Band practice began on a rather chilly early March afternoon and for every subsequent Tuesday and Thursday after school. I was anxious for the first practice, being as unknown by my fellow students as I was. I was worried the other members wouldn't think I was up to par with them and they would shun me. However, when I walked through the practice room doors, I realized how unfounded that anxiety was. I was greeted by five students and the band teacher, Mr. Hart, a stocky man with a big nose, bushy brows, and kind eyes. I recognized Rita Crosby, with blond hair and sly brown eyes, and one of the better singers from the audition, Deborah Mosley, a chunkier girl with short brown hair and a mole under her right eye. Deborah gave me a shy wave before looking back at a music sheet in her hand, and Rita didn't even look my way. I glanced around the room, eyes landing on two boys. One was sitting in a seat by the drums, looking rather scrawny with shaggy orange hair and gold-rimmed glasses. The other, a meaner-looking boy with dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his T-shirt sat on a stool with a guitar in his lap.
"Shirley," a familiar voice sounded from my left. I turned to look and it was Gene Miller, black gelled hair and leather jacket. A look I thought I could get used to.
"Hello Gene," I replied.
"Let me introduce you to the boys." He guided me into the room and placed me in front of the others. "This is Wesley Perkins"—He gestured to the shaggy-haired boy—"and Francis Peterson." He pointed to the meaner-looking of the two.
"Nice to meet you both. Shirley Lynn," I said politely, not really thinking that it was all too nice to meet Francis. Wesley stood up from his seat and held out his hand. I took it as he talked.
"I'm Wesley, you can call me Wes; everyone does. I'm the drummer."
He shook my hand vigorously and I took him for a very energetic boy with a lot to say contrary to his shy, unassuming appearance. After a moment, he let go and gestured for Francis to do the same. He stood up and nodded, although he did not shake my hand.
"Francis. I'm the guitarist. If you need help with technology, ask me." He spoke gruffly with a hint of indifference but I felt that it wasn't impolite, or at least it wasn't meant to be.
I smiled. "I'll be sure to remember that, thank you. I'll be doing background vocals."
I received an excited nod from Wesley then it was Gene's turn to speak.
"I'm the bassist. By the way," he started as the other two boys went back to their business. "I was in the auditorium during your audition—way in the back—and I just wanted to say that I thought it was off the charts. You have one unique voice."
His words made me self-conscious; I hadn't realized there was someone other than the judges in the audience. But at the same time, hearing that from one of the most popular boys in school flattered me more than I wanted to admit.
"Thank you," I said with a small smile.
"You know, I've heard a few things about you from Brett and Matthew—all good, of course—and I was always curious about what you were like from their stories."
Gene, interested in me?
"So I was rather disappointed when we first met and I wasn't able to get to know you better. I was thinking, would you be up to hanging around sometime with me? We can practice or anything really. I think it would be amazing to be your friend."
I nodded my head, mouth agape as if all thoughts and knowledge had escaped my body and flown out into some ephemeral plane of existence that I could never again reach.
He smiled brightly. "Awesome. Well, we should probably start practice."
A couple of days after my first band practice, I got together with Matt and Kim for lunch and told them about my conversation with Rita Crosby on the day of the audition. I had grown a kind of respect for the girl due to her dedication to music, and although she could be too blunt at times, I thought it was unjust for Kim to hold this resentment toward her for something she was innocent of. Kim seemed to contemplate this discovery briefly before saying she would talk to Rita later in the day. I don't know what they said to each other (when I asked Kim a while later, she said, "We came to an understanding"), but following that interaction, Rita became a valued member of our little group. She fit in so naturally that it was as if she was always there. Her straightforwardness bounced off Matt's shyness, and I knew that Kim appreciated her honesty. For a few weeks, we dedicated ourselves to learning more about each other. Rita had a big sweet tooth and was scared of mascots; Kim didn't know how to ride a bike and still slept with a teddy bear; and Matt was gay.
He came out to us in late March, a week or so after my first band practice. The four of us were hanging out at a nearby cafe, and he said it so nonchalantly that it seemed like a joke. However, when we laughed, we noticed his serious expression and stopped. He told us that he had been struggling since middle school trying to hide it. He thought that his mother would kick him out if she found out that he liked men, to which we reassured him that we didn't believe that Mrs. Bun was the type of woman who would do that. He agreed, but the fear always lingered. Looking back on his little habits of brushing off feminine jokes and painting his nails, I realized most of the signs were there.
"Thank you for telling us, Matt. It must've been difficult," I said.
"Yeah, but I trust you guys."
Fortunately, Kim and Rita supported him, as did I, and we began chatting about his type. "Blonde hair, strong eyes," he said, and I told him about Francis. It seemed to pique his interest, but he said he could never pursue someone as cool as him. I held back from saying that, if anything, Francis would be dating upwards with Matt. He would've scoffed in my face, denied it, and called me biased.
It would be impossible to describe every moment I spent with Gene in the following weeks. Much to Kim and Matt's displeasure, I found myself spending time with Gene more than them. Of course, as often as I could, I made time for my friends, but Gene had this way of squeezing himself into my plans. I can't detail every moment, like the solo concerts we held in the band practice room when no one was there or the times we would skip class to galavant the streets of the city. Still, I can recount a couple of memories that even today I find myself smiling at despite how we ended up.
One Sunday morning I heard a tapping sound on my bedroom window, loud enough to wake me up but not my father in the room next door. I waded to the window and then looked down to the street. There, two whole floors down stood Gene, this time donning a brown leather jacket and dark blue jeans. He was waving up at me, gesturing for me to come down. I groggily obliged after getting dressed in a knee-long pink dress and brushing my hair. I walked out of the apartment building and up to Gene. I then noticed that he held one of his hands behind his back.
"Gene—" I started but was interrupted by Gene as he swung his hidden arm in front of me, holding out a pair of white roller skates with pink wheels.
"Let's go!"
Gene had been talking about going roller skating together for a while, but I always turned him down because of school or band work. But today, I didn't have such an excuse and, honestly, the idea sounded exciting. I smiled and nodded, grabbing the skates from his hand.
"So, what rink are we going to?"
"The road is our rink." He grinned mischievously. I laughed at that, finding his plans ridiculous, dangerous, and exciting.
"Okay, but you can't let me get hurt."
"I got you, Shirl."
And I was comforted by his promise.
We took a moment to put our skates on, and then we were off, blasting through sewage steam clouds and scrunching our noses in disgust, weaving in and out of pedestrians, and holding hands on empty sidewalks. It was moments like these where I could be free of worldly burdens and relish in youthful adventures that I adored city life. It reminded me so much of my youthful adventures in Michigan's hidden alleyways and carefree canters through abandoned meadows. My time with Gene was a collage of youthful innocence and ambition and was a frequent reminder of my childhood home even if New York didn't necessarily have the suburban wonder that I often associated with my hometown. I often marveled at the large Coca-Cola billboards and Broadway show announcements surrounded by Hollywood lights that lit up the Big Apple Square. At night, the city exploded in an array of colors that blinded you for a brief moment then transported you to another universe of honking horns, Rockette performances, colorful beer advertisements, soulful saxophones, performers, and flashing lights. That night, Gene took me on a journey through him and New York. Through the discovery of the city, one I had never seen before, I discovered the love I held for Gene Miller.
Gene adored movies so much that most of our dates were spent hopping between drive-in theaters to see the trendiest films. My favorite movie at the time was West Side Story. The passionate love and tragedy of Maria and Tony worked their way into my own life and I wanted that kind of world-breaking love, the kind of love that transcended societal boundaries and expectations. I had hoped, truly, that I could achieve that with Gene. Gene wasn't the biggest supporter of my romantic tendencies as most of the movies we saw were more his style, such as Psycho and The Good, the Bad And the Ugly, which were grittier action and horror films that often made me nauseous and scared. I did love going to the drive-in theaters, however. I loved the large white projector screen, the honking horns of cars trying to find a place close to the screen to park, the laughter of loving couples, and the hum of the projector.
One such night, we were in his Chevrolet parked towards the back of a field, the premier showing of The Graduate illuminating the various vehicles. The scent of tobacco, gasoline, and buttered popcorn created a unique mixture of smells, not one I found too unpleasant. There was a lot of chatter, girls giggling and engines revving that was somewhat distracting from the film, but Gene didn't seem too bothered so I held in any sort of complaint. Normally he would not have been caught dead watching a romantic-comedy, but he heard that Simon and Garfunkel might provide music so he insisted that we had to see it regardless of his distaste for the genre. After the movie was over, I said I quite liked the complexity of the characters and the romantic development, but Gene expressed his love for Simon and Garfunkel's song "The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine" ("I didn't much care for the movie itself," he said with an unimpressed expression). However, the best part of our evening would occur after the projector stopped rolling.
We sat in the car for a while talking about our likes and dislikes of the film, what work we had to do for school the next day, and any school drama we knew. Gene confessed that Wesley had accidentally taken LSD instead of weed (he didn't know much about drugs apparently) from Robert Massey and got so high he fell asleep butt naked in the campus courtyard. He ended up being found by a security guard coming into work the next morning. Even Gene didn't know how he ended up without clothes. He suspected that Robert gave him the wrong drug on purpose just to mess with him. We laughed for a while before we decided to watch the stars upon my request (Gene wasn't one for stargazing, but I managed to convince him). I laid down in the reclined seat in awe of the glittering specks in the sky, the sounds of cars leaving and couples laughing becoming a distant memory. I felt rough skin on my hand and I looked down to see Gene's hand on mine, calloused from working as an apprentice mechanic. I looked up at him and our eyes locked. We smiled at each other, and I thought God had taken the stars from the night sky and placed them in his eyes. He leaned closer and some strange inner force pushed me toward him. Our eyes closed and our lips met. We kissed, short and soft and special as if the sun had entered my body and I transferred it to him through our connection. We parted slowly, cheeks red. We stared at each other in innocent, awkward silence. He cleared his throat and began to drive. We drove silently for most of the way back to my apartment until he parked outside by the curb and bid me a brief "good night" as I walked up the stairs to the door. I watched him drive into the distance, realizing how deep I had fallen.
Our days continued like normal until my love life was flipped on its head. It was April third, a few days after the end of spring break. Our group spent the week traveling from our apartments to Orchard Beach. Rita and I spent a lot of time together that week practicing for the big band concert in May, and even Deborah joined us one afternoon for music, cookies, and apple cider. Matt couldn't swim as well as the rest of us, so he would often sit back in his checkered swim trunks while we girls swam and played; Rita in her blue one-piece, Kim in a black tankini, and me in my pink bikini. I can recall a few instances of the three of us enjoying ourselves when a few boys that reminded me too much of Robert Massey with their pointed eyes and rough mullets approached us for a good time. Each time, Matt would see this from where he was sitting and come over to help, effectively scaring off the intruders.
I was eating lunch with Rita, reminiscing about spring break—Matt was sick at home and Kim had class—when Gene approached our table. He smiled at us, donning his signature sunglasses.
"Hey, girls."
"Hi, Gene. What do you need?" Rita replied.
"Well, I was actually hoping I could steal Shirl from you for a bit."
I blinked, looked over to a confused Rita, and then back to Gene.
"Sure."
He nodded goodbye to a puzzled Rita, then escorted me to an empty hallway a little ways away. We faced each other by a large window, sun rays shining into the corridor. Gene's black hair absorbed the sun and returned it to the atmosphere, casting a halo-like glow around his head. He took his glasses off, revealing a serious look in his eyes, the eyes I had grown to love so much in the months since we met. The hallway was quiet, with only the distant sounds of chatter coming from the cafeteria. He cleared his throat and then looked me in the eyes.
"Shirl," he spoke confidently as if nothing in the world could deter him from that moment. "You know, these past few months we've spent together have been amazing. I got to know you truly. And I've realized that I won't be satisfied with just friendship. I've been with many girls, and I never thought someone could make me feel this way. That is until I met you. So, Shirley Lynn, will you be my girlfriend?"
I stood there dumbfounded for a moment and I pinched my thigh to make sure I was awake. A fantastical prophecy of our possible future together played in my head. I saw us cruising through the blinding city lights in his Chevrolet that he still drove. We were older and wiser, and he had the same chocolate crescent eyes and sheepish smile. The radio played "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers (Lonely rivers sigh, "Wait for me, wait for me") and we sang along with our hair flowing in the wind. I saw our wedding, him in a black paisley tux and I in an elegant white fitted bodice and flowing veil. It was a small wedding, with close friends and family and we kissed after our vows. He whisked me in his arms and carried me off into the venue, a gorgeous castle-like structure with dozens of tables and chairs scattered around the area. A large white cake sat on a table in the center with two little figures in black and white. The sound of a throat clearing jolted me out of my mind-wandering, and as I returned to reality, "Unchained Melody" faded into oblivion.
And time goes by so slowly, And time can do so much, Are you still mine?
"Yes."