The Soundtrack of My Summer

THE SOUNDTRACK OF MY SUMMER



“Hey Tif, what do you think that one looks like?” Jim whispered in an attempted not to break the peaceful silence that enveloped them like a warm blanket. He and Tiffany laid beneath a big oak tree in central park, and although the noise of the Big Apple surrounded them nothing penetrated their world. A world in which there was no war, no famine, and most importantly summer vacation wasn’t going to end in a week.

Tiffany looked from the sky to Jim. Maybe it was something in his voice, but his question didn’t sound like a question about clouds.

“A caged bird. It’s caged, but not defeated.” Tiffany sighed. “Don’t worry fruitcake. We’ll soar free again, and if we can’t we’ll make everybody else miserable.”

Jim glanced at Tiffany from the corner of his eyes, and for a few seconds, met her intense gaze. He knew those eyes. They could change from lime green, to jade, to this intense Forest green in an instant. Even as he turned away, Tiffany continued to stare.

“I know I’m sexy, but I don’t swing that way.” Jim wore a pleased smirk.

“Heh.” Tiffany snorted.

Moments like these were all they needed.

They stayed in their impenetrable world a moment longer, letting it slip away into nothingness, like the dimming of a note at the end of a melody. And as they came off of the high, the sounds of the city bombarded them. They took a moment longer to muse, and then picked themselves up to prepare for the day ahead. They spent it browsing for comic books, eating ice cream and singing obnoxiously loud in the middle of the street. Then it was time to go home, to part ways, with the promise that they would see each other again.
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Tiffany entered her house hesitantly. There was no one there. No one hiding in the shadows. Ready to yell at her.

“Dad’s on business trip, Mom’s out partying it up.” Tiffany thought as she smoothly slid onto the black leather couch; it took up most of the living room.

Nothing would ever make them WANT to stay with her. No matter what she did, no matter how many awards she won, no matter how much praise she got, it wasn’t good enough for her parents. It wasn’t enough.

“Oh, Ms. Wayne, congratulations on another wonderful concert. Ms. Wayne you’ve sold out again.” Tiffany said in a sickly sweet voice.” Oh Ms. Wayne I’ve never heard any one play the Violin like you do.”

“Nothings ever good enough”, Tiffany whisper was harsh and shuttered. She took several deep breaths, she calmed herself, but her mind was still racing. She wished Jim had a phone, she needed him right now. Well, she would have to get him one. She needed him.
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Jim woke that morning early, early enough that rosters looked at him oddly. He slipped on a pair of tight black jeans that let everyone know exactly what he was packing, they were his favorite, but Tiffany swore they had “JAILBAIT!” written all over them. He snorted, this coming from the teen dressed like she was from an American Girl porno. He threw on a wife beater and ran out the door, his back pack slung over one shoulder, like hell was on his heels. He didn’t bother with the elevator; it was a piece of junk. He didn’t think it actually went past the third floor any more. He raced down the stairs, tripping several times, just to run head first into Tiffany.

“Why, if it isn’t Fruitcake, just the boy I was looking for. Ready to paint the town red”, Tiffany said pleasantly. She picked herself up with help from Jailbait, and dusted the white button up and blue plaid skirt she was wearing off. It was a catholic school uniform; not that they went to a catholic school, but it was sluttish, and it would piss her dad off when he got back tonight. At least then he’d notice he had a daughter.

Jim looked Tiffany up and down “Tif, not that it doesn’t work for you, but ya might attract some unwanted attention.”

Tiffany looked at him skeptically before smiling and replying “There’s a type of attention that’s unwanted?”

Jim laughed and rolled his eyes. By now he should have expected this from his less than conservative friend, but her wiliness to waltz around in something close to bikini was getting ridiculous.

“Right, whatever, let’s just spilt. I wanna catch the bus before the morning crowd does”, Jim yelled as he sprinted out the door.

“Wait up. You shouldn’t even be able to run that fast in those”, Tiffany yelled after him.


The finer part of Jim and Tiffany’s bus ride was spent sleeping, and waking up every few seconds to check if the still had their cloths on.

After avoiding getting trampled by the morning rush the two teens sprinted towards their intended destination. It was a cozy looking music store tucked in what used to be a vacant lot stuck between two project buildings. Even though it was a horrible neighborhood no one ever broke in. It wasn’t because the respected Mr. Ritz, the man who owned the shop, it was quite the opposite. But they did respect the shiny shotgun that sat right behind the counter.

The two ran into the shop laughing and sweaty. Mr. Ritz came from out the back as Jim and Tiffany were, trying to, catch their breath.

Jim looked up from where he was currently sitting on the floor. “Mr. Ritz what a pleasant surprise. We’re here to complete our community service for school, and because God hates us, we got stuck with you.”

“If you two are done, I have a new shipment of brass instruments that need polishing for display,” Mr. Ritz said gruffly. “and I assure you, the feeling of dread is mutual.” If you had met him on the street you wouldn’t be surprised if he said music was for sissy boys and went on to rave about war and children to day.

After a few hours of relentlessly polishing and tuning instruments they took a break from their volunteer duties. Jim ran to the polish shop a few blocks down while Tiffany pulled out her violin, and Jim’s flute, it was a birthday present from Tiffany with the letters B.F.F. inlayed into it.

Jim came back with their food and they prepared to play. Tiffany sat in a position that would be highly discouraged by her teachers, but it never effected her laying so she got away with. Jim chose to sit on the floor, leaning on the chair Tiffany occupied.

Their song was a tribute to their childhood. Before Jim’s father left him, and before Mr. Wayne realized how much money he could make off of his little girl.

“I knew I would find you in this…place.” It was Tiffany’s father.

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Way…Dad.” She had called him Mr. Wayne in public for so long sometimes she forgot he was her father.

“You’ve skipped out on your lessons one to many times, and seeing how your mother isn’t enforcing them I’ve came home early to make sure you do”, Jeremy Wayne stated matter-a-factly. Though he failed to notice that his daughter was no where close to listening to him and was instead talking to Mr. Ritz about what type of bow she should use on her violin for her up-coming concert.

“I’m talking to you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re coming with me. Now.” Wayne threatened, choosing to ignore the fact that Jim and Tiffany started laughing when he said “coming”.

Tiffany bid her brother farewell and hopped into the backseat of their car, hoping against hope that her father would not try to make conversation.

Hope apparently hated her.

“Tiffany Ophelia Wayne, I want to let you know that I am the adult here and your manager so you’ll do as I say or you won’t be able to see that boy.” Wayne said.

“He forgot father…”

“Mr. Way…Dad,” Tiffany said. “Why did you make me leave? I haven’t done anything wrong. I know I haven’t.”

Mr. Wayne ignored her last question and chose one he knew they’d be one equal footing about. “Why are you wearing those whore cloths, and where did you get it from?”

“I’m wearing it because I knew you wouldn’t like it, and I got it out YOUR role-play box. Daddy, I never knew you were such a naughty boy”, Tiffany said with a toothy grin, but in her head she wasn’t nearly as confident.

She skipped into her house and sat own the couch she’d occupied the prior night. Her father came in after her, and he looked pissed. So maybe that was the wrong choice of words, she couldn’t take it back now.

“Dad, may I know why you made me leave?” Tiffany hadn’t spoken with her father this long since, well…ever. She refused to believe that her childhood was apart of this time line. She refused to believe this man was her dad.

“You’ll be practicing from now until the concert. You’re not leaving this house.” Mr. Wayne announced.

“But, I can’t. Jim would have to make up both of our hours, and he can’t afford to stay out late.”

“I don’t give a damn about James; this is your career on the line.”

“Maybe I don’t want this career. Maybe I’m tired of my own father using me.” Her voice had gathered steel and her eyes became guarded.

“You’ll do as I say and you’ll train.” He ignored her. He always ignored her.

“Dad, what do I have to do, short of shoving my birth certificate down your throat, to make you realize you have a daughter?”

“Practice.”

“Dad, I’m ready. I know I am.”

“Do as I say.”

There was silence. “… You don’t love me anymore.”

Any walls that Jeremy Wayne had built crumbled in that instant. No. No…he still loved his little girl, but before he could tell her, comfort her, apologize to her, she was gone.

She ran, she ran like hell, she ran as if he was her last life line, he most likely was. She was sure if one of them were to die today the other would off them-self with weeks, just on principle. It was 10 blocks to Mr. Ritz’s shop from her home. She ran all of them. In 6 minutes. She ran through the shop door and into her best friend, no, her brother’s arms. He knew what had happened. Rather it was from the blood shot eyes or the simple fact that he was Jim, she didn’t know. But she knew she wanted him to hold her, to tell her everything was all right; even when it wasn’t, even when it never would be, and that was ok. She would go home tomorrow, her father would be on another business trip, like he did whenever he screwed up, and she would run the streets another day, and that was fine.