Starlight Rhapsody

Starlight Rhapsody Chapter 2

"Starlight Rhapsody" - Chapter 2

Krystal O'Reilly encountered Alex waiting somewhat impatiently for her arrival in the dining hall at St. Patrick's orphanage. She entered with an armload of papers and several books which the boy could only assume were to be used for his first music lesson. Krystal appeared somewhat flustered, as it seemed she had been in a rush to keep her appointment with Alex. Her hair was unkempt and she was not dressed as the glamorous lady Alex had seen last Friday. Even an eleven year-old boy can be perceptive, and his perception forced him to speak.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Well, yes and no. It's my own fault. I'm a sculptor, and I was working on a bust in my studio for a client and lost track of the time. I didn't have the time to dress as I would have liked, do my hair or any of the things I usually do before I go out. I could have done them, but it would have only kept you waiting and waiting for me, and we might only have had time for an hour's lesson. That wouldn't have been fair to you," she explained.

"I wouldn't have minded. You were really pretty when you were here on Friday," Alex said. "I'm sorry you didn't have time to make yourself prettier today."

A woman always appreciates flattery, and Krystal O'Reilly was no different. "Thank you very much," she told the boy. "You're only eleven and you already have the manners of a gentleman. You will be popular with the ladies when you're a young man."

Alex had no idea what she was talking about and didn't particularly care. He wanted her to teach him something about music. Krystal took out a sheet of staff paper, a blank piece of paper with only staffs drawn on them. She then withdrew a piece of paper with a single bar on the entire page, blown up to fill the page.

"These are staffs," she told Alex. The staffs are where we place dots and circles to indicate which notes are to be played." Switching to the single bar, she said, "This is a bar. The number of notes and the kind of notes that are in the bar tells us how quickly or slowly the notes are to be played. "

She then took a pencil and drew a treble clef onto the bar. "This is a treble clef, also called a G clef. The notes in the treble clef are played on the piano with the right hand," Krystal told Alex as she drew a 4/4 onto the staff. "These numbers indicate the time each note is to be played. This is the most common time signature as it is called, and it means than there are four beats in a measure and that a quarter note receives one beat." She then drew notes onto the single bar, one whole note, on half note, one quarter note, and one sixteenth note, then wrote the names of each under the bar, adding the name "treble clef" underneath it. "This whole box is what is known as a measure," she said as she added the word "measure" to the top of the page.

"Now, we are going to count," the woman said, because you have to learn the beats. In 4/4 time, the accent is always on the first beat. We will count-off four measures, and once you learn to do it, I want you to practice counting on your own to prepare yourself for our next lesson. Now, count like this, ONE, two, three, four, TWO, two, three, four, THREE, two, three, four, FOUR, two, three, four!"

The boy was perplexed at why the lady was drilling him with numbers, especially ones that appeared to be either repetitive our out of numeric sequence. Still, he figured she must have a reason for having him do it. Krystal got up from the table and walked over to the awful piano. She began counting, and with her count using only one finger, accompanied her count with "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Now it made sense to Alex! Yes, the accent was on the first of each of four notes! From that moment on, Alex had complete trust that this lady would be successful in teaching him to play the piano. He flashed her a smile and nodded that he understood what she was trying to convey. Krystal ceased her counting and walked back to Alex in his wheelchair.

"I will teach you as much about music in your lessons that I feel you can handle in each one," Krystal told the boy. "If you get overwhelmed in a lesson, you can always ask me to stop or explain anything you don't understand. You're not going anywhere soon, and I know where to find you. We can take our time with your lessons, but it will be what you do with what you learn that will determine how good a musician you become. I have faith in you, Alex. I saw my mother teach piano to young boys and girls your age since I was four years old until she died, but I never saw any of them demonstrate a passion for music the way you did last Friday. You kept at that Rachmaninoff piece until you could at least pick out the melody. Eventually, you will be able to play the entire "Prelude." For now though, we must stick with the basics. Today is Tuesday. I will be back on Thursday, but in the meantime, I want you to study what I have given you, and we will see what you have learned at our next lesson."

Alex was in perfect agreement with Mrs. O'Reilly, nodding to her, and smiling. She smiled back, gathered up her books and papers, and then headed for the door.

"Wait!" Alex exclaimed.

"What?" Krystal asked. "Did I forget something?"

Alex didn't answer her, but approached her in his wheelchair. He reached for her hand, kissed it, and said, "Thank you. You are a very nice lady to teach me."

Krystal smiled at the boy and said, "You are a very special boy." She had no idea how correct Alex would prove to be in her assessment of him. She left, and Alex wheeled himself out of the dining hall and headed outside for some air.

Outside, Alex encountered another boy named Peter McCarthy. Peter was the twelve year-old illegitimate son of a prostitute whose mother didn't want him, so he was turned over to the state who placed him in St. Patrick's. It is the only home of Peter was ever conscious, although he was aware that other boys and girls at the home had previously lived with their parents. Peter was sort of a bookish boy, not into playing the athletic games in which the institution engaged the other children. Because of his nature, the other children made him somewhat of an outcast, leaving him very much a loner. This was Alex's first meeting with Peter, and not knowing anything about him, he struck up a conversation with the boy.

"You don't like playing the games?" Alex inquired.

"Not really," Peter replied. "They're boring, and I always get hurt."

"Why?" Alex had to know. "Aren't you any good at the games?"

"No," Peter said. "Nobody ever wants me on their team, and if I do play, they're always out to get me."

"That's awful! Can't you do anything about it? Won't the staff members help you out?" Alex asked.

"They don't care. We're just stuck her until we get too old to be here, then they get rid of us by sending us somewhere else," was Peter's answer. "We don't really matter to them. To them, watching us is just a job, like any other."

"What do you like to do instead of playing the games?" Alex inquired. "There must be something here you enjoy doing."

"I read a lot," the older boy replied. "Occasionally, one of the staff guys will play a game of chess with me, but other than that, I just read."

"I play chess," Alex admitted. "Want to play?"

"Sure!" Peter answered, happy to find a new opponent.

"Get the board and pieces and I'll meet you in the dining hall," Alex told him. Because of the casts on my legs and the wheelchair, the only tables I can sit under are the ones in the hall."

"You go, and I will meet you there," Peter told Alex. "I won't be long."

Alex made himself as comfortable at a table as possible before Peter entered the room with a chess board and a set of chess pieces. Taking one white pawn and a black pawn into each of his hands then making fists, Peter told Alex to choose a hand to determine which of them would make the first move. Alex drew black, and he set up his pieces while Peter did the same on his side of the board with the white pieces. During the game, Peter engaged Alex in conversation about himself and his past, throwing off his concentration and causing him to sacrifice his game. Peter's questions stirred up Alex's grief, making him do everything in his power not to cry in front of his new friend. As Peter learned of Alex's situation, he felt sorry for the younger boy, offering his consolation before suggesting they play another game. Alex agreed, but during the second game, became inquisitive about Peter. The older boy couldn't give Alex as much information about his past as Alex furnished about his, since St. Patrick's never divulged what they knew of his origin. He just told Alex about having spent his whole life at St. Patrick's and that it was the only life he knew. He told Alex that when the boys and girls reached a certain age, they left St. Patrick's and went to either boys' or girls' homes. Several boys with whom he had been friends left and went elsewhere, while a couple were placed in permanent homes with families. Alex told the other boy that he was praying for his mother to come out of her coma, become herself again, and come to take him wherever they could live together. Peter said he hoped Alex's prayers would be answered as Alex won the chess game with Peter's king in checkmate. Alex flashed a weak smile, but going over the details of the accident, his loss, and his mother's coma weighed heavily on the boy's heart. A staff member came into the dining hall and told the boys to go wash up for dinner, and they put away the chess pieces and Peter wheeled Alex to the washroom. Alex asked if they could play again, and Peter answered in the affirmative, suggesting the next day. Alex agreed, and suggested they eat next to each other during dinner. Peter nodded, and they did.

Dinners at St. Patrick's were less than stellar. Before this day, Alex was given ham sandwiches in his room, usually leftovers from lunch. More often than not, dinners were barely edible, bland dishes with little flavor of which to speak. They kept the orphans alive, and that was the only nutritional concern St. Patrick's offered. When Peter saw what was being served, he looked at Alex and held his nose. It was ground pork with boiled potatoes and beets. That wouldn't have been half-bad, if the people in the kitchen didn't mash everything together before serving it, which they did with everything they prepared for dinners. Alex took a bite, tasted it, and spit it out.

"What is this junk?" he asked Peter.

"Who knows? It's just like everything else we get. The colors may be different, it might smell different, but it all tastes just as bad. At least for breakfast, we get eggs, and they don't mix those with anything else." Peter told him.

"Really?" Alex asked with disgust. Don't they ever serve anything that tastes good?"

"No," Peter exclaimed, and it always looks like the kitchen people just rummaged through other people's garbage, cooked whatever they found, disguised it to look like this, and shoved it at us," Peter said, pointing at his plate. "Maybe they are afraid we might get fat and not fit into the hand-me-down clothes they give us to wear."

The idea that Alex might not eat for the duration of his stay at St. Patrick's worried him. He considered this as he ate the piece of bread that accompanied his meal, which he refused to eat. He wondered if his mother would ever regain consciousness and be able to take him out of the orphanage, but he determined that rather than dwell on that thought, he'd spend his evening in his room with the papers Mrs. O'Reilly had given him to study. When dinner was over, Peter wheeled his friend to his bed and waited with him while a staff member helped him recline. Staring at Mrs. O'Reilly's staffs, clefs and time signatures, he began to wonder what the five lines and four spaces represented. Looking at the time signature, I began to softly count in 4/4 time until he gradually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the orphans were awakened by a loud gong, which was the custom. The boys, with the exception of Alex, went to the washroom to prepare for the morning meal, then returned to their bedsides to dress for the day. Alex waited until a staff member helped him out of bed, seated him in his wheelchair, and wheeled him to the dining hall. Spying a space next to Peter, he wheeled himself over to his friend.

Hey!" Peter exclaimed. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept, said Alex, whose dreams were less than pleasant. "How about you? Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, the same as always, I guess," Peter responded. "I think I dreamt about getting hit in the face with a tennis racket."

"Well, at least it was only a dream. You're face doesn't look any different," Alex replied, with a half-hearted grin.

The boys got their breakfasts, consisting of eggs, a slice of ham, a piece of bread and some potatoes. The meal was eaten with ease, since neither boy ate what was served at dinner the previous evening. Peter indicated that this would probably be the only edible meal of the day, causing Alex to frown, believing the orphans might prepare better meals. Since Mrs. O'Reilly was friends with the director, maybe she could influence him to let the orphans attempt to prepare a meal to see what they might produce. He decided to mention it to her during their next music lesson.

"This food isn't bad at all." Alex said to Peter. "I wonder why dinners are so bad."

"The staff that prepares breakfast isn't the same staff that prepares dinner," Peter replied. "It's pretty hard to louse up eggs and ham, anyway."

"Maybe we can do something about it," Alex said. "There's a lady who comes twice a week to give me music lessons. She's really good friends with Father Moriarty, so maybe she can persuade him to let us prepare a dinner."

"I doubt it, but it's worth a try," Peter responded. "What time today would you like to play chess?"

"Anytime," said Alex.

"Want to go for a walk?" Peter asked.

Alex turned slightly and kicked Peter lightly with his cast, prompting him to reply, "Oh, I forgot. Well, I can push you around outside. It's a nice day, and fresh air is always good."

Alex nodded, and when they finished eating, Peter wheeled Alex out of the dining hall, down the corridor to the back door, and outside the building. Some younger children were already out there, kicking a ball back and forth to one another. The sun was shining brightly upon the grounds, causing both Alex and Peter to place their palms above their eyes to block the glare.

"We'll go over to the side, where there's some shade." Peter suggested as he pushed Alex around the corner of the building. There was no one on that side, so they pretty much had the area to themselves.

"What do you like to do besides play chess," Peter inquired.

"Oh, when I was alone, I used to play a lot of records. I really like listening to music," Alex told him.

"We don't have any music here," Peter explained. "Any music we have we sing ourselves."

"Doesn't anyone play piano or anything?" Alex asked.

"Nope," Peter said flatly. "Nobody here does anything, except make sure we follow the rules and that we're around when they count heads. Other than that, nobody bothers us."

"What about school?" Alex asked his friend.

"We have school when they have someone to teach us, but it seems as soon as we get a teacher, they leave to teach somewhere else," Peter told a disbelieving Alex. "This place is a charity. They don't have the money to pay teachers. They hardly pay the staff anything as it is."

Alex began to feel that, except for the lessons he would receive from Mrs. O'Reilly, he had been sentenced to hell for sins he had not committed. The whole concept of life at St. Patrick's appeared bleak and depressing. He had two friends, Krystal O'Reilly and Peter McCarthy. Maybe he could make a few more, once his legs were out of the casts and he no longer needed the wheelchair, he thought.

"What do you usually think about when you're alone?" Peter asked.

"Nothing much, because I'm usually listening to music," Alex responded. "The music takes up my concentration, so I don't really think about other things. Sometimes, I just let the music paint images in my mind. I enjoy doing that."

"I usually read when I'm alone." Peter told Alex. "They have a small room that has a lot of books in it. I look at the titles and select one with an interesting title. Some are good, some are boring, but they pass the time. Would you like to go browse through them?"

"Sure," Alex responded. "Hey, if they don't have teachers here, how did you learn to read?"

"Several years ago, we had this lady teacher who stayed about a year." Peter began. "She taught several of us how to read before she left to marry some rich man."

"Do you read well?" Alex asked, mentally comparing Peter's teacher with Mrs. O'Reilly.

"Pretty well. I still get stuck on some big words and have to sound them out. Sometimes I don't know what they mean and have to figure them out by what's in the rest of a sentence or paragraph, but I get by," Peter explained.

"I can read pretty well myself, but I don't know every word either," Alex replied. "I can probably enjoy reading a book, though."

They boys arrived at the bookroom, which was never kept locked, entered, and began searching through the books. Peter found one he had read that he thought Alex would like, but both the spine and title page was illegible. Alex took the book that turned out to be a Irish translation of Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist. Peter selected another title, then wheeled Alex to his bedside to store his book, then ran to his own with his. He returned immediately and took Alex back outside to the same solitary area that now offered even more shade as the sun had moved toward the other side of the building.

"I loved my parents and my sister very much and they loved me," Alex told his friend.

"What's love?" Peter inquired.

"It's a feeling you get from other people you are close to, and one you feel from them when they give it to you," Alex replied. "I can't tell you how you feel it, but you just do."

"I don't think I've ever felt it," Peter said. "I've read about it, but nobody has ever been close to me. I don't know if I've ever wanted someone close to me, or if anyone ever wanted to be close to me."

"Haven't you ever had a friend who was close to you?" Alex asked, somewhat astonished.

"No. I've been here all my life, and only one other person became my friend before you." Peter told him. "They moved him to a boys' home because he got too old to stay here."

"Well, we are friends, right?" Alex asked him to confirm.

"I suppose," Peter stated, being somewhat noncommittal.

"Then, as your friend," Alex told Peter, "our friendship will be similar to love, but it won't really be love. I only know the love my parents and sister shared with me. I've had friends, but it wasn't the same. They were great for doing fun things, but we didn't have love between us like my family did. I just know my family loved me and I loved my family."

Alex's words were beginning to make Peter somewhat jealous of his new friend, having experienced what had appeared to have been a valuable sensation that somehow he had been denied. It was only early in the afternoon, but the discussion had made Peter a bit uncomfortable with Alex and after making a suggestion, Peter returned Alex to his bedside, handed him Oliver Twist, and suggested that Alex read the story. Dickens' classic of course, opens in an orphanage, and as Alex read, he wondered if it was a mere coincidence that this book would have a place in St. Patrick's bookroom. He continued reading until he fell asleep in his wheelchair. He was awakened having his shoulder shaken by a male staff worker named Mike Flanagan.

"Hey there! If you stay here, you'll miss dinner! Mike said.

"I don't care," the boy replied. "I probably won't eat it anyway."

"Oh, but you've got to eat." Mike coaxed the boy. "It can't be that bad."

"If it's anything like what they gave us last night, it's not even food," Alex argued. Clearly he was annoyed with being woken up with the promise of another disgusting meal.

Mike said, "If you don't want what they're serving for dinner, maybe I can get you something else. I don't know what, but I can see what there is. At least go down to the dining hall to see what they're serving."

Alex groaned and let Mike wheel him to the dining hall. He was shocked when his plate contained a piece of fish, with some white rice in a sauce, and some cabbage.

"I think I can eat this," Alex told Mike.

"You eat that, and I'll come visit you after dinner," Mike promised.

Within moments of settling at a table with his plate of fish, Alex was joined by a grinning Peter.

"This dinner is actually good," Alex stated. "The fish tastes like fish, and the rice tastes like rice, but I'm not too sure about that green stuff."

"It's cabbage," Peter explained. "It's one of those green vegetables you either like or you don't. Personally, I hate it."

Alex took a bite, got used to the taste and told Mike, "It's not that bad. I've had worse."

Mike left Alex to enjoy his dinner, promising to return when he finished. Shortly after Mike's departure, Peter arrived, asking Alex if he wanted to play chess after he ate, hoping he would.

"This staff guy Mike is supposed to come get me after dinner," Alex told his friend. "I don't know why he's coming for me, but he seems to be a nice guy.

"Oh, alright. Maybe he won't want you long and we can still get a game in before they turn out the lights," said Peter, probably out of boredom. He enjoyed Alex's company and felt he could be a good friend.

Mike Flanagan had once been an orphan at St. Patrick's when, at the age of ten, his father was killed by a loan shark to whom he owed money upon failure to repay his debt. His mother had died attempting to deliver his stillborn brother, so Mike knew what it was like to grow up in a loving home and to lose it and his family through no fault of his own. Now, at nineteen, he had returned to St. Patrick's to offer what he could to others like himself. Father Sean Moriarty suggested that Mike might find a kindred soul in Alex Kennedy, so Mike decided to meet the boy to see what he might contribute to the boy's life during his stay at the orphanage. Since going out on his own, Mike taught himself to play guitar, primarily folk songs. He thought he might play and sing for Alex and possibly some of the other boys as well, but his primary focus was on Alex, without sacrificing his other duties. After Mike ate his own fish dinner alone, in the staff dining room, he returned to the dining hall to retrieve Alex.

"I see you've cleaned your plate," Mike observed. "The dinner wasn't as bad as you thought it would be."

"It was pretty good, but not great," Alex replied. It was better than what they gave us last night. I couldn't eat it because it was so bad."

"St. Patrick's hired two new staff members and we started work here today, Mike told him. "Obviously, I am one of them, and the other is my friend Ricky who is a cook. Ricky directed the kitchen help to prepare the meal you just ate, and with him in the kitchen, you probably won't get anything like last night's dinner again."

Alex rolled his eyes to the ceiling saying, "Thank God!" He then introduced Peter to Mike, and the two shook hands.

"Are you ready to leave the dining hall?" Mike asked Alex.

"I guess so," Alex responded.

Mike wheeled Alex out of the dining hall down a corridor and into an office. Alex had no idea what this young man had in mind, but so far he liked Mike. After all, he was cheerful, smiled a lot, and kind to him. Once Mike had Alex comfortable in the office, he closed the door and began to tell the boy about himself.

"I want you to know something about me and why I'm here," Mike began. I was once an orphan here, just like you. After I grew up and finished school, I came back here to apply for a job. I know most of the staff only stay at St. Patrick's until they can find a better job somewhere else, but St. Patrick's was there for me when I needed it, so I've returned to try to give something back. I lost my family similar to the way you lost yours, although not exactly, but I know what it's like to have spent my childhood in a loving home and then lose it. I know what you feel inside over the loss of your family because I have already experienced the same thing."

"Did you cry a lot?" the boy asked. "I cry a lot when I'm alone."

"I did in the beginning," Mike replied. "As time went on, it got better."

"Do you still miss your family?" Alex inquired.

"Yes, I will always miss them," Mike said. "You will never forget your family, and your grief will pass, but part of them will always be part of you. Try to remember only the good times, not the end, and eventually you will see your family looking down on your and being happy with you for your accomplishments."

"I miss the hugs my parents used to give me and being able to give hugs to my baby sister," Alex told the young man. "We always did everything together and it's so lonely here, except for this lady who comes to give me music lessons and that boy Peter. Nobody here seems to know anything about love."

"Most of the staff here cannot get involved with the orphans here," Mike told the boy. "Many people who work here have families of their own or girlfriends and boyfriends they intend to marry. If they got emotionally attached to an orphan, it would complicate their lives, so they just avoid it."

"What about you?" Alex asked. "Why are you getting involved with me?"

"Because I don't have a family or a girlfriend," Mike replied. "I feel I have a debt to repay to St. Patrick's because when I was here, I was just like you and there was a man about my age who got involved with me and helped me through my grief. I just wish to do for you what someone has already done for me."

"Where do you live?" the boy asked the young man.

"I moved in here today, because where I was living had a fire," Mike explained. St. Patrick's didn't have a room to give me, so until they do, I've got the bed next to yours."

Alex could see something in the young man's eyes he couldn't quite rationalize, but it gave him a sense that Mike was sincere about his interest in him. Alex asked him for a favor, "Do you think you might give me a hug?"

Without batting an eyelash, the young man rose from his chair move over to Alex's wheelchair and wrapped his arm around the boy saying, "You will be safe with me here, Alex. I'll take care of you."

Mike spent much of his time with Alex without taking his time away from his other staff duties. Sometimes he would play his guitar and sing for Alex and Peter, and often include several of the other orphans at St. Stansilav's. He took it upon himself to get Alex out of bed each morning, get him to the washroom, and then down for breakfast. In the evening, he would put Alex into his bed, and before the lights were turned out, give the boy a reassuring hug. Everything between Mike and the boy was strictly honorable, and Alex began to view Mike as sort of the big brother he never had. Within a week, Alex gave Mike another responsibility.

"I was wondering," Alex asked Mike one afternoon they were alone. "Do you think you might get involved with Peter? He never had a family and said he's never felt love. I feel sorry for him because I have you and he has nobody."

"He has you, doesn't he?" Mike queried Alex, knowing he had the capacity to undertake aiding another boy.

"Well yes, but we are only friends," Alex explained. "Besides, my legs are in casts and I'm stuck in this wheelchair. You can move around, and you're fun to be with. Won't you help him out?"

"I won't promise, but," Mike lied. "I'll see what I can do."

Mike began bringing Peter into the conversations he would have with Alex. Eventually, Peter began to see Mike in the same way Alex viewed him. Mike was always putting his arm around one of the boys or messing up their hair with his hands, just simple gestures of what was commonly known as "brotherly love." Mike never gave anyone cause to suspect his intentions were anything less than honorable with either boy, or anyone else at St. Patrick's. The staff, the orphans and the hierarchy adored him and the differences he made in many of the children staying there. Eventually a strange conversation arose between Alex and Mike.

"Are you planning to leave and get married someday? Alex asked Mike.

"Maybe. I would have to meet the right girl, I'd have to love her, and I'd have to feel that she loves me," Mike answered honestly. "Right now though, I'm too involved here to even give it any thought."

"Will you want to have children, you know, have a family?" the boy asked.

"Someday maybe," Mike began. "But that will be in the future. It will be something I will eventually discuss when I meet the right girl."

At that point, Peter entered the room, not wishing to be by himself.

"Hey! What are you guys doing?" he asked.

"Nothing much," Mike replied. "Just talking."

"About what?" Peter inquired.

"The lousy food they used to serve here," Alex lied, believing his personal conversations with Mike to be none of Peter's business. "Besides, I have to go down to the dining hall for my music lesson. Mrs. O'Reilly will be here any minute, and I don't want to be late."

"Want me to wheel you down to the dining hall?" Mike asked Alex.

"If you don't mind," Alex replied.

The three of them headed to the dining hall, where Krystal O'Reilly was waiting, having arrived several minutes early. Alex introduced Mike and Peter to Mrs. O'Reilly who smiled graciously while Mike bowed to her. Peter managed a slight giggle, not really knowing how he should conduct himself in the presence of a lady.

"Would you like to stay and be bored by Alex's music lesson, or would you gentlemen rather run along and do something more enjoyable?" Krystal asked Alex's friends.

Peter look at Mike and asked, "Do you play chess?"

"Yes, I do. Would you enjoy being in checkmate in six moves? Mike joked.

"You can try!" Peter exclaimed. "I'll go get the chess set."

"Meet me in the office down the hall," Mike replied.

Alex watched as his friends exited the dining hall, turned to Mrs. O'Reilly and asked, "Ready?"

"Yes," she answered, taking out one of her sheets with a single, blown-up bar on it. She drew a treble clef and added the common time signature, then had Alex count four bars in 4/4 time. Then, she said, "Today you will learn what the staff and the spaces represent. The lines on the staff, from bottom to top are E, G, B, D, F, which is easy to remember using the sentence "Every good boy deserves favor," because the first letter of each word corresponds to a line. Now the spaces spell a word, F, A, C, E." She then wrote the names of the lines and spaces on the single bar, saying "Now that you see the letters on the staff, you will see that going up the staff, the letters are in alphabetical order.

"Yes, I see that." Alex told her. "But what do all the letters mean?"

"You will see that there are no sharps," she said as she drew a pound sign up in the corner of the paper, "and no flats," drawing the funny looking letter "b" that resembled a flat. No sharps or no flats next to the time signature indicates that the key of the music is the key of C. This is the most common key. Come to the piano and I will show you why.

Alex wheeled himself to the horrible piano and Elena showed him a piano key that, when struck produced a note. "The middle key on the keyboard is called middle C," she told the boy. "Are you familiar with the notes on a scale?" she asked the boy.

"You mean like, do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do?" he asked.

"That's it, Krystal replied. "In the key of C, all that means is that middle C is do, D is re, E is mi, and so on and so forth."

The boy couldn't believe it was all that simple and asked, "Is that all there is to it?"

"Certainly not!" Krystal exclaimed. "Almost nothing in the world you will be striving to enter will concern itself with the key of C, and what I have just shown you is only what is involved with the key of C major. There are so many keys you will learn to recognize and be able to read before you will be able to play anything written in them. For example, there is also C-minor, which is different that C-major. Here let me show you. When you play do, mi, and sol together, that is what is called the `tonic' chord in the key of C-major." Krystal demonstrated a horribly out-of-tune C-major chord. "The C-minor chord has a flat on the E, so you play E flat instead." She played a C minor chord for the boy to hear the difference.

"The major chord sounded cheerful, but the minor chord sounded depressing," Alex observed.

"The use of major and minor keys in music help to establish the mood," Krystal told him. "We don't want to get into majors and minors right now, because that's getting ahead of ourselves. Let's concentrate on notes."

They went back to their table and Krystal pulled out another sheet of paper with a single bar on it. She didn't bother drawing a treble clef, just time signature. "This is a whole note," she explained as she drew the note on the bar. This note in 4/4 time is held for the entire four beats in the measure. Hum a note for me."

Alex hummed a note, and was told to do it again while tapping ONE, two, three, four with his finger, then stop. Alex did as requested, wondering what the lady was getting at, while Krystal drew two half notes on another sheet of single bar paper, but on different places on the staff. "These are half notes, and their place on the staff corresponds to do and mi. As you count in your head, him those two notes, but you will change from the lower note to the higher note on the count of three. Perhaps I should count for you and you just change the note on my count of four."

Alex tried, but failed his first attempt. Mrs. O'Reilly said, "Try this. Tap your finger instead listening to me. Tap it harder on the first beat than on the other three, but on the third beat, change the note." Alex did as she suggested with the desired result.

"Good," she said as she drew four quarter notes on yet another single bar. These are quarter notes. In 4/4 time, there will be four of these in each bar or measure. These are easy. Remember your count? There will be one note to each count, with the accent on the first note. The notes on the staff are do, mi, sol, do. Tap your foot, and hum each note for an equal amount of time." The boy followed her instructions perfectly.

"Now, I have good news," Krystal told the boy. "Father Moriarty is sending your friend Mike and two other men to move my mother's piano to replace this one," she said, as she pointed to the useless instrument. "Next week, we will have a good piano here, and I can have you begin to practice the scale in the key of C major. I will give you simple melodies written on staff paper to see how well you'll remember what we went over in today's lesson, but you should study the sheets I've given you today, and drill yourself with counting each type of note and how many of each type can appear in a measure in 4/4 time. That's all for today, as I have an appointment I must keep."

Mrs. O'Reilly bade Alex farewell and rushed out the door to her next appointment. Alex was somewhat excited that the lady was really teaching him something about music. He wheeled himself over to the piano and began to strike the keys he knew to be C and E while counting out the half notes, then C, E, G, C while counting out the quarter notes. It was all making sense to the boy, whose mind was becoming a musical sponge. He wanted to know everything about music there was to know. After spending several more minutes counting the notes, Alex wheeled himself out of the dining hall and down the corridor in search of Mike and Peter.

Weeks passed, and finally Alex was to get the casts off his legs. Mike accompanied him to the doctor who had put them on, the doctor removed them, bringing Alex great relief. The skin on his legs had become quite itchy, with no hope of scratching the itches. The doctor was pleased with the way Alex's bones healed, with the boy expecting to be able to jump from the table and run down the hall, but his expectations were quite presumptuous on his part.

"You will have to re-train the muscles in your legs to enable you to walk," the doctor said. Your leg muscles have been idle for many month, and if you try to walk without help, you will fall. You must use this," he said as he produced a walker. "Eventually, you will build up your muscles again and be able to walk on your own, but for now you will need the walker."

"For how long?" Alex asked.

"Not long," the doctor replied. "You will know when you will be able to stand up on your own and take steps without the aid of the walker. It may be a few weeks or it may take a month, but you will know. At least now, you can get in and out of bed on your own, use the lavatory without assistance, and take a shower or bath by yourself."

All of those options were appealing to Alex but one. He had come to appreciate Mike putting him to bed, as the young man made him feel safe, and even loved, he imagined. The boy wondered if Mike would abandon him now that he had increased mobility. Mike had filled a void in his life to which no one else came close. Krystal O'Reilly was a terrific music teacher and had taught him a lot during the handful of lessons she had given him. Peter was a great friend and a formidable chess opponent, but Mike was the only one at St. Patrick's for whom he felt anything like he felt from his family. The guy just gave him whatever he needed or wanted, never wanting anything from him, not that he had anything to give Mike, anyway. They left the doctor's office and returned to St. Patrick's, but on the way, Alex was full of questions.

"Now that my legs aren't in casts anymore, does this mean you're going to leave St. Patrick's?" the boy asked Mike.

"Of course not!" Mike exclaimed. "You still have several weeks to rebuild your leg muscles, and I don't have anywhere to go or anywhere I have to be."

"What about finding a girlfriend?" Alex inquired. Isn't that what you eventually want?

"Sure, but for right now, I'm needed right where I am," the young man said. "Besides, you need me, and I've become quite fond of you. You're an exceptional boy, and you show that you appreciate the help I've been giving you with that smile you always give me.

"Thank you," the boy replied, giving the young man a hug.

St. Patrick's dealt Alex a shattering blow on Peter's thirteenth birthday. Peter was informed that because he was now thirteen, he would have to leave St. Patrick's to be transferred to one of the government-run boys' homes. This news upset both boys, but he could not remain where he was, as St. Patrick's was a hope for boys and girls, until they reached puberty. Alex came to realize that he only had a little over another year before he would follow Peter out the door. The idea of losing his friend bothered him, but not as much as losing Mike and his music lessons with Mrs. O'Reilly. The boy kept these feeling to himself for the time being until Peter bid Alex and Mike a tearful farewell, whispering to Alex that he thought he finally had an inkling about what it meant to love someone. Alex smiled, nodded, and asked Peter to write to him with an address so that he might write back. Peter walked out the door with some man from the boys' home and was gone.

Mike guided Alex to the unused office down the hall, closed the door, and looking at Alex said, "Well?"

He needn't have said anymore, because Alex tossed his walker aside, fell against Mike, wrapped his arms around the young man and began to cry. Mike hugged the boy, telling him, "It's all right. Go ahead and let it all out. You will feel better. Don't forget that I am here for you whenever you need me."

Alex looked up at the young man through his tears and asked, "Do you love me?"

Mike was taken aback by the boy's question, but thought about it only for a second before replying, "Yes Alex, I do. You are like the younger brother I never had. I wish I had a little brother like you of whom I could be proud, just like I am of you."

Alex hugged Mike tighter, then relaxed and let him go, asking "Could we try to walk outside? I think I need some fresh air."

"Of course," Mike replied, setting Alex back up with his walker. "Soon, we'll be having a race to see who gets outside first!'

Mike opened the door to the office, allowing Alex to lead the way. In Mike's mind, he was glad that Father Sean Moriarty had made Alex his personal charge. From his standpoint as one of the staff at St. Patrick's, he had what he considered to be an ideal job, and the only one where a staff member was personally involved with an orphan. As his mind was considering his good fortune, he face seemed to cloud over, since he thought of Peter's transfer to the boys' home and Alex's inevitable future transfer as well. He wondered what he would do when that time came, and when it did, if he would ever see the boy again. When they reached the doors at the back of the building leading to the outside, Mike changed his train of thought so Alex couldn't see the look of concern on his face. By the time Alex had turned around, Mike was smiling again.

"Could we just sit in the shade around the corner?" Alex asked. "Peter and I would spend parts of our afternoons there, before we'd go play chess."

"Why not?" Mike answered with another question. "It will help you remember the good times the two of you had."

The rest of the day passed without either Alex or Mike having to deal with further displays of emotion, but in the back of Mike's mind was always the thought that in a year or so, Alex would receive his transfer, and it weighed heavily on his heart. Yes, he would miss Alex, but what would become of him and who would take care of him? Surely, he would be deprived of the individual attention Mike was allowed to give him, and what about his music lessons? Mike feared that Alex wouldn't adjust well to such a situation, but doubted he could exert any influence over the bureaucracy of the orphans' welfare system, but he resolved to investigate the boy's options.

Alex had been doing quite well with his lessons with Mrs. O'Reilly. By now, he could count correctly in many different time signatures, and could read the melodies from various songs she gave him to simply hum. The day had finally arrived when Alex walked into the dining hall to see the old, beat up and out-of-tune piano gone and a beautiful baby grand with a mirror finish to its wood sitting in its place. Mike and a couple of other staff members were dispatched to where Krystal had the instrument stored, retrieved it, and brought it back to St. Patrick's. They then demolished the old one with its cabinet to be used as firewood and the sounding board to be scrapped. Alex's eyes lit up upon seeing the beautiful piano, wondering if he might actually get to play something now that it had finally arrived.

"You can't effectively learn to play the piano if you can't accurately hear what you are playing," Krystal told the boy. "Now we have something that will enable us to really work," she said as she placed a sheet on the music holder. "First, you will need to learn your scales. Now remember, in the key of C major, middle C is "do," D is "re," and so on. On the music holder is a simple melody that we have drilled before with you humming it. When you sit at the piano, your hands will always seek the "home" keys. Whatever you will play will always be in relation to the position of those keys. We'll just work with the right hand for how, because you only know the treble clef, and that corresponds to the keys you will play with your right hand."

Mrs. O'Reilly showed the boy which were the home keys and had him play a scale in C major in only one octave, giving instructions as to which fingers to use on which keys. She had him do this repeatedly, made him stand up, walk around the baby grand, then sit back down and place his fingers back on the "home" keys. The boy followed her instructions perfectly. She then told him to look at the sheet on the music holder without looking at his hands, and to attempt to play what he saw on the paper, remembering that he had to consider how long to hold each note. Well, few get it perfect on the first try, and Alex was no exception. Twice, he struck two keys simultaneously, but otherwise translated the notes on the page to his fingers rather well, and in accordance with the time signature.

"Good, for a first attempt," Krystal commended the boy. "Try it again."

The second time through, Alex only double-keyed once, but Krystal could see it annoyed him. She had him do it a third time, which he executed successfully without a single double-key, then a fourth time, just to be sure he felt comfortable with fingering the keys. Then, she replaced the sheet on the music holder with another one, suggesting that he give that one a try. The boy read the sheet, letting his fingers produce what he saw on the page, totally surprised with his own results!

"Very good!" the lady exclaimed. "Now try this one," she said as she exchanged the sheet.

The boy accurately played all of the notes on each of the sheets his teacher placed before him. Then, Krystal called for a break, telling him to sit at a table where they would spend the rest of the lesson covering the reading of music. Each lesson from this day forward would be split between reading music and playing the actual instrument. Krystal was pleased that her pupil was such a fast learner, knowing it would make her life as his instructor much easier, but she also recognized that he had a desire to learn and could someday demonstrate that he had real talent. The lesson had ended for the day, Krystal gathered up her bundle of materials, told the boy she would see him for their next lesson, leaving Alex with a waiting Mike.

"From what I heard, you're making some progress," Mike said, breaking the silence. "What do you intend to do with the piano when you finally learn what you need to know?"

"I don't know," the boy replied. "My parents both played in a concert orchestra in Boston, so maybe I'll do that."

"Let me give you a piece of advice," Mike offered. "Never settle for less than what you believe is possible, because if you do, it may be all you will ever get. If you reach for the stars, you might get the moon, but if you only reach for the moon, there's nothing in between."

"I think I get it," Alex said. "If I want to make records but I only play in a concert orchestra, I might never get to make the records I really want to make."

"That's right," Mike told him. "Decide what it is you really want to do, then do it. You're still a boy, but you have dreams just like most of us do. If you don't chase your dreams, you will have no hope of them ever coming true."

Mike's words were on Alex's mind as he lie in bed that night. He felt lucky to have Mike as his "older brother," and felt the young man was not only his primary caregiver, but also his best friend. There was no one else at St. Patrick's who offered the boy any friendship, and now that Peter was gone, there was just Mike and Mrs. O'Reilly. The other orphans weren't interested in a boy who couldn't play physical games with them because he required a walker, so without the young man and his music teacher, Alex would have felt totally isolated.

Several weeks passed, and Alex's lessons with Mrs. O'Reilly were quite fruitful. The boy absorbed her lessons like a sponge, and within weeks, he was reading and playing melodies with chords in C major. Everything was looking bright for Alex, until he was summoned to Father Moriarty's office early one morning.

"Have a seat, Alex," Father Moriarty requested.

Alex wondered what the man could possibly want with him, but his tone and the look on his face was troubling. He wondered if perhaps he was about to be transferred to a boys' home.

"I have some bad news for you son," Father Moriarty said. "Your mother passed away during the night. I'm sorry."

Tears began to fall down the boy's cheek. There was a knock on the door, then in walked Mike. Alex turned and saw the young man, got up from his chair and ran to the young man, wrapping his arms around him, sobbing. Mike had already been told what had happened and was asked, because of the bond between them, to console the boy's grief.

"Your mother is with God now," Mike told Alex. "Any pain and suffering she might have felt because of the accident has ended. There is no pain in heaven."

"I wish I could have told her that I love her one last time," Alex replied between sobs.

"She knows you love her, and that you will never stop loving her," Mike said. "Part of her will always be part of you. Remember the good times you shared, and the love she gave you will always live in your heart."

Mike looked at Father Moriarty as if to ask permission to take Alex outside, prompting him to receive a nod.

Because of the boy's age and the lack of funds to have a wake and funeral for Ann Marie Kennedy, she was buried next to her husband and daughter without any fanfare. Father Moriarty and Mike agreed that it would be too traumatic for Alex to watch his mother being buried, so he was kept at St. Patrick's without being allowed to say goodbye to her. Mike was constantly with the boy until he was convinced the bulk of his grief had passed.

Alex's progress with Krystal O'Reilly was beginning to make her realize that her pupil was someone truly special. The boy had taken to her tutelage like a baby to water. He easily understood his lessons, almost as though they were merely reviews of those he had already learned. This boy obviously had something on which she couldn't quite put her finger. Even as her mother's student, her lessons didn't come as naturally as they did to Alex, and as she reflected on some of own students, only one showed promise the way Alex did. During a recent lesson, Alex became inquisitive.

"How long before I should be able to play an entire piece with both hands," Alex asked Krystal.

"Soon," she replied. "You know all the notes, the keys, time signatures and both clefs. You know where the notes are on the piano. Do you think you could read both clefs at the same time and communicate all the notes to the fingers of both hands?"

"I'll never know if I don't try," the boy said.

"The day we first met, you were trying to pick out Rachmaninoff's `Prelude in C# Minor' with one finger," she recalled. "What would you say if I brought the sheet music for it next time and we'll see what you can do with it?"

"Really?" Alex asked excitedly. "Oh, I'd like to try to play it. It's my favorite short piece for the piano, but you already knew that!"

"I will bring it next time and that will be your lesson," Krystal told him.

When Mrs. O'Reilly left, Alex was literally walking on air. He wondered if... No, maybe he shouldn't... The boy tossed his walker against the wall balancing himself on his own feet, then placing one foot in front of the other, took his first step since the accident with no assistance. He took another step, then another and realized his recuperation period had ended. He walked down the hall, slowly at first, then began to walk at a normal gait. He walked back to where he'd left the walker grabbed it, and feigned needing it until he had found Mike.

"Hey little man!" Mike greeted him. "How was your music lesson?"

"It was all right," Alex stated, concealing his excitement. "Can I show you something?"

"Sure," Mike said. "It's something good, I hope."

"Come out in the hall," the boy demanded."

Alex handed the walker to Mike, who stood in amazement as the boy walked down the hall on his own.

"Wonderful!" Mike cheered. "Pretty soon, you'll be playing the physical games outside with the other boys and girls and even running races!"

"I never ran races before the accident," Alex retorted, somehow thinking it was beneath him. "I really just want to learn the piano. That's my goal. I figured out that there's three important things in my life: You, Mrs. O'Reilly, and the piano. You and Mrs. O'Reilly show me that I mean something to you both, and you both mean a lot to me. The piano is, well, I hope it will be a way for me to express myself, both to myself and to other people."

Mike was taken aback by Alex's statements. He knew the boy trusted him, but he didn't know he was the most important person in Alex's life. Why else would Alex have named him first? After all, he was only supposed to look after the boy after the accident and the loss of his family, giving him support and assistance through his recovery. Had he gone too far in becoming so close to Alex? Mike was clearly troubled about his position with Alex. The boy had no other friends and hadn't tried to make any more since Peter left. He needed to talk with someone about the situation, but he didn't trust Father Sean Moriarty enough to confide in him what he thought might be in Alex's best interest, and no one else on the staff, not even his friend in the kitchen, would even care about the welfare of one orphan. What about Alex's music teacher, Mrs. O'Reilly? Alex said he thought she cared about him. Maybe he needed to have a conversation with her.

(to be continued)