Leo

Sunday

Leo positioned the stylus gently on the vinyl record, delighting in the peculiar little crackle signifying the start. The inexpensive turntable was his first purchase when he arrived in New York, and it made his dorm room cozier. He swung his legs up on the bed and pillowed his hands behind his head. A piano, followed by a violin, playing “Yo Soy Maria” by Piazzolla, an Argentinian composer. Only two instruments in three quick minutes, how did this engender such beauty and passionate energy?

He sat up and grabbed his notebook and pen to record his impressions. “Intense repeating haunting rhythm, piano chasing manipulative violin. Discordant notes, frantic versus calm. Secrets, deception, love affair? Genre: classical influences, tango, jazz beats. Emotions: excitement, intimacy, lust.”

This was for a class, but it wasn’t work. He loved researching the effects of music, the emotions a piece could generate.

Leo had been playing and listening to music his whole life. Music was his life.

His mother, Ada, had wanted him to learn the piano when he was a boy, although she never did explain why. Perhaps she sought to give him everything she felt was missing from her humble upbringing, such as a musical education. Ada had hired a local piano teacher well before Leo could reach the pedals. Mrs. Ellis was old school, and she taught the classical repertoire in a traditional way: serious, thin-lipped, straight-backed, wooden ruler in hand. But he didn’t notice or care how she taught him. He practiced diligently to please his teacher and mother. But more than that, he loved how he felt at home playing the piano, where the music took him, an escape.

Leo started to shine as his talent emerged. Mrs. Ellis told his mother he had potential, so Ada encouraged and supported him. His banker father, Geoff, permitted it as long as he did well in school, although he said music was for sissies. Leo was a model student at the same Catholic boys' school his father had attended. He played a school sport each season sufficiently well to satisfy Geoff, who said it would toughen him up.

But music was Leo’s passion and took up all the space he could give it. He joined the school band, a local jazz quartet, traveled with the school orchestra, spent summers at music camp.

He wanted to study music at college, his first adolescent act of rebellion. They lived in Las Vegas, and his father expected Leo to study something sensible at the local University of Nevada, the cheapest option. But with his mother’s encouragement he had secretly applied to music programs. His announcement that he had received full tuition and board to attend New York University on the East Coast was met with silence. Leo was ready to explain his scholarship was to study music at the Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development when his usually quiet mother stated he was going to attend the Stern School of Business. Leo was shocked she lied but understood his father would never approve of him pursuing a music career. Finally, Geoff grunted. Money spoke loudly.

Leo had recently decided that what he wanted to do with his life was screen scoring for movies. Although he had played music as long as he could remember, composing was new. It was such an exciting process combining his creative ideas with those of collaborating student musicians, film directors, and artists. He was inspired by the observation that a finite number of notes could generate an infinite number of songs, with additional possibilities when you considered genres and instruments, just as twenty-six letters of the English alphabet could be used to write endless stories. Music could invoke emotions, frisson, his professor called it: moody melancholic slow cellos, suspenseful drumbeats, heart-tugging violin surges, joyful bright light tones and playful rhythms.

In class, he had learned that if a song became associated with a specific movie or moment in life, it could lay down a “music-evoked autobiographical memory.” Last week he was listening to Peter and the Wolf  by Prokofiev to examine how an instrument could represent an animal. This triggered a memory of a concert of this piece he attended with his mother when he was young. He could recall the red seats of the venue, vibrations of the music, being captivated by the musical story, his state of happiness.

He replayed “Yo Soy Maria,” sinking into it. Later he would read what the composer had intended and other reviews and add to his film spreadsheet under the romantic tab. He would search Tunefind to see if it had been selected for a movie.

Leo closed his eyes. Music can trigger the perception of color, a type of synesthesia. Leo didn’t have that gift, but he could see notes arise from an imaginary staff as he listened to music, a strange new idiosyncrasy that helped him compose songs.

Debussy had remarked, “music is the space between the notes.” What did that mean? How could this concept help him compose? The duration and intensity of the quiet pauses between the played notes could be just as vital to the overall song as the sounds themselves, creating both tension and momentum. Maybe this is the life equivalent of taking time to touch the grass?

Monday

Leo’s phone buzzed. It was his mother calling from the school. Since he left for college, she had been working as a part-time library assistant at a local elementary school.

“Hi Mom, what’s happening?”

“I’m ringing to remind you I’m going to the ostrich farm tomorrow. Remember, don’t pick up calls from your father.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry, he never calls me.”

“He’ll be very angry when he gets home from work and I’m not here. I’m sure he will call.”

“I got it, Mom. Have a great time!”

“I will. Thanks for sending me cash and arranging the motel.”

“Of course. Call me when you’re back and tell me about it.”

Ada was taking a solo trip to ride an ostrich in California and hadn’t informed Geoff. She told Leo she needed to do something for herself, take a little overnight adventure. Leo knew Geoff was very controlling towards his mother, managing every aspect of their lives. She didn’t say it, but Leo sensed his mother was unhappy in her muted marriage.

There was a knock at his dorm door. “Hey Leo, you there?” He recognized Anton’s deep voice.

“Come in,” Leo called out.

Anton sauntered in, tall and loose-limbed, wearing the standard college uniform of untucked graphic tee, slightly too short sweatpants, socks with Birkenstocks. His messy blond hair needed a haircut. He draped his long legs around the chair, sitting backwards.

The first day he moved into the dorm, Leo met Anton and Stevie, who grew up best friends in New York City. They lived in the same Upper West Side apartment building, attended private school together, theater kids who spent Saturdays at acting and singing classes and summers together at sleep away arts camp. Their liberal, sophisticated upbringing was remarkably different than his. In particular, they were comfortable discussing and debating any topic.

Ah, Anton and Stevie! They were both wonderful. They finished each other’s sentences, spontaneously belted out musical tunes, lapsed into hilarious improv, “yes, and?” They were both so articulate it was often hard to get a word in. They were brilliantly boisterous, continually goofing around and taunting each other in good humor, playfully describing their past shenanigans, clearly relishing their shared history. They were like affectionate siblings, constantly physical, ignoring personal space, lounging on each other, hooking, dangling, draping limbs over necks, shoulders, and thighs.

Leo felt a connection with both of them as friends and fellow artists. Anton was a film major, wanting to direct movies, and Stevie was enrolled in jazz studies. He loved hanging out with them, welcoming their unspoken acceptance. Was this how it was with friends who got you? He had found his people. Sometimes, he felt he was playing catch-up, but they took him under their wings, exploring NYC together. At least he could engage in the musical theater references; he had secretly watched films with Ada when Geoff was away on business trips. His father did not approve of such frivolous use of time.

Leo was especially drawn to charismatic Anton, sunshine in the center of the room. Anton would have made a fine actor, but he preferred to be behind the camera. He was thoughtful and observant, qualities that would ensure a successful career, whatever he chose. One time when they were on the subway, Anton spoke quietly to a gruff man who was harassing a frightened young woman, and the man backed away and got off at the next stop. Leo admired how he was kind and protective towards everyone, including strangers.

“What are you doing?” Anton asked.

“Homework. I’ve found the piece I’m going to present for the “Emotion in Music” class assignment,” Leo said. “Have you started it yet?”

“Of course not, it’s not due for a week. Such a try hard!” Anton said chuckling, big blue eyes crinkling, dimples dimpling.

Leo wrinkled his nose and poked out his tongue. Mortified, he covered his mouth with his hand. What was he doing? He wasn’t a poke-out-your-tongue kind of guy.

Anton laughed. “Are you coming to Stevie’s open mic tomorrow night?”

“Yes, I’m the accompanist.”

“Great. When are you going to show us your stuff?”

“Working on it but my music isn’t ready.”

“I can’t wait to say I knew you in your early days!” Anton’s interest gave Leo an internal warm flush.

God, he loved college.

Getting out of his oppressive home had been life changing. He hadn’t realized how much living there had affected him; it was as if a weight had been lifted. He could breathe. When he arrived in New York and settled into his university life, he could start to figure out who he was.

His father was an old-fashioned miserly “spare the rod, spoil the child” God-fearing man with high expectations of good conduct. Fortunately, Leo was a calm child who seemed to instinctively understand what was necessary for a quiet household. He learned early what he needed to do to avoid his father’s attention, or the smallest behavior deemed improper would earn him a sudden belting. At home, Leo became as still and small and silent as possible. He spoke carefully only when spoken to, moved slowly avoiding eye contact, and kept out of trouble. He was a model student, but his father constantly derided him, saying, “You’re useless, why didn’t you get top of the class?” and, “You’ll never amount to anything.”

Leo’s survival tactics amplified his natural reservation and introversion. He became self-contained, tight and tense.

Ada did her best to shield him, to keep him away from his explosive authoritative father. Leo came to realize that was why she over-scheduled him, not because of a tiger mom mentality; she didn’t know what a tiger mom was. She created a protective shell, a bubble of activity so he was hidden from his father’s sight. Being busy in the musical world kept him safe. She also encouraged a part-time waiter job, saying it’s good to earn your own money. His father demanded his wages, but his mother told him to secretly keep the tips. She was preparing him to escape as soon as possible.

During his first semester in college, he had finally started making decisions for himself: what to eat, what to wear, how to spend his time and with whom... So much to choose from.

He liked dark, slim-fitting jeans and black Chelsea boots, plain tee shirts, preferably black, a simple denim jacket, a black leather one when he could afford it. He preferred to be clean shaven. He let his dark hair grow out and the curls came back. He considered bleaching his hair, but he wasn’t sure how it would take the bleach. He switched out his black glasses for contact lenses. He’d pierced one ear and wore a stud, bought a silver ring. Tattoos? No, too permanent. Cigarettes looked cool but tasted ashy. Alcohol was good, made him lose his inhibitions; weed was bad, made him quieter and more introspective.

There was something else on his mind. He was a virgin, probably the only one in his freshman class. He’d never been in a relationship. He wasn’t sure if this was due to his home life as a kid. During high school he was so busy being busy, he hadn’t had opportunities for friends, let alone love. He was petrified his father might check his computer search history so he didn’t seek out porn. His father had strong religious opinions that sex was reserved for procreation.

During senior summer he was a counselor at music camp and another counselor, Chloe, had clearly liked him. She was pretty and lots of fun. They had kissed around the campfire one night, but he felt detached. They only kissed even though they could have snuck away to do more in the counselor's cabin. At the time, he figured he wasn’t ready for sex. Maybe he wanted the first time to be with someone special, who he was really into, not just for the sake of it. But when he thought back about it, he recognized he had not been attracted to Chloe, nor to any woman he had met.

Now that he had given himself the freedom and permission to admire who he wanted, he found his gaze frequently lingering on Anton’s handsome face, secretly checking out his tall slim build, appreciating his big easy laughter, confidence, kindness. Anton kept occupying his thoughts when they weren’t together, inducing a delightful drop in his stomach, unsolicited thoughts of holding him and wondering what it would be like to kiss him and....

He flushed, given how many times he had heard damning words from his homophobic father regarding iniquitous homosexuality. He’d once overheard Geoff saying, “If I found out someone is homosexual, I would send them to conversion therapy.” Leo hadn’t known what conversion therapy was, but now he learned it was harmful and useless psychological and physical tactics to try to change a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity to traditional heterosexual expectations. He felt ill. How could this discredited barbaric practice still exist in certain states today?

But he was emerging from his father’s influence now, trying to unhear his religious dogma and obnoxious comments. His father was an abusive bully, but thank goodness for his lovely mother, who had protected him from the worst of it. Leo knew he was somewhat repressed and scared of relationships, but she had done the best she could.

And if he was gay? In his state of self-examination, so what! This wasn’t England a century ago when E.M. Forster wrote Maurice, a semi-autobiographical novel describing closeted homosexuality. Leo lived in a country where gay marriage was legal. He was determined to live honestly.

When he left Las Vegas to start college, at the airport Ada had pulled him aside and hugged him, speaking quietly so his father couldn’t hear, “I love you, Leo.” While she didn’t say this frequently, her actions demonstrated her motherly love. He hugged her tight.

“Go find yourself,” she whispered. “Be brave.” Leo hummed a few bars of “This Is Me” from a favorite movie, The Greatest Showman. They both smiled, their secret safe.

“Love you too, Mom,” he said. Leo vowed to help her once he was earning money.

What did she mean by be brave? What did she know? Although quiet and unassuming at home, she was very observant. Had she noticed he didn’t seem interested in dating girls? Had she recognized he might be gay? Was that another reason why she worked hard to protect him from his homophobic father?

Early in the first semester, he’d had an embarrassing, drunken conversation with Anton and Stevie late one night when they were sitting around his dorm room. Stevie asked Leo who he had dated, who was he attracted to, and Leo confessed his lack of experience, his effort to understand his sexuality, blurting out he was a virgin.

“There’s no hurry, you’ll figure it out, no need to label anything,” Stevie said, putting an arm around Leo’s shoulder, adding, “for the record, I like guys.”

And Anton said, “I’m bi, no secret there.”

Leo was jealous of their self-assuredness and certainty and wished he could be as open. Well, he was a work in progress, and he was determined to be bold and brave.

Tuesday

Leo arrived at the open mic music venue early. His music teacher always said that if you are on time, you are late. Stevie was already there, attired in black, the NY dress code.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Stevie said, looking nervous. Leo wasn’t. Although he was an introvert, he loved being on stage, being inside the music. Stevie had chosen “Fever” by Peggy Lee. It was traditionally performed with the bass but tonight he would accompany on piano.

Stevie surveyed Leo’s black outfit. Ripped jeans, tee shirt, fitted jacket he found in a secondhand store. “What look are you going for, jazz or rock musician?

He smiled shyly. “Not sure, bit of both?”

Out of a small bag Stevie pulled some makeup pencils and leaned towards him.

“Come here.” Stevie carefully applied dark eyeliner and gloss to Leo’s lips, then held his chin, turning his face one way then the other. “Cool. The jacket and tee shirt say jazz look. For a rock musician you could add black nail polish and a leather wrist band.”

If his father could see him now, he would have a heart attack. Leo surveyed his unpainted nails. “Maybe I will.”

Anton arrived and wandered over to where they were preparing to perform. “Awesome ‘fit! Break a leg!” he said, punching Stevie in the arm. Then he scanned Leo’s face, paying attention to his made-up eyes and shiny lips. “What a glow up! I remember when we met, you were a short-haired boy in baggy jeans.” He sauntered off to order a drink with his elaborate fake id.

Leo blushed and felt his heart flip. He’d started to call it The Anton Effect. He didn’t know how to interpret Anton’s comments. After all, he’d said Stevie looked good too.

They crowded into a booth after the song. Stevie was happy, deservedly so after a sophisticated performance that was breathy, soulful, alluring.

“That was fire, Stevie!” Anton said. He turned to Leo beside him. “And I loved hearing you play, especially your improvisation. I could get lost in there. You’re very talented.”

Leo smiled, pleased. Hopefully the intensifying color on his cheeks wasn’t visible in the darkness of the bar. He loved playing jazz, holding the tune and improvising, freedom within a structure. It connected him with the legendary jazz greats who wrote and played the music, and the present, where improvising made the music different each time.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink then a deep breath as he tried to rejoin the group conversation.

Leo felt his phone buzzing. It was home. He ignored it, as his mother had asked him to, and turned off the phone. He didn’t want to be tempted to answer if his father kept ringing. Anyway, he was preoccupied by the way the side of his leg touching Anton’s was heating up, as if he was next to a toaster’s element.

Anton and Leo walked home together as usual, stopping in the dimly lit corridor outside their adjacent doors. Leo hesitated; he didn’t want to go to his room. Why didn’t he have the courage to ask what Anton thought of him?

“See you tomorrow,” Leo said, moving backward slowly towards his door.

“Leo...” Anton said softly.

“Yes?” Leo stopped, hoping he was correctly interpreting the moment.

“Do you want...?” Anton asked, looking closely at Leo’s face and reaching for his hand.

“Do I want...?” Leo whispered, now staring into Anton’s eyes, his racing heart thumping.

Anton opened the door behind him with his other hand. He moved into his room, pulling Leo inside.

“Yes,” Leo said, following Anton, closing the door behind him and leaning on it.

Anton put his hands up to Leo’s face and kissed him gently. Leo closed his eyes, parted his lips, losing himself in the delicious feelings washing through him. His skin was on fire, and the butterflies in his stomach were whirling dervishes. He reached his arms around Anton’s neck, pulling him closer. His heavy legs felt like he had gone for a long run. He was inside the kiss, time was standing still, he didn’t want this moment to stop.

Eventually, they pulled apart, both breathing heavily. Leo wrapped his arms tightly around Anton’s body and whispered in his ear, bashfully admitting, “This is new for me... .”

“We can take it as slow as you want.” Anton’s breath was hot. He took Leo’s hand again and led him over towards the bed. Leo stumbled forward.

Anton rested his forehead on Leo’s. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said smiling, fingers playing with Leo’s ear, making him melt.

Leo cursed how difficult it was to express himself, but he summoned his strength. “I don’t want this to only be a hook up.”

“I feel the same. I really like you, Leo. You are... mesmerizing.”

Anton gently pulled Leo down on the bed and kissed him, his face, his body, in places he’d never been kissed before. Leo felt his whole body responding, burning, coming alive.

Wednesday

They woke in Anton’s single bed, a tangle of naked limbs in the darkened room, Anton’s arms circling Leo from behind.

“Don’t want to get up,” Leo said, sleepily, happy to stay in this cocoon forever.

When Leo moved slightly, he was pulled tighter. “Mmmmm,” Anton murmured, his breath tingling the back of Leo’s neck. “Wonder what time it is,” he asked sleepily.

Leo fumbled around to find his phone, locating it in the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He came back to bed and turned it on, snuggling back into Anton’s embrace. It was midmorning. He’d missed lots of calls from home last night, as his mother had predicted. He threw it aside.

“I guess I’m finally clear about something I’ve been wondering,” Leo said.

“What’s that?” Anton asked.

Leo took a deep breath. “Well, I think you know I’ve been trying to figure out my sexuality. I haven’t told you much about my family yet, but ...” It had been easier to start this conversation facing away, but he was ready to look at Anton, so he rolled over. Anton’s light blue eyes were so beautiful, his long dark lashes fluttering as he blinked, inches away. Leo could hardly believe they had spent the night together; they were together.

“I didn’t have time or space for this stuff when I was growing up. Now I know, I like guys...I like you.” He pressed a delicate kiss to Anton’s eyelids. They both smiled.

“Guess I came out to myself! Is that a thing?” Leo asked.

“Yes, it’s the first step. It’s probably the most important one, more than coming out to other people,” Anton said. “So, how do you feel?”

“Lighter, relieved, something like that. Make sense?”

“Yes. It is definitely a relief to figure it out,” Anton said.

“How was it for you?” Leo asked.

“Well, I’ve known I’m attracted to both men and women for a while now. I can tell you more later.”

“And how was coming out to your family?” Leo asked.

“My parents were cool. They are psychologists and quite open so it’s easy to talk to them. You know, coming out is different for everyone. And it’s not just once, it’s ongoing.”

Anton was good at communicating. Leo could get the hang of this.

“I’m going to tell my mom.”

“You can tell anyone you want to, on your terms,” Anton said.

“I’ll tell her when I see her next. Doesn’t feel right to say it on the phone. You know, it’s odd we have to announce our sexuality, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, straight people don’t have to,” Anton said.

Leo’s phone buzzed a Californian number he didn’t recognize. Probably his mom, from the motel where she stayed last night. He sat up, pulled the covers over his shoulders and answered.

It was Ada. “Hi Leo, I’m calling from the motel before I catch the bus back home,” she said, brightly. “I couldn’t ride the ostriches...”

“But that’s why you went there,” he interrupted.

“I know. I couldn’t, but I’ll explain later. I’ve had such an adventure. I feel great!” There was a noticeable change in her voice; she sounded upbeat, more effusive than he could remember.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” Leo said. He paused, suddenly feeling compelled to tell her his news. He blurted out, “Mom, there’s something I want to tell you. I can’t wait until I see you.” He reached for Anton’s hand, gripping tightly. “I’m gay.”

He started crying. His world had been turned upside down: coming out to himself, spending the night with Anton, being ready to tell his mom.

Ada didn’t hesitate. “I love you, Leo. It doesn’t matter who you choose to love. You’re still you, my amazing son.”

“Thank you, Mom, thank you.” He couldn’t believe the conversation they were having. In their home, feelings were not mentioned.

“My one suggestion is don’t tell your father,” Ada said.

“I wasn’t going to. He would never accept this.”

“Leo, you don’t need his approval. We are allowed to live the lives we want.”

“You said ‘we,’ what do you mean?” he asked. Something seemed to have shifted for her too.

“I’ll call you tonight when I get back home. Leo, I want you to live the life you want,” she repeated.

“I love you, Mom.”

He hung up. Anton took the phone, and gently wiped Leo’s eyes with a corner of the sheet. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Proud of myself.”

“You should be,” Anton said, smiling gently.

“Thank you,” Leo said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He had learned so much about himself this past year, this past night. He would live the life he wanted, honestly. He would be brave, and he would do what he could to help his mother be brave too, whatever she needed.

“I don’t want to go to class,” Leo said, hugging Anton tightly.

Anton’s eyes were roaming across Leo’s face, and he traced his thumb across Leo’s full lips.

“Let’s cut class, stay here,” Anton said, leaning in to kiss Leo, soft small, sweet kisses full of pride and promise.