Music Box (Kevin/Joe)
He stood at the shelf, brown eyes soft and full of a quiet joy that he seemed to be trying to hide. His knuckles were pink with cold. He always did manage to forget his gloves.
I watched him from across the shop, wanting to know what he was thinking.
The music box he held carefully between his hands was tinkling down to its last notes, the little ballerina inside the glass globe spun in her red dress, finishing her Nutcracker Suite dance. Just as slowly as she moved, so did Joe, twisting the key, winding her up to see her dance again. His clandestine smile was so warm, but he almost looked forlorn. I couldn’t put my finger on why. That sparkle in his eyes was too beautiful; I couldn’t bear to say anything. It was like he was in his very own music box, carefully spinning to the tune of someone else’s song.
“Come on, guys.” I looked at Nick, who was standing near the door, waiting to push it open. “We still have to find something for dad. I don’t think we’re gonna have any luck here.”
I didn’t say anything. Joe just nodded, carefully replacing the still-twirling dancer on her shelf. He adjusted his hat over his dark hair and tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, ducking through the door that Nick was holding open. It took no thought for me to follow him. He had the key that kept me turning.
---------------------------
Christmas came faster than any of us expected. I suppose time passes that much more quickly when you really don’t have any time of your own. As always, Joe and Frankie had been waiting for almost two hours by the time the rest of us had wandered down to the tree. They always managed to wake up first, sans alarm clocks for once, which was just one of the many reasons Christmas was special.
Seeing Joe sitting on the floor, his face softly glowing in the white light of the little bulbs strung decoratively around the room - it was always breathtaking. He is on his own, every day of his life, but God. It reminds me what I live for.
As soon as I claimed my spot in the corner of the couch where I always sat during present-opening, Joe pressed himself up against my side, rummaging through the stocking he had sitting in his lap, deciding what candy he wanted to devour first. I drew the blanket draped over his lap across mine, letting my arm fall across his shoulders.
Mom was in the kitchen, collecting coffee for the group of us. Nick was curled up on Joe’s other side, half-asleep, since we had to basically drag him from bed. Dad was sorting out the presents into piles to distribute them. Frankie was on the verge of bursting a blood vessel with his excitement. It was Christmas like Christmas always was. It was perfect.
“Frankie gets first gift.” Mom said as she returned, somehow managing to keep four mugs of coffee upright between her fingers without spilling anything. She said it every year. It was a rule that we went backwards through our ages, since the older you are, the most presents you’ve gotten anyway. I’d been last since Joe was born. I was used to it. I didn’t even mind.
Frankie was having a fit, bouncing excitedly in his spot on the floor in front of Joe. He claimed the first of his gifts, a rectangular box in shiny red paper. We all watched, smiling as he exposed his newest action figure, acting genuinely surprised, though I’m pretty sure he found Mom’s hiding place even sooner than Joe did.
Nick opened my gift first, laughing at the golf-themed wrapping paper, and leaned across Joe to hug me when he found the vintage golfer’s cap I bought him. Joe opened his from Frankie, smiling at the video game that his parents had so obviously helped him pick out and buy for him.
“Okay, Kev, I can’t take it. You have to open mine first.” Joe smiled at me, eyes twinkling in that mischievous, affectionate way.
My eyebrow shot up when Dad held out an envelope for me. I took it, giving Joe a look. “If this is a stupid card, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Don’t guess; just open it!” Joe urged, reminding me just how much Frankie took after him as he bounced excitedly in his seat.
I laughed, pushing my fingernail under the flap of the envelope and ripping it open. Peeking inside, I could tell already what it was. I pulled the three tickets out, tilting my head to the side to read them. Jersey Boys. These were tickets to see Jersey Boys on New Year’s Eve. I stared at him. “Joe, this is playing on Broadway.”
He smiled brightly, practically giggling. “I know!”
“That’s on the other side of the country.”
“Exactly,” the smile was less bright now; it was like he was glowing, in that same way he did winding up that music box. My breath caught. “You, Nick, and I are going to New York to see Jersey Boys. We’re going to ring in the new year in our favorite place in the whole world.”
I didn’t say anything. I just swallowed carefully, looking down at the tickets, not trusting myself to speak because there was a strong possibility I would cry. It was weeks ago that I said I missed winter in New Jersey. I had just made the comment in passing, but Joe remembered. Joe remembered one of the most trivial pieces of information I had ever offered to him, but it meant so much that he thought he needed to fix it.
And, no, it wasn’t a big deal for us to fly around. We had two houses, after all, halfway across the country from each other. But, the fact that he and Nick were taking me to the place we grew up, that I missed more than anything - that was special. I crushed him into a hug, probably a little too tightly, and felt that metaphor of the music box stirring up in me again, because only he could make me feel this way. Only he could turn that key. “Thank you so much.” I whispered against his hair.
I could hear him smiling. “You’re welcome, Kevin.”
Of course, I felt awful once we got to my present for him, because it wasn’t anything nearly as special. He unwrapped the box, to find the new jacket I had picked out for him from a store in downtown LA, that he loved, and I felt so inadequate. But, he smiled at me, like there was nothing wrong with it at all, and thanked me by pushing his head against my shoulder.
We spent the day together as a family, and Joe and I finally headed up to our room, after stuffing ourselves with pie and ice cream and candy canes, just past midnight. Joe was carrying a sleeping Frankie, and veered off to the room he shared with Nick to deposit him in his bed. I continued to our room, so I could pull out the real present I’d gotten for Joe.
He looked confused to see the red paper bag sitting on his bed, green tissue paper sticking out of it. “Where’d that come from?”
I shrugged, sitting cross-legged on my bed. “Open it.”
The suspicion in his face almost made me laugh, but he plopped down on his bed, pulling the bag into his lap, apparently surprised by its weight. As soon as he put his hand in to start shoving aside the paper, his face changed. He hadn’t even seen it, but he knew exactly what it was. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the music box from the depths of the bag, staring at it in that same soft, sweet way he had when he first saw it. His fingers found the key on the bottom, and it clicked sharply as he turned it. The soft tinkling tune of the ballet filled the room.
His eyes lifted to meet mine. “How did you-?”
“I saw you looking at it.” I said softly, not really wanting to speak over the music playing around us. “And, you were so beautiful - you are so beautiful - that I had to get it. I wanted to see you look like that again.”
He set the music box carefully on his nightstand. That look returned to his face - that one full of warmth and joy. But, he wasn’t watching the ballerina dance anymore. He was looking at me. “Thank you, Kevin.” My heart sang at the way he said it.
He stood and came toward me, cupping my face in his hands and tilting my head back. My heart stopped completely. I wasn’t even breathing. “Joe?”
“Thank you,” he whispered again, leaning down, and when his lips found mine, it was truly as if he turned a key in my back, and I was playing a song just for him.
I tugged at his waist, pulling him onto my lap so I could kiss him properly, my fingertips on his cheek, holding him against me by the small of his back. One of his hands was tangled in my hair, and the other rested lightly on my shoulder, and he tasted like all the things I imagined he would (apples and candy and Joe), and a few other things I was surprised and pleased to find. We were writing our own song now.
It felt good. It felt better than I had ever imagined it would. “Kev?” he breathed against my mouth, and I felt like he was breathing the air into my lungs. “I hope it snows on New Year’s Eve.”
Our lips pressed together again. My eyes couldn’t fully open. “Why is that?” I whispered roughly into the bright room. The music box was running down to its last notes.
Without warning, he toppled us over. His eyes looked darker than normal, shadowed by his face. He held himself up, his hands on either side of my head. Slowly, gently, he leaned down to kiss me again. I smiled at the soft smack of our lips as they separated and his mouth moved down along my neck. “Because even if I can’t kiss you standing in Times Square underneath the ball as it lowers, I’m going to kiss you at midnight, somewhere. And, I want it to be snowing, like in my music box.”
“I’ll bet it snows.” I slipped my arms around him, rolling him over, holding him close. I brushed the hair from his beautiful face and pressed my lips to his temple, closing my eyes. “I’m nothing but your music box anyway.”
I watched him from across the shop, wanting to know what he was thinking.
The music box he held carefully between his hands was tinkling down to its last notes, the little ballerina inside the glass globe spun in her red dress, finishing her Nutcracker Suite dance. Just as slowly as she moved, so did Joe, twisting the key, winding her up to see her dance again. His clandestine smile was so warm, but he almost looked forlorn. I couldn’t put my finger on why. That sparkle in his eyes was too beautiful; I couldn’t bear to say anything. It was like he was in his very own music box, carefully spinning to the tune of someone else’s song.
“Come on, guys.” I looked at Nick, who was standing near the door, waiting to push it open. “We still have to find something for dad. I don’t think we’re gonna have any luck here.”
I didn’t say anything. Joe just nodded, carefully replacing the still-twirling dancer on her shelf. He adjusted his hat over his dark hair and tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, ducking through the door that Nick was holding open. It took no thought for me to follow him. He had the key that kept me turning.
---------------------------
Christmas came faster than any of us expected. I suppose time passes that much more quickly when you really don’t have any time of your own. As always, Joe and Frankie had been waiting for almost two hours by the time the rest of us had wandered down to the tree. They always managed to wake up first, sans alarm clocks for once, which was just one of the many reasons Christmas was special.
Seeing Joe sitting on the floor, his face softly glowing in the white light of the little bulbs strung decoratively around the room - it was always breathtaking. He is on his own, every day of his life, but God. It reminds me what I live for.
As soon as I claimed my spot in the corner of the couch where I always sat during present-opening, Joe pressed himself up against my side, rummaging through the stocking he had sitting in his lap, deciding what candy he wanted to devour first. I drew the blanket draped over his lap across mine, letting my arm fall across his shoulders.
Mom was in the kitchen, collecting coffee for the group of us. Nick was curled up on Joe’s other side, half-asleep, since we had to basically drag him from bed. Dad was sorting out the presents into piles to distribute them. Frankie was on the verge of bursting a blood vessel with his excitement. It was Christmas like Christmas always was. It was perfect.
“Frankie gets first gift.” Mom said as she returned, somehow managing to keep four mugs of coffee upright between her fingers without spilling anything. She said it every year. It was a rule that we went backwards through our ages, since the older you are, the most presents you’ve gotten anyway. I’d been last since Joe was born. I was used to it. I didn’t even mind.
Frankie was having a fit, bouncing excitedly in his spot on the floor in front of Joe. He claimed the first of his gifts, a rectangular box in shiny red paper. We all watched, smiling as he exposed his newest action figure, acting genuinely surprised, though I’m pretty sure he found Mom’s hiding place even sooner than Joe did.
Nick opened my gift first, laughing at the golf-themed wrapping paper, and leaned across Joe to hug me when he found the vintage golfer’s cap I bought him. Joe opened his from Frankie, smiling at the video game that his parents had so obviously helped him pick out and buy for him.
“Okay, Kev, I can’t take it. You have to open mine first.” Joe smiled at me, eyes twinkling in that mischievous, affectionate way.
My eyebrow shot up when Dad held out an envelope for me. I took it, giving Joe a look. “If this is a stupid card, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Don’t guess; just open it!” Joe urged, reminding me just how much Frankie took after him as he bounced excitedly in his seat.
I laughed, pushing my fingernail under the flap of the envelope and ripping it open. Peeking inside, I could tell already what it was. I pulled the three tickets out, tilting my head to the side to read them. Jersey Boys. These were tickets to see Jersey Boys on New Year’s Eve. I stared at him. “Joe, this is playing on Broadway.”
He smiled brightly, practically giggling. “I know!”
“That’s on the other side of the country.”
“Exactly,” the smile was less bright now; it was like he was glowing, in that same way he did winding up that music box. My breath caught. “You, Nick, and I are going to New York to see Jersey Boys. We’re going to ring in the new year in our favorite place in the whole world.”
I didn’t say anything. I just swallowed carefully, looking down at the tickets, not trusting myself to speak because there was a strong possibility I would cry. It was weeks ago that I said I missed winter in New Jersey. I had just made the comment in passing, but Joe remembered. Joe remembered one of the most trivial pieces of information I had ever offered to him, but it meant so much that he thought he needed to fix it.
And, no, it wasn’t a big deal for us to fly around. We had two houses, after all, halfway across the country from each other. But, the fact that he and Nick were taking me to the place we grew up, that I missed more than anything - that was special. I crushed him into a hug, probably a little too tightly, and felt that metaphor of the music box stirring up in me again, because only he could make me feel this way. Only he could turn that key. “Thank you so much.” I whispered against his hair.
I could hear him smiling. “You’re welcome, Kevin.”
Of course, I felt awful once we got to my present for him, because it wasn’t anything nearly as special. He unwrapped the box, to find the new jacket I had picked out for him from a store in downtown LA, that he loved, and I felt so inadequate. But, he smiled at me, like there was nothing wrong with it at all, and thanked me by pushing his head against my shoulder.
We spent the day together as a family, and Joe and I finally headed up to our room, after stuffing ourselves with pie and ice cream and candy canes, just past midnight. Joe was carrying a sleeping Frankie, and veered off to the room he shared with Nick to deposit him in his bed. I continued to our room, so I could pull out the real present I’d gotten for Joe.
He looked confused to see the red paper bag sitting on his bed, green tissue paper sticking out of it. “Where’d that come from?”
I shrugged, sitting cross-legged on my bed. “Open it.”
The suspicion in his face almost made me laugh, but he plopped down on his bed, pulling the bag into his lap, apparently surprised by its weight. As soon as he put his hand in to start shoving aside the paper, his face changed. He hadn’t even seen it, but he knew exactly what it was. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the music box from the depths of the bag, staring at it in that same soft, sweet way he had when he first saw it. His fingers found the key on the bottom, and it clicked sharply as he turned it. The soft tinkling tune of the ballet filled the room.
His eyes lifted to meet mine. “How did you-?”
“I saw you looking at it.” I said softly, not really wanting to speak over the music playing around us. “And, you were so beautiful - you are so beautiful - that I had to get it. I wanted to see you look like that again.”
He set the music box carefully on his nightstand. That look returned to his face - that one full of warmth and joy. But, he wasn’t watching the ballerina dance anymore. He was looking at me. “Thank you, Kevin.” My heart sang at the way he said it.
He stood and came toward me, cupping my face in his hands and tilting my head back. My heart stopped completely. I wasn’t even breathing. “Joe?”
“Thank you,” he whispered again, leaning down, and when his lips found mine, it was truly as if he turned a key in my back, and I was playing a song just for him.
I tugged at his waist, pulling him onto my lap so I could kiss him properly, my fingertips on his cheek, holding him against me by the small of his back. One of his hands was tangled in my hair, and the other rested lightly on my shoulder, and he tasted like all the things I imagined he would (apples and candy and Joe), and a few other things I was surprised and pleased to find. We were writing our own song now.
It felt good. It felt better than I had ever imagined it would. “Kev?” he breathed against my mouth, and I felt like he was breathing the air into my lungs. “I hope it snows on New Year’s Eve.”
Our lips pressed together again. My eyes couldn’t fully open. “Why is that?” I whispered roughly into the bright room. The music box was running down to its last notes.
Without warning, he toppled us over. His eyes looked darker than normal, shadowed by his face. He held himself up, his hands on either side of my head. Slowly, gently, he leaned down to kiss me again. I smiled at the soft smack of our lips as they separated and his mouth moved down along my neck. “Because even if I can’t kiss you standing in Times Square underneath the ball as it lowers, I’m going to kiss you at midnight, somewhere. And, I want it to be snowing, like in my music box.”
“I’ll bet it snows.” I slipped my arms around him, rolling him over, holding him close. I brushed the hair from his beautiful face and pressed my lips to his temple, closing my eyes. “I’m nothing but your music box anyway.”