THE LEGACY OF TERABITHIA
By
Wordsmith
Chapter 12: Uncle Steve
As they walked home from the Enchanted Cove, Leslie said, "That was so much fun!"
"Sure was," said Jamie. "I didn't think you'd want to dunk your head under the waterfall again... but you did!"
"Yeah. I'm glad I didn't get hit on the head again by a slimy fish."
Jamie carried the picnic basket for Leslie. As they continued walking, his other hand found its way to hers. Startled at first by the warmth of Jamie's hand, Leslie stopped, then smiled at him and let him hold hers.
They walked silently down the main road. This time, Jamie didn't moo at the cows in the pasture. There was a look of peace on his face and a quiet smile, as though he were lost in a moment of nirvana. Leslie felt the same way.
Soon, they arrived at the entrance to Jamie's neighborhood. At the end of his street, they headed into the trees and down the hill to the forest. When they passed their tree stump, they smiled at each other.
They had passed the sand pit and started down the old dirt road when they heard the sounds. Somewhere, kids were playing or fighting or something – Leslie couldn't tell what, exactly. The farther they walked, the louder the sounds became.
Leslie realized where the sounds were coming from. They had reached a fork in the dirt road. To the left, the road led to a small cow pasture where Leslie had seen some kids playing the first time she went exploring. She let go of Jamie's hand and went to have a look.
There were four kids in the pasture – three boys and a girl. The girl and two of the boys appeared to be the same age as Leslie and Jamie. The other boy was little, maybe four or five years old. The bigger boys were teasing him, playing "keep away" with a stuffed animal. They tossed it to each other above his head. The girl watched them and laughed.
"C'mon, gimme it!" The little boy yelped. "Gimme it!" His voice was quivering.
Jamie came up beside Leslie. "Upstarts and rogues," he muttered. "Hold this for a minute." He handed her the picnic basket and headed toward the kids. Leslie tried to stop him. "Jamie!" She pleaded. "Those guys are bigger than you!"
"So? They're not older than me."
Leslie followed Jamie. She felt her heart race. What would she do if they beat Jamie up?
The stuffed animal went flying again. Jamie took off running. Just as the other boy was about to catch it, Jamie jumped up and snatched the stuffed animal out of the air. He gave it back to its rightful owner.
"Elmo!" the little boy squealed with delight. He hugged the stuffed animal tightly. Then he looked at the bigger boys, blew them a raspberry, and ran off. The boys scowled at Jamie. Leslie saw that they were twin brothers.
"What's the big idea, Jameson?" said one of them.
"Well, if it isn't the twins - Tweedledum and Tweedledumber," Jamie said sarcastically. "Haven't you got anything better to do than pick on little kids?"
The brothers' faces flushed red with anger. Leslie struggled to suppress a laugh. The other girl, who had been watching everything, snickered. She had long red hair and marble green eyes.
"That wise mouth is gonna get your butt kicked, Jameson," said the other twin. He advanced on Jamie. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," chirped the red-haired girl.
The boy charged at Jamie and threw a punch. Jamie ducked it, whirled around, and lifted his leg. The boy's forward momentum sent him somersaulting over Jamie's leg, and he landed flat on his back. He groaned loudly.
"Have a nice trip?" Jamie asked.
The other twin charged Jamie while his back was turned.
"Look out!" Leslie cried.
Jamie whirled around just barely in time to duck the punch. He tripped the other boy just as his twin stood up. Both brothers went down like bowling pins.
"Is it fall already?" Jamie asked them.
The brothers groaned. Before they could pick themselves up, Jamie darted into the woods. The boys got up and ran after him. All Leslie could do was stand by helplessly and watch. She was paralyzed with fear.
Suddenly, the twins came bounding out of the woods. Jamie chased after them, swinging a big stick around as though it were a sword.
"Come back, knaves!" Jamie called out to them. "Come back and joust with me!"
The twins stopped running and turned to face him.
"You'll get yours, Jameson," said one of the brothers.
Jamie hoisted his stick and pretended to start running. The twins took off down the cow pasture. When they were out of sight, Jamie threw his stick into the woods.
Leslie took a deep breath and exhaled. Relief coursed through her body like microwaves.
Before she could say a word, the red-haired girl threw her arms around Jamie.
"Oh, that was so cool!" she gushed. "You were wonderful, Jamie!"
Leslie felt her free hand clench in a fist. The girl was pretty, but Jamie looked revolted, as though she were something slimy and gross. He wriggled out of her grasp. She looked at Leslie, then at Jamie.
"Who's she?"
"This is Leslie," he replied awkwardly. "Leslie, this is... Harriet." He pronounced the name with an accent of disgust.
"I've haven't seen you around before," Harriet said to Leslie. "You just move in or something?"
"If you must know, she's spending the summer with her grandparents," Jamie interjected. "She lives in DC."
"Oh? Have you been showing her around Lark Creek? No wonder I haven't seen you in a while," Harriet replied. "Why don't you come over to my house tomorrow? Or I could come over to your house and you could play me a love song. I bet you know lots of love songs."
She smiled at him warmly. Jamie looked like he wanted to throw up.
"We have to go," he said tersely. He grabbed Leslie's hand and practically dragged her away.
"Bye, Jamie," Harriet cooed.
When they were far enough away, he let go of her. Leslie asked: "Jamie, what's going on? Who was that girl?"
"Harriet Connelly. I can't stand her."
"She seems to like you... a lot. I wanted to claw her eyes out."
Jamie roared with laughter. "I don't think that'll be necessary."
"How long have you known her?"
"Harriet was in my first and third grade classes. Our mothers are friends – they're in the PTA together. Mom was always after me to make friends with Harriet. Then, one day in third grade... oh, never mind."
"No, go on. Tell me what happened."
Jamie sighed. "Well, it was recess, and Harriet was playing with this new Barbie doll she got from her grandmother. Paul and Kevin, the Fulcher twins -"
"Fulcher? As in Gary Fulcher?"
"He's their dad. Like father, like sons. Anyway, the Fulcher twins grabbed Harriet's doll and pulled its head off. Paul Fulcher put the head in his pocket, then he tossed the doll back to Harriet. She started crying, and... I don't even like Harriet – I never did – but... I couldn't let those jerks get away with that. So, I... sort of... beat them up."
"Really?"
"Really. I didn't think I had it in me. They picked on me before, and I never stood up for myself. When I saw them picking on a girl, I guess I just... you know, snapped. And ever since that day, Harriet thinks that I'm her boyfriend, and the Fulcher twins have it in for me. If I hadn't thought to get that stick, they'd have pounded me."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Leslie said. "Harriet was right about one thing – you were wonderful back there. The way you stood up for that poor little boy... but I was so scared, I thought you were going to get beat up."
"What I don't get is how Harriet can hang out with the Fulchers after the way they used to pick on her. Not that I'm jealous, mind you. Maybe she and the Fulchers were made for each other. I don't know. I just wish she didn't have a crush on me."
"You should be flattered, Jamie. She's not exactly ugly, you know."
"So what? She's totally obnoxious! She's a terrible snob. And... there's this other girl that I like..."
Jamie smiled mischievously at Leslie.
They held hands again.
When they got to her grandparents' house, Jamie handed Leslie the picnic basket.
"So... are we going swimming again tomorrow?" she asked him.
"Oh, I can't. I'm expecting... a surprise. Come over to my house tomorrow morning - I think you'll get a kick out of... it."
"A surprise? What kind of surprise?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."
"Okay, I'll be there."
Leslie made sure the coast was clear, then she and Jamie exchanged a quick hug and kiss. He took off running. She watched him run until he was out of sight. When she turned around, her grandmother was standing in the doorway.
"Hello, dear. I was wondering when y'all would be back from the creek. There's still plenty of time for you to get washed up before dinner."
"Okay, Grandma."
The next morning, Leslie arrived at Jamie's house at the usual time – around 9AM. There was a car in the driveway that she didn't recognize. The door opened before she could knock on it.
"Hi! Come on in!" Jamie cried. "The surprise is here!"
Leslie walked in and kicked off her sneakers. Jamie led her upstairs and to his room. He opened the door.
A man sat on Jamie's bed. He was attaching the shoulder strap to a shiny black acoustic guitar. The man smiled at them and stood up. He was tall and lanky. He wore a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. His long chestnut hair was tied up in a ponytail. He wore saddle bridge eyeglasses. He looked like a rock star, but his blue eyes and the shape of his mouth placed him on a branch in the Byrne family tree.
"Hi, I'm Steve Byrne – Jamie's uncle."
"This is Leslie Aarons," Jamie said.
Leslie shook Uncle Steve's hand. "Hi! Are you really a music teacher?"
"Sure am! You like the ponytail? It goes over real well here in Lark Creek."
Leslie laughed. They all sat down on Jamie's bed.
"So, you're Jess's daughter, eh?"
"Yup. Do you know my dad?"
"Sure. Haven't seen him in a long time, though. I was about nine years old when we moved here from Richmond. That was back in 1979. Your dad was thirteen. Your Aunt May Belle was my age, and we became real good friends. We still are. You know, when I was sixteen, I put together my first band – it was a garage band called Chump Change – and May Belle would come over all the time to watch us rehearse. She was in love with the bass player."
"Really? I wonder if my Uncle Dave knows about that."
"Of course he does – he was the bass player!"
"He was?" Leslie asked incredulously. "My Uncle Dave, the accountant, used to be the bass player in a rock band?"
"Oh yeah! He was a great bassist, too. His idols were Geddy Lee and Geezer Butler. He learned a lot from them. Dave left another band to join mine. I was lucky to have him. Not long after he joined, we won a Battle of the Bands contest."
"Why did he leave the other group?"
"He liked my songs."
"How did he end up being an accountant?"
"The same way I ended up being a teacher," Uncle Steve laughed. "Our careers as rock stars didn't pan out. Good thing we all went to college. I'm not complaining – I've still got a career in music, and I love to teach. I just wish I'd picked the piano as my instrument."
Uncle Steve smiled at Jamie and tousled his hair.
"Jamie told me how he lost his lessons."
"That's my brother for you. Good 'ol John Boy. Here he's got a musical prodigy, and he's just letting Jamie's talent go to waste. Zack doesn't need baseball camp – for him, that's a luxury. Jamie needs lessons if he's going to get into a conservatory. I've been working with him on theory and stuff like improvisation and composition, but he needs a real piano teacher. If I could afford it, I'd pay for the lessons myself, but I've got two kids of my own, mortgage and car payments..."
"Aw, don't worry about it, Uncle Steve," said Jamie. "You do enough for me already." Then to Leslie, he said, "He's here to jam with me. He teaches me how to play all kinds of music. We play together."
"Hey, why don't we play something for Leslie?" asked Uncle Steve.
"Yeah! What should we play?"
"How about Flowers Are Red?"
"Yeah, that's a great one!" said Jamie.
"Who sings that song?" Leslie asked.
"That's an old Harry Chapin song," said Uncle Steve. "Harry was one of the all time great singer-songwriters - very popular in the 1970s. He was also a great humanitarian. Harry played lots of charity concerts to raise money for hunger relief. Then, in 1981, he died in a car accident. He was driving to a gig when a drunken truck driver hit him from behind. It was a great loss, I tell you. Harry Chapin's songs were like short stories set to music. That's why his live album was called Greatest Stories Live. His lyrics could be sad, touching, funny, or scary, but they were always thought provoking – very deep. Okay, Jamie, let's do it."
Jamie sat down at his keyboard and turned it on. Uncle Steve put on his guitar and fished a pick out of his pocket. "Ready? One, two, three four..."
At the same time his uncle started strumming, Jamie played shuffling, bluesy chords. Then Uncle Steve sang:
"The little boy went first day of school,
He got some crayons and started to draw.
He put colors all over the paper,
For colors was what he saw.
And the teacher said, 'What you doin' young man?'
'I'm paintin' flowers,' he said.
She said 'It's not the time for art, young man,
And anyway, flowers are green and red.
There's a time for everything, young man.
And a way it should be done.
You've got to show concern for everyone else,
For you're not the only one.'
And she said:
'Flowers are red, young man.
Green leaves are green.
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen.'
Leslie laughed at the way Uncle Steve sang the teacher's lines, making his rich, baritone voice sound like an exaggerated woman's voice for the chorus.
But the little boy said:
'There are so many colors in a rainbow,
So many colors in the morning sun,
So many colors in a flower, and I see every one!'
Well, the teacher said, 'You're sassy!
There's ways that things should be.
And you'll paint flowers the way they are
So repeat after me:'
And she said:.
'Flowers are red young man,
Green leaves are green.
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen."
But the little boy said:
'There are so many colors in the rainbow,
So many colors in the morning sun,
So many colors in a flower, and I see every one!'
The teacher put him in a corner
She said, 'It's for your own good.
And you won't come out 'til you get it right,
And are responding like you should.'
Well, finally he got lonely
Frightened, thoughts filled his head.
And he went up to the teacher,
And this is what he said. And he said:
'Flowers are red, green leaves are green.
There's no need to see flowers any other way,
Than the way they always have been seen.'
Time went by like it always does,
And they moved to another town.
And the little boy went to another school,
And this is what he found.
The teacher there was smilin'
She said, 'Painting should be fun.
And there are so many colors in a flower,
So let's use every one!'
But that little boy painted flowers
In neat rows of green and red.
And when the teacher asked him why,
This is what he said. And he said:
'Flowers are red, green leaves are green.
There's no need to see flowers any other way,
Than the way they always have been seen.'
But there must be a way
For us to have our children say:
'There are so many colors in the rainbow,
So many colors in the morning sun,
So many colors in a flower, and I see every one!'
Leslie applauded them both. "That was a sad song," she said to Uncle Steve. You made the little boy sound like his spirit was totally crushed."
"That's the theme of the song – how teachers can crush a child's creative spirit in the name of conformity. Every teacher should listen to that song at least once. You know how Harry Chapin got the idea for that song? His secretary was upset over her son's report card. His teacher had written something like, 'Your boy marches to the beat of his own drummer, but don't worry – we'll have him marching to our beat in no time.' Those comments made Harry real angry, so he wrote Flowers Are Red in protest."
"Wow."
"Hey, Uncle Steve! I want to play The Rock for Leslie. Can we?" Jamie asked.
"Sure! Why don't you sing this time? You've got a good voice."
"Cool! Okay – one, two, three, four..." Jamie played sharp and spooky chords in a sinister rhythm. Uncle Steve strummed along on his guitar. Suddenly, Jamie started singing:
"'The rock is gonna fall on us!', he woke with a start,
And he ran to his mother, the fear dark in his heart.
And he told her of the vision that he was sure he'd seen.
She said: 'Go back to sleep son, you're having a bad dream!'
The sharp chords changed into a soaring ballad for the chorus:
'Silly child -
Everybody knows the rock leans over the town.
Everybody knows that it won't tumble to the ground.
Remember, Chicken Little said the sky was falling down?
Well nothing ever came of that, the world still whirls around.'
The sharp and spooky chords, with their sinister rhythm, returned for the next verse:
"The rock is gonna fall on us!" he stood and told the class.
The professor put his chalk down and peered out through his glasses.
But he went on and said; 'I've seen it, high up on the hill.
If it doesn't fall this year, then very soon it will!'
'Crazy boy -
Everybody knows the rock leans over the town.
Everybody knows that it won't tumble to the ground.
We've more important studies than your fantasies and fears!
You know that rock's been perched up there for a hundred thousand years!'
"The rock is gonna fall on us!" He told the magistrates.
"I believe that we can stop it, but the time is getting late.
You see, I've done all the research - my plans are all complete.'
He was showing them contingencies when they showed him to the street.
'Just a madman -
Everybody knows the rock leans over the town.
Everybody knows that it won't tumble to the ground.
Everybody knows of those who say the end is near.
Everybody knows that life goes on as usual round here.'
He went up on the mountain beside the giant stone.
They knew he was insane, so they left him alone.
He'd given up enlisting help, for there was no one else.
He spent his days devising ways to stop the rock himself.
One night while he was working, building braces on the ledge,
The ground began to rumble - the rock trembled on the edge!
'The rock is gonna fall on us! Run or you'll all be crushed!'
And indeed the rock was moving, crumbling all to dust.
He ran under it with one last hope that he could add a prop,
And as he disappeared, the rock came to a stop.
The people ran into the street, but by then all was still.
The rock seemed where it always was, or where it always will be.
When someone asked where he had gone they said: 'Oh he was daft.
Who cares about that crazy fool?' And then they'd start to laugh."
For the last verse, Jamie played very softly and lowered his voice to almost a whisper:
"But high up on the mountain,
When the wind is hitting it,
If you're watching very closely,
The rock... slips... a little... bit...."
Jamie played a few more soft chords, then finished the song with a flourish of the keys, accompanied by the final strum of his uncle's guitar.
Leslie applauded them again. "That was so awesome! You guys should start a band of your own! Jamie, your uncle was right – you've got a great singing voice!"
Jamie blushed. "Well... maybe... but I'd rather play than sing." He turned off the keyboard and joined Leslie and Uncle Steve on the bed.
Uncle Steve laughed. "Well, I'll tell you this, Leslie – he's one keyboardist I'd kill to have in my band. Like I said, he's a real prodigy. You should hear him play Beethoven. But his idol is Chopin. Jamie's been teaching himself Chopin's nocturnes."
"And I'd never be able to learn them if you hadn't taught me so much about reading score sheets and how music is composed and arranged," said Jamie.
"Playing music is about more than just repeating notes written on a score sheet. It's about how you interpret the composition and give it life."
"Now, I want to take music lessons," said Leslie. "I wish I had done more than just toodle around on a toy keyboard."
"But you love to write, and you're real good at it," Jamie replied. "I read all your poems and stories on FictionPress. They're so good! You should stick to writing, Leslie – that's where your talent is."
"Yeah, I guess. I do love to write, especially poetry."
"Speaking of writing," said Uncle Steve, "Not long after your Aunt May Belle and I became friends, your dad published his first piece. It was an essay with pictures. Did you know that?"
"Yeah, Dad told me about that when I was little. The essay was called The Forever Bright Light. It was published in the Scholastic Weekly Reader when he was thirteen."
"Wow, I didn't know that," said Jamie.
"See, there was this terrible school bus accident in Maine," Leslie began. "It was way back in December of 1979. The weather was real bad – a mix of wet snow and icy sleet – and the superintendent should have closed the school, but he didn't. He decided to have a two-hour delay instead. On the way to school, a bus driver lost control of her bus and it ran off the road and rolled over like five times. There were twenty-two kids on the bus. Seven of them were killed. The rest were badly hurt. Only the driver and a few of the kids were able to walk away with just cuts and bruises. The accident made the national news. Dad saw a story about it on TV and it was in the local paper, too."
"Oh my god," Jamie said gravely. "Seven kids..."
"I remember it well," said Uncle Steve. "And back then, schools didn't have grief counselors."
"Right," Leslie said. "Dad was still grieving for Leslie Burke, and he didn't have many people to talk to about his feelings, either. So he decided to write an essay about loss and grief and send it to the Scholastic Weekly Reader. He drew some pictures to go along with it. The Scholastic people published the whole thing. They were very impressed that something so moving – and so well written and illustrated – could have come from a 13-year-old boy. They sent Dad twenty copies of the newsletter. He still has a couple of them, and I think that my aunts and my grandparents have still have their copies, too. Other copies go for about five hundred dollars apiece on Ebay."
"Five hundred dollars for a 40-page Scholastic Weekly Reader?" Jamie couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Hey, it's an ultra rare Jess Aarons collectible," said Leslie. She beamed with pride. "You should read it. Dad talks about how Leslie Burke had this special light inside her, and how grateful and lucky he was that she chose to share some of that light with him. Even though she's gone and he'll always miss her, Leslie Burke's light will burn forever bright – inside his heart. I cried after I read it."
"Wow," Jamie gasped.
"Amazing," said Uncle Steve. "Well kids, I have to go. I wish I could stay longer, Jamie. We'll get together again when I have more time." He took off his guitar, detached the shoulder strap and packed everything up in his guitar case.
"Dad said you're going to Virginia Beach tomorrow, Uncle Steve."
"Yep. I'm heading out early and taking your cousins and your Aunt Cheryl to spend the holiday with her parents. I'm sure my father-in-law will ask me yet again when I plan to get a haircut."
Jamie and Leslie both laughed. Then Jamie said, "I'm going to the fireworks with Leslie and her aunt. I can't wait!"
"Me neither," Leslie agreed.
"May Belle's taking you, eh? Tell her I said hello and that I'll call her when I get back. Been a while since we've had her and Dave over for supper."
"Okay," said Leslie.
They walked Uncle Steve to his car and watched him stow his guitar in the trunk.
"Leslie, it's been a pleasure meeting you. You've got a lot of your dad in you, and that's a damn fine thing. Tell him that Steve Byrne sends him his best."
"I will. It's been a pleasure meeting you, too."
It sure was.