Behind These Hands Read online

  Excuses.

  Tell me I’m whining.

  Why?

  Gives me incentive.

  Why?

  Always worked before.

  STOP WHINING!!

  Smh. One more try tomorrow.

  INTERRUPTED CONVERSATION WITH MY FINGERS

  Was Dad right about you,

  that playing the piano

  is your destiny,

  our destiny,

  and if so

  would that translate into

  times like these

  when no amount of concentration

  seems to cut it?

  And what kind of future would that be,

  so rattled by the distractions

  that you can’t

  think,

  perform,

  function?

  tap—tap—tap

  Tara swings the door open

  and steps right in

  as if invited.

  “HE’S NOT HERE,”

  I yell in her face.

  She jerks away

  as if I had just hurled

  a flaming torch at her.

  “I didn’t think he was, C l a i r e,”

  she says, purring like a hurt kitten,

  “but I was just wondering,

  um,

  who you were talking to?”

  “M Y S E L F, Tara,

  NOW SHUT THE DOOR,

  please?”

  And with that I hit ‘record,’

  soar through “The Kite”

  like I’ve never done before,

  listen back

  and know I’ve nailed it.

  CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

  “It is finished,” I announce to the world,

  my world, Juan and Mia, at lunch

  with the first big grin I’ve felt like sharing

  in several weeks.

  “Sounds religious,” Mia says

  with her impish smile,

  “but I think it’s more like

  musical. See! Getting on your

  case about whining did the trick.”

  She hi-fives me.

  Juan puts his sandwich down

  to join in.

  “Seriously, is it finished and on its way?”

  His grin is big, too

  and gorgeous.

  I grab my cell and scroll through my photos

  to find the one Mom took of me

  yesterday after school,

  one day ahead of deadline

  at the computer, ready to press “send”

  on the digital copy

  and the scanned, handwritten score.

  “I’m proud of you for hanging in there

  Claire, in spite of all the stuff

  going on in your family. Besides,

  like I said,

  this was your idea. I’m just playing

  follow the leader.”

  “While we’re on the subject,”

  Mia says, mouth half-full,

  “I hope you both know

  it’s like

  may the best man win here.

  I’m impartially partial

  to both of you.”

  Juan flashes the smile

  directly across the table

  at me

  and though I return it,

  I know we have that hurdle

  yet to cross.

  I choose not to let it spoil

  the warmth that floats across

  right now.

  Juan deadpans news-reporter seriousness.

  “Yes, and Claire, tell us in your own words,

  what finally helped you dig in

  and block out the distractions?”

  “Oh, that’s an easy one, you guys.

  No offense to either of you

  for your wonderful cheering-on

  but

  hands down

  I owe it all to Tara,

  queen of the cheerers-on.”

  Now they exchange quizzical glances

  then uproarious laughter

  when I describe her visit

  to the practice room.

  THE LAUGHTER DIES

  Juan and I agree at the lockers

  that Mia needs to come

  to our world premiere popcorn party.

  He offers his house,

  I offer the popcorn and drinks

  and we settle on tomorrow night.

  I text Mia from the backseat

  while Carlos takes the curves

  too fast.

  Tara’s not in the car to show off for

  so I wonder what’s up.

  I figure Carlos must have a hot date

  for the football game.

  I open the window and close my eyes,

  letting in a delicious whiff

  of October air

  tinged with decaying leaves

  and a hint of smoke.

  The deadline behind me,

  the “premiere party” ahead of me,

  for an instant

  I forget the present,

  blotched with blood samples

  and a devastating diagnosis.

  “Wake up Claire, I think this is where you live.”

  Carlos chortles.

  “Not asleep, just enjoying the ride,

  well, except for being thrown

  dangerously about

  in the back seat

  by the driver’s swerves.”

  “He’s in a hurry, Claire. He’s gotta get home

  and primp up for his date with Tahrah Tahrah.”

  Carlos reaches across the seat

  to hook his brother’s neck

  in his huge hand.

  Juan ducks.

  “It all makes perfect sense, now,”

  I say, laughing as I climb out

  the back seat. I wave goodbye,

  and chuckle all the way

  to the front door

  where

  inside,

  the laughter quickly dies.

  IT’S ALL RELATIVE

  Mom perches on her favorite stool

  stirring a cup of tea.

  She jumps up when she hears me.

  She looks older than she was

  at breakfast this morning.

  I brace myself.

  The lab report?

  How much worse can it be?

  I don’t want to hear this.

  “A terrible seizure at school.

  Bit his lip going down.

  Had to have stitches.

  Scared the teacher’s assistant to death.

  She’s the one who saw it.

  Scared himself.

  Thank God he didn’t crack his head open.

  I just don’t know…”

  I feel relieved

  because this is bad enough

  but not the bad

  that I thought I was going to hear.

  Then guilt

  because it’s all bad.

  Mom looks like death itself

  and this is just the beginning.

  How will any of us

  make it through this terrible nightmare?

  I just don’t know…

  THE PREMIERE

  When Dad drops me off at Juan’s

  for our premiere party

  he tells me he’s proud of me,

  forging ahead with the contest

  in the middle of all the mayhem

  at home.

  It takes me by surprise.

  I tell him so

  and then he looks

  surprised.

  “Honey, I’m sorry

  if I sent the wrong message.

  Sometimes dads let their own

  issues get in the way. Forgive me?”

  I do,

  and if my head wasn’t already

  so full of issues

  I would ask what his are.

  Instead,

  I shrug it off and head for a fun evening.

&nbs
p; Juan’s mom gives me a hug,

  takes the goodies out of my hands,

  and says Juan and Mia are waiting

  downstairs in what they call

  the entertainment area of their modest

  split-level.

  It’s where everything musical happens,

  complete with a piano, Carlos’s drums,

  Juan’s flute, recording equipment,

  and piles of sheet music and books.

  I feel the same nervous tension

  that precedes a performance

  even though I know it is just the three of us.

  I’m glad we decided to include Mia

  but for a split second my mangled brain

  flashes craziness.

  Why did she get here before me?

  What went on before I arrived?

  I shake it off as absurdity.

  Somehow

  the thought of being alone with Juan

  lately

  sets off a whole new bag of feelings

  that I’m not sure I can deal with

  right now.

  Mia sits on the couch

  with a bowl full of popcorn

  and the wide-eyed wonderment of a kid

  who is bursting at the seams

  to see the sequel to a favorite movie.

  “Okay, who goes first?

  I haven’t been to too many

  world premieres before

  but I gotta tell ya,

  I am psyched for this one.

  Bring it on.”

  She takes a big slurp of her soda

  and dives back into the popcorn.

  Juan looks at me,

  sweeps the air with his outstretched arm

  and says, “ladies first.”

  I’m secretly glad to go first

  because I am

  ridiculously,

  unbelievably,

  uncharacteristically,

  nervous.

  I go through the usual routine

  of settling onto the bench:

  breathing,

  finger flexes,

  focus,

  and then

  fly “The Kite”

  almost flawlessly

  for my friends.

  They don’t catch the few flubs I make

  and both jump up with genuine applause

  and admiration.

  I sigh in relief,

  thank them,

  and head for the popcorn bowl.

  Juan blows some warm air into his flute

  as I settle on the couch next to Mia.

  Now I am the excited kid

  waiting in anticipation.

  Juan calls his piece “Present Tense.”

  I close my eyes,

  glad that this gifted friend,

  before he even starts playing,

  has given us the opening

  to stay totally

  in the moment.

  It’s a jazz piece,

  something I expected based on Juan’s taste,

  and I’m sure it is the most awesome

  few minutes I’ve spent

  in months.

  I push back tears

  again, they’d both think I’ve flipped,

  because of beautiful music

  and friends

  and mostly because of

  the present tense.

  LIFE AFTER DEADLINE

  Monday morning I wake up with a jolt

  to see light where it’s usually dark.

  Bacon,

  Nintendo sounds,

  arguing brothers,

  whistling Dad,

  humming Mom,

  now I remember. It’s a teacher workday

  that always falls on Columbus Day,

  that always means a vacation day.

  I lie back down, remembering.

  “The Kite” is on its way;

  out of my control.

  Blood test results not back yet;

  out of my control.

  The regular routine in our family is

  out of my control.

  This

  day

  is

  usually

  a

  family

  day

  but I have other plans.

  Hunger

  and relief from the contest deadline

  move my feet down the stairs

  in a light-footed

  but cautious patter.

  FAMILY DYNAMICS

  “There you are, sleepy head.”

  The airiness in Mom’s voice sounds genuine

  as she pours more batter on the waffle iron.

  Dad checks his watch and deadpans,

  “Aren’t you late for the practice room, Missy?”

  I smile at his wink.

  “Sleepy head, sleepy head, sleepy head,”

  Davy and Trent chant, parading into the kitchen

  and circling me, ready to play tag around me

  before I grab Davy in a gentle neck lock,

  causing Trent to bump into us and collapse on the floor

  in a heap of giggles.

  “Hurry up and eat so we can get going.”

  Davy takes my arm and ushers me to the table.

  The reversal of roles sends shivers down my spine.

  Mom serves a plate of steaming waffles and bacon

  and I dig in,

  wondering what the plan is,

  buying time to think how I

  should,

  could,

  might

  react today

  compared to

  before.

  “What’s the plan, Mom?”

  I ask, trying to sound casual

  after a huge gulp of milk.

  I feel less casual when I see the glance

  pass between my parents.

  “Nature Museum, Nature Museum.”

  Davy and Trent take up the chanting again

  until Mom lures them out of the kitchen

  with ten more minutes of Nintendo.

  Dad says he’s sure they told me,

  but he’s not surprised it got lost in

  the pressure of the past week.

  I say Mia has asked me to go with her

  to interview Mrs. Shepherd for the school paper

  and then hang out

  at the mall for a while.

  Mom says at the sink with her back to us,

  “Family time is more important now

  than ever.”

  The waffles threaten to come back up

  in the dead silence of a room

  where a stealthy beast lurks to steal

  all the oxygen.

  Dad says I deserve the day off.

  Mom says nothing.

  I leave the room feeling ugly

  and sure of only one thing.

  Batten has rearranged our family

  like pieces of familiar furniture

  placed awkwardly in a new setting.

  DAY-MARE

  Mom doesn’t hold grudges.

  She hollers up the stairs,

  “Enjoy the day.

  Be home by dinner.”

  She ushers the boys out the door

  in a rush of carefree banter

  followed by a “See you, hon” from Dad.

  I try to figure out what just happened.

  Everyone seems fine

  but me.

  I sit on the side of my bed.

  Sad,

  confused,

  unsure what to do

  with this new feeling:

  guilt.

  I hurry to get dressed

  so I’ll be ready when Mia’s mom honks.

  Maybe

  I can shake off the heaviness

  that has come over me

  like a day-mare,

  where Davy’s life

  depends on my carrying him piggy-back

  over a dank, murky swamp.

  REGRETS

&nbs
p; When I jump into the back seat

  Mia, in the middle of practicing the interview

  with her mom,

  briefly interrupts to say “hey”

  then resumes her professional Katie Couric voice:

  “So Mrs. Shepherd, to what do you attribute

  your longevity, as you approach your hundredth birthday?”

  and

  “What do you think is the most amazing invention

  during your lifetime?”

  and

  “Do you have any regrets? Would you have done anything differently

  if you had it to do over?”

  Mia’s mom shoots back answers

  as Mrs. Shepherd

  but pauses at the last one.

  “Don’t you think, Mia dear,

  that this one might be a little too

  personal? Maybe Mrs. Shepherd does

  have regrets that, well,

  might be too hard to talk about.”

  “I don’t know,” Mia says,

  “what does the quiet one

  in the back seat think?”

  Mia looks over her shoulder

  and I realize she’s talking to me,

  but all I hear is

  regrets

  and all I know is