What I Discovered at Band Camp
Taranwillow4ever
PG-13/R for sexual references
Disclaimer: Joss owns all these characters, and whoever produced American Pie owns their slice of it. I don’t get any compensation. I don’t own anything. I just imagine different lives for his characters.
Setting: This is totally AU with characters from the TV show. Tanglewood is a real place. I have no idea if they have anything like the camp that I created. The amusement park is a real place, it has great rollercoasters and a water park. It's name now is Six Flags New England. When I was a kid it was called Riverside Amusement Park.
Feedback: Please. I love feedback, even just emoji’s as I watch the tickertape, I want to know what people think.
This story came rushing through me after reading Laragh’s newest fic. After the first chapter, I’d imagined several ways that the story could go, and I couldn’t let go of the idea that Tara discovered herself while at Band Camp. I just had to write a story about it.
What I Discovered at Band Camp
I’d been going to Band Camp for the last five years. It actually was Orchestra Camp, but Band Camp sounded better and triggered allusions to American Pie and my favorite actress Alyson Hannigan. I had started going to this camp the summer before I went into seventh grade, and this year, the summer before my Senior year, was the last time I would be attending a special three week camp. I would never have been invited to this camp if the sixth grade music teacher hadn’t suggested that I play the oboe rather than the flute. He had a used oboe. Even though she never told me, I knew that my mom was stressed about the monthly payments on the flute. So I happily agreed to play the oboe. After several months of making the most “God awful sound” according to my older brother, I got rather good and was invited to play with the high school orchestra, as well as, the middle school band.
It was in the middle school Woodwinds class that I met my best friend Willow. She played the flute and sat next to me the first day of classes. Mom, my brother Donny, and I had moved to Sunnydale two weeks before school started. On the first day of school, it felt like everyone knew everyone else. I tried to fade into the woodwork and remain anonymous in my first few classes, but this did not work with Willow. We were in the Woodwinds class and whenever the teacher would start talking to the clarinets, Willow would start asking me questions. She had a lot of questions. I guess I answered them to her satisfaction, because she invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunch. This was a big relief because I was very worried about lunch and had thought that I might just sneak off to the library rather than figure out how to navigate a cafeteria that seemed to have as many people in the whole population of my elementary school.
Willow introduced me to her friends, Buffy, Xander, Oz, Faith and Anya. Later on, Willow told me that she’d been friends with Xander since kindergarten, Oz, Faith and Anya since fourth grade, and that Buffy moved to Sunnydale when they were all in fifth grade. It sounded like the whole group hadn’t gotten to spend time together over the summer because Anya and Faith had to go to their ‘other’ parent’s homes for the summer and Buffy and Oz had gone away to camp. I figured that Willow and Xander must live pretty close to each other because when they were telling the others about their summer, they kept talking about how they’d go over to the other’s house, grab their bikes and spend all of their time at the park or the beach, and hanging out together. Anya seemed to be really happy to be back in Sunnydale but didn’t seem to be excited to be back at school. Faith shared that she’d almost stayed in Massachusetts with her dad, but ultimately decided to come back to live with her mother. It seemed that they were all so excited to see each other. I remember wishing that I could have a group of friends like them. Well, I got my wish. They welcomed me into their group with open arms and I became a member of the Scooby Gang. Willow told me that they called themselves this because all of them really liked the cartoon and they thought that it would be cool to try to hunt ghosts and drive in a cool van.
It was kind of funny, by the time that we were in high school, Oz and his dad had restored a big purple van. As soon as he got his driver’s license, he began picking us all up and driving us to school. We thought about painting “The Mystery Machine” on the side of the van. Oz could have probably gotten away with it, he was relatively popular; however, we called it the Mystery Machine among ourselves, but just called it “Oz’s van” when we were at school. From the first day of sixth grade, to the last day of our Junior year, I never had to worry about who I’d sit with at lunch. If one of us was sitting at a table, we knew that we were welcome to join them.
I suspect that an outsider looking at our group would seriously wonder what was our common denominator. Buffy was a popular cheerleader, Oz was the guitarist of a rock band, Faith was a bad ass Goth chick, Willow a Brainiac geek, me a performing arts girl, and Anya and Xander were “normal”. The common denominator was that we’d become friends in sixth grade, and all got along well and genuinely liked each other.
Willow and I became instant friends after that first day of woodwind class. She didn’t stick with the flute after seventh grade. She was chosen to be part of an accelerated Math and Science class in 8th grade, and she needed to give up one of her electives. She loved computer programming, so band was the one sacrificed. She eventually told me that she’d only kept playing the flute because it guaranteed that we’d have at least one class together in middle school. As we entered high school, we realized that most likely we would always be in the same English and History classes because we were both in Honors/Advanced Placement. Willow was also in Honors/Advanced Placement Math and Science; while I struggled to keep up with the normal math and science. No matter how hard Willow tried to explain Algebra Two and Geometry to me, I struggled. I am sure that her help kept me from getting anything lower than a B minus, but it was never anything higher either. I was a solid B- Math and Science student.
Willow’s parents were frequently out of town because they were some well known public speakers, professors at the UC Sunnydale University. Willow once told me that her mother went all around the world talking about the sociology of parenthood, while her dad’s area of expertise was in how memory and attention in children differed cross culturally. I always thought that it was funny that they both were supposed to be experts in issues having to do with children and they basically neglected their only one for most of her late childhood and adolescence. They always left enough money for Willow to buy food and get what ever she wanted or needed, but I knew that what she wanted and needed some parental interest in her life. However, their absence always allowed for us to spend a lot of time at her house. If we wanted to be on our own and hang without parental supervision, we stayed at Willow’s. If we wanted parental attention, interest and home cooked food, we hung at my house or Buffy’s. Xander, Oz, Faith and Buffy usually chose Buffy’s house; while Willow and I always seemed to prefer Willow’s. Frequently we’d go to Buffy’s and hang until night-time, and then the two of us would go to either my house or Willow’s house to sleep.
If I had to say who of the gang was closest, other than Xander and Willow, they were a given, I’d say that by the second month of middle school, it was Willow and me. We were almost joined at the hip afterschool and on the weekends. My mom frequently said that she felt like she’d gained a second daughter. I don’t know if mom ever noticed, but this always made Willow smile. I could tell that she sometimes wished that she had a mom that always made sure she was eating right, hugged her regularly, and was proud of her accomplishments. I never had a hard time sharing my mom with Willow. I knew she needed it. It was sort of like having a sister, something that I had always wanted. I loved my brother, but he was a guy and he wasn’t always the nicest to me. Not that he beat me up or anything, but he usually just didn’t want to give me the time of day. He had been a big jock in high school and was now in college on a wrestling scholarship. They only time I really had to deal with him was holidays and during the summer. And as I mentioned before, I spent a lot of my summer in various music camps. Donnie and I were pretty much ships that passed in the night and rarely even lowered their flags to acknowledge each other other.
Things started to get a little weird with the Scooby Gang at the beginning of our Junior/11th grade year. Over the summer, while I was at several different music camps, Willow and Oz, and, Xander and Anya began dating. Buffy almost always had a boyfriend since she started high school, and Faith, you never know. She’s admitted to ‘hooking up” with both boys and girls, though it never seemed that she’d be with them too long. We all knew to just let it be and not ask questions. I’d known that Willow had periodic crushes on both of Oz and Xander over the course of our friendships. But she’d always reassured me that they were pals and it would be weird if any of us started dating. Little did she know that when she would wax poetic about either Oz or Xander, it would make my heart hurt a little bit. I didn’t definitely know why I felt that way for a lot of our friendship. I started to get a clue when I’d watch Willow and Oz cuddling up in a corner of the Bronze kissing, or when she’d say that she couldn’t hang with me because she and Oz were going on a date somewhere or the other. I felt jealous, but I wasn’t really sure why. Willow and I still spent a lot of time together. She definitely valued our friendship, but I’d see the cute smiles that I’d always valued when they were directed at me, directed at Oz. They’d be holding hands while walking down the hall, and I would feel like I could burst into tears. I had started changing the route to take to classes to avoid being shocked by the vision, and I’d try to just advert my eyes when the tears would start to push at my eyelids. I beat myself up for a long time thinking that I was a bad friend because I wasn’t happy for my friend. I think I did a good job hiding my true feelings, because Willow never even mentioned that our relationship had changed.
I got the whole clue one Friday night when my mom, who is a nurse, invited two of her co-workers to dinner. One of them was a fellow nurse, while the other was an x-ray technician. When they sat down on the couch before dinner, they sat really close to each other. Close like I enjoyed having an opportunity to sit next to Willow when we were in a tight space. While my mom went to get them some drinks, one of them kissed the other. They looked at each other with such love in their eyes. I’d never seen two women look at each other like that. But I knew there were times that I looked at Willow with similar feelings in my eyes. Sure, I knew that there were gay people. But I always thought that they were flamboyant men or manly looking women. I’d never seen two women, who looked just like ‘regular people’ together. My mom treated them like she treated any other couples with whom she was friends, and I discovered that my mom was pretty liberal minded. She and I had never talked about alternative sexualities, but she had also never made any derisive comments about any groups of people. She said that she had to work with all sorts of people at her job in the hospital, and it was important to make sure that she treated everyone with respect. It was important to her that Donnie and I always treated everyone with respect too.
Well, that night when I was getting ready to go to bed and was writing in my diary, it hit me like a stone hitting a windshield, I was bisexual or gay. I liked girls. All those things that Buffy, Anya and Willow talked about wanting to do with boys, I wanted to do them with girls. That was why no matter who asked me out, I always politely declined because there wasn’t a spark. I told myself that I was being ‘picky’ or trying to wait until I was older. It explained why rather than pictures of hot guys, I liked looking at pictures of Alyson Hannigan. I claimed that I didn’t know what it was that pulled me toward this particular actress, but if I am honest, it was because she looked like I expected Willow would look like when she was an adult. If I was honest with myself; I’d felt the sparks. In fact, when I looked at Willow, I felt sparks like I was dragging a piece of metal behind a car at 50 miles per hour. These sparks started at the top of my head, concentrated in my middle, and ended in a tingling in my toes. I felt this whenever one of Willow’s smiles were focused on me during sleep overs. I especially felt it when I’d watch her change into her pajama’s or accidently cuddle into me when we had to share a bed. I knew that now that I had acknowledged this, I’d have to be careful. She was dating Oz. I was not going to make things weird. Throughout the year, I just pulled away slightly. I’d go to the bathroom when she was changing, or I’d say I’d prefer to sleep on the floor that we were getting “too old” to share a bed. I can’t tell how many times I cried when I lay on the floor, listening to her gentle breathing and snoring. I still got up and held her when she was having nightmares, and I couldn’t help but giggle when she woke up mumbling about frogs and arm biting horses.
I think that the only person who may have noticed a subtle change in me was Faith. Once it was just the two of us eating lunch, and she told me that I looked at Willow like I wanted to eat her up. This made me blanche, but she just smiled and stated that if I ever wanted to see if I played for either the other or both teams, she’d be willing to experiment with me. I thanked her, but I didn’t feel any sparks when I looked at Faith, and honestly, I worried about whether she’d picked something up with all her anonymous ‘hook-ups’ that she bragged about. She said that it was ‘cool’ and suggested that I tell “Red” about my feelings. She gave me a little bit of hope by saying that ‘Red sometimes looked at me with love in her eyes.’
I watched Willow for any of these signs, and I think I noticed a few of her glances directed to me, especially when we were alone, but I also saw them directed to Oz, and sometimes Xander and Buffy. I figured that Willow was just one of those people who loved her friends.
If my mom ever knew all the things that went down during these camps, she’d probably have a heart attack. These camps always occurred on college or music festival campuses, and they advertised that there were always adults ‘closely’ supervising the campers. This was a total lie. Maybe they watched the middle school students, but the attitude about the high school students was ‘as long as you make it to rehearsal awake and sober’, what you did during your off time was your own business. I’d had my first kiss behind the stage the year before with a trombone player. He was really handsy and shoved his tongue in my mouth. Afterwards I didn’t understand why anyone would want to do that. It was sloppy and gross. He didn’t like that I pushed him away, and he made several comments about me being a ‘frigid bitch’. Several days later, a couple of other girls told me that they’d had the same experience and to not judge all guys based on his performance.
Another thing that had sort of awakened my awareness that I may not be ‘straight’ was how I felt when I was around a black-haired bassoon player, Sarah. She was openly gay and very self-assured. In physical looks she sort of reminded me of Faith. She had multiple piercings, and when we weren’t in concert gear, she wore black jeans with holes in them, black concert tee-shirts, and Black Doc Martins. But in personality, she was a lot like Willow. She was really smart and sweet. We sat next to each other in orchestra and often would keep me in stitches with her comments when we were not the focus of the conductor.
When I was invited to the camp, I was excited that Sarah would be there too. I would not be the only gay kid in the camp, and I could talk to her about what it was to be out. The camp we were attending was a three week camp for advanced performers. We were doing Peter and The Wolf . It was rumored that there would be college music directors, as well as, conductors of orchestras across the country listening to the final performance. I had an audition earlier in the spring to play The Duck and was chosen as one of two finalists. I didn’t recognize the name of the second person who was chosen for the Duck. When I looked at who else I knew had gotten parts, I saw that Sarah and a guy I’d never heard of were the two finalists for the bassoon part, The Grandfather. On top of practicing to perform Peter and The Wolf, during this time we would also get to practice and learn from some of the performers of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The last few years, no oboe players had been instructors at the camps I attended. But the acceptance letter assured me that either the first or second chair of all instruments would be available for consultation and lessons. I was so excited about this all expenses paid trip to Massachusetts. They would even provide one additional round-trip ticket for my mom to come to the final performance if I was chosen. I was going to do everything within my power to earn that role.
Willow slept over at my house the night before I was scheduled to leave for this camp. She helped me get myself packed, and kept mentioning that this shirt, or this dress would look good if I was trying to attract one of the guys at the camp. Willow had always been really accepting of Faith; I didn’t think that she was homophobic, so I took the chance and asked, “What if I want to attract a girl?”
This seemed to take Willow aback, and she muttered something about, “Well I didn’t know…whatever I guess…Really…you never said anything about that…” she looked at me with a very shocked expression. This made me want to suck the words right back into my mouth and go back a few seconds.
I could tell that she was really freaked, and I said to her that I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was bisexual or asexual, or maybe I just wasn’t ready to get into any romantic relationships. I tried to laugh it off and realized that me maybe liking girls was something that freaked Willow out. “I guess we don’t know each other as well as we thought we did.” I thought to myself.
I guess I looked upset, because Willow pushed my hair off my face and said, “I don’t care who you date, I just want you to be happy, like Xander and Anya, like me and Oz, like Faith and whatever flavor of the month she’s with. Regardless, Faith always seems to be happy. I don’t want you to be lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” I assured her, “I’ve got all of you guys. You fill up my time and make me feel good. I am probably a late bloomer. I am sure that I’ll figure it all out next year or in college.”
“Yeah, definitely,” said Willow with a little more force than was necessary for a conversation that was occurring less than six inches away. “So, let’s make sure that you’ve got all the clothes you need, and make sure that you bring sweatshirts. I hear that it can get cold in the Massachusetts Berkshires. You wanna borrow my Sunnydale High School sweatshirt? It can remind you of us. She gestured to the shirt that was tied around her waist and handed it to me. I knew that this particular sweatshirt always smelled like Willow, a hint of strawberries and vanilla, mixed with the mountain freshness of her laundry detergent.
“I brought it because I wanted you to take it,” she admitted to me. “I’ve only worn it a little today. It shouldn’t be too stinky.”
Little do you know Willow, it for sure isn’t stinky at all to me. I love how you smell. I thought to myself. I must have looked kind of spacy, because she asked me if I was alright.
“Yeah, I am good. Just kind of scared about going across the country. I know that Faith flies to Boston every summer. But it’s a long flight and it is the first time that I’ve had to change planes. I’m going to be all on my own in the Chicago Airport with a layover that is only an hour long. I worry that I’ll miss my flight, and then my ride to Tanglewood, and thus be trapped alone in either Chicago or Boston.”
“I am sure that there are contingency plans. You all are still high school students, and it is considered a ‘camp” she used air quotes, “They have to make sure everyone gets there safely. But if worse come to worse, call me and I’ll use my parent’s emergency credit card to get you a hotel room or a ride. My parents don’t even look at the bills. I figured out a computer program to pay all of the household bills. My parents don’t even get notified unless a charge is over 1000 dollars.”
I looked at Willow and was reminded for probably the ten thousandth time how our economic situations were so different. Her parents were affluent, and she could basically buy anything she wanted. She had the latest gaming computer, video games, a killer stereo, and all the books that she could ever want. My mom had to pinch pennies, take overtime shifts, and work her butt off in the hospital to keep food on the table, money for Donny’s ‘non-covered essentials’, and pay off the bills that she and my dad had acquired prior to us leaving him. I found it ironic that I would have killed for some of her money, while she frequently told me that she’d trade in all the money they had for her parents to be as nice and caring as my mom. Willow was clear that she didn’t want things, she wanted her parents time. I think my mom knew this, because she was always hugging Willow and sending her with care packages when she left our house after a sleepover. She frequently reminded me of how good I had it. I knew this instinctively. I loved my mother and tried to do what I could to help her out whenever I could. I’d wanted to get a job instead of going to the camps, all which I got scholarships for, but she wanted me to enjoy my last summer of being a kid, and I am pretty sure that she knew that the only way I’d get to a good music college would be if I got a great music scholarship. The only way I’d get that kind of scholarship would be to be noticed in the performances arranged to highlight the camps I was attending.
“Thanks. You are probably right; they are not going to leave me sitting in an airport.” I paused, “So what are your plans with Oz for these three weeks?”
“He’s going to be on the road for most of it. He and his band have gigs up and down the coast. The Mystery Machine is going to be the Dingo’s home for most of the time. Can you imagine what it is going to smell like after three sweaty guys sleep, eat and travel in it for two weeks. I’ve already been clear that he better get it cleaned and detailed before I’m getting in it to go out with him.”
“Yeah, I can imagine what it will end up smelling like.” All I could think of was when I had to wash Donny’s and his friend’s football uniforms once. They smelled like old spice mixed in with the boy’s locker room. I figured that was what Willow was referring to.
“Guys can be real pigs. Maybe you have a good idea. Girls usually smell way better,” commented Willow laughing.
I didn’t know how to respond to this, and I knew that my thought of you smell terrific, I could just sit and smell you all day long was not an appropriate response. “You’ve got me. It’s all about olfactory.” I joked back.
I finished putting my clothes in my bag. Placing Willow’s sweatshirt in the middle of it so that possibly the smell would permeate more and thus I would have whiffs of Willow during my three weeks away from her. I grabbed the blow up mattress that I always slept on when Willow was over. She could never sleep well on it, I could, so I always let her sleep in my bed. We won’t mention that it gave my bed a definite Willow aroma.
We got ready for bed, talked for a bit and each fell asleep. We were awoken by Mom pounding on the door telling me to get up, that we needed to leave in 30 minutes for the airport. She invited Willow to come along, but she said she had plans with Oz before he left, she gave me a quick hug and left, while I grabbed the clothes that I had chosen the night before, and headed to the shower.
^^^
This was the longest trip that I had ever taken by myself. My layover and plane change went seamlessly as did finding the bus that was going to Tanglewood. There were six of us who were being picked up at the same time, and fortunately nobody was traveling with a tuba or double bass. It seemed that one girl played the flute, the other the piccolo, another guy the horn. There was a girl with a viola, a boy with a violin, and the last girl had a clarinet. The girl with the clarinet was really pushy and insisted that she be able to sit in the front of the car. I wondered to myself if this was one of the two girls who were competing to be The Cat, or if she was part of the general orchestra. It would have been rude to asked, so I just sat quietly and listened to the others talk. By the end of the drive, it was obvious that the girl was indeed one of the finalists for the role of The Cat. She seemed very stuck up and sure of herself. I secretly hoped that I’d find the other clarinet player and figure out a way to make sure that he or she won. She said her name was Cordelia Chase and her accent placed her clearly in the New York/New Jersey area. The Horn player’s name was Riley and I discovered that he was from Iowa. The flutist’s name was Harmony, she was from Florida, and the piccolo was Darla, from Texas. The girl with the viola said her name was Rachel; she was from Florida too, and the boy with the violin said that his name was William but asked us to call him Spike. I figured that he picked that name because he had spiky white blond hair.
When we got to the camp/facility, we went through registration and were assigned our rooms. I was placed in a room with Rachel and a girl name Cindy. I wanted to do a happy dance when I was not placed in a room with Cordelia. It sounded like Cordelia, Harmony and Darla were together, and for some reason Cordelia thought that she was getting a room to herself. I could hear her calling her father and complaining that it just wasn’t fair. She couldn’t get enough rest if there were other people in her room.
Rachel and I just laughed and followed the directions to the girl’s dorm. When we got there, we found that it was a suite. Rachel and I decided to take the double room and leave Cindy the single. We figured that it was better off rooming with someone we sort of knew than to room with someone we totally did not know. Cindy came into the room just when we were ending our unpacking. She thanked us for giving her the single room and stated that it was a good thing because she snored. Rachel and I looked at each other; our eyes confirming that we’d made a good choice.
I looked at the schedule that they had handed me at registration and saw that we were expected to eat dinner in the dining hall by 7, and that all campers were expected to be in the concert hall at 7:30 to hear some of the members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra play Peter and the Wolf. I saw Sarah sitting at a table that had room for at least three more, so after I got my food I went and sat down next to her and asked if it was ok if my roommates joined us as well. She said, “Sure” and gestured to the seats on the long table. I had thought that there was going to be a lot of kids at this camp, but it appeared that there were only about thirty. It seemed that it worked out that there were five rooms for boys and five for girls. Sarah introduced us to her roommates who were Shelly, who played the Alto Clarinet, and Crystal who played the French Horn. I found it interesting that aside from Cordelia, you couldn’t tell who else were the kids who were in competition for the roles.
Peter and the Wolf features a violin, viola and cello as Peter, a flute as The Bird, an oboe as The Duck, a clarinet as The Cat, three French horns as the Wolf, a bassoon as The Grandfather, and a timpani and bass drum as The Hunters. Therefore, 20 of us were there as either featured or orchestra roles, and 10 more to round out the orchestra. I looked around the room and wondered who I was in competition with for the role of The Duck. I figured that I wouldn’t find out until the first session the next day when I went to the woodwind class. Looking at the schedule, we had lessons and workshops in the morning and then rehearsal in the afternoon. For the first week, it seemed that there were activities planned for the evenings, but I knew by the second and third week, we’d be in rehearsals from noon to five, and then 6:30 to 9. Orchestra camp was not for the weak.
The six of us went to the concert together. Sarah and I sat together and talked about some of the things that we’d done since we’d seen each other last. I recognized many kids from the five years of camp in the audience, but it was hard to remember who played what instrument. We all sat silently in our seats while the members of the Boston Symphony filed onto the stage. Some of these people were celebrities to us. Just like kids who have their favorite sports players, we orchestra geeks had our favorite musicians. The only difference was that we could never have orchestra trading cards. I thought to myself that Willow would probably be able to create these if I suggested it to her. I regretted that it was my last year, maybe I could have made some money with orchestra cards. I stopped thinking about possible lucrative endeavors when the orchestra began playing the musical piece. Every time The Duck ‘spoke’ I was in awe of the timbre of the oboe player. I had been practicing the piece all summer but had never achieved the rich sound that this musician created. I hoped to myself that the other oboe player was equally inferior.
After the concert, Sarah asked me if we could keep talking. Cindy and Rachel went back to the room and Sarah and I found a corner nook out of the way to talk. We could hear the murmuring of other dyads and triads around the building, most likely also re-acquainting with each other after not seeing each other for a year. I checked in with my body while we were talking and could feel that slight tingle when I looked at Sarah. It was nothing like the zing I felt every time that I looked at Willow, but it was definitely there. Much stronger than any feeling I’d gotten when looking at any guy. I thought about how Darla and Harmony had been both flirting up a storm with Riley. I could sort of see the appeal. He was about 6’2” with light brown hair, blue eyes and muscles. I had watched his arms move as he talked, and I imagined that you could see his muscles and tendons flex as he played his horn. I thought to myself, “Ok I am a dork, I am looking at what is obviously a classically good looking guy and all I can think of is how he plays his trumpet.
Sarah and my conversation came quickly to the topic of romance. She asked me if I had a boyfriend and I said ‘no’. She then asked if I had a girlfriend and I stated the same reply. I asked her and she told me that she’d been dating a girl at her school, but that they’d broke up in the spring and she wasn’t currently ‘seeing anyone’. She smiled at me as she was saying this, and I wondered if she was flirting with me. This thought sent me into a familiar question I frequently pondered. What is flirting? How do you know when you are flirting, how do you know when someone is flirting with you? It seemed so much easier when it came to boys; dealing with girls was really confusing. I must have had a confused look on my face, because Sarah asked me what was the matter? I didn’t want to admit to my flirting question, so I made some random remark about being tired due to time change. Fortunately, Sarah didn’t seem to realize that the opposite should be true, it was 9 o’clock at camp, but it felt like six to me. I knew the flip side was not going to be pretty tomorrow morning, so after talking a little more, we decided to go to our rooms.
When I got back to the room, Rachel was in the living room practicing scales on her viola, while Cindy’s door was closed, and Rachel told me she’d brought some guy into her room because they wanted to ‘talk’. I quickly thanked the Goddess again for my decision to room with Rachel. I looked at the couch in the living area, and it didn’t look at all comfortable. It also seemed that Rachel’s scales were successfully creating a diversion for the ‘odd’ noises coming from our roommate’s room.
“Well, she hasn’t wasted any time,” I commented to Rachel.
“She says that they’ve been having a long distance relationship since last year. He’s a trumpet player.
“What about Cindy?” I asked.
“I think she is one of the kids competing for the timpani role,” replied Rachel.
“It seems that it is considered rude to ask, seeing nobody but Cordelia mentioned it, but are you part of the orchestra or one of the finalists for the roles?” I asked Rachel.
“I’m one of the viola players; part of Peter,” she replied.
“Cool, I am one of the two people competing for the role of The Duck,” I shared.
“I figured when you didn’t make a comment about being Cordelia’s competition,” Rachel responded. “Is it mean of me to hope that the other person is really good. She seemed that it would be good for her to be taken down a few notches.”
“I agree,” I replied to the green-eyed Floridian. We went to our rooms, got ready for bed, talked a few minutes, and she fell asleep. It still felt like it was only seven o’clock to me, so I spent over an hour just imagining what Willow was probably doing. I grabbed her sweatshirt and used it as a pillow. Willow’s lovely scent came through my nostrils. I fell asleep imagining that I was asleep beside Willow’s bed, with her gently breathing.
Eight AM came early the next morning. Rachel woke me up. When I left the room to go to the bathroom, I was greeted by a guy in boxer shorts exiting the room. He reached out his hand and introduced himself as “Tony, trumpet.” I had to bite my lip not to think about how most likely Cindy had been blowing on and enjoying that trumpet all night. I had to hit my head to try to get that vision out of my head. It lead to me thinking again of Willow and how the idea of her doing those things with Oz made me very upset, and then sad. I gave myself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror and thought about how excited I was to go to my first woodwind master class. I quickly got dressed, grabbed breakfast and then found the room where we were to meet. I got there about 10 minutes early, so as I soaked my reed, I was able to see who was coming in. I of course recognized Cordelia, Darla and Harmony. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the other clarinet player was this boy named Nicholas who was known to be a phenom. I knew that Cordelia was going to have to be some sort of musical genius to play better than him. Sarah came in the room and sat down next to me and began assembling her bassoon. We smiled at each other as we both soaked our double reeds. When the teacher came in, he arranged us in orchestra formation. First Darla, then Harmony and a girl I’d never seen before, Cordelia, Nicholas, Shelly, me, Sarah and the other bassoon player. We introduced ourselves and I found out that the other flute player’s name was Aly and the Bassoon was Rick. I kept looking at the door expecting the second oboe to come into the room, but nobody did. During a break I went up to the teacher and asked, “Um…Hi, I’m Tara Maclay. I play oboe, and I thought that there was a kid named Chris, I didn’t know if it was a girl or a boy, who was also going to play it. Do you know what happened?”
The teacher responded, “Um, Ms. McKinley, alias Chris, decided that going to horse sleep away camp was a better choice than coming here, so you Ms. Maclay are The Duck, congratulations. I was very happy, but also somewhat nervous. I would be working without a net. That oboe part was all mine to do well or to fail. This was a little more pressure than I had wanted to have. The positive was that I knew that I’d see my mom at the show for sure. I’d really wanted her to be able to come see me play. I went immediately to Sarah and told her, she gave me a hug, and I felt a little bit of tingling. She blushed as we separated and sat back down and picked up her bassoon and began playing scales. I grabbed my oboe and together we went up and down the notes until the break was over.
After lunch, we all combined for a first run through of the piece. The role of the narrator was going to be played by a semi-famous actor from Boston, but until the third week, the stage manager read the lines. When it was my turn to play the notes of The Duck, I did so flawlessly, and I felt proud of myself. It was not as rich as the professional, but it sounded ok. Cordelia hit a flat note when she was playing The Cat. Sarah and I struggled with not laughing when our eyes met. I had to look down at my feet and count backwards in order to not start giggling. Rachel did a great job on her part, as did Sarah. Actually, the only sour notes were played by Cordelia and Tony who probably should have been practicing his trumpet rather than…Ugh, that thought came back in full swing. Think about butterflies and unicorns. I looked at all the other kids, their eyes focused on their music and wondered how many other of them were actually thinking about sex rather than the music.
I found that I really enjoyed talking to Sarah. She was sweet and funny. She’d removed some of her face piercings. A spider bite didn’t work well when playing the bassoon. She still had her nose and eyebrow pierced, and I tried to count the number of her ear piercings, but had difficulties because I could only see one of her ears at a time. I knew that she had six on her left ear. One hole for every color of the gay flag rainbow. I figured that she had at least seven on her right ear because she was definitely out and proud. Sarah was one of the first people I had ever met that was unabashedly gay. She didn’t care who knew, she didn’t care who didn’t like it. She was herself, and if you didn’t like it you could go screw yourself. I admired her chutzpa and wondered if I’d ever have the self-confidence to be out and proud. I didn’t see it happening any time soon.
Our first night’s activities was going to Camp Mah-Kee-Nac to go swimming and boating. I was not someone who even thought about wearing a bathing suit in front of kids I didn’t know. I’d put one on but covered it with shorts and a tee-shirt. Sarah wore a black bikini that showed off every one of her curves. I knew that Sarah had curves. She wore tight black tee-shirts and jeans; however, the curves without the black fabric was something to behold. She was attracting a lot of attention from both boys and girls from our camp and the other one, but when I’d look up from my hair covered eyes, it was me she was always looking at and smiling. When I refused to go in the water, she covered up and we took out a canoe. We paddled around in our bulky life jackets. Sarah threatened to capsize the canoe a few times, and she would start to rock it, but my screams stopped her, and we were able to do the activity without getting wet. She made me promise that when we went to the amusement park on Sunday, that I would go to the water park with her. I tentatively agreed and this seemed to make her happy.
Between the Master classes, rehearsal and this activity, I was so tired when we got back to camp. I fell onto my bed to await my turn to take a shower. I awoke in the dark, still in my bathing suit, shorts and tee-shirt. Somebody had taken Willow’s sweatshirt and put it over me, and for a moment I thought that she was there with me. As the fog of sleep dissipated, I remembered where I was, why I was still in a bathing suit, and what I’d been waiting for. I looked at my watch. It was 3:15 in the morning, just after midnight at home. I was awake and figured that it was a good time to take a shower. I quietly grabbed my clothes and towel and went to the bathroom. As I was undressing, I looked at myself in my bathing suit, and realized that I didn’t look that bad. At that moment, I vowed to go to the water park and not act shy.
***
The rest of the week went the same as the first day. It was becoming more and more apparent that Nicholas was going to be The Cat, and Sarah The Grandfather. The part of The Bird was so close, that nobody could call it, and I heard that Rachel was definitely among the top contenders for the viola of Peter. One of the nights, Rachel explained to me how she’d had to learn several different viola parts. It depended on which role she got. If she was part of Peter, it would be one part, but if she wasn’t it would be a whole different arrangement of music. The oboe part was the oboe part. When I wasn’t The Duck, I was part of the general orchestra.
***
During class and practice, I was pretty sure that Sarah was flirting with me. I’d look over and if she wasn’t playing, she was looking at me. She sometimes had a far away look in her eyes and other times, I could almost see her soul. We spent almost every evening together. The activities that they had touted in the brochure, were just dances and activities with other nearby camps. The trip to the amusement/water park was the culmination of the camp experience. The following Monday began the real work of getting Peter and the Wolf ready to be performed in front of a live audience of our families, agents, recruiters and conductors. The teachers kept on reminding us that this was our chance. This was our big game. They bragged that hundreds of thousands of dollars in scholarships were decided at this one performance. Kids who had done well had gotten scholarships to Julliard, Boston Conservatory, and other prominent Art’s schools. They also bragged of their students who were playing in bands and orchestras all over the country. I think that they were trying to get us excited, but to me and my roommates they were causing a lot of performance anxiety.
Sarah sat with me on the bus to the amusement park. She’d checked several times to make sure that I had on my bathing suit and had brought other clothing to change into when we decided to go to the amusement part of the park. I’d always been afraid to go on rollercoasters, but she swore that it was an experience not to be missed and promised that she’d keep me safe. I believed her. The night before, I’d finally admitted to her that I thought I was gay and told her a lot about my unrequited crush on Willow. She’d been understanding. She told me several stories of straight girls that flirted with her and even said that they liked her but were shocked and upset when she made a move. I assured her that I was never going to make a move on Willow. When we said goodnight, our hug lasted a little longer than the others. I knew that Sarah liked me; I liked her, but the thought of dating Sarah, made me feel like I was cheating on Willow.
The night after we went to the amusement park, I had a strange dream. I was in the wave pool and I could hear Sarah calling out to me to join her in the deep end. I swam out to her and found Willow under the water. I pulled her up, dragged her to the shallow end and checked to make sure she was breathing. She was not. I started giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation, and when I looked down it was Sarah, then Willow, then Sarah again. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was Oz. He indicated to me that he was the one who should be doing mouth to mouth on Willow. I found myself looking at all three of them, Sarah, Oz and Willow. Then we were in individual seats of a roller coaster. Willow and I were sitting beside each other. She was smiling and looked happy. When Willow’s side started moving, mine stayed stationary. Mine didn’t start moving until Sarah was beside me. I watched as the streak of red hair disappeared into the distance. I felt sad that it was going away, but happy that there was a smiling, dark haired woman sitting beside me. We were moving together. It did not take a Jungian analyst to interpret this dream. I was struggling with my feelings toward both of them. But I didn’t want to figuratively kill Willow; I wanted to save her. I was torn between what was a sure thing and a pipe dream. I could tell that Sarah wanted to kiss me. She looked at my lips a lot. Willow was most likely kissing Oz. I could carry a torch for someone who was probably totally straight, my best friend. Part of my brain was telling me that I needed to move on, but the other part was reminding me that there was always a chance with Willow.
I spent a lot of the next day thinking about the dream, and almost missed my cue several times. Fortunately, Sarah was watching out for me and she’d poke me about 30 seconds before my part. Sarah had gotten the part of Grandfather. Cindy was one of the drummers for the Wolf. Rachel and Spike were two of the three parts of Peter, Harmony was The Bird, and Nicholas The Cat. I realized with some chagrin that all of the people in the van had been chosen but Cordelia. It was hard not to tell her that Karma was a bitch. The kids who had gotten the parts were told that we’d be spending the next day practicing with our respective symphony partners. The camp director made us stay back after the rest of the kids had been dismissed. He made it very clear that our undivided attention was expected for this experience. That this was an opportunity that other kids would kill for. We shouldn’t blow it. I swear that he looked right at Sarah and me. I felt like he knew that our minds were somewhere else and was telling us to wait until after tomorrow. I listened to this suspected message, and rather than going to our corner to talk, I said I was tired and went straight to my room and to bed.
To say the next day was incredible was an understatement. I got to spend four hours talking about, practicing, and playing my oboe with a professional. As he played with me, it became clear that the rich sound that he created was partially due to his having a much better oboe than I did. He let me put my reed into his oboe and play it. The music was like springtime, smooth as butter, and bright as the sun. The keys of his oboe responded to the barest touch and made the most beautiful sound. I knew then, that I needed to save my money, I needed to get myself a better oboe if I wanted to sound close to as good as he did. I was still playing the secondhand oboe that my 6th grade teacher had given me. When we switched reeds, and the he was playing mine, he made it sound better, but not as good as it did with his. He asked me why I was still playing a student oboe. I had to admit that my family didn’t have the kind of money that was needed to buy a better instrument. He told me to be patient and shared that there was actually a group of people who collected and traded oboes; real oboe aficionados. He asked for my address and said that he would talk to these people and see what he could do. These are words that I had heard from numerous adults. Usually “I’ll see what I can do’ meant ‘no Tara, that is not something we can afford unless there is some sort of miracle’. I was feeling lucky. I was thinking that a miracle could be upon us. He said that I was one of the best high school oboe players that he’d met. I wondered how many he had met but knew that it was rude to ask. He was giving me a compliment, and I’d been taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I thanked him repeatedly and clung to every suggestion that he made. By the end of the session, The Duck was sounding much better and I was excited to bring it to the whole orchestra. They’d doubled the seating on the stage for this night’s rehearsal. The professionals and students sat side by side, doubling the voices, doubling the music, making the piece sound like it was written to sound.
I was still on a high when I met Sarah in “our corner”. She shared that her experience was similar and that she felt that her professional had helped her give her sound the maturity that her interpretation had lacked. She paused and said to me. “Listen Tara, I really like you. I’ve really liked you since last year when you hardly gave me the time of day. I have had such a good time these last ten days, laughing with you, talking to you…I feel really happy when I am around you, and that is not a familiar feeling. I would really like to kiss you right now, but I know you are still hung up on Willow. I don’t think that you’ll ever be able to give anyone a chance until you are straight, pardon the pun, with Willow and see if she reciprocates any of your feelings in any way. She’s your best friend, you are in love with her. If I ever get a chance to meet Willow, which I most likely will not, I’d want to tell her how lucky of a girl she is and how she needs to see what is right in front of her. A beautiful, talented, nice woman who is a hell of an oboe player.” Sarah started to laugh. “You’re not upset about this, are you? We can stay friends?”
“Definitely.”
“Friends who kiss sometimes?”
“Um…no. Maybe friends who hug sometimes.”
“As I said, I’ll settle for anything. I am desperate for affection.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what one of my school counselors said when I was caught for the fourth time making out with someone under the bleachers. Shall I share that our strong and steady apertures from playing double reed instruments come in handy with the ladies?”
“OMG, Sarah now I’m going to look at my oboe as a sexual object.”
“Listen Willow, our instruments are long tubes. They were already phallic. Shall I go through all of the instruments and tell you if I think they are good for straight, gay or lesbian sex?”
“I’ll take a hard pass on that. I am nervous enough for this performance, and teenager here, I tend to have sex on the brain a lot of the time, so I don’t need to know your fantasies about how each instrument represents sex.”
“I have a lot of fun with the percussion section…”
“OMG, Sarah. I think I am scarred for life, and I haven’t even heard 20% of what you have to say.”
“Sorry. Payback is a bitch.”
“Payback for what?”
“Leading me on.”
I wanted to argue, but she might have had a point. Maybe all the smiles and questions about what it was like to be out, and where she got her earrings, had made it seem like I was interested. I decided that I’d acquiesce. “Ok, each morning you can tell me one instrument and your thoughts about it. If we don’t get through the whole orchestra, you can write it down for me, deal?”
“Deal.” I waved to her and walked back to my dorm. ‘
As promised, every morning, Sarah would tell me her thoughts about various instruments and how they and playing them related to sex. As she alluded. She got a lot of pleasure out of thinking about the vibrations of percussion. Nothing really changed about our relationship. She still joked around with me, and I wouldn’t be honest, if I denied that I questioned whether I had made the right decision.
Another amazing thing that happened was that the Monday before the concert I came back to my dorm to find a package on my bed. I opened it and there was a letter on top. It said:
Dear Tara,
It was a pleasure working with you this week and I have to say that you are a very talented young woman. As I said, I’ve worked with many teenagers in my time as a performer and a teacher, and you have a spark that I’ve not seen in others. I am going to talk to one of my friends who is at the Boston Conservatory. This will be a letter of reference for you, and I will be sure to mention that you will require a full scholarship due to you being the daughter of a single parent. I have the feeling that you’re going to be a force to be reckoned with in the next few years. Maybe you and I will be facing off to see who is going to be first chair. As I told you, there is a network of oboe players that I am a part of. I put out the Bat signal, and it came back quickly. Enclosed is a wooden oboe that has seen a lot of play but has a melodious sound. Listening to you play mine, made me very aware that you deserved a better instrument. All I ask of you is to knock them dead on Friday and return your student oboe to your middle school. We oboe players need to make sure that we are not a dying breed. I am sure that out there is a fifth grader who doesn’t know that the oboe is their destiny. You make it so.
Sincerely, Hank.
I opened the package. In it was a beautiful wooden oboe. If I didn’t know differently, I’d swear it was the one I played several days before. I lifted it out of the case and put it together. The pieces glided onto each other and it felt like it belonged in my hands. I grabbed my reeds out of my other oboe, prepared it, and then placed it into the instrument. The first attempt was a sound that rivaled my initial attempts, but as I found the flow, a beautiful, warm, rich sound came out. This was the sound that I wanted to create. This was my oboe.
People noticed the difference the first time I played with the group. The teachers were amazed that an instrument had been delivered to me, and they agreed that the proper thing was to pay it forward. The only person who didn’t have anything nice to say was Cordelia. She was still licking her wounds and pouting about having to play the second part for the clarinet.
***
The night of the concert I was pumped, as was almost everyone else with whom I was friends. I couldn’t help noticing that Sarah looked really nice, and somewhat butch in her starched white shirt and crisply pleated black pants. She’d traded in her signature Doc Martins for a pair of black loafers. I was slightly surprised to see her in pants; most orchestras were sticklers for skirts on girls and pants on boys. But the bassoon worked well with pants and with her short black hair, I am sure that many people didn’t know if she was a girl or a boy.
We were in dress rehearsals all day, so I had no idea whether my mother had gotten here safely. I’d talked to my roommates and they’d agreed that it was fine if I slept on the coach and my mom slept in my bed. They understood that a last minute hotel was not an expense that we could handle. I could feel a sense of calm, so I was almost positive that somewhere in the audience was my mom, sitting proudly pointing out to the people beside her that The Duck was her daughter.
After the performance I went looking for my mom. Sarah wanted to meet her too, so we walked around looking for my older self. Sarah found her first and pointed. I almost fainted when I saw a green-eyed red-head girl standing beside her. She was looking nervous and staring at Sarah and I walking toward them. I went running to my mom, enveloping her in a big hug and then doing the same to the girl beside her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Willow.
“What good is all that money if you can’t use it to see your best friend’s debut as The Duck.”
“You bought a last minute airplane ticket. That must have been really expensive.”
“For once I actually asked permission. They said certainly and made sure that I booked a suite for you, your mom and me. We’re staying a few miles down the road. I rented a car for your mom too, so we don’t’ have to wait for a van today or tomorrow.” Willow looked Sarah up and down.
Mom asked, “So who is your friend?”
The surprise of seeing Willow had made me almost speechless, as had the look that Willow was giving Sarah. I now understood the term ‘if looks could kill’. Willow was staring at Sarah with the most intense gaze I’d seen.
I stammered, which is something I had not done in a long time, “M…m…mom….t…t…this is my….my…my fr…friend S…s…Sarah, she played the role of The Grandfather. She plays the b…b…bassoon.”
My mother walked toward Sarah and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet one of Tara’s band camp friends. I usually just hear about them and have no face to put to the name.”
My mother grabbed the program and asked me about some of the other kids. She thought that she’d recognized their names and I pointed out several who were with their parents too. While we were talking, I saw Sarah walk up to Willow, whisper something in her ear. Sarah came back, squeezed my arm, and said, “I’ll see you at the critique/show/award thingy tomorrow?”
“Yep, looking forward to it. I think I’m probably going to go to the hotel with mom and Willow, but I’ll be at the thingy for sure.” Sarah walked away from us and toward a tall man. He enveloped her in a hug, and they began to walk toward the exit. In all of my conversations, I’d never even asked if either of her parents were coming to the performance. I knew that her parents had a nasty divorce, and Sarah hadn’t wanted to pick who to invite, so she’d not invited either. I guessed that the camp had made the decision and given the ticket to her Dad.
Mom, Willow and I exited the auditorium, I ran to my room and grabbed some clothes, joined them where they were sitting, and we walked through the parking lot until we came up to a bright red SUV. “It’s all they had,” said my mother who didn’t like ‘flashy’ things. “Hey, I like red,” I said bumping into Willow with my hip, a subtle touch that I had perfected and tried to not think of as frottage.”
Willow was very quiet during the drive to the hotel. I’d tried to include her in my mom and my conversation, but her responses were monosyllabic. I asked if anything was wrong, and she just said that she was tired. ‘They’d had to get up early to get their flight.’
“I thought that you slept easily on planes.” I said, remembering something that Willow had previously told me.
“Not this one. I had stuff on my mind, and you know Willow mind babble. It is hard to stop.” I knew that she was trying to make a joke of it, but her tone was off. It seemed like a combination of sad and bitter.
“Well, you can go to sleep as soon as we get to the hotel. You said it’s a suite. I guess we’ll give mom the bedroom and you and I can share the living room, or I can bunk with my mom if that would be better for you. I don’t know what the room looks like.”
“There is a murphy bed and a couch in the living room, so you’ll be good,” replied my mom.
“Yeah,” said Willow, her voice sounding distant.
We got to the hotel and my mom settled into her room, while I pulled down the murphy bed. I looked at Willow and she still seemed upset. She was sitting on the couch.
I sat down beside her and asked, “What’s wrong.”
“Is that girl…your girlfriend?” she asked.
“No, why do you ask. We’re just friends. She wanted it to be more, but I didn’t.”
“She came up to me and told me that I didn’t know what I was missing; I should look at what is right in front of me. What did she mean?” asked Willow, her voice sounding sad.
“What do you think she meant?” I answered not knowing what to say.
“I think she was telling me that I don’t appreciate you and she does…I think she is in love with you Tara, are you in love with her?” Willow’s voice sounded desperate.
“No. I am not in love with Sarah. She’s my friend.”
“I broke up with Oz.”
“Oh, sweetie are you ok.” I said rubbing her arm. “Did he do something bad? Did he cheat while he was on the road?”
“No, I broke up with Oz. It wasn’t working for me. It just wasn’t right. I wanted something…something different.”
“Oh…” I wanted to ask for more information. I wanted to know if I figured into it at all. I felt like this was the pivot point. This was the moment that I’d have my answer. It all lay in what she and I said next. I think we probably both looked terrified.
“I think I’m in love with someone else…but it is scary.” My heart jumped, could it be me, I thought. What if it is Xander or Buffy or someone I don’t know…
“What’s scary about it?” I asked, stifling the desire to touch her.
“’It’s different, and it could ruin everything…but it could be really good too. Tara I’ve missed you so much. You are the only person I can talk to; you are my lifeline. I realized…I realized….”
“What did you realize?” I asked the red haired girl.
“I realized…” she stopped talking and I felt the softest lips on my own. ZING, ZANG, ZOOM went my body. Ok, they say that people see sparks, they say that people see fire-crackers; I saw the Aurora Borealis. I saw rainbows, I saw every color of the spectrum and more. She pulled away and looked at me with a questioning stare.
“I’ve known…” I put my hands in her hair, pulled her face to me and joined my lips to hers. I realized that I had no idea how to kiss. My experiences were limited to the one with the handsy trombone player and what I had read in books. I felt Willow’s tongue on my lower lip, and then it was gently pushing the space between the two. I opened my mouth a bit and felt Willow’s tongue gently exploring my mouth. It felt so right, it felt so good. Before allowing myself to just give in to the sensations and stop evaluating, I listened to my body. The ZING, ZANG, ZOOM continued as did a feeling of electricity from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. If I thought that imagining kissing Willow gave me whole body sensations, this was those sensations times infinity. It was a little scary where the main sensations were centered, but my mother is a nurse, she had told me about sex for procreation and sex for pleasure. She always focused on the respecting yourself and the other person and practicing safe sex. Thinking about it, my mom had always been kind of ambiguous when talking about who’d I be having sex with. It was never when you are with a boy, it was always a person. Hey, Mom might have known more than I gave her credit for…I was about to give into the sensations and stop thinking, when I saw the door to my mother’s room open a bit. Willow didn’t see her, but I heard her whisper, “Finally.”
It means a lot to me when one of my favorite authors comments on my writing. Thanks so much. As I said above; this was supposed to be a one shot, but it has taken over my brain. If someone had told me that I was going to try to write 2 or 3 stories simultanously, as well as creating different versions to meet the criteria of boards, I would have said the person is crazy. But that is what I am doing.I have re-discovered that I love to write.
and encourages me to 
Feedback gives me encouragement to write. 
So Anya!
