Brigit's Flame August Week Two
An extra chair
By JellybeanChiChi
The following is my entry for Brigit's Flame August Week Two. The prompt was brilliance.
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As Jacob Beck sat in the passenger seat of his son’s compact car, he imagined the silence within the small space was so thick, he could almost see it.
“Says a lot,” thought the 62-year-old, “since I can’t see a goddamn thing.”
Philip Beck felt the silence as well. Things had been tough since his mother passed away two months ago. On that night, his father was driving his wife of 39 years home from visiting an out-of-town friend when a charter bus’ brakes failed and slammed into their vehicle. The crash claimed the life of Teresa Beck, aged 60, and left Jacob Beck permanently blinded.
Philip still found himself thinking about his mom several times a day. It might have seemed hokey, but he was a grown man who missed his mama dearly. She was his friend and his constant rock of support.
His mother understood Philip. His father thought they were too different to understand one another. So, instead of trying, Jacob observed the mother/son relationship from the sidelines and took it as his own.
As the years progressed, fatherhood became more of a spectator sport. That didn’t bother Philip much, because his mother gave of herself abundantly. So, to Philip, the father/son relationship boiled down to volleying a few questions to one another before offering an affectionate nod or pat on the back.
But since the accident, the game changed. While Philip’s sister, Brenda, stayed with their father for a couple of weeks, her father encouraged her to return home. Jacob explained she needed to be with her family and at work “rather than baby-sitting an old man.”
Although Brenda was the spitting image of her mother, she exuded her father’s traits as a self-starting CPA with a no-nonsense attitude. Brenda had feelings, but Philip knew practicality was a top priority for his sister, even in matters of the heart.
“Phil, I tried but he doesn’t want me there anymore,” Brenda told her brother over a cup of coffee at Philip’s apartment.
“Well, I don’t think he should be by himself,” Philip replied.
“I don’t either,” Brenda said.
“Well, he already has a therapist and a tutor from the Institute for the Blind at the house. So, are we talking about a maid or nurse?”
“No, Phil, we are talking about you.”
“We are?” Philip’s voice caught in his throat. One thing about having a practical-minded sister - she was always a few steps ahead of her brother.
“Phil, there is no reason why this can’t work. You’ve been going month by month in this dump since your roommate moved out. Mom and Dad’s house is big enough to give you and Dad space,” Brenda said as she retrieved another cup of coffee. “And there’s a room for you to practice on the opposite side of the house from Dad’s room. You could even tutor students at the house.”
“Pop will still complain. He’s not a fan of my practicing,” Philip said.
“That’s why we’ll try to make your practice room as sound proof as possible,” Brenda said.
Philip started to chuckle. “You already have people working on it, don’t you?”
“Well, I figured I couldn’t be there fulltime but Dad would want one of us there, and the only way you might budge is making sure you could keep up with your music,” Brenda said, as she saw Philip shaking his head. “Phil, you can’t practice here and you can’t afford it on your salary. And Dad can’t afford to be alone.”
Philip looked at his empty coffee cup and put it on the table. He picked up one his jazz mouthpieces and twirled it between his fingers.
“I don’t know, Bren. That’s Mom’s house,” Philip said quietly.
Now it was Brenda’s turn to sigh. She came and stood by her little brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Phil, I know it’s Mom’s house. But she would want one of us there. If Dad had to choose between your trombone and my rug rats, I think he would choose that piece of brass hands down.”
Philip looked up to see his sister’s face. He swiped a tear aside. “Why do you think that? We can barely keep up a conversation.”
Brenda smiled. “Because there is no chance your trombone will break a lamp while playing ball in the house with his Sparky Anderson autographed baseball, or rearrange his bathroom supplies so he confuses a tube of VO-5 hair cream for toothpaste.”
Philip let out a laugh. “OK, OK. You’re right. It’s the sensible thing to do.”
“It’s the right thing to do, Phil. And don’t worry. I won’t abandon you. I’ll be around to give you a reprieve when you need it.”
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And Brenda always did. After six weeks of being with his dad, she came by with some meals or just to spend time with her father so Philip could catch a movie. Other than that, Philip worked his shift at a UPS office and practiced at home and with the orchestra.
On weekends, Philip indulged in an activity to his father’s liking - fishing. It wasn’t Philip’s cup of tea, but since they spent a lot of time at home sitting across from one another trying to think of something to say, Philip figured why not do that with a fishing pole in Pop’s hand.
They had been on the water for three hours before Philip led his father back to the Ford Festiva. They ran out of things to say on the dock, and the change of scenery didn’t help the conversation flow.
Breaking out of his own private thoughts, Philip noticed the silence and how his father fidgeted in his seat. He placed his right hand over his father’s left hand, which startled the older man. “Hey Pop. You doing OK?”
Jacob Beck fidgeted some more but tried to make an effort to turn his head toward his son. “You know, Phil, if you made a little more money you could afford a bigger car.”
Philip let out a laugh. “Pop, there’s nothing wrong with the Festiva. It’s a very economical car.”
“This isn’t a car. It’s a damn shoebox on wheels.” Jacob said with his gruff smile he tried to hide, but Philip saw it all too well.
“Go ahead, Pop, make fun but it gets good mileage.”
“How good?” Jacob huffed.
“I don’t know. How about 176 miles per gallon?” Philip replied, knowing his joke would lighten the mood.
“Wow, that much,” Jacob said, again trying to hide a smile.
“Sure,” Philip shrugged. “Why not?”
“You know what else gets that mileage, Phil?”
“No, Pop, what?”
“A freakin’ push mower.”
Philip laughed, but his father kept quiet and returned tension filled the car once more. Philip simply sighed and continued to drive.
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Once home, Philip guided his father into the house, who used his cane to tap out his steps, something Jacob learned with his tutor. He was learning to count steps to get from room to room. He wasn’t perfect, but it got easier day-by-day.
While Jacob wasn’t impressed with his efforts, Philip was. It still amazed him when he would observe his father take a deep breath, get his bearings and make his way to a destination.
“OK, Pop, I’m going to practice.”
“Any students today?” Jacob asked with a tinge of frustration.
“Not today, Pop. I need to concentrate on the concert. We have a big rehearsal coming up with the guest pianist.”
Jacob simply strode off. Philip knew he wouldn’t hear another word from his father for the rest of the day and night.
While his father’s progress dealing with the physical limitations of blindness seemed positive, Jacob seemed to become more depressed and withdrawn with each day. Another reason Philip would take his father fishing was to get him in the car. Somehow the drive would draw his father out of a shell, if only for a short time.
For a musician silence benefited personal practice. Philip longed for it while he lived at the apartment. It wasn’t easy for him to secure a practice room at the orchestra hall or the local college, where he had some connections with local musicians. And the room he used at the house was sound proofed enough. It didn’t filter all the noise but enough not to bother his father.
Yet, the silence Philip encountered in his father’s home enveloped him in the same depression that plagued his father. It wasn’t just because of the blindness - it was the absence of his mother. And when he played in the house, Philip missed his mother more because of what she would do during his practice sessions. While his father always left the room at the sight of the black case, Philip’s mother would pull up a chair and sit next to her son and listen to him play.
Philip first picked up a brass instrument because his mother was a French horn player. But when he had chosen that instrument years ago, his mother had stopped him almost instantly.
“Are you sure, Philip?” Teresa asked all those years ago. “You know, every instrument has a personality and sometimes your love for an instrument is for the one that matches your personality.”
“But that’s what you played,” said the young man. “I want to play what you did.”
“Well, why don’t you try it out, but I want you to choose one more instrument and try it out at the same time. You might like one over the other. And if you don’t like either, we’ll try a couple more.”
It was the slide that attracted Philip. It just looked fun. When he picked it up, his mother’s face brightened. It was a face Philip would never forget.
“What do you think, ma? How about the trombone?”
“Yes, why don’t you try it out?”
She knew. She wouldn’t admit it, but she knew. Philip played French horn for 30 minutes. He has been playing the trombone for 16 years.
Philip was caught up in his thoughts again. It happened a lot. Philip would be starting something and he would think of his mother, as he did now while he set up his music and prepared his instrument for play. “I don’t know how you knew, ma, but thank you. I miss you,” he said before practicing.
The sounds reverberated off the walls, filling Philip’s ears and senses, and unbeknownst to the musician, the ears and senses of another.
It’s an old adage that as one sense diminishes another strengthens. Jacob couldn’t say that was true for sure, but even at the far end of the house, he could hear Philip play. Maybe it was the silence. With nothing else to listen to - TV, phone calls, his wife - maybe Jacob’s auditory senses just picked up on whatever it could.
Seemed like the only logical conclusion. And at this point in his life, everything Jacob did had to be a step-by-step process with a logical beginning and logical conclusion. If he thought too much about things, his mind became fogged with grief, worry, frustration, despair - even fear. Jacob couldn’t afford that.
So the trade-off was that his ears perked up.
He just wished he knew what the hell Phil was playing. It just sounded like bits and pieces, never a full song.
After getting lost in the sound, Jacob shook his head and checked the time on the talking digital clock. Baseball game would start in five minutes. Time to get to the radio. He stood, extended his cane and tapped out 12 paces to the left, 7 spaces to the right, grabbed a doorframe and took 6 paces straight ahead.
Logical progression. What Jacob never realized was he was tapping to the rhythm Philip played on his trombone.
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The silence lasted through the weekend and Philip thought about it while he moved boxes at his job. He needed to get to his father. He hated seeing him in this self-imposed shell.
His father didn’t know, but Philip realized he would come toward the practice room. Just as the room leaked out sounds of a melodic brass instrument, it also leaked in the taps of a methodical cane.
As he loaded a 75-pound box onto a lift, Philip thought about practice coming up every night that week. The hardest part about living with his father was feeling as if he was living with a stranger. Philip wanted more from his father - for the first time in his life, Philip yearned for a relationship with his father.
But to do that, his father would have to open up and realize who Philip was.
Maybe there was a way. Perhaps he would try to see if his conductor would allow him a favor - a big favor.
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Only the turn of the lock within the front door broke the silence for Jacob and Philip. The two continued to walk in silence until Philip shut the passenger door, strode to his side of the car, got in and closed his door.
Uncharacteristically, it was Jacob who broke the silence. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Philip sighed. “Pop, it would mean a lot to me.”
“I don’t belong there, Phil.”
“Pop, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Phil, dammit, I told you I don’t feel comfortable being out with a bunch of people.”
Although Philip was backing out of the driveway, he abruptly pressed on the brake and put the car back into park. “Pop, please, it took a lot to arrange this. To make sure you will be comfortable you will be with me.”
“Why is this so damn important to you, huh?” Jacob’s agitation and anger was obvious. “What is this? Some kind of payback for never going to your concerts when you were a kid?”
“Pop, please, it’s not about that. …”
“Cause, you know son, it’s not like I could of dropped everything to go listen to you play ‘Mary had a little lamb’ or whatever the hell it was you played when I had work to do.”
Philip kept in his anger at the curt comment. It disappointed him that his father never watched him play, but his mother was always there. Getting his father to come with him today was not about that. It was about …
“You know, I’m not your mother,” Jacob said, his tone displaying his sadness. “I’m not like her. I know it’s tough for you son. But bringing me to the concert instead of your mom will not fill a void for you.”
Philip looked at his father. Was he doing that?
“No,” Philip said, answering his own question as well as the comments from his father. “No, Pop, that is not what this is about. This isn’t a concert. It’s a full rehearsal but not a concert, so it’s just going to be you, the conductor and my fellow musicians. It’s not about you taking mom’s place, it’s about bringing you into a part of my life.” Philip took a breath. He wanted to continue because he knew his father could tap himself away from the conversation. “Pop, we’re living together and I’ve tried my best to understood you, like I have my whole life. You’re not an easy guy to read, Pop, but there are a lot of things you do that illustrate the person you really are.
“But do you know who I am? I’m not defined by my job. I’m not even defined by the students I teach,” Philip said. “Pop can you see who I am?”
Philip stopped. He watched as his father fiddled with his cane, which was folded into its foot-long form. He twirled it a bit in his fingers. “I know you miss your mom, Phil. But I’m not your mom.”
“I’m not asking you to be mom, Pop. Please believe me. I just want you to … I don’t know.” Philip started the car and put it in reverse. “Just give it an hour, Pop. Please. Brenda will come by and pick you up after an hour.”
“So, what did she say about this idea of yours?”
“She thinks I’m nuts.”
“Smart woman, your sister.”
Philip let out an audible sigh and kept driving to the performing arts center.
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Jacob extended his cane as he got out of the car and waited for his son to come to his side. Once he felt his son approach, Jacob placed his left hand on Philip’s right shoulder. The two walked into the hall through the musician’s entrance. As they walked, Jacob could hear and feel other people brush past them. “Hey, Philip, what’s up?”
“Steve, good to see you.”
“This your dad?”
“Yes, Steve Walker, this is my father, Jacob Beck.”
Steve extended his hand but brought it back. “Good to meet you sir, you’ll be seat mates with us boys in the back.”
Jacob, who still wore his sunglasses, stared blankly, although Philip recognized the hint of confusion.
“See you there, Steve,” Philip said.
“Yeah, sure. Good to meet you, Mr. Beck.”
“Sure.” Jacob replied.
“Come on Pop. I have to get ready.”
After Philip prepared his instrument, he took his father to the orchestra pit. The sounds surrounding Jacob were chaotic. No order. No natural flow. Just bits and pieces from different instruments. The noises flooded Jacob’s senses, and Philip could sense his father’s unease.
“Phil, where the hell are we?”
“In the pit. This is where we play.”
“Why am I here? Aren’t I sitting in the audience?”
“No, Pop. You’re sitting with me and the boys.”
“What?”
“Just sit here, Pop. We put an extra chair for you.”
The orchestra layout was a normal one. Set directly to the conductor’s left were the first violins, while the second violins sat directly in front of the conductor. The French horns, stood away from the other brass instruments, in the upper left corner of the conductor. Set on the left hand side of the pit stood the piano, where the guest pianist sat.
To the conductor’s right were the cellos, violas and double basses, with the trumpets behind the strings. At the back center of the pit, sat the timpani and then the rest of percussion. Below them sat the woodwinds - clarinets, bassoons, saxophones, oboes, piccolos and flutes. In the upper right hand corner sat the tuba player. Nestled between the timpani and tuba were the trombones. Philip’s chair was set at the far right of the conductor, directly next to the tuba player. Next to him was the extra chair for his father.
“I arranged this with the conductor. I’m a musician, Pop, and I wanted you to know what that means”
“It means you play music, Phil. I’m not an idiot,” Jacob said, his hands in his lap.
“It’s more than that, Pop. Just try and enjoy.”
“What are you playing before Brenda picks me up?”
“Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin. Remember Woody Allen’s movie, ‘Manhattan?’” Jacob nodded. “It was featured in that movie. The music features solo piano and the conductor’s daughter is serving as the guest pianist. I think you’ll enjoy it, Pop. Just sit back and listen.”
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The “tap, tap, tap” from the conductor ceased the chaos in the room. Despite all his experience with the silence he felt within his home, at that moment, in that theater, Jacob felt lost. It was the anticipation. He couldn’t logically figure out what the next move was because he was in a totally foreign place. He couldn’t even imagine what the next move would be.
So, he did the one thing he knew he could do. He placed his right hand upon his son’s left shoulder. Philip didn’t move. He was prepared to go to work, and for the first time, Jacob seemed to realize that. His son’s stoic figure displayed a degree of discipline as his body sat at a readied position.
Jacob compared the pose to that of a soldier at attention. And Philip’ general was the man at the front of the orchestra.
So familiar was the sound of the baton - like that of his cane. Jacob felt like he was on a journey. And just like his own steps, this new journey started with a “tap, tap, tap.”
From that moment, he heard a sound from the center of the pit. A clarinet wavered a few notes and begun the musical interlude, joined by Philip and the boys. And then some other instruments, until a pair of saxophones took the lead, and strings filled in the gaps.
Towards the center of the orchestra, Jacob could hear the muffled, comical sound from a trumpet taking the lead until a piano joined in for the melody.
And then, the pit came alive. Each instrument lent its own unique voices to the music. It caught Jacob by surprise as he gripped Philip’s shoulder, and did so every time the cymbals crashed.
Then as soon as it came, it went, with only the piano playing. And play the pianist did.
Starting from a low point at the piano, the pianist climbed up and down the keys like a dancer. Occasionally a low woodwind would accompany the piano on its journey, one that marked pride, silliness and frantic behaviors. But for the most part it was just fingers and 88 keys.
Jacob listened and came to realize something he heard Teresa and his son talk about during one of their many kitchen table chats. They would talk about the instruments different personalities. Jacob recalled rolling his eyes at the suggestion, but now, while sitting in the pit, he understood. “The piano,” he recalled his wife had said, “is the overachiever. Always carrying the tune or doing it’s damndest to play along with another instrument, letting the other instrument set the tone and pace. It’s like the piano says, ‘Yeah, I can do that.’ An overachiever.”
Now it made sense to Jacob. He continued to listen for the personalities. He listened to the background and heard the solemn beat of the timpani and other percussion instruments. “The perfectionists,” his wife had said. “Without them, a piece just couldn’t sound perfect. And yet, they know when their presence might not be needed or would be overpowering. They are the perfectionists.”
And then as the pace quickened and more voices filled the melody, he felt Philip’s body go into full gear. The power of the lower horns filled the room, and Jacob understood why his son and his wife referred to this group as the “big brothers” of the orchestra - ready to stand firm and make their presence known, and at times, sneak in the background to make sure everything is OK.
And through it all was that overachiever, the piano.
Then it was time for the higher brass to shine. “The jocks,” his wife had said. “You always knew when they entered the room.” At that point, Jacob let out a chuckle, a sound that wasn’t lost on Philip despite his concentration.
Then the clarinets entered the picture again, the bohemians. And the rhythm slowed down thanks to the higher woodwinds, piccolos and flutes, but that didn’t last as the lower woodwinds took a go at the melody.
As each instrument played, Jacob felt his senses fill, it was as if… as if for the first time since his blindness he could picture it all in his head. It was brilliant.
Once again, Jacob gripped his son’s shoulder. As the pianist took its solo, Philip took his chance to steal a glance at his father. He quickly put a hand on his father’s knee. Philip expected a jump, but instead received another grip upon his shoulder.
The notes came together to give Jacob another impression - movement, some staggered some progressive.
The piano continued its journey up and down the keys. Every once and a while joined by another set of musical voices. Jacob could envision fingers moving in a graceful dance upon white and black keys. It was amazing, he’d never took a good look at a piano before, and yet, he could see it in his mind as clear as day.
Then, the melody changed and he heard her - his Teresa. The French horn gracefully offered a different tone and set of notes. And suddenly Jacob saw his wife’s personality emerge - gentle, but firm, and uniquely beautiful - the sensitive thinker.
He knew it wasn’t her playing the instrument, but at that moment, Jacob saw his wife with the unusual horn in her grasp. He always thought it looked weird, cocked to its side with one hand up the bell.
But at that moment, he envisioned his wife and heard the notes in his ears. The scene within Jacob’s mind was breathtaking.
“That was your mom.”
The words were spoken so softly and so reverently that Philip almost missed it. But it shook him. He knew exactly what his father meant and that was progress Philip never faced before in his 33 years.
As a lonely violin elicited a sad refrain, the rest of the strings filled in the room with a melody punctuated by the piano. Then the mood changed with the pings of a xylophone and the full pulse of the piano. Jacob relaxed and again let the sound fill his whole body, until the piano betrayed its melody and began a frantic pace. Jacob sat upright, and again, Philip stole a glance, until he had to join in.
At first Jacob heard a soft background fill from his son’s instrument and then he heard the pull - the strong sound of a note pulled from one position to the next in one smooth, fluid motion. That strong pull guided the rest of the orchestra to join in a single note that boomed and sounded …
Off key? “What was that?” Jacob thought.
Again, the piano sounded frantic, cymbals again, and the woodwinds, and strings. It was a mess. Where was it going?
And just as Jacob was about to relinquish Philip’s shoulder, he heard and felt a loud, “DA DA DA DA DA!” And then boom, boom… boom, boom… as the piano took the lead once more. Strings, like honor students of the orchestra, kept a pace with the overachiever.
And then again, the boys in the back resounded once more, bringing the percussion and the rest of the orchestra with them. They were all climbing the mountain to its peak, and the piano was there to place the flag on the summit.
And then, it was over. The musicians put down their instruments and were “at ease.” But Jacob just sat there, his hand still gripping on his son’s shirt.
The conductor gave them five minutes before they would start again. Philip looked at his father but didn’t say a word. He simply admired the man’s face. It wasn’t empty, but didn’t seem overwhelmed; it wasn’t sad, but it didn’t seem overjoyed either. He just seemed calm and reflective.
Philip thought it was a beautiful sight. No words needed. The younger man glanced behind his shoulder and saw Brenda in the back standing next to the back curtain, he gestured her over.
She came about the two and looked at them curiously before placing a hand on her father’s shoulder.
“Hi Dad, ready to go?”
Jacob didn’t move. Brenda was about to say something, but Philip caught her attention and asked her to let him be.
Finally Jacob removed his hand from Philip’s shoulder and gave him a pat on the back. He leaned into Philip and said five unexpected words: “Where is your friend, Steve?”
“He’s right here, Pop, next to me.”
Jacob extended his hand across Philip’s chest toward Steve. Philip nudged his friend to get his attention. “Yes sir?” Steve asked.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you and the boys.”
Steve took Jacob’s hand for a firm shake. “Anytime, Mr. Beck. Anytime.”
Jacob stood up and extended his cane. “Philip, I would like to say thank you to your conductor.”
Philip put his trombone on his stand and stood up. “Sure, Pop. Let’s go real quick.”
Philip took his father to the front of the pit. The conductor saw them, and put down his baton to greet them.
“Philip, this must be your father,” the conductor put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder and placed the other in Jacob’s grasp. “I have heard much about you sir.”
“You were kind to allow me here.”
“My pleasure. Did you enjoy the rehearsal?”
“It was beautiful.”
“Your son did well?”
Jacob looked at his son. “He’s a fine musician.”
“Good, good.”
Jacob said his goodbye, and as he and Brenda made their way out of the hall, Philip was left to return to his seat and concentrate on the music once again.
When Philip returned home, he noticed Brenda’s car was no longer in the driveway. It was late and that was not unexpected.
What was unexpected was something he heard when he entered the house.
No longer was there silence, just a little bit of off-key humming.
To the seasoned musician, the melody was brilliant.
END
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Special thanks to seattlecsifan for her suggestions and beta-ing. You're the best!. And to George Gershwin for his timeless piece.
By JellybeanChiChi
The following is my entry for Brigit's Flame August Week Two. The prompt was brilliance.
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As Jacob Beck sat in the passenger seat of his son’s compact car, he imagined the silence within the small space was so thick, he could almost see it.
“Says a lot,” thought the 62-year-old, “since I can’t see a goddamn thing.”
Philip Beck felt the silence as well. Things had been tough since his mother passed away two months ago. On that night, his father was driving his wife of 39 years home from visiting an out-of-town friend when a charter bus’ brakes failed and slammed into their vehicle. The crash claimed the life of Teresa Beck, aged 60, and left Jacob Beck permanently blinded.
Philip still found himself thinking about his mom several times a day. It might have seemed hokey, but he was a grown man who missed his mama dearly. She was his friend and his constant rock of support.
His mother understood Philip. His father thought they were too different to understand one another. So, instead of trying, Jacob observed the mother/son relationship from the sidelines and took it as his own.
As the years progressed, fatherhood became more of a spectator sport. That didn’t bother Philip much, because his mother gave of herself abundantly. So, to Philip, the father/son relationship boiled down to volleying a few questions to one another before offering an affectionate nod or pat on the back.
But since the accident, the game changed. While Philip’s sister, Brenda, stayed with their father for a couple of weeks, her father encouraged her to return home. Jacob explained she needed to be with her family and at work “rather than baby-sitting an old man.”
Although Brenda was the spitting image of her mother, she exuded her father’s traits as a self-starting CPA with a no-nonsense attitude. Brenda had feelings, but Philip knew practicality was a top priority for his sister, even in matters of the heart.
“Phil, I tried but he doesn’t want me there anymore,” Brenda told her brother over a cup of coffee at Philip’s apartment.
“Well, I don’t think he should be by himself,” Philip replied.
“I don’t either,” Brenda said.
“Well, he already has a therapist and a tutor from the Institute for the Blind at the house. So, are we talking about a maid or nurse?”
“No, Phil, we are talking about you.”
“We are?” Philip’s voice caught in his throat. One thing about having a practical-minded sister - she was always a few steps ahead of her brother.
“Phil, there is no reason why this can’t work. You’ve been going month by month in this dump since your roommate moved out. Mom and Dad’s house is big enough to give you and Dad space,” Brenda said as she retrieved another cup of coffee. “And there’s a room for you to practice on the opposite side of the house from Dad’s room. You could even tutor students at the house.”
“Pop will still complain. He’s not a fan of my practicing,” Philip said.
“That’s why we’ll try to make your practice room as sound proof as possible,” Brenda said.
Philip started to chuckle. “You already have people working on it, don’t you?”
“Well, I figured I couldn’t be there fulltime but Dad would want one of us there, and the only way you might budge is making sure you could keep up with your music,” Brenda said, as she saw Philip shaking his head. “Phil, you can’t practice here and you can’t afford it on your salary. And Dad can’t afford to be alone.”
Philip looked at his empty coffee cup and put it on the table. He picked up one his jazz mouthpieces and twirled it between his fingers.
“I don’t know, Bren. That’s Mom’s house,” Philip said quietly.
Now it was Brenda’s turn to sigh. She came and stood by her little brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Phil, I know it’s Mom’s house. But she would want one of us there. If Dad had to choose between your trombone and my rug rats, I think he would choose that piece of brass hands down.”
Philip looked up to see his sister’s face. He swiped a tear aside. “Why do you think that? We can barely keep up a conversation.”
Brenda smiled. “Because there is no chance your trombone will break a lamp while playing ball in the house with his Sparky Anderson autographed baseball, or rearrange his bathroom supplies so he confuses a tube of VO-5 hair cream for toothpaste.”
Philip let out a laugh. “OK, OK. You’re right. It’s the sensible thing to do.”
“It’s the right thing to do, Phil. And don’t worry. I won’t abandon you. I’ll be around to give you a reprieve when you need it.”
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And Brenda always did. After six weeks of being with his dad, she came by with some meals or just to spend time with her father so Philip could catch a movie. Other than that, Philip worked his shift at a UPS office and practiced at home and with the orchestra.
On weekends, Philip indulged in an activity to his father’s liking - fishing. It wasn’t Philip’s cup of tea, but since they spent a lot of time at home sitting across from one another trying to think of something to say, Philip figured why not do that with a fishing pole in Pop’s hand.
They had been on the water for three hours before Philip led his father back to the Ford Festiva. They ran out of things to say on the dock, and the change of scenery didn’t help the conversation flow.
Breaking out of his own private thoughts, Philip noticed the silence and how his father fidgeted in his seat. He placed his right hand over his father’s left hand, which startled the older man. “Hey Pop. You doing OK?”
Jacob Beck fidgeted some more but tried to make an effort to turn his head toward his son. “You know, Phil, if you made a little more money you could afford a bigger car.”
Philip let out a laugh. “Pop, there’s nothing wrong with the Festiva. It’s a very economical car.”
“This isn’t a car. It’s a damn shoebox on wheels.” Jacob said with his gruff smile he tried to hide, but Philip saw it all too well.
“Go ahead, Pop, make fun but it gets good mileage.”
“How good?” Jacob huffed.
“I don’t know. How about 176 miles per gallon?” Philip replied, knowing his joke would lighten the mood.
“Wow, that much,” Jacob said, again trying to hide a smile.
“Sure,” Philip shrugged. “Why not?”
“You know what else gets that mileage, Phil?”
“No, Pop, what?”
“A freakin’ push mower.”
Philip laughed, but his father kept quiet and returned tension filled the car once more. Philip simply sighed and continued to drive.
-----------------------------------
Once home, Philip guided his father into the house, who used his cane to tap out his steps, something Jacob learned with his tutor. He was learning to count steps to get from room to room. He wasn’t perfect, but it got easier day-by-day.
While Jacob wasn’t impressed with his efforts, Philip was. It still amazed him when he would observe his father take a deep breath, get his bearings and make his way to a destination.
“OK, Pop, I’m going to practice.”
“Any students today?” Jacob asked with a tinge of frustration.
“Not today, Pop. I need to concentrate on the concert. We have a big rehearsal coming up with the guest pianist.”
Jacob simply strode off. Philip knew he wouldn’t hear another word from his father for the rest of the day and night.
While his father’s progress dealing with the physical limitations of blindness seemed positive, Jacob seemed to become more depressed and withdrawn with each day. Another reason Philip would take his father fishing was to get him in the car. Somehow the drive would draw his father out of a shell, if only for a short time.
For a musician silence benefited personal practice. Philip longed for it while he lived at the apartment. It wasn’t easy for him to secure a practice room at the orchestra hall or the local college, where he had some connections with local musicians. And the room he used at the house was sound proofed enough. It didn’t filter all the noise but enough not to bother his father.
Yet, the silence Philip encountered in his father’s home enveloped him in the same depression that plagued his father. It wasn’t just because of the blindness - it was the absence of his mother. And when he played in the house, Philip missed his mother more because of what she would do during his practice sessions. While his father always left the room at the sight of the black case, Philip’s mother would pull up a chair and sit next to her son and listen to him play.
Philip first picked up a brass instrument because his mother was a French horn player. But when he had chosen that instrument years ago, his mother had stopped him almost instantly.
“Are you sure, Philip?” Teresa asked all those years ago. “You know, every instrument has a personality and sometimes your love for an instrument is for the one that matches your personality.”
“But that’s what you played,” said the young man. “I want to play what you did.”
“Well, why don’t you try it out, but I want you to choose one more instrument and try it out at the same time. You might like one over the other. And if you don’t like either, we’ll try a couple more.”
It was the slide that attracted Philip. It just looked fun. When he picked it up, his mother’s face brightened. It was a face Philip would never forget.
“What do you think, ma? How about the trombone?”
“Yes, why don’t you try it out?”
She knew. She wouldn’t admit it, but she knew. Philip played French horn for 30 minutes. He has been playing the trombone for 16 years.
Philip was caught up in his thoughts again. It happened a lot. Philip would be starting something and he would think of his mother, as he did now while he set up his music and prepared his instrument for play. “I don’t know how you knew, ma, but thank you. I miss you,” he said before practicing.
The sounds reverberated off the walls, filling Philip’s ears and senses, and unbeknownst to the musician, the ears and senses of another.
It’s an old adage that as one sense diminishes another strengthens. Jacob couldn’t say that was true for sure, but even at the far end of the house, he could hear Philip play. Maybe it was the silence. With nothing else to listen to - TV, phone calls, his wife - maybe Jacob’s auditory senses just picked up on whatever it could.
Seemed like the only logical conclusion. And at this point in his life, everything Jacob did had to be a step-by-step process with a logical beginning and logical conclusion. If he thought too much about things, his mind became fogged with grief, worry, frustration, despair - even fear. Jacob couldn’t afford that.
So the trade-off was that his ears perked up.
He just wished he knew what the hell Phil was playing. It just sounded like bits and pieces, never a full song.
After getting lost in the sound, Jacob shook his head and checked the time on the talking digital clock. Baseball game would start in five minutes. Time to get to the radio. He stood, extended his cane and tapped out 12 paces to the left, 7 spaces to the right, grabbed a doorframe and took 6 paces straight ahead.
Logical progression. What Jacob never realized was he was tapping to the rhythm Philip played on his trombone.
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The silence lasted through the weekend and Philip thought about it while he moved boxes at his job. He needed to get to his father. He hated seeing him in this self-imposed shell.
His father didn’t know, but Philip realized he would come toward the practice room. Just as the room leaked out sounds of a melodic brass instrument, it also leaked in the taps of a methodical cane.
As he loaded a 75-pound box onto a lift, Philip thought about practice coming up every night that week. The hardest part about living with his father was feeling as if he was living with a stranger. Philip wanted more from his father - for the first time in his life, Philip yearned for a relationship with his father.
But to do that, his father would have to open up and realize who Philip was.
Maybe there was a way. Perhaps he would try to see if his conductor would allow him a favor - a big favor.
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Only the turn of the lock within the front door broke the silence for Jacob and Philip. The two continued to walk in silence until Philip shut the passenger door, strode to his side of the car, got in and closed his door.
Uncharacteristically, it was Jacob who broke the silence. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Philip sighed. “Pop, it would mean a lot to me.”
“I don’t belong there, Phil.”
“Pop, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Phil, dammit, I told you I don’t feel comfortable being out with a bunch of people.”
Although Philip was backing out of the driveway, he abruptly pressed on the brake and put the car back into park. “Pop, please, it took a lot to arrange this. To make sure you will be comfortable you will be with me.”
“Why is this so damn important to you, huh?” Jacob’s agitation and anger was obvious. “What is this? Some kind of payback for never going to your concerts when you were a kid?”
“Pop, please, it’s not about that. …”
“Cause, you know son, it’s not like I could of dropped everything to go listen to you play ‘Mary had a little lamb’ or whatever the hell it was you played when I had work to do.”
Philip kept in his anger at the curt comment. It disappointed him that his father never watched him play, but his mother was always there. Getting his father to come with him today was not about that. It was about …
“You know, I’m not your mother,” Jacob said, his tone displaying his sadness. “I’m not like her. I know it’s tough for you son. But bringing me to the concert instead of your mom will not fill a void for you.”
Philip looked at his father. Was he doing that?
“No,” Philip said, answering his own question as well as the comments from his father. “No, Pop, that is not what this is about. This isn’t a concert. It’s a full rehearsal but not a concert, so it’s just going to be you, the conductor and my fellow musicians. It’s not about you taking mom’s place, it’s about bringing you into a part of my life.” Philip took a breath. He wanted to continue because he knew his father could tap himself away from the conversation. “Pop, we’re living together and I’ve tried my best to understood you, like I have my whole life. You’re not an easy guy to read, Pop, but there are a lot of things you do that illustrate the person you really are.
“But do you know who I am? I’m not defined by my job. I’m not even defined by the students I teach,” Philip said. “Pop can you see who I am?”
Philip stopped. He watched as his father fiddled with his cane, which was folded into its foot-long form. He twirled it a bit in his fingers. “I know you miss your mom, Phil. But I’m not your mom.”
“I’m not asking you to be mom, Pop. Please believe me. I just want you to … I don’t know.” Philip started the car and put it in reverse. “Just give it an hour, Pop. Please. Brenda will come by and pick you up after an hour.”
“So, what did she say about this idea of yours?”
“She thinks I’m nuts.”
“Smart woman, your sister.”
Philip let out an audible sigh and kept driving to the performing arts center.
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Jacob extended his cane as he got out of the car and waited for his son to come to his side. Once he felt his son approach, Jacob placed his left hand on Philip’s right shoulder. The two walked into the hall through the musician’s entrance. As they walked, Jacob could hear and feel other people brush past them. “Hey, Philip, what’s up?”
“Steve, good to see you.”
“This your dad?”
“Yes, Steve Walker, this is my father, Jacob Beck.”
Steve extended his hand but brought it back. “Good to meet you sir, you’ll be seat mates with us boys in the back.”
Jacob, who still wore his sunglasses, stared blankly, although Philip recognized the hint of confusion.
“See you there, Steve,” Philip said.
“Yeah, sure. Good to meet you, Mr. Beck.”
“Sure.” Jacob replied.
“Come on Pop. I have to get ready.”
After Philip prepared his instrument, he took his father to the orchestra pit. The sounds surrounding Jacob were chaotic. No order. No natural flow. Just bits and pieces from different instruments. The noises flooded Jacob’s senses, and Philip could sense his father’s unease.
“Phil, where the hell are we?”
“In the pit. This is where we play.”
“Why am I here? Aren’t I sitting in the audience?”
“No, Pop. You’re sitting with me and the boys.”
“What?”
“Just sit here, Pop. We put an extra chair for you.”
The orchestra layout was a normal one. Set directly to the conductor’s left were the first violins, while the second violins sat directly in front of the conductor. The French horns, stood away from the other brass instruments, in the upper left corner of the conductor. Set on the left hand side of the pit stood the piano, where the guest pianist sat.
To the conductor’s right were the cellos, violas and double basses, with the trumpets behind the strings. At the back center of the pit, sat the timpani and then the rest of percussion. Below them sat the woodwinds - clarinets, bassoons, saxophones, oboes, piccolos and flutes. In the upper right hand corner sat the tuba player. Nestled between the timpani and tuba were the trombones. Philip’s chair was set at the far right of the conductor, directly next to the tuba player. Next to him was the extra chair for his father.
“I arranged this with the conductor. I’m a musician, Pop, and I wanted you to know what that means”
“It means you play music, Phil. I’m not an idiot,” Jacob said, his hands in his lap.
“It’s more than that, Pop. Just try and enjoy.”
“What are you playing before Brenda picks me up?”
“Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin. Remember Woody Allen’s movie, ‘Manhattan?’” Jacob nodded. “It was featured in that movie. The music features solo piano and the conductor’s daughter is serving as the guest pianist. I think you’ll enjoy it, Pop. Just sit back and listen.”
-----------------------------------
The “tap, tap, tap” from the conductor ceased the chaos in the room. Despite all his experience with the silence he felt within his home, at that moment, in that theater, Jacob felt lost. It was the anticipation. He couldn’t logically figure out what the next move was because he was in a totally foreign place. He couldn’t even imagine what the next move would be.
So, he did the one thing he knew he could do. He placed his right hand upon his son’s left shoulder. Philip didn’t move. He was prepared to go to work, and for the first time, Jacob seemed to realize that. His son’s stoic figure displayed a degree of discipline as his body sat at a readied position.
Jacob compared the pose to that of a soldier at attention. And Philip’ general was the man at the front of the orchestra.
So familiar was the sound of the baton - like that of his cane. Jacob felt like he was on a journey. And just like his own steps, this new journey started with a “tap, tap, tap.”
From that moment, he heard a sound from the center of the pit. A clarinet wavered a few notes and begun the musical interlude, joined by Philip and the boys. And then some other instruments, until a pair of saxophones took the lead, and strings filled in the gaps.
Towards the center of the orchestra, Jacob could hear the muffled, comical sound from a trumpet taking the lead until a piano joined in for the melody.
And then, the pit came alive. Each instrument lent its own unique voices to the music. It caught Jacob by surprise as he gripped Philip’s shoulder, and did so every time the cymbals crashed.
Then as soon as it came, it went, with only the piano playing. And play the pianist did.
Starting from a low point at the piano, the pianist climbed up and down the keys like a dancer. Occasionally a low woodwind would accompany the piano on its journey, one that marked pride, silliness and frantic behaviors. But for the most part it was just fingers and 88 keys.
Jacob listened and came to realize something he heard Teresa and his son talk about during one of their many kitchen table chats. They would talk about the instruments different personalities. Jacob recalled rolling his eyes at the suggestion, but now, while sitting in the pit, he understood. “The piano,” he recalled his wife had said, “is the overachiever. Always carrying the tune or doing it’s damndest to play along with another instrument, letting the other instrument set the tone and pace. It’s like the piano says, ‘Yeah, I can do that.’ An overachiever.”
Now it made sense to Jacob. He continued to listen for the personalities. He listened to the background and heard the solemn beat of the timpani and other percussion instruments. “The perfectionists,” his wife had said. “Without them, a piece just couldn’t sound perfect. And yet, they know when their presence might not be needed or would be overpowering. They are the perfectionists.”
And then as the pace quickened and more voices filled the melody, he felt Philip’s body go into full gear. The power of the lower horns filled the room, and Jacob understood why his son and his wife referred to this group as the “big brothers” of the orchestra - ready to stand firm and make their presence known, and at times, sneak in the background to make sure everything is OK.
And through it all was that overachiever, the piano.
Then it was time for the higher brass to shine. “The jocks,” his wife had said. “You always knew when they entered the room.” At that point, Jacob let out a chuckle, a sound that wasn’t lost on Philip despite his concentration.
Then the clarinets entered the picture again, the bohemians. And the rhythm slowed down thanks to the higher woodwinds, piccolos and flutes, but that didn’t last as the lower woodwinds took a go at the melody.
As each instrument played, Jacob felt his senses fill, it was as if… as if for the first time since his blindness he could picture it all in his head. It was brilliant.
Once again, Jacob gripped his son’s shoulder. As the pianist took its solo, Philip took his chance to steal a glance at his father. He quickly put a hand on his father’s knee. Philip expected a jump, but instead received another grip upon his shoulder.
The notes came together to give Jacob another impression - movement, some staggered some progressive.
The piano continued its journey up and down the keys. Every once and a while joined by another set of musical voices. Jacob could envision fingers moving in a graceful dance upon white and black keys. It was amazing, he’d never took a good look at a piano before, and yet, he could see it in his mind as clear as day.
Then, the melody changed and he heard her - his Teresa. The French horn gracefully offered a different tone and set of notes. And suddenly Jacob saw his wife’s personality emerge - gentle, but firm, and uniquely beautiful - the sensitive thinker.
He knew it wasn’t her playing the instrument, but at that moment, Jacob saw his wife with the unusual horn in her grasp. He always thought it looked weird, cocked to its side with one hand up the bell.
But at that moment, he envisioned his wife and heard the notes in his ears. The scene within Jacob’s mind was breathtaking.
“That was your mom.”
The words were spoken so softly and so reverently that Philip almost missed it. But it shook him. He knew exactly what his father meant and that was progress Philip never faced before in his 33 years.
As a lonely violin elicited a sad refrain, the rest of the strings filled in the room with a melody punctuated by the piano. Then the mood changed with the pings of a xylophone and the full pulse of the piano. Jacob relaxed and again let the sound fill his whole body, until the piano betrayed its melody and began a frantic pace. Jacob sat upright, and again, Philip stole a glance, until he had to join in.
At first Jacob heard a soft background fill from his son’s instrument and then he heard the pull - the strong sound of a note pulled from one position to the next in one smooth, fluid motion. That strong pull guided the rest of the orchestra to join in a single note that boomed and sounded …
Off key? “What was that?” Jacob thought.
Again, the piano sounded frantic, cymbals again, and the woodwinds, and strings. It was a mess. Where was it going?
And just as Jacob was about to relinquish Philip’s shoulder, he heard and felt a loud, “DA DA DA DA DA!” And then boom, boom… boom, boom… as the piano took the lead once more. Strings, like honor students of the orchestra, kept a pace with the overachiever.
And then again, the boys in the back resounded once more, bringing the percussion and the rest of the orchestra with them. They were all climbing the mountain to its peak, and the piano was there to place the flag on the summit.
And then, it was over. The musicians put down their instruments and were “at ease.” But Jacob just sat there, his hand still gripping on his son’s shirt.
The conductor gave them five minutes before they would start again. Philip looked at his father but didn’t say a word. He simply admired the man’s face. It wasn’t empty, but didn’t seem overwhelmed; it wasn’t sad, but it didn’t seem overjoyed either. He just seemed calm and reflective.
Philip thought it was a beautiful sight. No words needed. The younger man glanced behind his shoulder and saw Brenda in the back standing next to the back curtain, he gestured her over.
She came about the two and looked at them curiously before placing a hand on her father’s shoulder.
“Hi Dad, ready to go?”
Jacob didn’t move. Brenda was about to say something, but Philip caught her attention and asked her to let him be.
Finally Jacob removed his hand from Philip’s shoulder and gave him a pat on the back. He leaned into Philip and said five unexpected words: “Where is your friend, Steve?”
“He’s right here, Pop, next to me.”
Jacob extended his hand across Philip’s chest toward Steve. Philip nudged his friend to get his attention. “Yes sir?” Steve asked.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you and the boys.”
Steve took Jacob’s hand for a firm shake. “Anytime, Mr. Beck. Anytime.”
Jacob stood up and extended his cane. “Philip, I would like to say thank you to your conductor.”
Philip put his trombone on his stand and stood up. “Sure, Pop. Let’s go real quick.”
Philip took his father to the front of the pit. The conductor saw them, and put down his baton to greet them.
“Philip, this must be your father,” the conductor put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder and placed the other in Jacob’s grasp. “I have heard much about you sir.”
“You were kind to allow me here.”
“My pleasure. Did you enjoy the rehearsal?”
“It was beautiful.”
“Your son did well?”
Jacob looked at his son. “He’s a fine musician.”
“Good, good.”
Jacob said his goodbye, and as he and Brenda made their way out of the hall, Philip was left to return to his seat and concentrate on the music once again.
When Philip returned home, he noticed Brenda’s car was no longer in the driveway. It was late and that was not unexpected.
What was unexpected was something he heard when he entered the house.
No longer was there silence, just a little bit of off-key humming.
To the seasoned musician, the melody was brilliant.
END
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Special thanks to seattlecsifan for her suggestions and beta-ing. You're the best!. And to George Gershwin for his timeless piece.