Cutler 01 - Dawn

NIGHT
     
    Daddy started to yell at Jimmy first thing in the morning.
    "Why'd you run away for?" he shouted.
    "You always do," Jimmy shot back. They glared at each other, but when Momma came out, she was so happy Jimmy had come home that for once Daddy stopped.
    "I'll go around and get all your schoolwork from your teachers, Jimmy," I said quickly. "In the meanwhile you'll be able to help Momma with Fern."
    "Just what I wanted to be, a baby-sitter," he moaned.
    "It's your own fault," Daddy said. Jimmy went into a sulk. I was glad when it was time for Daddy and me to go to school.
    "Jimmy's going to try again, Daddy," I told him after we started off. "He promised me last night after he came home."
    "Good," Daddy grunted. Then he turned to me and looked at me so strangely. "It's nice of you to care so much about your brother."
    "Didn't your family care about each other, Daddy?" I asked.
    "Nothing like you and Jimmy," we said, but I could see from the way his eyes narrowed that he didn't want to talk about it.
    I couldn't imagine not caring about Jimmy. No matter how happy I would be, if Jimmy wasn't happy, I wasn't. So much had happened to us so quickly at Emerson Peabody, it left my head spinning. I thought the best thing I could do now was concentrate only on schoolwork and my music and put all the bad things behind me. Jimmy really did try harder, too. When he returned, he became more involved with his intramural sports and even did passingly well in his classes. It was beginning to look like we would be all right.
    However, once in a while, when I was passing through the corridors, I would see Mrs. Turnbell standing off to the side watching me. Jimmy said he felt as if she were haunting him, he saw her watching him so often. I smiled and greeted her politely whenever I could and she nodded back, but she looked like she was waiting for something to confirm her belief that we couldn't live up to the demands a school like Emerson Peabody made on its students, students who she believed were more special than us.
    Of course, Philip was still upset that I couldn't go out on dates with him, and that I wouldn't sneak out to do it. He kept after me to ask Daddy or to meet him secretly. In my heart I hoped everything would improve when spring came. Unfortunately, wilder held on stubbornly, keeping the floorboards cold, the skies gray, and the trees and bushes bare. But when the air finally turned warm and the trees and flowers budded, I was filled with a sense of renewed hope and happiness. I drew strength and pleasure from everything that blossomed around me. Bright sunshine and bright colors made even our poor neighborhood look special. Daddy wasn't talking about quitting his job any more, Jimmy was doing well in school, and I was really involved in music the way I had always dreamt I would be.
    Only Momma's persistent illness depressed us, but thought that with the coming of spring, with her walking outside on sunny days and keeping the windows open for more fresh air, she would surely improve. Spring had a way of renewing all faith. It always had for me, and now, more than ever, I prayed it would do wonders for us again.
    One bright afternoon after I was finished with my piano lesson, I found Philip waiting for me at the door of the music suite. I didn't see him and almost bumped into him because I was walking with my books cradled in my arms and my eyes down. My body was still filled with the music. The notes I had played continued to play repeatedly in my head. When I played the piano,, it was as if my fingers had dreams of their own. Ten minutes after I had gotten up from the piano stool, I could still sense how they held on to the feel of the piano keys. The tips tingled with the memory of the touch, and they wanted to repeat their movements over the keyboard, drawing out the notes and weaving them into melodies and tunes.
    "Penny for your thoughts," I heard and looked up at Philip's smiling, gentle eyes. He was leaning against the corridor wall nonchalantly, his arms crossed over his chest. His golden hair was brushed back and shiny, still a little wet from the shower he had just taken after baseball practice. Philip was one of the starting pitchers on the school's varsity team.
    "Oh, hi," I said stopping abruptly with surprise.
    "I hope you were thinking about me," he said.
    I laughed.
    "I was just thinking about my music, about my piano lessons."
    "Well, I'm disappointed, but how's it going?"
    "Mr. Moore's