Honey (Shooting Stars 4)

One night in late May, a particularly warm one, we decided to go swimming. It was an impulsive and exciting decision, because we were going to skinnydip. I brought out two large towels for us, and under a moonless sky with many stars throwing down a silvery rain of light, we undressed with our backs to each other and then waded in and dove down, crying out in both pleasure and shock. We embraced and kissed, feeling our naked bodies touch in the water. He kissed my breasts and held me as we listened to the symphony around us: the peepers, the frogs, an owl inserting its inquisitive "Who? Who? Who?"

Afterward, wrapped in the towels, we held each other and kissed again. We came the closest to doing the most intimate act of love. Despite burying my childhood fears and driving the demons from our lives after Grandad's passing, I couldn't stop imagining his face glowing in the darkness, his eyes like the tips of candlelight, watching us.

I buried my face in Chandler's chest and made him stop. He held me tightly.

"Not vet," I said. "Not here."

"Okay. I love you. though, Honey. I don't want to do this with anyone else."

"Me neither," I admitted.

I knew that it would be wonderful. but I couldn't help being afraid that, once we did it, once the mystery and the longing was gone, we might lose interest in each other. Chandler continually promised that would never be. but I was afraid of promises. The sun always promised the flowers it would be there for them, but gray days came and so did long, hard rains, washing away the soil. A promise is just a hope. I thought, and a hope is a plan, a dream for the future. It needs much more to make it work, to make it grow. It needs the same tender loving care Uncle Simon gave his seedlings and his plants.

Were -we ready to make such a commitment to each other? I wondered. What would happen to us once -we were separated by great distance?

It made me hesitate, and hope that my hesitation wouldn't discourage Chandler too much and give him doubts about my l

ove for him and his own love for me. Meanwhile, the music continued to bind us, to weave itself around and through us, sewing us together in ways other people couldn't even imagine. Sometimes, I had the feeling we were making love through our music, touching each other very intimately. Mr. Wengrow seemed to feel it, too, and often looked embarrassed by just being there between us, near us.

"I've given you both all that I have," he finally decided. "It's time for you to go out and grow with people far more equipped than I am."

He learned that there was just one more opening at the Senetsky School, and I would be competing with three other prime candidates for it. I was scheduled to audition early in the afternoon on the first Saturday in June. Daddy and Mommy were going to fly to New York with me the day before. I thought it would be a very expensive gamble, and then I wondered how we would pay for my tuition if I should be fortunate enough to be selected. Daddy surprised me with a revelation.

"Your grandad was truly one of the most successful farmers in Ohio. Honey. He wasn't exactly a miser, but he was pretty frugal, as you know. He didn't live or run this farm as if it was successful. He ran everything as if we were on the verge of bankruptcy.

"The truth is. I never knew exactly how much money he had, we had. He liked keeping me in the dark about it. I guess. After the funeral, we met with Mr. Ruderman, Grandad's accountant, and learned about the trust funds.

"The truth is," Daddy said, flashing a smile at Mommy, who was smiling already, "we're probably richer than your boyfriend's family. So don't worry about the money. Worry about the music!"

I did as he suggested, honing my skill with the violin. Getting into this school, winning approval from someone outside of my circle of family and friends had become paramount. It would truly give me the wings I needed to fly off and become whatever I was capable of becoming. The adventure, the risk, all the excitement filled my days and nights with tons of impatience.

Finally, the day came. We were packed and ready to drive to the airport. Just before we left. I went over to say good-bye to Uncle Simon. He was organizing his new flower beds, planning his nursery,

"We're ready to go," I announced. "I'm so nervous, I can barely walk."

He looked at me, and then he bent down and picked up what looked at first like just an ordinary washcloth,

"This is for you," he said, and I carefully opened the fold to see a tiny white carnation.

"It's a flower famous for bringing good luck," he said.

Uncle Simon knew all the symbolism for all his flowers. How Grandad could have ever believed him to be ignorant was beyond my understanding. It was what he had expected because of the sin. I thought, but how unfair and how untrue.

"Thank you. Uncle Simon. I'll keep it close to me," I said. "I'll press it between the pages of my music."

He smiled and I stood on my toes to kiss him goodbye.

He seized my hand unexpectedly as I turned to leave. I looked back at him.

"When you make your music," he said, "think of my flowers. Think you're playing for them."

"I will. Oh. I will. Uncle Simon, Forever."

I ran to join Mommy and Daddy and soon after we drove to the airport.

All three of us were like children entering a toy store when we landed in New York and were driven into the city. It was dark by then and the lights were overwhelming. It was one thing to see it in movies and on television, but a far different and deeper experience to actually be there, to be gazing up at skyscrapers, to see the bridges lit, to hear and see the traffic and the endless stream of people.

Our hotel suite was comfortable-- and high enough up to give us a breathtaking view of Manhattan. We were all too excited to fall asleep and watched television almost until midnight. My appointment at the theater in which I was to audition wasn't until eleven. Daddy had planned it out so we would fly back on an early afternoon flight. I trembled, wondering if we would fly back with hope or defeat in our eyes.