The next morning I overslept, and rushed upstairs to have a quick Cheerios breakfast before school started. Grandpa and Grandma were still sleeping, so I quietly packed my lunch and got ready. It was a long four-block walk to school, and I wanted to get there early to show my new saxophone to the band teacher, Mr. Leonard. He told me I could try out for band whenever I felt like it. Cleo was too big to carry all by myself, so I had to think of another way to get her to school. I dug around in the closet for my old skateboard, undid the laces from my tennis shoes, and tied the skateboard to the bottom of the saxophone case. Then I used one of Grandpa's old belts, and tied it around the handle. This way I could pull Cleo fairly easily without having to carry her. And I was off!!
The red slate sidewalks in our neighborhood were bumpy and uneven, so my skate-o-phone contraption bounced along like a rollercoaster. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk. When we got to an intersection, I would carry Cleo across, then start rolling again. At the corner of Pearl and Exposition, across the street from school, there was a bus stop, a dry cleaner, and a newsstand. I stopped at the newsstand to buy some Bubble Yum Grape Chewing Gum to share with Louie and Robbie during our boring science class together. As I paid for it, I noticed the cover of the Denver Post. There was a big front page picture of Mary Ryan, the girl I dreamt about. She was smiling, and all covered up in a blanket. In the background were some police cars, and a tired looking couple who must have been her parents. The headline said, "Missing Girl Found Six Days Later. Story on page 3." I picked up the paper and turned to page three. This is what I read:
"Mary Ryan, the seven year old girl who had been reported missing for six days was returned safely to her parents early this morning. Police made a late night raid on the Elkhorn Lodge in Kittridge, Colorado, following a tip from an anonymous caller. According to police reports, the caller stated that he possessed information that could be useful to the police. He stated that his grandson reported seeing the little girl at the Elkhorn Lodge, located eighty-five miles west of Denver. Summit County police were dispatched to the scene to investigate, and found the girl unharmed in a barn behind the lodge. The police officers waited with the girl until her kidnappers returned, and made the surprise arrests. Earl McKlugh, 27, of Littleton, and Roger Hopkins, 32, of Castle Rock, were immediately charged with kidnapping, possesion of illegal firearms, and auto theft . The men were found carrying weapons, and driving a stolen late model sedan. The are currently awaiting trial at Denver County Jail. Upon questioning, the two men appeared stunned and bewildered. "How did they know we were here?" asked McKlugh. "No one ever comes up here." Police Chief Lt. Warren Miller was reluctant to provide further details, stating only, "The whole force has been working on this night and day. It's just strange how things happen sometimes."
So Grandpa called the police! He told them about my dream. I couldn't believe it! I saw her sitting there as clear as day. But how did I know she was there?
The school bell rang, so I grabbed my candy off the counter and pulled Cleo to school. I put her in the bandroom upstairs with the other instruments, and ran to my classroom.
"Junior, you're late. Do you have an excuse?" said Mrs. Harrison as I opened the door.
"No, maam. I'm sorry. I was across the street reading about the Mary Ryan incident." I replied.
"And what are you doing reading the newspaper, young man?" she questioned. "You're much too young for that."
"I feel so terrible about that little girl, Mrs. Harrison," I said. "I'm just glad they caught those bad guys."
"Me too," she smiled. "The next time you want to read the paper, you can borrow one from me after class."
"Thank you, maam," I replied awkwardly. I was so lucky today! Usually Mrs. Harrison gave a pink slip to anyone who was late.
We opened our books, but I wasn't paying much attention. I stared outside at the trees, watching them sway back and forth. I kept thinking about how weird things were. Then I spotted Fat Wayne and his gang roaming around outside. They were sneaking around the bushes.
I'm so bored," said Fat Wayne to his gang. "I ain't going to class today. Let's find something fun to do"
"We could sneak into the library," said Matt.
"And do what?" sneered Fat Wayne. "Read books?"
"Hey, let's play basketball," said Roger.
"No, that's stupid," groaned Fat Wayne. "The gym teacher will be there. They'll catch us for sure."
"Maybe we could see if there's anything in the bandroom," Matt suggested.
"Yeah!" they agreed. No one was in the bandroom this early. The pack slipped quietly through the hallways and up to the bandroom. The bandroom was at the very top of the school in the school tower. From the fourth floor window you could see most of Washington Park, Pearl Street, and even the tall buildings downtown. The room was wide and vast, and chairs were placed in a semi-circle for the band. Mr. Leonard was away in the auditorium teaching choir, so the room was left open.
"Check this out!" yelled Fat Wayne as he banged on the huge copper timpanies. "Cool!"
Roger and Matt were playing with the colored chalk, writing obscenities on the blackboard. They all laughed as Fat Wayne banged away.
"Can you play the tuba too?" they asked.
"Sure I can!" snapped Fat Wayne, who grabbed the enormous instrument off its rack and placed it on his shoulders. He wobbled and swayed a little before regaining his balance. "Watch this."
"Frrrooonnnnkk." The tuba gurgled like an elephant, and the three boys fell on the floor laughing.
"Sounds like a moose," said Roger.
"No, it sounds like your mother," said Fat Wayne.
"No, it sounds like a giant fart!" roared Matt, and they all howled with laughter.
"Hey, let's see if there's anything we can take," said Fat Wayne, putting the tuba down.
"Look at all these boxes," exclaimed Matt.
"Let's open them up," Roger suggested.
"Yeah, let's look for some money," said Fat Wayne, and the boys headed to the instrument rack where the band instruments were stored.
"Look. Here's Tracy Harper's flute," oogled Matt, as he picked up a small black case and read the yellow name tag. "She's in my fourth period class."
"Check this out," said Roger, "Here's a trumpet!"
"Oh shut up," said Fat Wayne, "We're looking for money."
"This is fun," said Matt. "I want to be in the band too."
"You're too stupid," said Roger, as he pulled out another case to open.
"Hey guys, look at this!" squealed Fat Wayne gleefully. He pointed to to an old leather case with a skateboard strapped to it. On the bottom of the skateboard, in magic marker was written: Property of Junior Okabayashi. "It's that lousy chink-butt's instrument! I gonna make him pay. Let's smash it up!"
"Yeah!" they agreed. "Let's smash it!"
Fat Wayne rubbed his hands together anxiously and pulled the case out onto the floor. He bent over and tried to unsnap the brass buckles. He tried again. They wouldn't open. "What is this stupid thing?" he hissed. He kicked the case against the wall, sending the skateboard rolling across the room. It still didn't open.
"Get me a screwdriver!" yelled Fat Wayne. "It's stuck." The two other boys scrambled around the bandroom opening and closing drawers. Finally they found a screwdriver.
"I'll show you, you piece of...." Fat Wayne grabbed the case, and tried to force the buckle open with the screwdriver. Suddenly there was a bright flash. Fat Wayne screamed and flew backwards several feet landing on his back. The hair on his head stuck straight up, and the soles of his shoes were steaming.
"Wow, did you see that?" said Roger hesitantly, prodding Fat Wayne with his foot.
"Jesus, it zapped him," said Matt frightened. "Let's get out of here!" They jumped over Fat Wayne and ran out the doors without looking back.
When Fat Wayne came to, he found himself sitting in the principal's office, aching from head to toe.
"So Wayne, can you explain to me what you were doing in the bandroom on the floor?" said Mr. Reynolds.
"Uh, no. I was just looking around," said Fat Wayne, trying to adjust himself.
"You were looking around the bandroom with a screwdriver in your hand?" Mr. Reynolds asked firmly.
"I dunno," said Fat Wayne, looking down at his feet. The rubber soles on his shoes were charred and black. "I must have fallen down."
"How do you explain the mess in the bandroom then?" demanded Mr. Reynolds. "What about all the open instrument cases? What do you think you were trying to do?"
Fat Wayne was stunned. How did he get here? What happened? "I dunno," he muttered again.
"Well I don't know what else I can do but suspend you indefinitely, Wayne. Do you understand? I'm calling your mother now to pick you up."
"I didn't mean it, Mr. Reynolds," Wayne pleaded, sniffling. His nose still hurt from the time Junior broke it. "I don't know what happened. I think one of those cases zapped me." He started to cry.
"So you admit to opening the instrument cases then," said the principal sharply as he dialed the phone. "Then I have no other choice but to suspend you. I don't know what more I can do with you, Wayne." The principal spoke briefly with Wayne's mother as Fat Wayne was led away to the suspension room.
After third period, I ran up to the bandroom to talk to Mr. Leonard. I wanted to show him my new saxophone. When I arrived, everything was a mess, and Mr. Leonard was busy rearranging chairs and music stands.
"Junior, can you help?" he said when he saw me.
"Sure. What happened?" I asked, and started putting chairs back into place.
"Oh, it was that Wayne kid again," he grumbled. "Apparently, he came in here while I was away and tried to steal some instruments." My heart sunk. What if he had touched Cleo? I would kick his butt. "He didn't take anything though, just made a big mess. Funny thing is, they found him on the floor holding a screwdriver. They think he was playing with the electrical outlet. He had been shocked."
I let out a little giggle. Fat Wayne must have been pretty stupid to play with the electrical outlet. Anyway he deserved it.
When we finished straightening up the bandroom, I told Mr. Leonard about my new saxophone. He knew I wanted to tryout for the band, and encouraged me to audition. Today was the day. I figured if I could make a sound, he would let me into the band. I spotted my case laying on its side in the corner, and ran over to check if Cleo had been touched. Luckily everything was fine. But for some strange reason, my skateboard was on the other side of the room. Fat Wayne must have been playing around with it.
I opened the case and looked down at Cleo. She sparkled and glimmered like a pile of golden coins. When I picked her up and attached all the pieces, I noticed that she was unusually warm. After a few minutes though, I got used to it, and I waited patiently for my turn to play for Mr. Leonard.
"Mr. Leonard, I really want to play the saxophone, but I just started. I can only make a few horrible sounds. Do you want to hear?" I said nervously.
"That's okay, Junior," he reassured me. "Music comes from your heart. Don't be nervous. Just go ahead and play."
I straightened up, took a deep breath, and blew as hard as I could. I was waiting for the cow moan to come out, or maybe the honking horn, but what came out was a long smooth strain of beautiful notes. I just blew and blew, and the notes kept coming out one after the other. I didn't even have to move my fingers. It seemed like Cleo was playing all by herself! I eventually ran out of breath and had to stop. Mr. Leonard bent over and whispered, "Junior, that was fantastic! Where did you learn that piece of music? Do you know what it's called?"
"No sir, I don't."
"You just played the Jitterbug Waltz. That's an old song from the 1920's. Where in the world did you hear that?"
"I don't know," I stammered. "I just played whatever came out."
"What do you mean, you just played whatever came out? That was magnificent! I'm impressed! You're a wonderful musician, Junior. We'd be proud to have you in our orchestra."
"Really?"
"Yes, really, I mean it. You can start tomorrow. I'll put you in the first chair."
"You mean I'm really in?" I asked, astounded.
"Stop fooling yourself, Junior. You were born to play music! We'll see you tomorrow, okay?
"Of course," I said, feeling like I had just conquered the world. I never ever got a chance to be good at anything. Grandpa and Grandma wouldn't let me play football. Louie thought I was a sissy boy. Fat Wayne was always picking on me. But this was different. Mr. Leonard just told me I was a wonderful musician. You were born to play music. Those words hung like sweet apples from a tree. It was a special tree just for me, and the apples were mine to enjoy.
Still, I kept thinking about what had just happened. There was definitely something strange going on. I knew how terrible I sounded yesterday. So it couldn't have been me who played those notes just now. They came out like magical words. I put Cleo back into her case, and sat there for a while staring at my new saxophone, my new friend, wondering what was going to happen next.
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