Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Now do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died

/ / / \ \ \ / / / \ \ \ / / / \ \ \ / / / \ \ \ / / / \ \ \ / / / \ \ \

I don't really remember school that day either. I know I was there, but I can't remember anything that happened. Afterwards, I walked home with Matthew, but then sent him inside and kept walking. Another mile or two, then leave the road and take an old path down to the river. I've been coming here for years, since before I had the garage to become my sanctuary. Now that I have the garage I don't come here as often, but today I just wanted to get away and be alone.

I sat down in the snow, watching the icy water flow past below me. I sat there, shivering in the cold, for at least an hour.

"Alfred?" I looked behind me, John was standing at the top of the bank, watching me.

"Oh, hi." I looked away from him, even as he sat next to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I just needed to think. You know. Away. From everything."

"Do you want me to leave?" he offered.

I looked at John. Tall, pale, and frankly a little weird, John. He and I have been fighting since the day we met, but he's also my best friend. "You can stay."

"Can I ask what you're thinking about?"

I sighed heavily, "Do you ever think about what you're going to do after we graduate? A whole world of possibilities, what would you choose?"

"If I could do anything? No limitations?"

"None."

John looked up at the sky, "Nothing on this world."

"Oh." I followed his gaze to the faint outline of the moon. "Oh," I sighed again.

"And what would you do?"

"That's just the thing," I stood up, pacing around, "Dad would have wanted me to go to college. Maman wants me to stay here and get a job as a mechanic. I don't know which one I should choose."

"What do you want to do? Without your parent's wishes in the way?"

I looked at John for a minute before sitting down again, "I just want to play music. Rock and roll. I wanted to be like Buddy Holly."

"Why can't you?"

"He's dead, John. He died yesterday. Him and Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper. And Elvis was drafted and there's nobody left to play it."

"So why can't you?" John asked logically.

"What if nobody wants to hear it anymore? They'd think I'm just some dumb kid from nowhere playing music that died in Iowa."

John was quiet. "Okay," he finally said, "Then don't do it. Go to college and become a mechanic anyway and regret everything you threw away before it had a chance."

"I know what you're doing, John, stop it."

"I'm just telling you to give up on your dreams-"

"No you're not! You're telling me the exact opposite!"

"Is it working?" John smiled.

"No! Go away!"

Surprisingly enough, John did stand up, then offered me a hand, "I'll walk you home, if you'd like?"

I sighed again and let him pull me to my feet, "Fine."

Dad was writing a book before he died. Well, that's not true, he was writing a lot of books. There are at least a dozen half-finished manuscripts on a shelf in the living room. I was looking at them when Maman came home.

"Alfred?" she asked, startling me.

I jumped, dropping the stack of loose papers on the floor. "Oh, Maman, I'm sorry. I fix them." I said as we both knelt to pick up the scattered pages.

"Do you know which ones go together?"

"I think so, or at least I can figure it out."

"You're usually working on your truck at this time," she handed me a stack of paper, "Did you finally get it working?"

"Not yet," I sighed, "I just didn't want to be in the garage today."

She brushed my hair away from my face,"Missing your father?"

"Yeah," I whispered, "I wish he were here."

"So do I. He would have loved to see the man you've become."

I nodded, unable to give any other response.

"I'm going to go finish dinner. I'll help you with the papers afterwards." she promised.

"You don't need to."

She kissed me on the forehead, "But I will."

I couldn't listen to my records today, so I had come inside and started looking through Dad's books, wanting to be surrounded by a different set of memories. I had looked through the books before, but never really read them. It's not very rewarding to read something that's missing the middle. Or the end. Or the beginning. It wasn't going to be easy to sort them out when I didn't know anything about them. I sorted out a couple papers, trying to guess where they belonged based on the names written.

I stopped when I saw Maman's name on one of them. Did one of his old letters get mixed in? No, he had written his own name too. I sat down, reading a little closer. Not a letter, a love story, their story. I smiled, setting that paper further away from the others, wondering how far he had gotten with it, the end of the war? Me? Matthew? Maybe he had actually finished. Maybe he gave us all a happy ending, that'd be nice.

The next morning, when I got up to deliver papers again, Maman hadn't left yet. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her bible open in front of her, head bowed in prayer. I left quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

I don't remember going to church much as a kid, maybe because Dad wasn't much of a believer. Maman is. I think she always has been, but after Dad died, church became a weekly event. She really believes in it, which is more than I can say for myself. Maybe she just needed something to hang onto without Dad. Maybe I should try a little harder. Maybe I'm just thinking too deeply.

"Are you going to the winter formal?" I asked John after our last class of the day.

"I don't know," he sighed, "I don't have anyone to bring. What about you? Are you going to take Corinne?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, "We're not really that serious, she might actually be going with someone else. I haven't asked."

"You should." John suggested.

I shrugged again, "Why don't you ask someone. Like...Beatrice! She likes you!"

"Beatrice?" John made a face, "Beatrice doesn't like me."

"She's always staring at you."

"I assure you, it's not because she has any interest in me."

"Then why don't you find somebody you do want to take?"

John sighed, "Probably because I can't dance." he reminded me.

"Oh that," I waved him away, "I can teach you."

"You?"

"Sure," I grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the gymnasium, "It's easy."

The gymnasium was empty and dark, so I left the door open. There was plenty of space for John to learn, and everybody else had already left, so we didn't need to worry about disturbing anyone. "What do you want to learn first? Swing?"

"Alfred," I could practically hear John rolling his eyes.

"Here," I started humming, taking John's hands and leading him in a dance. By the end I was singing and John was laughing as I spun us around. "See? It's not that hard, you just move along with the music."

"It's easy when you already have music inside of you." John argued.

"Fine, we can try something a little slower." I started singing again, a slower song, and just the notes instead of the words. I held John's hands at first as we swayed back and forth, then put my hands on his shoulders, gently coaxing him into leading. We were too close for it to have been proper between me and Corinne, let alone me and John. He was staring at me in the dim light-

"Alfred?"

We jumped away from each other.

"I was wondering where you've been?" my brother asked.

"You're old enough to walk yourself home!" I snapped. Matthew didn't move from the doorway. I sighed, "Right, let's go then. I'll see you later, John."

We walked home in tense silence, but as soon as the front door closed behind us Matthew asked, "Why were you dancing with John?"

"He wanted me to teach him how to dance before the formal." I tried to brush Matthew off as I went upstairs to change into some work clothes.

"Alone? In the dark?" he called after me.

I stopped. "Shut up, Matthew!" I snapped.

"I'm not going to tell anyone!" he protested.

"Then mind your own business!"

"I just didn't want anyone else to find you..." he mumbled.

"Mind your own business," I repeated.