30 Short Chapters about David Litton
an excerpt

1980

“That sounds good. Bach, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Goldberg variations. And you are?”
“David Litton. Hi,” he said. “But don’t the grace notes go kinda like this?” he asked, reaching over to the battered upright and playing the figure on another part of the keyboard.
“Yes,” she said, “but only when Glenn Gould does it. Not when I do it. Or hardly anyone else. And not in that key. It’s Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer Romano,” she smirked.
“Oh, hi. Well, I was only playing it over there because you were over here.”
Jennifer nodded at this and started playing the Bach piece again, doing the grace notes a bit pointedly, it seemed to David. “You new here?” she asked.
“Well, yeah, I’m a freshman.”
“So am I. But that’s not what I meant. Are you new to this school system? Most of the others in band seem to know each other. You’re a bit of a loner, aren’t you?”
David frowned a bit. “Not really. But yeah, I’m new to the school system. I was in private school, but my parents, well, my Dad, mainly, wanted a lake house, so they asked me if I minded going to public school between now and college to save money. They checked it out. Lee is a good school, with college prep classes and all.”
“I’m new here myself. My Dad just retired from the Navy and got a job at the shipyard. And I’m here because this is the public school where we live. I can’t say we ever considered the private ones.”
David flushed a bit. “Sorry. Don’t mean it that way. My parents just – you know how it is.”
“Yeah, I think so.” She modulated the Bach into some Billy Joel, and stopped altogether. “You play much piano?”
“A bit. I took some lessons from Mrs. Hallman, but haven’t been doing it lately. I got back to taking clarinet lessons from a professor over at Woods college.”
“I wish I could drop the piano lessons, frankly. I’m taking some French horn lessons from our band director. He’s a trumpet player at heart, but I guess he’s doing all right. I’m learning some things.”
“Why can’t you drop the piano lessons?”
“My parents won’t let me. I guess it’s for my own good. We’re Italian. We’re supposed to make music. Right?”
“I don’t know what I am. All my family seems to make is money.”
Jennifer cocked an eyebrow at him. “You almost sound down about that.”
“Oh, we rich kids are supposed to have angst,” he smirked.
Jennifer closed the lid on the piano. “Well, come on, Lake House. We’re supposed to be getting out to the field for band practice.”