Jazz Comma

“You sure you don’t want me to stay, Poppa?”

Jona shakes his head. “It’s getting late, and you know your Gram would fuss at me if I kept you from studying.”

“But I brought my books and my laptop. I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“My sweet Angelina. Don’t worry about me, Grace keeps me company. Come back tomorrow if you want.”

Angelina glances back at the frail figure in the hospital bed, still and silent.

She hugs her grandfather tightly, slings her backpack onto her shoulder, and shuts the door softly behind her. Through room 203’s window she sees Jona has already resumed his place by Grace’s bed. He is leaning toward his wife, holding her hand, and his lips are moving.

***

“Angelina’s so bright,” Jona is saying. “She’s ambitious, like her mom, but not as stubborn—thank goodness. Ever since Sara could stand up she never let anything stand in her way, remember?”

 All those fights. We always put you in the middle.

 “Sara was so serious in college. Always busy. Double major this, chairperson that, organize the other thing. I hope Angelina is letting herself have more fun.” Jona snorts. “Just not as much fun as I had, right?”

 Third generation finds a happy medium.  

 “First three years was the wildest time of my life. Road trips, music festivals, crazy dates, parties, oh, so many parties. What a blur.” Jona bows his head a moment. “I guess I must have studied sometime, because I made it to senior year. I wonder, did I sober up just in time to meet you? Or did I straighten out because of you? Both?”

Meanwhile, I was just plodding along through college, going to classes and the library and not much else. I had top grades, the professors loved me … but I was lonely. Jona, I was so lonely.

“The real turning point was music appreciation class. It was such a big class, thank goodness we got assigned to the same listening group or we might never have met. That’s when I saw you for the first time.”

 I saw you the moment you walked into class. Strutted into class. I sat behind you so I could stare at the back of your curly head. You think meeting me was a coincidence? I was the teaching assistant in charge of assigning the groups.

 “I was such a troublemaker in that group. But I think that was the first class where I actually learned something—and discovered I actually liked learning--thanks to you.”

You made that class so much fun. Of course, you needed a little extra help with the homework, and I was happy to volunteer.

 “That night I came over to your dorm room to study for the midterm, and we ended up talking all night … just talking. Totally new thing for me."

What was new for me was being listened to. By a boy, a boy I liked. You saw me. You heard me.

"I spent the whole next day thinking about you."

I spent every day thinking about you.

"And then ..."

And then the jazz festival.

"Every time I started getting into the music I got embarrassed that one of my hard rock buddies might see me, and start calling me Jona the Jazz Hands."

Until I pointed out that if any of your buddies were there, they must have chosen jazz as their final project too.

"We sat side by side on the grassy hill, so far from the bandshell we could barely see the players, but we could still hear every note. I remember thinking it was the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen, and also that I wish I'd brought a blanket. The grass was a little damp."

You spread your jacket on the grass for me to sit on so my shorts wouldn't get stained.

"At that point we hadn't ever talked about how we felt. We could talk all night, but we couldn't talk. We were sitting side by side and I kept thinking how easy it would be just to lean over and kiss you--but something kept holding me back. Maybe it was all the girls I'd dated, all the stuff I said and did that I wished I could take back ...."

Our hands were resting on the ground, so close together. Just a few blades of grass between us. I had to cross that bridge. I had to.

I felt a touch, the lightest touch. Your pinky finger just barely brushed against mine. Like a feather landing in a desert.

You were so still, I thought you hadn’t noticed. Then you tilted your head toward me, just the tiniest bit, and you closed your eyes.

I closed my eyes so I could listen to your touch.

We just sat like that for the longest time. I was so thankful you didn’t pull away. I could barely breathe. I wished for a drum solo so you wouldn't hear the beating of my heart.

I remember it was this moody jazz piece. The saxophone started in on a swirly solo that called out the stars, one by one."

And then I felt you curl your pinky finger around mine.

"There was a crescendo, a wave of notes, and it swept my finger up and over yours. Not holding hands, just making a comma."

The most natural feeling in the world. But cataclysmic. Just crossed pinky fingers on the damp grass surrounded by jazz notes like fireflies, that’s all.

My whole being, your whole being, linked in our pinky fingers.

It was the slightest thing, and it was everything. 

"It was such a tiny thing, and it was everything." Jona links his pinky finger with hers. "It still is."