The End of the Rainbow

  class."

  "Yeah, and who's going to pay for that?" "I bet if you get accepted, Uncle Roy will see to it. And you know you'll make good money working

  with him again this summer. You always do." "Right," he said skeptically.

  "You've got to try. Harley. You've got to seize

  the opportunity."

  "Me? In college?"

  "A few weeks back, you would have laughed at

  your passing all your finals and graduating. right?

  Well?" I pursued when he didn't respond.

  "I guess so."

  "Well, then, guess again and guess for bigger

  and better things," I insisted.

  His smile widened.

  "You're amazing, Summer. You're like that old

  oak tree that was hit by lightning years ago," he said

  nodding at the tree. "It grew new branches and kept

  going, hooking onto every ray of sunshine. I bet every

  depressed blade of grass or wild flower basks in its

  glory and gets up some hope."

  "Call me an old tree, anything, as long as you

  don't give up," I said.

  He laughed and then grew serious again. "What

  do I do when you're gone?" he asked.

  Every summer for the last four. I attended

  music camp in Williamsburg where I studied piano and the clarinet, attended ensemble sessions and participated in the schools orchestra. It was a small school with only fifty students, the girls on one side of a dormitory and the boys on the other. It was only a six- week program, but very concentrated. Mommy and Daddy usually visited on the weekends. At the end of the session, we performed a program for our parents, friends and relatives, and many local citizens attended because the school had such a good

  reputation.

  The school provided for social activities as

  well, had a pool, ran movies twice a week and socials

  once a week at which students attending the school

  took turns providing the music for any dancing. There

  was a very comfortable, modern dormitory facility

  with two students assigned to each room. For the last

  two years, I had the same roommate, a girl a year

  older than I was. Her name was Judy Foster and she

  was from Richmond. Kentucky. She was a very

  serious music student, somewhat on the prudish side. I

  always felt that things cooled considerably between us

  the moment she fixed her eyes on my mother and

  realized I was part African-American. Fortunately,

  last year was her last and I would have a new

  roommate this year.

  "Maybe you can come visit me." I suggested to

  Harley. He never had before. "I know it's far and..." "Really? You'd like that?"

  "Sure," I said. "But only if you promise you'll

  try to do something meaningful with your life and not

  drift off like so many boys these days," I said

  sounding wise and mature.

  "Aye, aye. Miss Oak Tree."

  We both laughed and he suggested we go for a

  row.

  "Ill do all the work," he promised. "You can

  just lie back and soak it up."

  After we pushed off. I did just that. For a while

  neither of us spoke. The late afternoon sun was just

  falling below the tree line so that there were long,

  deep and cool shadows on the lake. With a soft, but

  continuous breeze it was truly refreshing.

  "So," Harley said, "when you graduate what are

  you going to do?"

  "I think I want to continue with music, and if

  I'm good enough, maybe someday work for an

  orchestra and maybe perform at places like Lincoln

  Center in New York, Ill try to get into a good music

  college."

  "You'll get into anywhere you want," he said. "Oh, are you trying to be Mr. Oak Tree now?" I

  countered and he laughed. Then he put up the oars so

  we would just drift. Sparrows and robins began to

  appear, looking for dinner in the twilight.

  Occasionally, one of the fish Uncle Roy called trained

  bass came close to the surface as if it were expecting

  bread crumbs.

  Harley leaned over and looked at the floor of

  the rowboat,

  "When I was about twelve, I think, I suddenly

  worried that you and I were really cousins." he began,

  "For some reason it never occurred to me before." "Why would that worry you?"

  "I was old enough to realize that if we were

  cousins, we couldn't be boyfriend and girlfriend." "You never told me that.'

  "I was too bashful. I'm still too bashful. I'm not

  telling you now," he said still looking down. "I'm

  telling the floor of the boat."

  I laughed and leaned over to push his head so

  he would look up. He did so slowly and our eyes fixed

  on each other.

  "Then. I thought, we're too much like relatives

  anyway and that's why you never look at me like you

  look at a Chase Taylor. And then. I thought, we're just like your mother and Roy and maybe that's the family

  curse you tell me your mother fears."

  "We're not like that. Harley. We've been

  together a long time, but we weren't brought up to

  think we were brother and sister. It's a lot different; if

  you heard the way Mommy described those days,

  you'd understand why. Don't think that." I said. "I don't want to." he replied smiling. "That's for

  sure." He paused. "Another confession." he began.

  "When I saw you and Chase in this boat on your

  birthday. I was so jealous. I could hardly breathe. That

  was why I pushed him off the raft and started the

  fight. It wasn't to defend Amber's honor or anything." "I think I knew that," I said. "Does it make you

  mad?"

  I looked away. The truth was it didn't. The truth

  was it was thrilling to have two boys clash over me.

  but I also knew it was wrong and could be ugly, too. "I like it that you care. but I don't like you

  getting into trouble," I finally said.

  We heard a car horn and saw Daddy had driven

  up. He got out and stood there looking at us. I waved

  and Harley took up the oars and started to turn the

  boat back toward the dock. Daddy stood there,

  waiting for me.

  "Thanks for the ride," I said as he helped me up

  and out. It was too short," Harley said.

  "There'll be other rides," I promised. He smiled. "Right, Mrs. Oak Tree."

  "See you later, Mr. Oak Tree."

  I ran to greet Daddy. After he kissed me, he

  looked toward Harley. His eyes were dark, troubled

  for a moment.

  "Everything all right?" he asked.

  "Everything's wonderful, Daddy."

  "Harley's got some big decisions to make about

  his life now," he said still looking after him. "I know. We talked about that. He's going to

  see about getting into a school. You know how

  talented he is with his construction art, and how he is

  interested in planning buildings and bridges and

  things. He could be good at it. Daddy. He really

  could!"

  "Okay, honey."

  "Maybe you can help him. too. Daddy." "I'll certainly try," he said. "Just be careful

  about one thing, honey. Be careful about your

  investment in people. Too often, we are disappointed

  in our relationships," he advised. "You've got to be

  s
ecure about yourself first. Get your feet well planted before you lean in one direction or another. That way you won't fall on your face. You understand what I mean?" he asked, his eyes scrutinizing my face

  carefully.

  "Yes, Daddy. I do." I smiled. "You want me to

  be like Mr. Oak Tree.

  "Oak Tree'?" He looked out at it. "Oh. Yes,

  that's it. That's it exactly," he said. Then he put his

  arm around me as we walked to the house.

  The next day was Harley's graduation

  ceremony. He never looked more handsome. and Aunt

  Glenda and Uncle Roy were so impressive in their

  new clothes and styled hair, they attracted a lot more

  attention. Mommy and I held hands, especially when

  the graduates paraded in and onto the stage. After the

  speeches, the principal began to call out the traditional

  awards. I was sitting there, feeling a little sorry for

  Harley; I thought he would be almost invisible

  throughout all this.

  And then came the best surprise of all. His art

  teacher had chosen him for the art award. Harley

  looked so shocked, he didn't rise and had to have his

  name called twice. It brought some laughter. I gazed

  at Aunt Glenda. Her face beamed and Uncle Roy

  looked genuinely impressed. He glanced at Mommy who smiled at him. He was too stunned to get up and take a picture. so Daddy moved quickly and snapped

  it.

  Afterward. Uncle Roy shook Harley's hand so

  hard. I thought he might have broken his arm. Some

  of the men he knew from work were congratulating

  him, too, and he was basking in it. All of us took turns

  hugging and kissing Harley. Afterward, as we headed

  out to the cars and to the restaurant for our

  celebration. Harley hung back with me.

  "I've got you to thank for all this. Summer," he

  said. "You thank yourself. You did it," I replied. We had a wonderful dinner. I couldn't

  remember a time when we all looked more like a

  family. Aunt Glenda seemed truly overwhelmed with

  happiness she hadn't experienced for years and years.

  For a few hours in time, she was able to put aside her

  great sorrow.

  On Monday. Harley did what he had promised

  and went to see the guidance counselor to make out

  some late admission applications. Two days later.

  Daddy and I packed the van with my things for the

  trip to my music camp. Harley had already begun

  working with Uncle Roy on a project we were doing

  for the county government.

  When the time came for us to leave. I lagged

  behind. expecting Harley would come along to say

  goodbye. He had promised he would, even though he

  had gotten up hours earlier and gone to work. It

  looked like he wasn't coming, however. We were

  about to leave, and I couldn't make Mommy wait in

  the van. I was very disappointed when we started

  away.

  But just as we got to the turn. I heard the sound

  of his motorcycle and moments later, he was there.

  Daddy pulled over so I could hop out to say goodbye. "Make it quick, honey," he said.

  "Sorry," Harley said. "I was in the middle of

  something I just couldn't stop."

  "It's okay. I'm glad you made it even for a few

  seconds."

  "I'll miss you."

  "Just keep talking to Mr. Oak Tree." I said. I

  glanced back at the van. Daddy was watching us in

  the side mirror.

  Instinctively. I grabbed Harley's hand and

  pulled him toward me, away from Daddy's line of

  vision. I gave Harley a quick, but firm goodbye kiss. He smiled and I hurried back into the van. We started away and Harley followed behind for a few moments before pulling ahead and then off

  to the left.

  Holding that hand up as always, knowing more

  than ever that I'd be waiting for it.

  5

  Soul Mates

  .

  The Pelham School of Music ran its summer

  program from a complex of buildings just outside the city of Williamsburg. The school itself was named after Peter Pelham, who came to America in 1726 and spent a number of years in Boston, where he studied music and became the organist at Trinity Church. The orientation brochure for the school told us that Pelham moved to Williamsburg around 1750. He was the organist at Bruton Parish Church, taught young women at the time to play the harpsichord and spinet, and was the musical director when The Beggar's Opera was first performed in the city.

  Although our teachers and counselors tried to keep a sense of decorum and history about us while we attended the Pelham School, the dormitory quickly revealed that a little over four dozen modem teenagers had become the residents. Rock and movie posters, as well as some humorous posters, were instantly slapped aver the austere walls. Despite our study of classical music, the sounds of rock, country and pop came flowing out of windows and doors.

  Everywhere else on the campus, things were prim and proper. We had a dress code at class. Boys had to wear slacks and white shirts with ties: girls wore black ankle-length skirts and white blouses, but no pants outfits and certainly no shorts. Once we ended the formal class day about five P.M., we could put on casual clothing: however, there was still a standard enforced in the cafeteria. After dinner, everyone could be as sloppy as he or she wished and it was not unusual to see us in old sweatshirts and jeans walking barefoot through the hallways.

  We had a strict curfew of ten p.m. on weekdays and eleven p.m. on weekends. At those hours all radios. CD players and television sets had to be turned off. You could keep the lights on in your room as long as you wanted, but early to bed was strongly advised since breakfast began at six-thirty and ended at seventhirty with the first class starting at eight.

  On weekends, the pool was open, but bikinis and thong suits were absolutely forbidden. Our counselors and administrators referred to their own liability whenever anyone offered the slightest challenge or complaint.

  "While you are here in our house," Doctor Richard Greenleaf began his opening talk to all the arriving students at orientation. .'you have to obey our rules. We have made a pact with your families to become your surrogate parents while you are here under our wing. We have to have an absolutely notolerance policy when it concerns our safety codes. To illustrate how serious this is. I will read from the orientation document you were all given when you arrived-- just to be sure there are no

  misunderstandings."

  He adjusted his glasses and then lowered his voice to sound even more austere.

  "There will be absolutely no smoking in the dormitory at any time. Just like on an airplane, anyone who tampers with one of our smoke detectors will be immediately dismissed and prosecuted. No alcoholic beverages of any sort can be on this campus. No illegal drugs can even be mentioned, much less brought onto this campus. It goes without saying that an incidence of vandalism or disrespect toward our property will be considered a very serious affront to the school. Anyone who violates a curfew or fails to have proper permission slips completed before leaving the campus will be asked to leave the campus permanently. Proper classroom decorum is

  paramount.

  "We are all here for one main purpose, and that's to further our development and pro Tess with our musical talents and education. Everything else is secondary. You are here because your families were willing to finance this pursuit. They have faith and expectations and we intend to do the best we can to justify that faith and succeed with those expectations.

  "You have one of the most qualified and talented faculties in the country, state-
of-the-art studios and five-star facilities. Enjoy yourselves, but work hard, very hard and help make this the most successful summer of music yet."

  There was light applause, most of it coming from the parents and relatives who had accompanied the students to the school. Afterward, a lunch was held and we were all introduced to members of the faculty. My piano teacher. Professor Littleton, had returned, which made me happy. He was a very pleasant man with light gray hair, bushy eyebrows and rosy cheeks. He had the warmest eves and great patience with students, always making us believe we could do better. He made us believe it was in us to reach a little further.

  For a while I thought I wasn't going to have a roommate. A girl named Sarah Burnside from Richmond. Kentucky, was assigned to be my roommate, but somehow she had missed the opening program and lunch. While I was unpacking and organizing my things hours later. I heard a loud bang just outside my door and froze for a moment. I was alone. Mommy and Daddy were long gone so they could be home by dinner. Mommy hated prolonged goodbyes anyway, and Daddy thought it was best to just do what had to be done and go before a single tear could escape a single eye. He nearly succeeded. but Mommy was flicking them off her face like flies at our parting.

  The door jerked open and a short-- maybe four foot ten-- girl with light brown curly hair nearly fell into the room over her large suitcase and her trombone case. She wore a bright, flower print onepiece dress that looked like it could double for a tent, a pair of blue sandals and no socks, along with a turquoise shell necklace that nearly reached her waist and one matching shell earring on her right ear. She wore white lipstick that looked like candle wax, and she had a splatter of freckles running down from each temple. Otherwise, her face was sweet and soft with very small, dainty features in perfect proportion, and her very prettily shaped brown eyes were the color of fresh walnut shells.

  "Sorry," she said. She paused and looked around the room. "Good, it's big."

  I thought anything would be a big room to her, even a walk-in closet.

  "Hi," I said. "I'm Summer Clarke."

  "I know. You know I'm Sarah Burnside. right?"

  "I do now," I said smiling. "Why are you so late? You missed orientation."

  "My mother," she said with a grimace, "can never get her act together. When you look up disorganized in the dictionary, her face is next to the definition. If she didn't have my great-aunt Margaret taking care of her business books, she would be closed ages ago."

  "What does your mother do?"

  "She has the Full-Moon Cafe, a very popular place in Richmond. Kentucky."