tracks, trying to place it.

“Marcus… Marcus, over here, behind you.”

The boy turned and saw perhaps the last person he expected to be standing behind him.  It was Geneva.  She was still wearing her cap, her beautiful hair once again bounding out from underneath to full effect.  In spite of himself, he felt an immediate pang of longing well up inside him.

“Geneva,” he said.  To his own ears, he sounded as if he was giving a benediction or something.

“Hello, Marcus, how have you been?”  Her voice sounded different somehow.  She held out the vowels slightly, as if they were half notes played on her violin.

“I’m good, and you?”

Geneva just gave him a smile.  A most beautiful smile, and he drank it in, not wishing to rush the moment by speaking.

“I’m well thanks much.  I just wanted to tell you I listened to your playing today.”

Marcus’ eyes darted about him, wondering if he was about to garner some withering criticism.  He looked away, unable to meet her glance.

“Yeah, was I ok?” He managed.

Geneva took a step nearer.  His eyes landed on the zipper of her red gown. He dared not look up.  Musically he knew he was nowhere close to being in her league.

“You were extraordinary.”  The way she pronounced the adjective made her sound wise beyond her years, wise and cultured in a way that he could never hope to be.  Her use of impeccable diction was far different from the way he had heard when he had first spoke to her in the hall, so many weeks ago by the school cafeteria.  He glanced up at her with something akin to reverence. 

“Really?”  He must have looked ridiculous at that moment, because she burst into laughter.  It wasn’t mean, cruel laughter, it was genuine, and he found himself joining in.  Geneva held her smile as he studied the curve of her face, and the kind intensity of her eyes.

“Yes, really.  I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t sincerely mean it, you know.”

Geneva glanced over towards the bleachers.

“Well, I mustn’t keep you, it seems your family is standing over there waiting for you to return, and they’re growing impatient.”

 Let them wait, Marcus thought to himself, but it came out as a nod.

“I just wanted to tell you that you were wonderful, and I think you have a voice in your instrument.  Do keep it up.”

“I will, I promise…” Marcus voice trailed away as she turned and started back towards the school building.  She paused momentarily and called out.

“And yes, yes, I do remember you from the Spring Concert Fling.  How could I not?  You were the only one that truly felt the performance as it should be felt. Don’t ever be self-conscious.  Not for a moment.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, he felt his mother’s embrace, and the sounds of his family congratulating him.  Through the tangle of arms and faces, he watched as Geneva retreated, then vanished from view, his final memory of her being her auburn hair glinting in the sun as she pulled open the school door and stepped into its shadows.

In the weeks ahead, Marcus attempted to locate Geneva, but he was unsuccessful.  Try as he may, he couldn’t find any mention of her on social media or in any of the graduation bulletins issued by the school.  He even went so far to contact Daria on the school’s alumni chat group, but she professed that she didn’t know the whereabouts of her friend.

Marcus consoled himself as best he could, in the end resigning himself to the fact that it was most likely for the best that he hadn’t crossed paths again with Geneva, for fear of upsetting that mystical balance of life.  That place of symmetry with a special someone wherein we were destined to inhabit only a certain finite place and time. He knew he would never forget her, and whenever Meditation was playing, he felt a twinge, a pang, that brought him back to that one time when he found himself exposed and unafraid to revel in the emotions that had been evoked at the hands and instrument of a beautiful girl named Geneva.

 

 

THE END