It is always a pleasure to see the great efforts people will make to produce something grand in their lives. I am always gratified when I can allow the characters in my stories to do something good as an example for all of us. For when youth responds to the needs of others it gives us all hope for the future.

Chris James

Robert Elkins' apartment was in a tall building situated on Fifth Avenue across from Central Park. The location meant little to Jessie, but the apartment was stunning. The décor was probably just as old as Mr. Elkins himself, but Jessie knew his aunt and uncle would feel right at home here. The antiques alone were worth a fortune, but Neil laughed as they stood in the middle of the living room.

"My Grandpa let my Grandmother do most of the decorating, I doubt if his other wives have even see the place. But Mom grew up here, I just wish I had."

"Really? I thought you didn't like big cities," Jessie said.

"I do ... and I don't, they aren't familiar. Guess I'm just jealous that Mom had a chance to know the place and I never did." Then Neil grinned. "But we're about to change all that."

"Ten days, Neil ... I only have ten days before the workshop starts."

"Then we do an abbreviated tour for the moment, and then spend our free time doing an in depth study. OK, over there is your play room."

Neil led Jessie to the double doors set in the wall and slid them open. "Ta da ... "

"Oh My God ... the Bosendorfer ... how did it get here?" Jessie gasped.

"Mom ... it lived in that spot for thirty years, it really belongs here," Neil said.

"My God ... your family is amazing, moving pianos is expensive, especially one like this."

"Mom said it would help you with your studies, and tomorrow the second surprise arrives," Neil said.

"What ... more?"

"The best thing my Grandpa could do, he's sending Consuelo to look after us. New York is her home anyway, all her family is here."

"Oh this is all too much," Jessie said.

"Baby ... when you get a chance to rub elbows with the great musicians in town I imagine you'll enjoy having a place to entertain them. My Grandmother had a reputation for entertaining in this apartment; it's going to be our responsibility to maintain."

Consuelo brought life into the apartment along with some wonderful smells wafting out from the kitchen. It was only a matter of days before the phone rang and Wolfgang invited them to attend a concert at the Lincoln Center.

Just walking into that grand building gave Jessie chills since performing here was his ultimate goal. Wolfgang met them in the lobby and gave them tickets for the first balcony where they could have the best view. The elegance of the concert hall filled with well dressed people wasn't lost on Neil, this was going to be Jessie's world and he had to find a way to fit in.

As Jessie prepared himself for a summer of hard work Neil had cast about for something to do. He couldn't just sit around the apartment, so he took a cue from his mother; he contacted one of the local homeless shelters.

The area around the West Village and Washington Square was filled with homeless people, persons in need he was told. The statistics he found online were distressing and one figure stood out above the rest. The number of homeless teens was in the tens of thousands, the number who were gay, lesbian or transgender was close to twenty-five percent of that total.

There were a bunch of organizations in the city that worked with this segment of the population; it sent Neil to the phone. Volunteering was something he understood; the mission in his grandmother's name had given him a brief look at the work. He could think of nothing better than to work with other teens, it was time to become involved. Jessie could only smile when Neil explained what he wanted to do.

"It's a good move, an experience you can write about," Jessie said.

"Yeah ... I guess. I'm a spoiled little rich kid from a private school, the only thing I might have in common with them is the gay thing. Do you think they'll resent me?"

"No sweetie, you just go on being yourself," Jessie said. "So who have you hooked up with?"

"I spoke with the volunteer leader at a GLTB hostel, her name is Mickey Broome ... a lesbian I assume. She suggested I come down there and spend a few hours before deciding what I want to do. The hostel gets a lot of kids in off the street, they have all kinds of needs, but she thinks I should use my education and teach."

Jessie laughed. "I don't suppose trig will be one of their needs."

"God, I hope not," Neil said, joining the laughter for a moment. "You want to come down there and see it with me?"

"Scary, huh? Sure, I'll go."

The walk from the Sheridan Square subway station was a revelation. Uptown Manhattan was nothing like this, this area of the city looked tired and worn out. The hostel was housed in a building on West Tenth and was easy to spot because of the kids gathered on the sidewalk out front.

Gay youth came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but kids from the city were so visibly different. Everything about them seemed strange, the hair, the clothes ... the only thing they all had in common was the need to survive. Neil and Jessie had dressed carefully, plainly and yet they still looked like hicks. The eyes told them that much, the eyes that watched them walking towards the entrance.

"Hey ... you got a cigarette?" A skinny Hispanic girl asked Neil as they approached the steps.

"Sorry ... sure don't," Neil replied.

"OK," the girl sighed. "If you're lookin for space the hostel is full."

"I'm looking for Mickey," Neil said.

"Oh ... she's in the office, second floor," The girl said. "I'm Nina Ray."

"Neil ... and this is Jessie."

"Hey, Jessie ... I love your hair, man," Nina said. "Mine used to be that long, too hard to keep clean."

"Yeah ... I have to keep up with it," Jessie replied.

"We better go find Mickey, nice to meet you, Nina," Neil said.

"Yeah ... see ya round," She replied.

The stairwell was clean and well lit as they made their way up to the second floor. Kids of all ages were moving up and down the hall and Neil saw the sign at the end which pointed towards the office. They heard the commotion before they got there, a kid yelling, a more authoritarian voice in reply. One look through the door left no doubt who was in charge, this six foot tall muscular woman had a boy pinned to a chair ... it had to be Mickey.

"Listen to me, Renny. What you did is considered vandalism, do you understand that? I told you last week, no painting on the walls. You want to do your artwork ask for some paper and we'll put it up on the bulletin board ... just not on my walls, please."

The boy looked all of twelve, spiky black hair, paint spattered clothing. "Damn, Mickey, paper ain't no good, it's too small ... I need big spaces."

"When you get famous like Picasso then we'll find you some big space, for now think small, OK?" Mickey said.

"Ok ... sorry," Renny said. "Hugs?"

And Mickey gave the boy a hug before he eased past Neil standing in the doorway and scooted on down the hall.

"You must be Mickey, I'm Neil Dennison ... we spoke on the phone a few days ago."

"Hey, Neil ... and who's this?"

"Jessie Reardon ... he's my better half," Neil said with a grin.

Mickey smiled. "Good goin."

"What's with the kid and his painting?" Neil asked.

"Renaldo? He decided to redecorate the walls of his room, they know better. He's a tagger, you know what that is?" Mickey asked.

"Street painter, another form of vandalism some people think," Neil replied.

"Well he's good ... very good, and very foolish. I'm afraid the cops are going to catch him or he'll fall off a roof looking for art space. But his parents threw him out and we picked him up, he's the youngest one here," Mickey said.

"How do parents get away with that? I'd call it child abuse putting a kid that young on the street," Neil said.

"It is abuse, but at home they beat his ass, he chose to leave. So now when Child Welfare comes around we hide him so they don't take him into one of those God awful shelters. Gay boys that age get abused even more in some of those `safe and secure' places."

"So, a bad scene ... I came here to volunteer, you said something about teaching?" Neil asked.

"Yeah, we have a few more like Renny who are under sixteen, they need the basics. I don't know if you'll get them to sit still long enough, but Tim wants them all evaluated so he can set up a home school plan. Normally once they turn sixteen we try and send them out to public schools, the younger ones aren't ready for that yet," Mickey said.

"Just reading and writing, is that what you need?" Neil asked.

"Yup, Renny never went past the third grade," Mickey said. "He was nine when his momma caught him giving head to other boys in the alley behind their house. He was on the street almost three years before we found him, you can imagine what he did to survive."

"Oh God ... poor kid," Neil said.

"I'm sure you both have your own gay experiences, his was one of constant abuse, I'm just glad he survived," Mickey said. "But you'll get to know him if you stick around."

"I'm here until the end of July ... just point me in the right direction," Neil said.

"Good ... so here's the rules in a nut shell. You have a boyfriend so I don't have to say anything about sex with the kids, you know that's forbidden. They will come on to you, they are normal horny teenagers and you're a handsome guy ... expect it. I'll give you the handbook, you don't have to enforce the rules, but you do have to tell me if you see one broken.

"The usual stuff, no drugs, no drinking, no violence, no hate speech. Tim Braden is our principal staffer, he does all the paperwork, knows all the cops ... etc. We feed, clothe and now hopefully educate them; otherwise they run the street and bring back entirely too many bad habits."

"Are they out ... uh, breaking the law?" Neil asked.

"Old habits are hard to break," Mickey said. "We know they steal, do drugs and hustle themselves for a little money. We all talk to them about safe sex because we can't stop them from doing it. When they stay out for the night we get worried, if we discipline them too hard they'll just take a walk and then we'll have no control. Just stay alert, one of them just might tell you something we ought to know.

"Tim has a good relationship with the cops, we find out one of our kids is abused and we pass that along. The gay boys are at greater risk, especially over in the Village and around Washington Square. Lesbian and Trans kids don't get solicited very much, but they're more inclined towards the drugs. Every kid is valuable to us, and now that means to you as well, got it?"

Neil smiled. "I agree, this whole thing is about them."

Mickey smiled back. "We'll get along just fine. So, Jessie ... you going to help out too?"

"No, sorry. I have a workshop at Julliard to attend."

"Wow ... way cool," Mickey said. "What do you play?"

"Piano ... but I'm just a beginner," Jessie said.

"No way, I have a friend who went through that school, they don't take in beginners," Mickey said. "We have a few kids who play piano, unfortunately the instrument we have downstairs is a piece of crap. Yeah, good luck with that ... we'll keep your boyfriend busy for you."

Jessie smiled. "Yeah, do that."

"So guess you need a tour..hmm ... I know," Mickey said. She walked over to the door and leaned out into the hall. "Monica ... find me Renaldo, will ya?" And two minutes later the cute little Puerto Rican boy was back in the office.

"Renny, would you give Neil and Jessie a tour of the place?" Mickey asked.

Renny grinned. "Sure ... one tour comin up."

It was pretty obvious by the time they'd been shown the dorms, the dining hall and the two classrooms that Renny was enamored of them both. The boy showed them where he had begun painting the wall in his room, a smaller space than the larger boy's dorm; this one had only three beds.

"Tim won't allow Ricky and me to sleep with the big boys," Renny explained.

"Gee, I wonder why?" Neil laughed, watching the boy staring at Jessie once again. He was so young his thoughts were transparent. "Maybe he's afraid you'll play big boys games."

Renny laughed. "Well that's a no brainer, we already do."

"So you painted this wall," Jessie said, changing the subject. "It's pretty damn good. Do you ever paint with a brush?"

"Oh, you mean like a real painter? This real, man ... don't you go dissin my work."

"Jeez, Renny ... chill. I just thought you might get more respect if you did it the way most people expect to see their art. Good paintings sell for thousands of dollars," Jessie said.

Renny laughed again. "Nobody's gonna buy art from some gay kid ... make some sense."

"So you never tried painting other than tagging walls?" Neil asked.

"Nope ... nobody ever asked me to," Renny said. "Come on, let's finish the tour."

They ended up in the basement, the hostel's version of the game room and lounge, but as Mickey said there was an old battered upright piano against the wall and Jessie groaned.

"Damn, you guys have beaten the hell out of this thing," He said.

"Eh, no one really knows how to play it, I mess around sometimes," Renny said. "You play?"

"Yes, I love music," Jessie said.

"So play me something," Renny said.

Jessie sat on the stool and cringed as his fingers pressed down on the keys, amazingly enough it wasn't that far out of tune. He ran a few arpeggios and the keys all seemed to work. Renny moved in close, his eyes looking at Jessie's hands.

"Wow, you do know how to play ... what kind of music do you know?"

"Classical mostly, a little jazz," Jessie said. He decided on a little Mozart and began to play. The crisp cadence of the piece didn't sound too bad, and Renny stood there with his mouth open. The sound carried upstairs and soon there was a crowd watching Jessie play. Neil stood back and watched, amused that Renny had placed a hand on Jessie's shoulder. It seems Jessie had a new fan.

The music segued into a little jazz and there were smiles around the room until Jessie finished, and then there was applause. Poor Jessie had been unaware of the kids standing around and Neil saw him blush.

"Wow, you really are good," Renny said. "That's better then anything I could do."

Jessie smiled. "But I can't paint worth a damn, so you see we each have a talent."

Renny smiled. "Yeah ... guess we do. So you think I should start painting with brushes?"

"Definitely ... you never know where it will take you," Jessie said.

The piano workshop started three days later, and Jessie took a cab across the park and down to the Lincoln Center where the Julliard Building was located. He was in awe of this opportunity, for the school had graduated some of the greatest musicians in the country. The cab let him out in front of the plaza.

Julliard had been something Jessie studied from a distance, but now he was going to become a part of it all. He felt relief when Wolfgang took them out to dinner and answered a multitude of questions.

"There is a pre-college school at Julliard, something that might have served you well if you lived in New York. But the workshop isn't about competition, at least not for you, it's about learning," Wolfgang said.

"I'm just not ready for any kind of competition, that's for sure," Jessie said. "I really want to learn technique and a whole lot more about composition."

"You'll get there, I assure you. Just don't be surprised if there are some much younger kids with a lot more musical knowledge than you have, don't let it discourage you." Wolfgang smiled. "I think you're very fortunate in so many ways. I think Neil is a wonderful choice for you."

Neil smiled, and asked the question that had been on their minds for months. "Do you have a partner?"

Wolfgang laughed. "You mean am I gay? The answer to that is yes, and I've been living with a wonderful man for the past fourteen years, he's in the publishing industry. I can't help but envy your youth and excitement about life; it took me so long to recognize these feelings, we waste so much time hiding the obvious."

"Does being gay interfere with your creativity?" Jessie asked.

"No, sometimes it enhances my business activities," Wolfgang said. "I imagine you worry that being gay will keep you from performing, that's far from the truth. The life of a pianist is very special and very difficult. Hours of practice and even physical training are necessary to keep your mind and body alert."

And turning to Neil, he nodded. "You will play a great part in Jessie's success, for I understand the emotions you share. The next five years will be hard on you both, just be kind to one another and have patience."

Wolfgang reached across the table and patted their hands. "I never had the chance to become a major soloist, there were other issues in my life that prevented it. But I went to school with some greats, Van Cliburn and John Williams were classmates of mine at Julliard.

"You are so talented for someone your age, I think I'll stay on top of your education and keep my eyes on you ... both of you. For as one succeeds so shall the other. And so Neil, we know what Jessie will attain ... what will you reach for, what success do you wish upon yourself?"

"I ... well, I haven't quite decided, I think I want to teach," Neil said. "I think I'd make a good English teacher."

"Teaching ... a noble cause," Wolfgang said. "There are many colleges and universities here in New York. I think that with your credentials from Bradford that acceptance will become much easier. Jessie on the other hand will have to audition to join classes at Julliard. Thousands apply, so few are accepted ... and that's where I can help."

"Dr. DeMarco suggested this workshop would help me with admissions, at least he said it would allow the school to know who I am," Jessie said.

Wolfgang smiled. "Yes, it won't take the faculty long to discover your inherent talents. As for the knowledge you currently possess, that is of little consequence. They will be looking at the way you learn and apply the lessons, they expect to teach you. Being an empty vessel with motivation and skill is what they seek as an ideal Julliard student."

"So how will you help me?" Jessie asked.

"I wish to spend some time teaching you how to sight read. I know you read music," Wolfgang said. "I'm just going to show you how to do it easier and faster. For the audition you will prepare three pieces of music, the jury will pick one of them for you to perform. Then they will give you a short score, usually a Mozart or Beethoven piece ... maybe even a Bach, depends upon who sits in judgment. But you will be asked to play it, not immaculately, but well at least."

"Oh, I usually take a while to figure those things out," Jessie said.

"And then in doing so you memorize it ... I know, but not for this audition. This is why I will assist you so that at least you can give a credible audition. Just one thought to keep in mind, you must tell no one about this coaching ... I'm in the jury pool and this could cause some concern."

Jessie looked shocked. "I don't want to cheat ... "

"No, it's not like that at all, there will be hundreds of auditions, it will be unlikely that I sit in on yours ... but if I do we just don't need to mention these lessons, OK?" Wolfgang smiled. "Besides, I'm a tough juror ... unless I already know the boy deserves the chance like you do."

So Saturday mornings had become the time for Wolfgang's little class. Neil made sure Consuelo had plenty of coffee and refreshments available, along with a nice little luncheon prepared before she left for the day. Neil had decided she needed time out of the apartment; all that piano music could get a little overwhelming.

And as Jessie began the workshop he discovered that he was surrounded with talent of all ages, and many of the students had the temperament of a star as well. Ego he could understand, although his was tiny by comparison. But Demarco was a wiz at handling the temperaments, he plowed right through them.

Jessie found himself working on a composition with a fifteen year old from Chicago. The boy was an intense musician, but so emotionally overboard it was hard to pin him down to anything. Their assignment was to transpose a short Bach piece from G, a major key, to F Minor. The assignment seemed absurd, the music was destroyed in doing this, but Jessie figured DeMarco had a reason behind it. Martin couldn't follow the rules, he resisted the assignment.

"Totally stupid, this is crap," Martin laughed.

"Maybe, but when you're able to teach the class you can say that, until then we have to do it," Jessie insisted.

And Martin finally managed to tell Demarco that he thought it was crap when the man walked in their practice room. Instead of dismissing Martin's thoughts, Demarco turned to Jessie. "And what do you think?" He asked.

"Me? I don't know enough to say its crap. I have no idea what your objective is, but it does seem pretty absurd," Jessie said.

DeMarco smiled. "Yes, absurd is a good description. The piece was originally written in G Major and then Bach saw the wisdom of changing it to F Minor. The original score was discovered a few years ago, do you know the piece at all?"

"No ... but there is something familiar about it," Jessie said.

DeMarco laughed. "Ok, I only gave you the right hand ... add this to the score and see what you get." With that he handed over another sheet of music. And Martin looked over Jessie's shoulder as he set the music up on the lyre.

"Oh Jeez ... I am such an idiot ... I recognize that," Martin said.

"It's too fast for me, can you play it?" Jessie said, moving over on the bench.

Martin sat down and began to play the Bach F Minor Concerto, Third movement. The score didn't have the orchestra parts, but the Bach sound was certainly there. Jessie watched as Martin's hands flew across the keyboard, the boy was an amazingly skilled pianist.

DeMarco smiled. "See, even the greats made horrible mistakes. As you learn to write music just keep an open mind, nothing is set in stone until you say it is ... and aren't we glad Bach changed his mind?"

At the end of the first week Jessie felt mentally exhausted. The only thing he was sure of was what he didn't know, and that seemed overwhelming. Neil spent that Friday night giving Jessie a bath and feeding him sips of wine from the well stocked cellar. They were both in bed by ten o'clock.

Wolfgang had privately assured him that Jessie would feel stressed for the first part of the workshop, and here Neil was seeing evidence of that. But just feeling the boy asleep in his arms was soothing enough, they would share everything.

The summer had arrived in New Bridge with the opening of an antique business. The owners had been working on the building for most of the spring, something that gave Barry Tolliver a few extra dollars. He was excited to see the young couple from New Jersey move into town and had sent Mike right over to see what they were doing.

As a spy for his father's various talents Mike was able to win the confidence of most new residents very quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Alderson had chosen New Bridge because of the mountain views and the ready access to the major highways. They managed to tell Mike that New England was a treasure trove of antiques because families had been saving and reusing things for generations.

That comment sent Barry off on a treasure hunt, and somehow he managed to get Pat involved. Combing the back roads around the mountains, Pat and Mike managed to find people selling all kinds of family heirlooms. Their travels soon had the Alderson's screaming "Uncle," there was more than enough to fill the new store.

Mike's commission for the antiques was immediately put into the new computer he was building. Pat knew he could just go out and buy Mike what he needed but the boy was having too much fun on his own. In the past year and a half Mike had taken a definite interest in both the software and hardware side of the computer business.

Pat knew he'd influenced the boy, but the talent was there and slowly he had been teaching Mike the nuances of the industry. For somehow this amazing creature had come into Pat's life and was willing to stay when so many others had turned away. Having their love confirmed every day with a smile, a kiss or a word had brought them closer and given them a long view of the future together.

Red was in a major funk, all brought on by the anger he had for his mother. He was seventeen and no longer felt like a child under her control, he ought to be able to make his own decisions. Her negative response to his plans had started the argument.

"You will not drive that far alone," She'd said. "You're on my insurance, your car isn't good enough to travel that distance and you don't have any experience with such a large undertaking."

"Pittsburg isn't that far away, I could make it in two days," Red pleaded.

"No dear, it's too far. Now if you want Steven to come stay here with you I can accept that ... but you may not go there."

The conversations with Steve by phone and internet had confirmed how lonely they both were. School had been out for three weeks and both of them had felt their relationship was torn apart, it was intolerable.

Steve's mother had not only been working she had also developed a relationship with one of her clients. It had been almost nine years since she had allowed herself to have any feelings towards another man. Her kids were all grown except for Steve, but he was looking to further his own goals, she felt like it was her time as well.

But the past three weeks had been unsettling, Steve was just a mess. He slept too late and when he did get out of bed it was to mope around the house in his underwear. The signs all said depression, and the cause was no mystery. It didn't take a genius to know that the boy was in crisis because he'd left behind the one thing in life that mattered. At least his mother knew she could do something ... and so she did.

Red was just about to empty his savings account and hit the road when Steve called. There were tears, sobs and laughter, the boy was a mess.

"Calm down ... I can't understand you," Red pleaded.

"Mom ... Mom bought me a plane ticket ... I'll be there tomorrow," Steve screamed.

Red joined the laughter and felt relief wash over him.

"So ... so how long can you stay?" Red asked.

"Stay? Baby, I'm yours forever ... I may never come back here again."

Now he understood the hysteria, this was better than he'd ever hoped ... and damn, boy did he have some apologies to make to his mother.

Renaldo, Ricky, Sandra and Devon were his for two hours each day, and for a while Neil was unsure just how to build this diverse foursome into a real class. Ages twelve to fifteen, they were all pretty far behind in their reading skills and none of them knew the multiplication tables.

Neil had pondered the box of classroom supplies Mickey had handed him; it was all pretty basic stuff. But he had yet to demand anything of his students; so far he had just been trying to assess what they already knew. But he had to get them moving, and he remembered what Elias had done that first day in class.

"Renny," Neil said. "If I wanted to tell someone how to get from the hostel over to Washington Square how would I do that?"

"That's pretty easy, you go down Tenth to West Fourth and turn right until you get to Washington Place and then you follow that until you get to the Square."

"OK, but can you be a little more specific. Let's say I'm someone from ... um, Mars ... I'm an alien. Do you think your directions would be clear to someone like me?" Neil asked.

The kids all laughed. "You could just beam down," Rickey threw out.

"Oh yeah, what do you mean, Neil?" Renny asked.

"Things we take for granted ... something like language. You speak Spanish, Devon speaks Polish, but all our different languages have words for street, square and the directions you gave like turn right. What should we do if the person we're talking to doesn't even understand those basics?"

"They're fucked," Sandra laughed.

"But what would you do if they wanted to pay you for those directions, how could you earn any money if they didn't understand how to get what they wanted?" Neil asked.

"Oh ... now that's a problem, what do you say?" Renny asked.

"Let's break it down ... " Neil suggested, and they did.

By the end of two hours the kids had a greater understanding of the power of words and how some were better than others. It was a start, a first step at getting them to think creatively. The kids left after class, all except Renny who helped Neil store the classroom materials back in the box.

"So when you gonna bring your boyfriend back to see us, he was a hella good piano player. I still have that music in my head," Renny said.

"He's real busy right now, but maybe I can get him back here in a few weeks. So you like the music, huh?"

"Awesome. Hey, that was a good lesson today, never figured that stuff was so important before," Renny said.

"You already know the basics ... for instance, how do you choose what colors to use when you paint?" Neil asked.

"Um, I dunno ... it just seems right. Like some contrast and others look like shit together ... I guess it's just experience."

"Exactly, language is like that too. Some words go together and others don't sound right, language comes in two colors, written and spoken," Neil laughed. "If you write something and it doesn't seem right then you should say it aloud and keep using different words until it sounds good and makes sense."

Renny smiled. "You like this teaching thing don't you? I think you're pretty good at it."

Neil smiled back. "Working on it, I might become a teacher."

"That would be so cool, I wish I'd had a hot teacher like you when I was in school, I might still be there."

Neil sighed. "Renny, I remember what it was like to be twelve. I think you had entirely too much experience while you were still too young, but I understand you did what you had to do. We're here to learn new survival skills, you learn and I learn, and that's the point. Just sitting in class and staring at my crotch won't teach you anything."

"Oh yeah? I think you have a tight body and are hung like ... "

"Enough of that sweetie, come on," Neil said. "You're years away from having a good and wonderful relationship like I do. Don't look at every guy and see only your sexual feelings. Look at people for what you can learn from them, watch how they do things and evaluate the good and the bad. From that you will learn how to be a better person, a person some guy will learn to love very much."

"Well said," A voice said from the doorway to the classroom. Neil turned and saw Tim Braden standing just inside the room. "Now Renny, you'll be late for lunch so you better get a move on," Tim said.

"Right, pizza day ... sure don't wanna miss that," Renny said. "Thanks, Neil." They bumped fists and the boy was out the door.

"I heard about half of that little speech," Tim said. "You have a fine touch with the boy. It gets pretty intense when they stare you down like hungry wolves."

Neil smiled, he liked Tim. The man had started life as an elementary school teacher, and switched into social work. He had the heart and mind for this kind of work, Neil didn't think he was cut out for it.

Neil smiled. "I go to a boy's boarding school; you can imagine what that's like."

"Renny is our biggest problem at the moment, and not just because of the tagging. Mickey has seen him with some older guy down at the park; I don't like that one bit."

"But why?" Neil asked. "He doesn't need to play those games anymore, he has a place here."

"Old habits, money ... affection, who knows. But as you said, he's only twelve, he needs to put that aside and think about the future," Tim said.

"He does well in class; can't we just keep him busier?" Neil asked.

"I'd like to, I wish we could pair him up with a real artist, someone who could teach him some real skills."

"Hmm, I don't know the city ... but I know someone who does, let me ask," Neil said.

Tim smiled. "You have good instincts, do what you can."

And of course Neil's mother knew several artists when he called her, but she didn't know if any of them would suit the needs of a twelve year old boy. "You might call Marcel Dubois, he's married and has kids ... six at last count I believe," Nora said.

"Jeez, maybe he's had enough of kids driving him crazy," Neil laughed.

"Marcel? No dear, he adores children. Don't you remember the Frenchman, you sat on his lap as a baby?"

"Mom ... like I could remember that, give me his number," Neil said.

Marcel wasn't home but Neil spoke with his oldest son Miles, and the guy seemed interested. "So you have one of our infamous taggers at hand, I used to do that as well, just don't tell dad. Sure, bring him on over to the studio, one of us will work with him."

Tim seemed surprised that Neil had come up with an artist so fast, but then for a high school boy Neil was quite an amazing young man. Renny looked at the directions Miles had given Neil over the phone.

"Yeah, I know that place; it's only about six blocks from here. Do you know those people?" Renny asked.

"My mother does, and I've met Marcel before," Neil said.

"They have a neat studio, I saw it once," Renny said. "I sorta wasn't invited in, they called the cops on me."

"I guess you were doing your art thing, huh?"

"Yup, but they don't appreciate my stuff."

Neil laughed. "Well maybe they'll think differently if you do it on a large canvas instead of their walls, do you think?"

"Not my thing, but I'll give it a go," Renny said.

"That's all anyone can ask from you, just give it a try," Neil said.

Miles met them at the door when they rang the bell. He was tall and slender, sporting black hair that fell to his waist and a handsome face. They all trooped back up three flights of stairs to the studio space in the attic, or what used to be an attic.

The roof was gone and in its place was a huge skylight that allowed natural light to fill the space. Miles was working on an oil painting of his own, a portrait.

"Wow, I know that guy ... he hangs out at the park," Renny said.

"Yes, the Pigeon Man, you know him?" Miles asked.

"Sure, everyone does. He feeds the birds and looks out for the little kids who hang out."

"He sure does, he used to watch out for me when I was little," Miles said.

Renny looked up and laughed. "No way were you ever little." And Miles joined the laughter. "I mean when I was young like you."

"Is Marcel here?" Neil asked.

"He'll be back later, I told him you called and he remembers you. Dad has an incredible memory; he uses it a lot when he paints. That piece there is all from memory," Miles said, pointing at a huge canvas standing against the wall. The painting was of Coney Island but Neil could see that the attire of the people was different, old somehow.

"Coney Island about fifty years ago, Dad was just a boy back then but he still remembers the place," Miles said.

"That's so cool ... the colors are amazing," Renny said.

"Dad prefers oils, I like watercolors. But he gets a brighter image with his medium, you ever use oil paint?" Miles asked, and then he laughed. "I suppose spray paint is enamel based, but it dries too fast to work at for long."

"Yeah, if I fuck up it makes a real mess," Renny said. "You seen my work?"

"You're REDO2 I suppose," Miles said.

"Yup, that's me."

"I was MDUB in my day," Miles said.

"Oh ... Oh ... The Dragon Man, that was you?" Renny said. "Neil, you should see his dragons, they're still on the warehouses down off Bloomfield at the docks ... Awesome."

"Um, let's just not mention that to my Dad, OK?" Miles said. "Those days are over, for me at least. So you want to paint, as in really paint?"

"Neil says I should give it a shot, but I never held a brush before."

"Then let's try something simple at first," Miles said. He led Renny over to an easel and placed a white-washed canvas in the frame.

"Kinda small, huh?" Renny said.

"No, not at all, its three by four feet ... you just need to think smaller and in greater detail. So what's your best tag?" Miles asked.

"Uh ... the blue pigeon, I really liked that," Renny said.

"The overpass ... I saw that ... so how would you bring that to a canvas this size?"

"No way ... how is that possible?"

Miles picked up a pencil. "Sketch it out first."

Renny took the pencil and began to make shapes on the canvas. And as his hand flew he began to hum.

"You need music?" Miles said.

"Yeah ... I have this Beethoven music in my head, it won't go away," Renny said.

Miles smiled. "Just like my Dad."

He walked over to the corner and turned on the stereo system. The studio was filled with the sound of an orchestra and Renny smiled. The canvas was quickly covered with lines, the city skyline and a large pigeon in flight. Renny stood back and nodded.

"OK ... how do I color it?"

Miles handed him a palette with an array of water colors. "You hold this in your left hand and wet the colors with this brush and the jar of clean water."

"And if I change colors?"

"There are eight brushes in this jar, new brush for each color, got it?" Miles asked.

"Yeah," Renny said, and then he was off.

Neil had been sitting on a stool watching from a distance, but as Renny went to work he got up and stood beside Miles. The boy was amazing to watch, the colors quickly applied to the canvas.

"I get it totally," Miles said. "Tagging teaches you to use one color at a time; you go light to dark so the colors don't bleed through. He's painting the same way, not a bad thing when you use water colors."

And fifteen minutes later Renny stood back, the results astounding.

"Good, really good," Miles said.

"Yeah ... sorta, it doesn't have the same scope and texture," Renny said. "I like big spaces, well you know that. But I can only reach so high without a ladder, don't have one of those."

"So maybe a canvas eight by twenty would work for you," Miles said.

"Wow ... you have them that big?"

"Bigger even, but you'd need a ladder or a frame to move it up and down. Right now you need to work small like this and work out your ideas."

"I can't buy stuff like this," Renny said.

"Then you start on paper, watercolors allow that. But if you work out your ideas like this first then I'll teach you how to work in oils," Miles said.

"So what's it gonna cost me?" Renny asked. "Nothin's free."

Miles nodded. "I get it, Renny ... I ran the streets too ... I know the game. But that's why I want to help you. I see a very talented kid who will only get better with age, and I want to be there when you do."

Renny listened quietly and nodded. "Yeah ... thank you."

Miles smiled. "You're welcome. So can I show you something?"

Renny nodded and Miles led them downstairs and into his father's office where he opened a file cabinet. The folder he opened was full of photos, dozens and dozens of tagged walls, a compendium of graffiti. He flipped through the photos and pulled out a few.

"These are by you," Miles said.

Neil looked over Renny's shoulder and was amazed at the designs.

"So you see Renny, I knew all about you before you even got here today," Miles said. "We're gonna make you a famous artist someday."

Renny was off the wall the whole way back to the hostel and Neil felt really happy for the boy. It had been incredible to watch him work so fast and accurately, all of it motivated by a little classical music. And that thought stuck with him the rest of the day until he got home to Jessie.

"Hey, baby ... do you think Julliard would participate in a fund raiser?"

"Um ... I have no idea, what did you have in mind?" Jessie asked.

They talked about Renny's talent during dinner and came up with the idea that Wolfgang was their answer. Maybe not a full orchestra, but a small group with a piano. For if Renny was inspired by the music why shouldn't the musicians be inspired by the art?

To Neil the idea of raising funds for the hostel was a real plus, but Tim was overjoyed.

"Where is this going to take place?" He asked.

"In the park, that keeps it in the neighborhood," Neil said.

"Good deal, they have some musical events down there sometimes, you'll need to get a permit," Tim said.

"Oh, I have someone working on that too, he won't have any problems with the city."

Neil continued to teach and Jessie attended his workshop, but behind the scenes things began to develop. Wolfgang had loved the idea of a benefit concert, especially since it was for gay kids. His lessons with Jessie were now followed by planning for the concert. And through the offices of the orchestra they had been granted a permit for a Sunday afternoon concert.

Nora came to town to see what all the fuss was about and soon found herself on the phones gathering an audience and the much needed publicity. Any performance by the city's own special orchestra gained immediate attention, and this event was no different.

Jessie and Martin would perform the piano section of the music, and Wolfgang had gathered together twenty other musicians to add to the score. Renny seemed inspired by Beethoven, Chopin and Mozart which allowed a wide range of performance.

To achieve the art that was to accompany the music, Marcel and several of his friends arranged for scaffolding to be placed in a three sided wall behind the orchestra. The artists had agreed, all three of them would work at once during the music representing the generations. Elevated above the orchestra they would work on the prepared canvas backdrops at a level where the audience could see the work in progress.

In all they would try to use up three hours for the performance. It didn't matter if the paintings were finished; it was only the attempt that would thrill the audience. Nora's phone work had garnered publicity and promises of funding, and a week before the concert it remained to be seen just how many people would attend.

Jessie had discovered an ally in Martin, a native New Yorker whose father worked in the restaurant industry. Discovering someone younger than himself with the drive to become the best pianist he could served to inspire Jessie's own efforts. So it was only natural that he invited Martin to the apartment to play the Bosendorfer. Neil extended the invite to Wolfgang as well; that would make it an evening of fun.

Discovering his new friend to be gay and in a relationship didn't seem to phase Martin in the least. They had not talked about the subject in depth, but Jessie was under the impression that the boy was straight and quite comfortable with himself. And Martin arrived that Saturday evening well dressed and full of life, his usual obnoxious self ... at least until Wolfgang arrived.

The presence of the man seemed to sober Martin right up once he found out what Wolfgang did for a living, Jessie was amused. Consuelo had prepared them a nice meal and then left for the evening. They discussed the concert and then what music meant to each of them, and soon the musicians were off in their own world.

It was about eight-thirty when the phone rang and Neil picked up.

"Neil ... Renny's disappeared, he wasn't back for dinner," Tim said.

"When did he go out?" Neil asked.

"About three this afternoon, he was supposed to be back by seven. I went up to the park but didn't see him there; do you suppose he's with his artist friends?" Tim asked.

"He would have called you, Miles would have made him call if he was going to be late ... I'll go looking for him," Neil said.

He pulled Jessie aside and explained that he would be out for a while, but just as he was about the leave the doorman buzzed the intercom.

"Mr. Dennison, I have a young man down here who wishes to see you; he says his name is Renny."

"Thank you, Thomas ... you may send him up," Neil said.

"I wonder what he wants?" Jessie asked.

"I haven't a clue ... but we'll deal with it," Neil said.

Renny looked like a very unhappy boy when he arrived at the door and Neil led him into the kitchen, sitting him at the table.

"Have you eaten?" Neil asked.

"No ... I'm not hungry," Renny said.

"Tim called ... he's worried, I was just about to go looking for you. Can you tell me what this is all about?" Neil asked.

"A ... a friend of mine died, it had to be drugs," Renny said.

Neil sighed, something like this was better off in Tim's hands, but they were here now.

"Tell me about this friend," Neil said.

"He was just an old guy livin on the streets, they called him Pigeon Man."

"The painting Miles did ... that man?" Neil asked.

"Yeah, he lived in a shed behind the university campus, I think they knew he was there and left him alone. He never stole anything, I didn't even know he did drugs," Renny said.

"Why do you think it was drugs that killed him," Neil asked.

"He had a bottle of pills in his hand ... I found him," Renny said, and then the tears flowed. Neil remembered Miles saying the old guy had been looking after the kids for years, chaperoning their play in the park. Neil pulled Renny into his arms and they hugged.

The kid had taken the bus to get there, no wonder he had been missing for so many hours. Neil called Tim to explain and said he would bring Renny back in the morning, and then he called the cops to report the death. The boy was hot and sweaty from his ordeal and so Neil sent him off to shower. He managed to pull Jessie away from the music room and explained they would have a guest for the night.

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked.

"Yes, baby ... he needs us tonight," Neil said.

And so after Martin and Wolfgang left for the evening they took Renny to bed with them, he got to sleep in the middle. It was a sign of affection that Renny would not soon forget; it was a way to heal his pain. Like so many of the street kids, Renny had chosen the Pigeon Man as a friend, someone he could trust.

The lack of caring adults in his life had brought Renny to the hostel, for every child needed some validation of their existence. Pigeon Man had given him that comfort, his reward was Renny's tears, and the boy would not soon forget him.

The scaffolding for the event arrived on Saturday and the work crew set it up under Marcel's direction. And early on Sunday morning the large canvas sheets were stretched and then sprayed down with a solution that would stretch them tight as it dried.

The crew from the orchestra arrived at two and set up the piano which was immediately tuned. Then they began to set up the music stands, chairs and a sound system. At three the crowd started to gather.

Miles had filled his van with paint and spent considerable time in consultation with his father and Renny, just what they would produce was still undeclared. Students from the university and people from the neighborhood started to congregate as the four o'clock hour approached. A buzz went up from the crowd as the musicians began to take their places, and so did the media.

The cameras from the television stations were set up out on Washington Place, and Nora assured them it would make the evening news. She held a briefcase under her arm and volunteers would soon circulate amongst the crowd to gather donations. And then Wolfgang stepped up to the microphone.

"Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen ... welcome to Washington Park," Wolfgang began.

"Today we gather to share with you some great music and allow you to see what it may inspire. Our three artists today are Mr. Marcel Dubois and his son Miles, both well established artists in the community ... and our special guest artist, Mr. Renaldo Cruz.

"These hours of our performance are dedicated to the Braden Youth Hostel on West Tenth Street, a refuge and place of learning for the kids of West Village. For we all know that through supervision and learning a child can step up and become responsible members of our community, your donations will assure their success.

"And so now I would like to introduce our artists, first over there on the right is Mr. Marcel Dubois." There was applause at the well known name. "And to our left is Miles Dubois." Further applause. "And there in the center is our new young talent, Renaldo Cruz." And the audience applauded as the boy took a bow.

"Now I would like to introduce twenty-two members of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra who volunteered to play for us today ... "And the crowd gave them a standing ovation before hearing a single note. And as they did in performance the orchestra stood and took a bow.

"But of special note are two young pianists who will play for us today, both of them well qualified to play with this orchestra ... Mr. Martin Glazier and Mr. Jessie Reardon." The audience continued to applaud as the boys stepped up to the piano.

Martin would play first, accompanying the orchestra in a fast tempo Mozart piece, something he was well suited to perform. He took his seat on the bench and Jessie sat in a chair to his rear. Martin looked up at the artists and nodded, then glanced at the first violin and did the same. And then he began to play.

The sound of the grand piano filled the plaza, reflecting off the walls of canvas, and then the orchestra came in. For Neil and Nora sitting front and center the sound was magnificent, and Neil looked around at the other people in the plaza. The crowd was a mixed group, people from the local residences, students from the nearby dorms and even the normal park sitters had all come to hear and see what was happening in their park.

It was apparent that Marcel was going to do a large abstract work while Miles was going for a cityscape that included the Manhattan skyline. Only Renny's piece was still a mystery, he was busy filling in the center with a large black silhouette. And Neil remembered what Miles had said about colors, the black would mean that was Renny's final color for that place in his work.

The music shifted into the final stanzas of the Mozart and when Martin and the orchestra finished with a flourish there was great applause, but the artists kept on working. Jessie moved to the piano and the orchestra began to play the Beethoven concerto that Renny liked so much, he turned his head and smiled at Jessie.

Now Neil could see what Renny was making, the silhouette of a man standing tall with his arms raised to the sky. Neil had never seen the Pigeon Man, he didn't even know his name ... but he knew what was in Renny's heart.

The Beethoven soared and so did Renny's painting, for now he was adding the unmistakable background of the park. The buildings and trees took shape, Renny using first one brush and then dropping it in the water bucket as he grabbed another. Marcel's family was servicing the painters with fresh water and clean brushes, and on they went.

Jessie and the orchestra finished the Beethoven with a flourish and there was applause. Martin made a gesture and they both smiled as Jessie tore into a solo performance of the Hungarian Rhapsodies. Marcel was painting closer to Renny and Neil saw him stop to admire the boy's work.

They had a rolling work platform up on the scaffold and Renny crawled on top to begin working the upper right hand corner of his piece. He was at it just as Jessie finished and relinquished the stage to the orchestra. By then Renny had created the piece that said it all, the Washington Arch that stood several hundred yards behind the scaffold. Neil could hear the audience talking as the arch took shape.

By just over two hours into the performance Renny began to paint little shapes surrounding the silhouette, spiraling upwards and away over and above the Arch. Each shape was a wonderful study in simplicity, six or eight brushstrokes at most, and all in white. The effect was magical as Renny again crawled on the platform to add just a few more above the Arch. But by the time he was done the clock was running down, and Neil could see Renny was frustrated.

He jumped down and began to add color over the white shapes, individualizing the birds, making them each different from the other. Marcel was done with his work and walked over to Renny. The boy stood and handed Marcel a brush, and they went at the birds together. Miles added a few more brush strokes to his skyline and then joined his father.

The orchestra had finished their final piece and Martin was done playing when Jessie sat down for one last piece of music. It was his choice, the music and art should have ended by now but he could see the urgency of Renny's actions to finish. And so Jessie began to play his opus and turned his head to look at Neil.

He had played for ten minutes when Renny dropped his brush in the bucket and stood back. Jessie knew the art was done and so he ended his music and stood to join the audience in applause. The artists hugged one another and then climbed down off the scaffold to stand back and look at their work.

The Pigeon Man was a master stroke of simplicity and yet it said so much. The park surrounded the man who stood with arms outstretched amidst a swirl of pigeons in flight. And as Renny stood there people came out of the crowd to talk with him, hug him and offer praise. Neil saw various people stuff money in Renny's pockets and he could feel the joy in the crowd.

The orchestra crew had the instruments and apparel hauled away within an hour, leaving a crowd standing before the scaffold in the gathering darkness staring up at the paintings with awe. Marcel said they should leave the canvas hanging overnight to dry and assured them no one would touch the work. An entire group of students hauled out sleeping bags to keep watch over the site, the party would go on all night under the watchful eye of the campus police.

Wolfgang assembled anyone who wanted to celebrate in the university ballroom which he had rented out until midnight. Nora and Tom sat huddled in the corner counting the contributions and were soon announcing that they had raised over twelve thousand dollars for the hostel. Neil was overjoyed but he could tell Jessie was tired, it had been a great effort by everyone concerned. The only casualty of the day was Renny; he was fast asleep on a couch in the lobby.

Nora found her boys sitting at a table across the lobby from the sleeping boy. "You both did well today, I think this will be remembered for a long time," She said.

"It was all about Renny, Mom ... he inspired this," Neil said. "I just wish there was something we could do for him."

"What does he need?" Nora asked.

"Everything ... he has no family."

Nora smiled. "Then we'll have to do something about that."


On to Chapter Eleven

Back to Chapter Nine

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page

"Seasons for the Boy" Copyright © 13 April 2009 Chris James. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer