“And now,yousound like Mom,” he laughed, andthen rapped his knuckles against the bar, right next to the stack of papers Iwas rifling through. “So, hey, if youwannaget abreak from Mommy Dearest, I might’ve done you a big favor today.”
“Oh, yeah?” I glancedup to look him in the eye. “What’s that?”
“You know that girlthat was in here earlier? The one Shelly made friends with?” I nodded. “Well, Iasked if she’d be interested in babysitting the girls.”
The comment was theequivalent of being slapped in the face. “Wait, you didwhat?” I tore my eyes away from the music to jab an incredulousglare toward my older brother.
“If it makes you feelany better, I only mentioned it, okay? Nothing set in stone.”
“Oh, that makes me feelsomuch better, Jeff. Thanks,” Igrumbled angrily. “You had no right to do that.”
Jeff removed hissignature fedora and scratched the back of his balding head. “In fairness, Iwas only trying to help you out. You were just now telling me how sick you areof having Mom on your back all the time.”
I narrowed my heatedstare at him. “That wasn’t a free pass to hire a babysitter for me. That’smycall to make. Notyours.”
“Well, for what it’sworth, she didn’t accept the offer, anyway,” he grumbled, a twinge ofdefensiveness lingering in his tone. “I’m just trying to help you out, Jon,okay? Relax.”
I sucked in one, twobreaths and fought the anger from strengthening. I pushed myself to nod andmeet his concerned gaze. “I know. I know. Just … run this stuff by me beforeyou do anything next time, okay? They’remykids,” I pressed, pulling out the music for Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.”
“I know. You’re right.I should’ve said something. It won’t happen again,” and before I could reply,he glanced at the sheet of paper and shook his head. “Come on, Jon. Don’t do thatone again. You play that shit almost every single night.”
“People love thissong,” I reminded him.
“People loveBilly,” he shot back. “They don’t carewhat it is. Play, uh, ‘Uptown Girl’ or ‘OnlyTheGoodDie Young.’ Anything but ‘Piano Man.’Please.”
With a shake of myhead, I tucked the paper back onto the stack. “I’m blaming you when they riot.”
***
“So, any requests out there?” I surveyedthe motionless crowd of senior citizens. “Anybody?”
A wrinkled hand raisedfrom the front row. “Um … how about ‘Piano Man?’”
With a quick glancetoward Jeff, I caught his middle finger, waving in the air from the back of theroom. I stifled a chuckle as I said into the mic, “Well, I’d love to play‘Piano Man,’ but maybe we could just, uh …” I shot a questioning glance towardthe other attendees. “Anybody else?”
Crickets.
“Seriously?” I couldn’teven attempt to stifle my forlorn sigh as my shoulders drooped. “’Tiny Dancer?’‘Crocodile Rock?’ ‘Ava Maria?’ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?’”
From further in the crowd,a decrepit-looking woman spoke up. “Do you know any Britney Spears?”
I cocked my head,squinting my eyes toward her table. “Britney Spears? Really?”
She shrugged her bonyshoulders. “My granddaughter got me hooked.”
This is how I foundmyself pulling in a sigh and resigning myself to a fumbled-through pianorendition of “…Baby, One More Time,” because that was the only Britney SpearssongI knew any of the lyrics to. And to my surprise, thegrannies and grandpas alike loved it, as they instantly became animated,bopping their heads and tapping their fingers against their knobby knees.
I concluded the songwith a puffed-cheek sigh of relief. “Well, wasn’t that a blast from the past?”I spoke awkwardly into the mic. “You guys have been a lovely audience. My lastsong is one of my own, and I hope you enjoy it.”
My fingers dancedacross the keys—tickling the ivories, as they say—and I closed my eyes,granting my music the permission to carry me away to one of the happiest daysof my life. Every song, every note, held a memory, a smile, or a tear, and thisone …
This one held awedding.
I could see her standingwith her Maid of Honor, a flush creeping up from the neckline of her weddingdress as I, her awkward groom, kicked the band off the stage. I could feel theeyes of every guest bore into my skin and then disappear, as I trained everyone of my senses on her and that song.Thissong. The most genuine of my gifts to her on the happiest day of our short lifetogether.
I opened my eyes to theshadowed, wrinkled faces of the crowd before me. The tipped heads of white. Theglazed eyes. The hands pressed to swooning, beating hearts.
Everybody loves a lovesong. Especially when they can’t feel the pain lingering between the lines.
