When the Music Ends (The Winter Rose Chronicles) (6 page)

            Sheridan didn’t say anything. She just looked confused, so Lindsey continued.

            "It’s
your fault, you know. If you weren’t such a prude, this wouldn’t
have happened."

            Erin interjected. "Shut up! It’s her choice, stupid. If she didn’t want
to, it’s over. Plus it’s none of your business. Come on, Danny.
Lindsey’s just a slut."

            She
took her friend’s arm and led her away towards the government classroom.

            "Does
everyone know?" Sheridan asked in a tiny, wavering voice.

            "Pretty
much. I’m sorry."

            "How
many are against me?"

            "Hard
to say. Jake’s really popular, you know? But I’m here. I’ve
got your back sweetie."

            "Thanks."
Sheridan looked more shaken than ever. As though everything that had happened
weren’t bad enough, for her classmates to turn on her was sort of the
final straw. Erin had known it would be.

            It
was no surprise that by lunchtime, Sheridan’s fragile composure was
destroyed. Erin walked her to the counselor’s office where she spent her
free period in tears. She stayed with her, rubbing her back, just trying to be
there for her friend.

            After
lunch was the hardest part. Erin had symphonic band and Sheridan had an
advanced English elective. Separating was terrible, and she gave her an extra
tight hug and whispered, "Be strong. I’ll see you in an
hour."

            Even
spending time on her oboe, her favorite thing to do, didn’t help at all.
She played as best she could, but the peace she normally found while doing so
evaded her.

            The
day was every bit as horrible as Erin had expected. Several people had made
ugly comments to Sheridan. Despite her well-earned reputation for shyness, Erin was fierce in defending her friend, but that hardly stopped the flow of abuse.  To
make matters worse, Erin had rehearsal after school and Sheridan would have to
go home alone. Her mother was there, which would help, but there was still the
whole unsupervised parking lot to navigate. Erin risked the wrath of the band
director to walk her friend to her car, which meant she was a couple of minutes
late. Mr. Abrams didn’t say a word. He must have been aware of the
situation. Erin was exhausted, but she put the last fragile remnants of her
stamina towards her music, and when the rehearsal finally ended, she hurried
home to call Sean.

            "You
sound terrible, baby," he told her bluntly.

            "I’m
not bothering you, am I?"

"Of course not. How did it go?"

"It’s worse than I imagined. I don’t know how
I’m going to cope, let alone Danny. I HATE being a teenager, Sean."

            "You
don’t have the temperament for it. You’ll feel better when
you’re done with high school. I think you must have been born an
adult."

            "That’s
what my mom always said. She said I was older than she was."

            "That
could very well be. Is she there now?"

            "Yes.
I wish she weren’t. I would love for you to hold me right now." Her
voice wavered.

            "I
would if I could. Can you practice? Would that help?"

            "I
have no emotions left to give, not even to my oboe. I’m all wrung
out."

            "Poor
Erin. This is too much for you, isn’t it?"

            "I’m
not the one going through it. I’m just trying to help. It’s what
any friend would do."

            "Not
any friend. Only a really special one." Sean’s kind words touched Erin deeply, and her feelings came spilling out of her unbidden.

            "I
love you, Sean. You should know that. You don’t have to say anything
back, but I do love you."

            "I
know you do, Erin," he replied tenderly, "you’re an amazing
girl, and that means a lot to me."

            "I
think I’m going to try and sleep for a while. Maybe the rest of the
night."

            "Dream
about me."

            "I
always do."

            Erin skipped dinner and just went to bed and cried herself to sleep. Her mother never even
noticed that anything was wrong.

            The
next day at work, Sean decided to ask his dad for advice. He didn’t want
to give away too much, but he felt a little out of his depth with this serious,
passionate relationship. His feelings for Erin were becoming alarmingly
powerful at a speed he had never anticipated. It was nice but a little
daunting.

            "Dad,
can I ask you something?" he said as the two of them unloaded hardwood
flooring from the back of a royal blue Murphy Construction and Renovation
pickup, and carried it through the gaping doorway of the 125 year old Victorian
they were renovating. It was quite cold, but working so hard, the men more than
compensated for it. They handed the wood to the guys inside so they could begin
repairing the water-damaged floor, and headed back out to the truck.

            "Yes,
Sean, what’s on your mind?"

            "Do
you think it’s wrong for me to be dating someone…younger?"

            "You’re
not very old yourself. How much younger?"

            "Eighteen."

            "Are
you sure she’s actually eighteen and not lying to you?"

            "Yes.
There’s no question about that."

            "Well
then," Roger said in his slow, thoughtful voice, rubbing his hands
together to warm them, "it kind of depends on the girl. A lot of eighteen
year olds are immature and silly, and don’t really make good girlfriends
for someone who is an adult. I think it’s possible there may be
exceptions to that."

            "Oh
yes, she’s much more mature than her age would suggest."

            "I
imagine. Otherwise I doubt you would be interested. Are you already
dating?"

            "Yes."

            "Care
to elaborate?"

            "Not
really."

Roger gave his son a look, but Sean refused to comment further.

            "Fine.
Just be careful with her. Be sure you plan to take your time and let this move
slowly. Sometimes these young girls think they’re ready for more than
they are. Don’t let her give up her life in favor of a romance."

            "Of
course not."

            They
gathered up another armful of boards and headed in again.

            The
next four weeks passed unpleasantly for Sheridan and Erin. School was brutal,
what with all the nasty individuals who felt compelled to make Sheridan even more miserable than she already was. Erin staunchly supported her friend, and
shielded her as much as she could, which made her a target as well. Actually,
if the situation hadn’t been so tragic, it might have been funny. People
were teasing Erin for being a prude, not knowing that she had sex more often
than any of them, and enjoyed it more. After all, her boyfriend knew what he
was doing.

            Finally,
the day arrived for her audition for the conservatory. She headed to one of the
band hall practice rooms and met with the recruiter, a delicate looking woman
whose face had been shaped by years blowing into a double reed. Inside the
whitewashed little box of a room, barely large enough to hold two plastic
chairs and a music stand, Erin shook the hand of the recruiter and then turned
her attention to assembling her oboe, her double reed dangling from the corner
of her mouth. When it was appropriately moistened, she fitted it into the
instrument. She was surprisingly calm, despite the momentousness of the moment.
So much was happening in her life that she literally didn’t have any
extra energy to devote to feeling scared, so her hands were steady, her voice
cool and confident. It wasn’t ego. She simply didn’t care whether
she was accepted to this school or not. Either outcome was an answer. Her only
goal was, as always, to play her best. After several minutes talking about Erin’s musical goals and the course of study the school offered, the conversation
turned.

            "All
right, Erin," Dr. Louise Chen said gently, "do you have a piece
prepared?"

            "I
do," Erin replied.

            "You
may begin when you’re ready."

            Erin wet her reed again. She experienced the faintest flutter as she raised the oboe to her
lips, but as the first notes of her piece washed over her, she forgot
completely where she was. The music was everything. Erin James ceased to exist
and all was notes, tempo crescendo and diminuendo, and emotion, until conscious
thought was no longer necessary. Every choice was the only one possible for
that moment, done without reflection, based on pure instinct. The terrible
grief she felt for her friend’s continuing suffering wound itself into
her playing. The oboe raged and wept. It was transcendent.

As the final notes faded away, Erin returned to consciousness and
glanced at the recruiter. The older woman looked absolutely stunned. She sat in
silence for a very long time. Erin didn’t mind though. She was trying to
reassemble her composure.

Finally Dr. Chen said, "That was very good." She
swallowed hard, drew a deep breath, and continued, "It will take some
time for us to process our applications, but we will contact you one way or the
other around Christmas. Thank you."

Erin
nodded, shook hands with the woman again, and
left the room. She had done her best, and it had been very good. That was all
she wanted. The rest was out of her hands.

During that time Erin also auditioned for, and was accepted into the
all-region band. This was hardly novel. She had made region each year of high
school, but it was an important first step. The more difficult audition for
all-state would not come until later in the year.

******

A couple of weeks later, Erin was sitting, bored senseless, in
health class. She had slipped in silently as always, and taken her seat in the
corner closest to the teacher’s desk. She preferred to hide because it
was embarrassing to be here. She was the only senior amongst these giggling
freshmen, but she had forgotten to take it back then, wrapped up as she was in
music electives. She listened to the whispers from the back of the room. Two
little girls were comparing their Saturday evening at a party, deciding who had
been more drunk. Erin rolled her eyes. Had she ever been that young? She
supposed she must have been, but even at fifteen, she had been more interested
in band than beer.

"Listen, kids," Mrs. Heath told them earnestly,
"it’s really not necessary for you to have sex in high school. I
have never heard of anyone who regretted waiting. Your mental and physical
health will be much better overall if you wait. Remember, I’m not
encouraging any of you to go this route. However, I am aware that some of you will
ignore my advice. If you feel you must be intimate with someone, please be
monogamous, and please use protection. Condoms are available free in the
nurse’s office, and can also be purchased cheaply from any convenience or
grocery store. Aside from the risk of getting pregnant, there are several
sexually transmitted diseases circulating, yes even in this school. Some are
permanent and others are deadly. Protect yourselves with abstinence if you can,
but please protect yourselves somehow."

Erin
could have recited this speech by heart. She
had heard it at assemblies for years. Her own mother talked to her about caution
with distressing frequency. It had become even more pointed of late, and Erin
supposed even someone as obtuse as Valerie must have realized it was a boy she
was talking to on the phone most evenings. Or maybe it was the late nights. She
had never had a curfew, but she had usually brought herself home much earlier
on weekends.

Well, she and Sean were certainly monogamous. However, the
couple’s actual condom use had been rather hit or miss. At Sean’s
apartment, where the little box lived, they used them, most of the time, but at
Erin’s house, often not. While they realized the risk they were taking
each time they proceeded unprotected, it didn’t really dissuade them.
They didn’t take time to consider the consequences.

But suddenly, the mention of pregnancy struck Erin. She knew, of
course, that such an outcome was possible. But for the fist time she thought
about what that might mean for her. They had been quite careless, really, in the…
oh Lord, in the five weeks since they had gotten together. Five?
Shouldn’t her period have come…three weeks ago? Yes, three weeks.
That was not good.

It was only by concentrating on her breathing, slowing pulling air
into her lungs and just as slowly releasing it, that she was able to get
through class. The second the bell rang, she was out the door, down the hall,
collecting Sheridan and all but running her to the counselor’s office,
where she sank into one of the stained and threadbare blue and chrome padded
chairs at the huge conference table.