Alright, so a few things: First, thank you to everyone that wrote me emails. They were really nice and encouraging, and I really appreciate them. That said, don't hold your breath for a response, because I'm notoriously bad at getting back to people. Also, I'm extremely busy right now, because I'm about to move back to school for the semester. So, not to sound like a dick, if you write to say you like the story, I probably won't write you back as of right now, but please don't stop! I read them all and really, really like getting them, so don't take it personally :) Also, if you ask when the next chapter comes out, I really can't answer because I honestly don't know. Like I said, this is a crazy time for me, and it will only get crazier these next few weeks as I get back into the flow of college life and classes and whatnot. So, just assume the answer is, whenever I can. Finally, please do not email me to chastise me for things involving marijuana or tobacco. I smoke cigarettes, and I smoke pot, and I'm far from being ashamed of it. So if you don't like it, you don't have to read. Although this story is obviously fictional, 99% of what I say about myself and my family is true. So expect pot to come up again in the story! It seems like most of you guys that have emailed me have been pretty chill about it, which is awesome. In fact, if you want to email me in support of marijuana, by all means go for it...it's bound to put a smile on my face. Thanks!!!
The next day, I woke up at 11:00 a.m. and walked groggily into the kitchen. As I was walking, I heard a familiar song playing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it due to my lack of lucidity in the mornings. As soon as I saw my stepfather's shit-eating grin and he sat by his computer (clearly the source of the music), I caught on. He was playing Hail to the Chief (that song they play when the president enters a room).
"Oh well done dick-face. Have a good laugh about this," I sniped sarcastically. My stepdad just sat there laughing his ass off, as did my mom and sister. My brother was around but he didn't know what was going on. He laughed anyway though, so as not to feel left out.
"Okay, first of all, shut up Eric, you don't even know what you're laughing about. Second of all, I seriously don't want you guys to make a big deal about this, because it's really not. Like I said, I'm sure nothing will come of it," I said, trying to calm them down so they'd stop embarrassing me.
"Honey, next time you see him, could you get a picture of him with you? I want something to show to my friends when I tell them that my son...Oh my God, I'm kvelling (Yiddish word that means something like "bursting with pride")...my son...Laker's son...this is amazing!" my mother gushed.
"Oh for Christ's sake. I knew this would happen. I was coming home last night, and I thought to myself, should I tell them or not? Then I said to myself, Jon, you know that if you tell them, they are just going to give you tons of shit about it. You'd be stupid to tell them. And so what do I do? I come home and, against my better judgment, tell you jackasses, and I wake up to Hail to the Chief. I never listen to myself. Ugh."
"This is your own fault. You obviously should not have told them. How did you not know they'd do something exactly like this?" Danielle asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm stupid. I got it, thanks," I retorted, starting to become a little irritated by the conversation. I'm a complete bitch in the mornings, and I legitimately need a good twenty minutes of absolute silence to get out of the terrible mood I wake up in.
About ten or fifteen minutes later, I heard my phone beep from my room, and, knowing I had a text, I moseyed on over to go look at it. I picked the phone up and brought it back out to the kitchen and sat by my cereal and picked up a spoonful as I read it. It was from Brent!
Had a great time last night...when do you wanna meet up again?
The spoon fell out of my hand and splashed into the cereal as the realization that I was going on a date with the boy who would undoubtedly be the next president's son hit me once again. Danielle looked up and gave me a questioning look. I waved her over subtly, and she came and looked at the text.
"Jesus Christ, you're not lying...so what are you gunna say back?"
"I don't know. I mean I'll obviously go on another date. Damn, this shit is intimidating. This kid is totally out of my league. I don't know why he seems so keen on going out with me."
"First of all, don't say keen—you sound like an arrogant douche when you say that," Danielle quipped. I rolled my eyes and she continued: "Second of all, you should stop with this low self-esteem crap. You're a total catch. You know I'd tell you if I thought you weren't." That was true, she would definitely tell me if I was ugly.
I decided to text him back and ask him if he wanted to go to the mall later today. He replied that he was down for that, and so I took a shower and got ready. I spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out what to wear. I decided on my favorite outfit" faded, extremely light blue jeans with a few rips in them and a button-down shirt from Abercrombie. It was thinly striped with light green, blue, and white stripes and was the one shirt that even I thought I looked sexy in. I put some cologne on and headed out the door, ignoring the snide remarks coming from my various asshole family members.
I got to the mall and went into the Starbucks where we agreed to meet up. I saw him sitting at the table in another hooded sweatshirt with his head practically in his coffee. He looked like a man who has been totally defeated by life. I sat down next to him and he looked up and smiled that killer smile, his eyes boring into my soul (it seemed).
"Hey," I said awkwardly. He, on the other hand, seemed much more comfortable around me.
"Hey yourself. I'm really glad you wanted to come."
"Um, of course I wanted to come! It wasn't just you who had a good time last night," I said, immediately blushing when I realized what I said. He blushed a little too and smiled.
"You want a coffee?" he asked.
"Oh yeah. I'm gunna get a café mocha. I'll be right back."
"Wait, let me get it for you, my treat...think of it as a thank you for coming out here," he offered.
"Oh no you don't. You pulled that line on me last night, remember? I'm a big boy, I can pay for myself. Besides, I don't feel right making you keep paying for my shit. In fact, I'm going to buy you something today. And don't even try to stop me!" We both laughed as he sat back and waited for me to come back with my drink. When I came back, we started up with the usual first/second date basic conversation that I usually hated. But with him, it was like I was doing it for the first time, and all of the sudden the part of dates that I hated the most—that dreadful, boring introductory conversation that you have to have but never really want to—became extremely enjoyable and almost, in a weird way, romantic.
"So, Jonathan, where do you go to school and what's your major?"
"Well, I'm a freshman at Brandeis. I'm actually double-majoring in history and English."
"Oh wow. So, do you like have an idea about what you want to do?" he asked.
"Well, I love European history, and, ideally, I'll go to grad school to get my PhD and then hopefully teach at a University. But I also play piano and have been debating whether or not to get into performing for a while now. My teacher really wants me to, and so do my parents, but I'm not really sure. So what about you? Your life has got to be pretty overwhelming about now," I said laughing lightly. He laughed back a little.
"Yeah, ain't that the truth. Don't get me wrong, I love politics, and I'm excited about maybe living in the White House, but I can't even tell you how overwhelming it is. There are constantly enormous amounts of people running around the house. The phone is always ringing, there're meetings all the time, the press, cameras, news reports, secret service following you, the list goes on and on. That's why sometimes I just like to get away and unload for a while."
"Yeah I hear that. Speaking of Secret Service, where is your fan club today?"
He laughed and said, "Oh they're here...they always follow me. Sometimes when I'm in a really public place and don't want to be recognized, they dress up as everyday people. You can see a few of them sitting at tables in here watching the environment. You can tell because they have those earpieces in."
I looked around, and sure enough there were men scattered around with little earpieces, surreptitiously scanning the crowd for signs of danger and threats.
"Oh damn, you're right I see them. So if they just dressed up regularly do you think people would know it was you?"
"Oh yeah. It always catches me off-guard, but lots of people recognize me instantly and start swarming around me, trying to take my picture or talk to me. Then it gets embarrassing because the agents start getting panicked that I'll be hurt or some crazy ass terrorist will slip in, and they form like this ring around me. It's so embarrassing. That's why I hardly go out anymore. My dad and mom are used to it, but I just really can't stand it."
I felt really bad for him, and could tell from his words and his face that this life was really taking its toll on him. I put myself in his shoes and realized that I too would hate all the constant attention and protection. Deciding to try to take his mind off of the topic, I asked him if he wanted to go and walk around with me. He looked a little unsure, but I promised him we'd be careful and that if we stayed close together, no one would recognize him. He seemed to like that idea and so we headed up and left. I turned around to see the agents slowly following us and thought again how weird it was. He, on the other hand, didn't turn around, obviously already knowing that they were following him.
"So why do you have such a high amount of tails? I didn't realize that the kids of presidential candidates had such high security."
"Well," he said, "they usually don't, but my mom and I are considered `high risk' people, due to my sexuality and her open support of the gay community. There are a lot of people who don't like me being out." He said that very seriously, and I could tell that he had probably been threatened before.
We continued strolling along close together. He had his hood on, but as we continued making small talk and getting to know each other, he'd look up at me and smile, and I was able to see his beautiful face. As we were walking, his hand kept bumping into mine. I became increasingly aware of it, and I became overtaken by the urge to hold it tightly. I let my finger catch on one of his, playing it off as if it were an accident that happened naturally due to the swinging of our arms while walking. He looked down and decided to cut the bullshit: he took my hand fully in his and interlocked our fingers in an instant. Surprisingly, it was not awkward at all. Maybe it was because it just felt so right. His thumb rubbed my handed, and I did the same to his.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he said wearily, "but even though we don't know each other well, something about being with you feels really...I don't know...right," he said, almost posed as a question to test my reaction.
"Don't worry about it. I feel exactly the same way. Since I saw you last night I've just really wanted to touch you. Not like, sexually—well, not like, not sexually—but like holding hands and stuff." I was stumbling over my own words like never before. I had always considered myself to be a relatively articulate person, but that was all going to shit while I was around him. He smiled in response and we just kept walking. The rest of the afternoon was like that. We walked and talked, and for about two hours, we didn't let go of each other's hands once. We decided to head back over to Starbucks so I could buy him a coffee. We got our drinks and noticed there was one big armchair open, but not two. He started walking toward it and sat down on it. I stared at him, thinking that it was pretty rude. However, he just rolled his eyes playfully and motioned for me to come and sit...on him! I was so fucking excited I couldn't contain myself. I practically ran over and gently lowered myself onto his lap. I was instantly hard as a rock as I leaned my head back against his shoulder. He gently draped his free arm over my shoulder and onto my chest. I breathed deeply and smiled a huge, stupid smile and closed my eyes. We sat there like that drinking our coffees, trying to get as close to each other as possible.
I craned my neck around and looked at him. He smiled at me. "You're so cute," he said bashfully, blushing right after and looking down. I smiled widely and said "So are you buddy." I stared into his eyes once he lifted his head back up, and I lost my ability to hear or see the rest of the café. I leaned close to him and whispered, "I'm sorry, but I really, really need to kiss you right now." He smiled and leaned in and our lips touched lightly, his lower lip place slightly below my lower lip. We held our lips there for a few second before pulling away. He smiled at me and quickly leaned in for another quick kiss. Meanwhile, I was so close to shooting in my pants that I pulled back and breathed deeply, trying to calm myself down. He smiled, knowing what was going on with me. That's when I realized that I could distinctly feel his hardon on my leg. I smiled at him and shook my ass a little to toy with him. He grunted a little and smiled. "Oh man, do not do that. It's dangerous right now...I don't have a change of pants on me," he said jokingly. We both burst out laughing at our mutual predicaments.
"Alright," he said, "let's change the subject." We both laughed. "You said you play piano? Tell me about that. I've always wanted to play an instrument."
"Well," I said, "I've played for a while now, and I guess I'm pretty good at it. My teacher really wants to put me in contact with some guy from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. She thinks I have a lot of potential to be a performer, but I really don't think I'm as good as she does. We'll see though. Either way, I love playing. It relaxes me and I love classical music, so it's a great hobby for me."
"Have you ever performed before?"
"Um, yeah once or twice at the music school where I used to take lessons."
"Well, how was the crowd's reaction. You can tell from that whether or not you're as good as she says."
I blushed and mumbled something, not wanting to answer the question to avoid sounding arrogant. But he forced it out of me: "come on, tell me."
"Well, I always got standing ovations and lots of applause. People would come up to me after and tell me I was amazing and that I should perform more and all that shit." I blushed and looked down, embarrassed about talking about myself.
"Wow, that's awesome. I'd love to hear you play sometime, even though I don't really know anything about classical music."
"Oh, well we'll just have to change that! If there is one thing I could talk about for hours on end, it's classical music. I love it so much. It's like I can literally feel the music for some reason."
"You'll have to show me some good songs to listen to...is that what you call them, songs?" he asked, genuinely interested. I find it so hot when people want to talk about classical music. I know I'm strange!
"Um, well they are usually called pieces or compositions, but I knew what you meant," I grinned. I looked at my cell phone to check the time and jumped up after seeing what time it was.
"Oh shit, um, I actually have to go to my piano lesson right now. I haven't seen my teacher in a few months and she'll be sad if I miss my lesson."
"Oh no problem. I'd love to see a lesson some time. I think it'd be really interesting to see like the learning process involved in music," he said. I couldn't help but blurt out: "well you can come to this one if you want." I felt bad after saying that, because I knew it was a bit too presumptuous this early on in our "relationship." He instantly diffused my shame by smiling that killer smile of his. "I was hoping you'd say that! I really want to see you play!" I smiled back and we headed out.
At the parking lot, he walked me to my car and I handed him the address of my teacher's house. I watched as he got into his limo and headed out of the parking lot. I got in the car and called my teacher as I pulled out of the parking lot. I realized that I should have asked her first, as I was now taking lessons at her house, not the music school. When she answered, I assured her that I was on my way and asked her if I could bring a friend who wanted to watch me play. She said of course (I knew she would...she's the nicest lady).
A few minutes later we pulled up to her house. Brent's limo was already there, and when I got out of the car, he and the agents got out as well. I smiled at him and said an awkward hello as we headed to the door. I rang the doorbell and my teacher came to the door, happy to see me. She looked over at Brent and said, "so who's your friend?" Brent looked up at her, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my god! Is that...are you...Brent Laker?" I grinned widely, almost proud to be walking around with him. He smiled and said that he was and told her it was a pleasure to meet her. He had the best manners. The more I got to know him, the nicer I realized he was. After the few minutes of gasping and shock that I would come to get used to, she invited us in. I sat down at the piano. She siddled up next to me and whispered in my ear "you'll need to fill me in on all the details later!" I smiled at her and assured her I would. Brent took a seat near us as I opened up my sheet music.
"So, what are you going to show me today," she asked, taking a notebook out to write down comments in.
"Liebestraum No. 3," I said. Liebestraum, by Franz Liszt, is a piano piece that I believe could easily be the best work ever written for piano. It's pretty difficult though, and people often interpret it wrong. I've spent a good deal of time mulling over its meaning in my head, aspiring to get into Liszt's mind and play it as he would have wanted it played.
I put my fingers down on the keys and began to play. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. At this point, I knew where all the keys were, so I always closed my eyes when I played so that I could focus intently on the sound and capture the nuances to the music that I visualized in my mind's eye. I became more and more passionate as the piece progressed. By the time I was done, I was rather pleased with myself, as I had avoided making a single error. It's always hard not to slip up once or twice.
I opened my eyes and saw my teacher staring at me, with what seemed to be a hint of a tear in her eye. She closed her notebook slowly and shook her head. I immediately panicked that I had done a terrible job and lowered my head in shame.
"This is a very sad day for me," she said solemnly, smiling sadly.
"Why?" I asked nervously.
"I can't be your teacher anymore. There is nothing left for me to teach you. You're actually better than me!"
"Bullshit," I blurted out. I apologized for swearing and continued: "You're the most amazing pianist I know and I'll never be able to stop learning from you."
"Jonathan, I don't think you understand what an amazing interpretation of that piece was. I've heard you play Beethoven, I've heard you play Liszt, and I have been telling you for years to meet my friend from the Orchestra to start you on a career that will undoubtedly be extremely successful. I don't know of a single interpretation of Liebestraum more stunning and accurate than what you just did. This is the way Liszt would have wanted it to be played."
When she said that, I beamed with pride, forgetting my ever-low self-esteem that prevented me from accepting any kind of complement. As I said before, reaching Liszt's level of playing has always been my dream, and to hear her say that I had done just that made me about the happiest I've ever been. That's when Brent chimed in.
"I don't know much about classical music, and I really don't know who this Liszt guy is, but even I can tell you that that was incredible." He smiled widely and winked at me. I blushed again and realized that I could easily fall in love with this kid.
"You are speaking to my friend, and I'm not taking no for an answer. I'm going to call him up now and have him give you a call. Like I said, I have no other comments or suggestions to make, so we should cut this lesson short. I want to have a three-way meeting with you, him, and I to talk seriously about a career in performing. There are a lot of competitions you'll need to sign up for..." She continued rambling, more to herself than to me. I'd never seen her this excited.
We said our goodbyes and she assured me once again that I should expect a call. I thanked her, as did Brent for letting him watch. She was hit again by exactly who he was and became as flabbergasted as she was when he first walked into the door.
As we left, I headed over to Brent's limo with him and we said our goodbyes.
"That was really amazing. I'm really glad I came!" he said.
"I'm really glad you came, too," I said shyly. We smiled at each other, paused awkwardly, and leaned in for a kiss. It was a little bit longer than the last one. We didn't use any tongue, as we really hardly knew each other. However, the kiss was electric and magnificent, and I knew that I absolutely had to kiss those lips again. We broke the kiss and made plans to meet again tomorrow night for dinner. He leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, but as soon as he lifted his head up, I, as if it were a reflex, put my hand behind his head and pulled him in for another long one. He wrapped his arms around me and we stood there for a few minutes, hugging on the driveway, not ever wanting to let go. I smiled to myself and knew that I was in for an exciting ride.
To be continued...hope you liked it. Email me with questions/comments at jonnymanmeg@hotmail.com
Thanks,
Jon