Love, Peace & Joy: 3 Short Stories Page 3

  "Hey Ms. Noelle's sister! What chu doin' here, Tish? Where's Skyler? She comin'?"

  Lanky Langston, or LL as he was called, weaved in and out between the metal second hand desks, chairs, tables and instrument cases combing his hair and pulling up his jeans that threatened to expose his Ralph Lauren boxers.

  "Ms. Noelle's sister, can you make Jonathan stop pulling my hair?"

  Thirteen year old Natalie flounced around the octagonal shaped church auditorium taking full advantage of the opportunity to model her new lime green t-shirt and neon pink skirt. Her glossy auburn ringlets bounced in rhythm with the swishing lime fringed ruffles on her skirt as she made one last twirl before taking a seat.

  "I'm sitting next to you, Abbie!"

  Abbie moved over on the small bench to ensure that Natalie had ample room leaving her more than half the bench space. She was shocked that Natalie even knew her name. She dared not respond for fear she'd say something lame; she rewarded her clasped hands with her devoted attention.

  "I don't need all this space, Abbie. Slide over, why don't cha?"

  Natalie sneaked a peak at Ms. Noelle's sister before slyly slipping Abbie one valued pink and happy to share two green starbursts.

  If one more of these kids call me Ms. Noelle's sister, I just might show them the difference between me and Noelle. They're going to find out soon enough.

  I can't believe I let the golden girl talk me into this. Dealing with hood rats five days a week is more than enough. Saturday and Sunday give me just enough down time to regroup and prepare for another round of high school music lessons and afterschool practice sessions. I'm not even ready for the school's holiday orchestra concert, how does Noelle expect me to have time to work with her and these kids on a Christmas play--and for church of all things? (I won't tell you and can't even remember the last time I sat in a church pew).

  I have to admit I was stupid enough to let my older sister--older as by five years--talk me into helping her out with her church's annual Christmas program. The Youth Pastor who usually works with her on the yearly production was called out of town for a family emergency and she was stuck. After listening to Noelle beg and plead for two weeks, I caved. When she told me yesterday I also had to work with Maxwell Stewart, the church's Minister of Music, I told her there was no way in hell I would work with him! Ooops. Now you see why church doors lock when I walk by. Seriously, I’m telling it like I see it.

  The Maxwell Stewart is the cockiest, most arrogant person I know. In my opinion, not that it's worth much in most circles, he gives Kanye West a run for his money. He's on a mission to prove himself as the greatest musician in the city and based on my experience with him two years ago at the annual Greater Hartford Spring Music Festival, the man is good. He might even be great but I don't want to work with him. He's relentless. Nothing is worth that much effort. His rehearsals were two and a half hours long; five rehearsals. Do you know how many episodes of 'Dancing with the Stars' I could watch in twelve-plus hours? No excuses; every note had to be perfect and synchronized. He might as well had posted a sign in his festival recruitment ads: 'Novices Not Needed! Stay Home’!

  As I knew she would, Noelle twisted my arm to make me reconsider. She’d been counting on me and if I didn't follow through, the church and more importantly, the kids, would not have their traditional Christmas program. I felt like telling her 'Bah, humbug.’ This she expected of me. I refused to give her the satisfaction so I shut my mouth and listened.

  Finally, in desperation, she resorted to bribery. Big sis knew I didn't want to go home for Christmas and would find some kind of excuse to back out of the Twinkle family’s obligation to make it home for the holiday festivities. The commitment that I annually violated. The last minute cancellation was never a surprise to my parents and the rest of the family. And I know it's the ammunition they need every year to gripe and commiserate about poor Joy and how I need to get a life. That translates to 'I need a man’. And by the way, I don't need a man. And I'm not implying there's a massive, macho throng of men outside my apartment serenading me. Truthfully, there’s not even one.

  I digressed. Bottom line: I surrendered when Noelle agreed to buy me a plane ticket home for the holidays. No one knew it, but this year, I was thinking that I might just make the trip home. Don't ask me why ‘cause I don't know myself. But her bribe would come in handy. She'll be shocked when I cash in on her offer.

  So here I am. Saturday morning with a bunch of kids--by myself. Noelle is late; nothing unusual. Stewart is nowhere to be found. Based on his reputation, I'm not surprised he's late. A few of the kids are in the Hartford High School band that I direct; others know me from their time in detention at HHS. Most of them are strangers to me but of course as you can see, they know me already. I'm Ms. Noelle's sister.

  I'm not making a move without Noelle or Stewart. This is their party, not mine. Just as I pull out my cell phone to blast Noelle a blistering text reminding her of where she's supposed to be, she strolls in and guess with whom. You got it. Golden girl Noelle-Starbucks in hand- and super star Maxwell Stewart dressed to impress, even on a Saturday morning. My favorite Saturday morning, ‘It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,’ sweatshirt and faded but comfy bargain basement jeans screamed: misfit.

  "Hey, kids! Hi everybody! How you doin' Joy? Brought you a cinnamon spiced latte, sweet sister. Do you know Maxwell? Sorry we're late guys."

  She handed me her peace offering, a latte accompanied by a hug to my stiff, solid 5'10 frame. Maxwell's vehement head shake (how dare he not remember me?) and wimpy, clammy handshake caused me to wonder how he managed his masterful wielding of the baton when conducting. The kids all took their seats and sat at attention in awe of their queen.

  Need I say more about Golden Girl?

  *********

  When I arrived the following Saturday, Noelle stood in the center of the room. She'd just finished her welcome and opening prayer. My thank you sister coffee sat at the side table near the keyboard; my assumed work station. I walked over nodding my head in greeting. Minister of Music Stewart was nowhere to be found. With his trifling butt.

  I keep telling myself I need to soften up--just a little bit. After all, we’re practicing in a church building. Not that I’m a hard core believer but I’m not taking any chances that Karma might bite me for my less than holy thoughts. I sip my coffee and try really hard not to compare myself to my sister; a process that always results in a whopping 'F' for me. I fail in my attempt to master the Thou shalt not compare thyself to others--ooops, not others--my sister.

  I've never been in a room with Noelle where she’s not center stage. She commands attention. It's hers without her asking. I've adjusted to the scenario. Que sera, sera. I learned early on why. She embodies the characteristics of a queen. Oh, okay, maybe a princess.

  She stands barely 5 feet tall. (Remember, I'm 5 feet 10 inches). Noelle clearly represents my father's side of the family. The Twinkles have clear olive skin, wavy ash brown hair and bright green eyes that twinkle –pun intended. When she smiles, her lips suggest a sizzling smooch. Still unmarried, she has a semiofficial list of suiters.

  If you hadn’t yet guessed, I have no choice but to claim the Lansings. I look like my maternal grandmother. I have deep cocoa colored complexion and thick, ebony tightly curled hair. While I detest my rounded curvy hips, I've been told they, along with my mite size waist, and longer than long, well defined legs cast quite a few spells. Granted all that stuff in my trunk also captivates its share of pop-eyed miscreants and verbose innuendo. So I decided years ago to cover the stuff up! Sweat shirts and oversized everything works for me.

  The good thing is my parents cannot deny either of us if they ever tried and they never have. I am a Lansing and Noelle, a Twinkle. That settles it.

  And twinkle she does. She flitters like the good fairy with her gold toned wand. Wherever she lands, she captures hearts. Even now, I sit in my own little corner much like Cinderella in her wicked step mother’s desi
gnated chair. My sister is daintily perched on the edge of a tall stool singing “The First Noel”, the play's opening carol.

  She points to the guideline that she distributed at the end of last rehearsal reminding the kids to follow along. LL straddles his seat tapping his snare drums to the beat.

  I sip my coffee and wonder why I’m here. I notice Maxwell Stewart peering at me from across the room as though asking the same question. I look away but find myself taking a second glance. Why is he still looking at me?

  *********

  The next two weeks move quickly. Noelle and I exchange a few texts in between rehearsals. This week she needs me to take a more active role now that she assigned the music and speaking parts. She wants me to work with the kids on the instrumental interludes before Maxwell assumes his official role as director. This morning, she sends me a text.

  Apparently Mr. Stewart expects a status report from me. I call her immediately.

  “What’s this about a report, Noelle? What kind of report?”

  “Well hello to you too, sister dear.”

  There she goes again with that sugary syrupy dripping tone. I wish she’d say what she means. In this case, “I know Mama and Daddy raised you better than that. What’s up with you gurl? I’m your sister! You could at least greet me with a hello.”

  She ignores my silence and continues as though I’d chimed, “Hey sister dear!

  For the life of me, I don’t know why I didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  “Joy, all Maxwell wants is your assessment of how things are going with the music, section by section and whether and how many of the kids, if any, need one on one attention. That way he can plan to make himself available if a bunch of the kids need help. He doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed with the project and is more than willing to step in and assist. If you want, that is.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Joyeaux! What is that supposed to mean?”

  There she goes with that Joyeaux! She knows I hate my legal name. I guess I’m supposed to be intimidated now and back down from this little confrontation.

  “I don’t want to hear that crap, Noelle. Stewart might have you fooled but I know the dude. I’ve worked with him before. He’s mean and could not care less about me and these kids.”

  “That is not true, Joy. Maxwell works with us every year. He loves the kids. He just doesn’t want to step on your toes because he realizes you were pulled in at the last minute and that you’re only bailing us out because you’re my sister.”

  “All I know is it was a nightmare to work with him on the city music festival. No one could do anything right as far as he was concerned. The man is a perfectionist.” I didn’t quite regret my outburst but hoped my tone wasn’t as venomous as it sounded.

  My sister responded with her big sis sigh, “Joy, I just don’t get you sometime. No one is more of a perfectionist than you. That’s one of the reasons Max was so excited when I told him you would help us this year.”

  Stunned as though hit by a Taser, my retort was steam less. “Maxwell is what?”

  “I said Maxwell is excited that you’re working with us. He was so impressed with you last year at the concert—the one you just blasted him to heck and back on. He told me he’s looking forward to working with you again this year.”

  I’m not quite sure if I can handle this last comment. It feels more like an arrow that hit its target dead center.

  “See, this is why I can’t believe you sometimes Noelle. You’re a manipulator if I ever met one; just like Cousin Annie. You’re trying to pacify me so that I don’t walk away from this play of yours and leave you stranded!”

  Another big sister sigh; even bigger than the last. “What are you talking about Joy---Eaux?”

  “Joy---Eaux is right Noelle. You’re the one that’s full of you know what. C’mon. If Maxwell is so impressed with me, why did he deny that he knew me when you introduced us at the first rehearsal?”

  Noelle giggled, “Gurl, he didn’t want to embarrass himself. I asked him the same question. He said you acted as though you didn’t know who he was so he pretended he didn’t remember you.”

  “I don’t believe you Noelle! You’re such a liar. Stop it. You don’t have to go there with me alright? I’ll prepare the darn update for him.”

  “You know what Joyeaux Merri Twinkle? You can believe this or not, but Max is the one who suggested I ask you to help us out when Mrs. Banks cancelled on us.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “And you need to come up with something better than, ’Yeah right.’ For a college educated woman, you can sound quite….”

  Uh oh, Golden Girl is mad now. I know her. If I keep pushing…note, I’m quite capable of twisting the knife, she’ll be cursing like my Aunt Teena; the one who usually has cursed everyone out including my mother, her sister, and a few more before the end of any family gathering.

  “Alright already. I believe you---I guess.”

  A third big sister sigh…followed by two consecutive sighs. I refuse to apologize because Noelle should have told me some of this stuff. She always has to be right.

  “You know what Joy? I’m done. You said you would call him... I have a million other things to do to pull this play together. I have an appointment with the Women’s Ministry to discuss costumes. I really don’t have time today. I apologize…”

  Now why is she apologizing? See what I mean? Golden Girl at her best.

  “I’ll do it Noelle! I’ll do it.”

  Silence.

  “Noelle? Noelle? Are you still there?”

  Big sister sigh number four. Uh oh, I’m in serious trouble.

  “What’s wrong now? I said I would do it. Didn’t you hear me? I’ll call him. I hope you’re satisfied.”

  “Joy, I don’t know how to handle this but since you’re carrying on like a friggin' maniac, I guess now is as good a time as ever to tell you…”

  “Yeah. Yeah you better tell me. I don’t want any more surprises. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this anyway. So what else is there? C’mon. C'mon with it!”

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat and continued, "Ummmmm, and don’t get mad at me, okay? But... I think? No, I know. Maxwell kind of likes you.”

  “Noelle, I’m hanging up the phone.”

  And I did.

  *********

  “Hey, Ms. Joy, can you come over when you get a chance? I need your help. My timing may be off. I want to make sure my last note before the sopranos’ a cappella part is correct.”

  “Good point, Abbie! Ms. Joy, I’ve got a question, too. Is the section following the soprano’s allegro or allegrissimo?”

  These are some darn talented kids. They’ve really impressed me these last few weeks. I can’t figure out how they know so much about music. I know they keep me on my toes.

  “Ms. Joy?”

  “Hey! Ms. Joy?”

  When Tisha yanked my hand, I realized I had spaced out making mental notes to share with Maxwell. I want to get that discussion and briefing behind me. With only a few rehearsals left—one, the final dress rehearsal---the kids were just about prepared. I don't need Stewart's help. Neither do they.

  The kids join me in tidying up the rehearsal room without being asked.

  "So Ms. Joy?"

  "Ms. Joy?"

  Anxious, bouncing Abbie grabbed my hand and shoved me a handful of her candy goodies.

  "Abbie, what's wrong with you? Why would you give candy to Ms. Joy?"

  LL lumbered up to the front of the room alongside Abbie, "Ms. Joy, please don't be mad at Abbie. She's our motivator. Whenever someone screws up, oh, excuse me, Ms. Joy. But whenever someone messes up or misses a note--whatever--Abbie consoles us with something from her goody bag.

  LL smiled, "Besides, Ms. Joy are you too old to eat Now and Laters?"

  I froze uncertain how to respond to LL's question.

  I stared at my Now and Laters as though they were Godiva chocolates.

  Noelle had passe
d the responsibility to close out rehearsals to me so I had to say...something.

  "Tell me Tisha, why would you share your goodies with me?"

  "'Cause I want you to know you did a good job Ms. Joy. We sound good--I know we do. And we're all working together. I told my mother and you know what? She said we sound great. She heard us at rehearsal last week."

  "We sound good! We sound good! Thank you Ms. Joy, we sound good!"

  Before the group launched into a repeat of their chant--they circled around me holding hands. After two more melodic rounds, practice ended with an ear shattering Amen!

  I don’t know how Noelle would feel about our closing prayer but it worked for me.

  *********

  My phone rang as I parked my car outside of my apartment. Without looking, I hit the talk button, grabbed my purse and jacket as I set my emergency brake.

  "Hey, Noelle, you're not going to guess what happened tonight?"

  "Ummm, hello Joy or should I say Ms. Twinkle? This is Maxwell."

  I sat frozen despite the less than freezing temperatures outside. It was still much too warm for snow--a concern to many as Christmas approached.

  "Maxwell Stewart, you know? Noelle gave me your number so I could touch base with you on the kids' progress. But I saw for myself tonight. What a great rehearsal."

  Maxwell chuckled, "And we may want to consider incorporating that grand finale into the formal program. What a way to close out. I'm so thankful for your assistance."

  Now what am I supposed to say? I wonder what that sister of mine told him about me. And I'm supposed to be calling him with my report.

  As Maxwell rambled, I'm sure he questioned whether he should have made this call. I wasn't making it easy for him. For some reason, I didn't want to make it hard for him either.