Untouchable (boyxboy)

Chapter 4

 "Let's count this measure together," I say, stopping my student midway through her latest piece. She's eight, loves music, has good expression, but struggles with timing. We work through the counting together, and then she tries again, and this time she gets it. 

"Perfect! That was great, Anita. Do that at home okay? Tap out the rhythm before you play, and we'll see how you do next week."

She nods and smiles, gathers her music books, and runs over to join her mom and sister where they're admiring the violins.

I teach piano in a little music store. The owner, Mr. Aikawa, is a friend of my dad's and lets me use one of the display pianos for my lessons. In return, he stocks the books I use for my students, and I encourage the parents to buy from him. He's even sold a few pianos and keyboards that way.

Anita was my last student for the day, so I wipe down the piano and close it up, gather my own books and stuff them in my messenger bag, and walk over to where Mr. Aikawa is straightening the guitars on their display racks to say goodbye.

"Felix, how's your dad doing?" he asks. "I miss seeing him in here."

My dad used to play guitar in a little band that did covers of classic rock hits, and Mr. Aikawa had played drums.

I'd always loved to see Mr. Aikawa, who looked and dressed like a reserved businessman, going crazy on the set.

"He's okay," I say. "He gets tired easily, and frustrated because he can't do a lot of the stuff he used to enjoy, but otherwise he's doing okay."

Mr. Aikawa shakes his head. He's a little older than my dad, thin, and he keeps his gray hair neatly trimmed. 

"I always told him to quit smoking," he says. "That, and working so hard all the time, I knew it would catch up with him someday. But Bill always had a hard time taking it easy."

"Yeah, he misses work," I agree.

His mouth dips in a frown of sympathy, then he brightens. "Hey, I got something for him though—a little early birthday present. Just got it in yesterday."

He takes me over to the counter, reaches behind it and pulls up a small, black canvas instrument case, a little larger than a violin. He unzips it and opens it to reveal a concert-sized ukulele, engraved with a neat, swirling design.

"He should have fun with this. It's light and easy to play. Here—there's a book that goes with it." He shows me a small manual with basic instructions and a few beginner songs. "Once he gets the hang of it, he'll be a pro in no time. Tell him I'll bring my own over some time and we'll jam together."

"Wow...thank you, Mr. Aikawa. I don't know what to say." I'm not sure how much ukuleles cost, but Mr. Aikawa doesn't deal in cheap instruments. "My dad will love this."

"I hope he does," he says earnestly. "The ukulele is a happy instrument. You tell him to play some happy songs."

I smile. "I'll tell him. Thanks again, Mr. Aikawa."

♯

I'm in a good mood when I leave the store. My dad hasn't played his guitar in almost a year, but I hope that Mr. Aikawa's gift will remind him how much he used to love it. I'm walking down the street towards the bus stop, lost in my own thoughts, when I hear someone call my name.

"Felix! Hey, Felix!" I turn and my heart does a funny leaping thing in my chest, mostly from alarm. Isaac is running after me down the sidewalk, grinning broadly as he catches up. He instantly puts his hand on my shoulder, leaning against me as he makes a show of catching his breath. "Dude, are you deaf or something? I've been calling you for half a block!"

"Isaac, hey. Sorry—I guess I was distracted," I reply, making myself hold still and not back away out of his reach.

He looks up, green-gray eyes sparkling, and I notice he has a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. They blend with his tan skin, but up close they stand out. He's got a sun-kissed, summer love, beautiful boy vibe that makes me feel drab and dull by comparison. I bet he does lots of cool, adventurous stuff and has a million friends.

"Hey, what's wrong? You okay?" he asks, his grin fading.

I clear whatever expression had settled over my face and summon up a smile of my own. "Yeah, just a little tired, I guess. I just finished work. Um, how are you?"

It's been three days since the family visit, and we haven't seen or spoken to each other since.

"I'm good," he says, shrugging. "I was just headed to the beach with some buddies and I saw you. Thought you might wanna come and hang out with us." He raises his brows hopefully.

"Oh, I—" A little war wages inside me. A large part of me wants to say yes, but a bunch of other parts are joining together to say no. The nays win. "I have to get home and make dinner."

Isaac scoffs. "That's no fun. Besides, it's only three."

I feel a little tingle of annoyance. I don't take care of my dad because it's 'fun,' and I have other things I need to do later, like finish the piece I was working on, and start running through my wedding music repertoire. Playing well takes time and practice, and even if I would like to ruin Dylan's big day with a bad rendition of Canon in D, I have my own professional reputation to consider.

"Another time, maybe," I say, and start to turn away. "I gotta go. See you 'round, Isaac."

"Whoa, wait!" He catches my arm. "We're just going down to the pier, and we'll probably only be there an hour. Please? I want you to meet my friends."

"Why?" I ask, perplexed.

"'Cause we're gonna be brothers, man! I want to meet your friends, too."

Admitting that I don't have any friends for him to meet seems like a violation of Dylan's 'Don't Be A Freak,' directive, so I go a different route. 

"Sorry," I say, trying to make my tone cold. "I really don't have the time to spare right now." I pull free of his grip and start walking away.

I figure that should be enough to put anyone off, but he isn't done.

"Felix!" he says, running a few steps to catch up and getting in front of me so I have to stop. "Look...um, I wasn't just passing by. I was waiting for you. Isabelle told me where you work and when you get off. She said you're, uh, 'kind of shy' and not very social, but she really wants us to be friends. I want to get to know you, too. I understand if you're really busy, but if you can just give me an hour, I think you'll have fun. Please?" 

He gives me his best impression of puppy-dog eyes, and it's pretty good.

I'm not sure what to feel. It's like I'm a pawn in some weird political game—Isabelle urging Isaac to get close to me, and Dylan warning me to stay away. I wonder if there's any room in the equation for what I want.

Finally, I take a breath and nod, defeated by his undaunted persistence. His face lights up like the sun and I can't help returning his smile. At the same time, I feel a seed of apprehension sprout in my chest, and I wonder just how dangerous this game will turn out to be.