Jazz and Ella

CHAPTER 1

Jazz sat on an airplane seat looking out the window at the Tarmac below him, waiting for the big jet to take off. He was sitting by himself on this trip. Mom sat across the aisle from him, nodding to him from time to time. A large, rather handsome man sat next to her, and he leaned forward and waved to Jazz, giving him a broad smile.
Mom seemed to know the man, and to like him. There hadn’t been time for introductions, since the man and a girl came on board just before the plane doors closed. Then it was ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’, pull your chairs up, and all the instructions flight attendants always give.
Jazz knew he ought to be excited, and really, this vacation to Disney World sounded terrific. Still he had to struggle to act like this was really going to be a lot of fun since he probably would be pretty much alone with no other kids to join him running around the parks. His stomach hurt most of the time, but he tried not to talk about it much. He knew when he did his mom would get into her "examination mode" and take his temperature and look down his throat, and all that.
Mom knew what to look for in terms of body pain. She’d become a famous doctor, after all—like, really famous. She worked at a large teaching hospital, and she was a very good doctor. People from all over their area came to see her in her specialty, Internal Medicine.
Everyone told him how good she was, anyhow. When he got sick, and he didn’t get sick often, she always knew just who to take him to, who to consult and what medicines to give him.
That was the worst part. A lot of the medicine he took tasted so bad, and made him sleepy, or feel even sicker but he tried not to worry Mom.
Sitting alone on the plane, Jazz closed his eyes and his thoughts wandered back to the time of 'THE DIVORCE'. Jazz remembered every moment of it as if it was yesterday. Mom and Dad hadn’t gotten along for months, ever since Mom learned that Dad had been dating another woman.
One day they invited him downstairs for a talk. Except Mom and Dad weren’t talking. They were yelling. He’d never heard such language in their house. Yeah, at school and in the neighborhood, some kids used real nasty language. Sometimes they even directed it at Jazz; like they wanted him to fight them.
Jazz could take care of himself, but he didn’t like fighting. Running races, playing ball, all those things—yeah, Jazz was good at those things. He was usually the first one picked for baseball games, and he’d been playing ball with the older kids for a long time— since he was five. He was faster than most of the other kids, too, even the older ones. He’d done well in Youth Football, in sixth and seventh and even eighth grade.
But then, when he was just eight, he found himself face up against something he couldn’t handle. Mom and Dad told Jazz they wouldn’t be living together anymore.
The next day, Jazz did go to school. That's when the stomach aches started. Mom made him go and said they had to go on with their lives as if nothing happened.
He thought about another time when he found himself having to pretend as if everything was okay. He remembered going over to Willie's house, his neighbor and friend. Willie was watching what he called a Zombie movie about people who looked pretty disgusting with grey wrinkly faces, hollow eyes, and they were walking around after they were dead. Jazz had never liked scary movies at all, especially when he was eight. Some of the kids had called him a baby because of it, but he never saw any reason to be scared if you didn’t have to be. So he managed to pretend that the movie had been really cool.
This time, though, the pretending didn't work very well. Mr. Urich, his P. E. teacher, asked him to stay after class that first day and said something about how Jazz didn't look like himself, and was everything okay? Jazz, very embarrassed, started to cry and told him that his parents were getting a divorce. Mr. Urich didn’t look shocked at all. Neither did Mr. Plecas, the principal, when Mr. Urich took Jazz in to see him.
“Look, Jazz,” said Mr. Plecas, who had always been nice to him. “You don’t have to be ashamed of crying about that. Not at all. Remember when Randy Newland fell on the playground and broke his arm?”
Jazz did remember. The arm had snapped in two, and the break looked like it hurt like crazy. Randy had been screaming, Jazz recalled, and not just with pain, but with profound fear. Jazz thought of how Randy kept saying “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”
Jazz nodded to Mr. Plecas and Mr. Urich, and Mr. Plecas put his arm on Jazz’s shoulder to comfort him. “Look,” said Mr. Plecas. “What happened to you is just as bad as what happened to Randy. I'm serious.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jazz.
“I lost my dad when I was your age,” said Mr. Plecas. “We went on a vacation as a family and he drowned in a lake up in Minnesota. When I found out I ran and hid in the woods. They couldn’t find me for a couple of hours. My mom had to take care of the family all by herself after that.”
Jazz started to cry again, and his pain now included feeling really sorry for Mr. Plecas and not just himself.
Mr. Plecas let him sit in the office by himself until after lunch. Jazz began to feel kind of numb and his stomach was hurting again, but he went back to class, not talking, just doing the work of writing and reading, trying not to think about going home and facing the house without his dad.
At last, though, he had to get on the bus and go back to his house out in the country. He got off the bus at his stop and walked home—about a half mile, Dad had once told him.
Once he got home, Jazz realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten much of his lunch. He poured a glass of juice, and then fixed a peanut butter and raw honey sandwich. Once he ate, he did feel better, and decided to check out the house.
Everything looked the same as ever except for his parents’ room. Dad had the closet opposite the end of the huge king size bed with the big canopy over it. The door stood open, and Jazz could see that Dad had emptied out the closet. The drawers Dad had always used were pulled out part way, and Jazz walked over to see that Dad's underwear drawer, socks drawers, and even the drawer that Dad hadn’t allowed Jazz to look into had all been emptied.
Jazz sat down on what had been his Dad's side of the bed and tried hard not to cry again.
His mother found him lying on the bed sometime later when she came home from her medical office. Jazz remembered he had fallen into a deep sleep and had scary dreams of walking dead people, but he couldn’t remember anything else about the dreams that had seemed so frightening at the time.
Mom took Jazz out to dinner that night and they drove to one of their favorite places for pizza, a rare treat. They even ordered soda pop and went out for some ice cream afterward at a Baskin Robbins. As they ate, Jazz kept thinking of the word ‘bribe’, but he wasn’t sure what it meant: something like maybe paying someone to do something you want him to.
That night, eight year old Jazz climbed into the bath tub and lingered in the hot water longer than he usually did. He played with some tub toys, something he never did anymore and which he didn’t want anyone to know about, because the other kids would really tease him about it. It just felt good to sit in the hot water and think of something other than all the yucky stuff swirling around him in real life.
That night, Mom came to his bedroom and made sure, as always, that he was tucked in. Of course, tonight Dad didn’t come. This was the first time Dad had not come in to kiss him goodnight as long as Jazz could remember.
“Dear little Jazz Hands,” Mom said. “I know you’re heartbroken. I probably should have let you stay home. But I didn’t have anyone to stay with you, and I thought you might feel better if you picked up your life and went on as soon as you can.” Jazz nodded. “Jazzy,” said Mom. “We just have to make it through one day at a time, okay?”
Jazz mumbled ‘okay,’ or something, and clutched his stomach.
That had all happened a number of years ago. The next day had been about as bad as the first. So had the next. The next week hadn’t been too bad, except when a big eighth grader, one of the school bullies, had decided to pick him as his daily target and shoved him into a locker. Mom had told him to be brave and Dad, when he finally did come to see him—about a month after he’d moved out—had told him the same thing. Jazz never could understand why his Dad didn't want to see him more often. Jazz wanted to see him all the time and just decided he must have done something really wrong.
Finally, several weeks, and then a whole bunch of months, and then a few years, had gone by.
Then, at Christmas Eve last year, he got into bed, his stomach still hurting him as it always did at night. His mom came in, as she always did, to say goodnight. The fact that he had grown older did not alter this evening habit.
“Jazz,” said Mom. “I’ve been thinking we should go to Florida. I think maybe a vacation to visit Mickey is just what we need! How does that sound? I've planned our trip so we leave about a month from now." Jazz, for the first time in a while, began to get excited. Everyone he knew would give anything to go to Disneyworld . He and his mom hadn't taken a vacation for a long time. It might be good to go away. But then the thought of the possibility of loneliness started to overwhelm him.
“Sure it’s okay,” said Jazz. “That’d be great. We haven’t been there since—”
He bit off the rest of the sentence, as the pain of not having his dad come with him struck. When they went on trips or vacations before the divorce, it’d just be the three of them and Jazz treasured the memories from those vacations. He even remembered the first night when he’d ordered chocolate milk.
He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mom knew what he meant. Mom said goodnight, reminded Jazz not to forget to pray, and Jazz tried to go to sleep.
The next month had dragged by, as Jazz and his mom prepared for their trip to Florida. He was going to miss a few days of school, but Mr. Plecas, the school principal, had grinned and told him not to worry. He asked Jazz to try to do some school work while he was there and said the rest of the school envied him getting to go to Disneyworld.
Jazz wasn’t very concerned about how the rest of the school felt about him. He was a pretty good athlete, though not the fastest, and a pretty good student, though not the best. A girl whom Jazz didn’t know, except by sight, was the best, far and away. He had never really talked to her and was pretty sure she didn’t know him. At least, she never greeted him in the hall.
To tell the truth, Jazz rather enjoyed being a loner. He didn’t like the so-called popular kids in the eighth and seventh grades, who walked around in exclusive groups and didn’t let anyone join their cliques. He had a couple of friends he ate lunch with, and then he went home where he’d play on the internet a little, but generally, he like to read.
So as he sat by himself on the airplane, he felt rather at home—by himself, reading a book while listening to his favorite band, the Newsboys, on his headphones.
He felt a nudge, and turned to look at whom it was. To his surprise, the girl from his school who got such great grades stood there, with her hair in braids and wearing a cute, sporty-looking dress. He pulled off his head phones and looked up.
“Hi,” said the girl. “I’m Ella. Can I sit with you?”
Jazz was so surprised he could hardly talk. “Well—uh—sure,” he said. He’d been sitting on the aisle, and now put the armrest up so he could slide across to the window seat. Now he recognized her as the girl who’d almost missed the flight and had come onto the plane with Mom’s—er—friend.
“You go to Harrison Junior High,” said the girl, “in Wildwood. I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah, I do,” said Jazz, who realized that he must sound like a fool. He suddenly didn’t know where to put his hands. He wasn’t sure if you were supposed to shake hands with girls or not. She solved his dilemma by putting out her right hand. He took it somewhat numbly.
She laughed a little. “Do you think you can tell me your name?” she laughed, amused by his obvious lack of social skills.
“Oh,” he mumbled. “Well, people call me Jazz. Jazz O’Neill.”
“Your name is Jazz?” she looked surprised.
“I know it’s kind of unusual,” he said. “It’s a nickname. I’m really named Jasper.”
“Really,” she said. “That’s unusual. I’ve never met anyone named Jasper.”
“My mom is a doctor,” said Jazz.
Ella looked at him. Jazz didn’t continue.
“Er…” she began. “Should I see something I’m not?”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, when she was in college, she got to be in a musical play called The Music Man. One of the songs has a line about something like ‘an out of town Jasper’.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard it,” smiled Ella.
“You have?” said Jazz.
“Sure,” said Ella. “My Dad likes musicals. He’s always taken me to see high school and college musicals and plays. I know we’ve seen The Music Man.”
“Does your mom go too?” asked Jazz.
Ella didn’t say anything. Instead she became very quiet, her smile disappeared, and she looked down, staring at the hands that were now clenched in her lap. A few moments passed, while Jazz realized that she was about to cry.
“Did I—” he began. “Did I say something that hurt you?” he mumbled.
“You didn’t know,” she said. “It’s okay.”
“Didn’t know what?” he asked.
“Didn’t know my mom died,” she said. “My mom died a couple years ago. She died of cancer. She found out in March and died in September. The doctors couldn’t help her.”
Jazz didn’t know what to say. He’d never met someone whose mom was dead. He knew, though, that he felt terrible now. At least his dad was still alive even if he didn't see him as much as he wished.
“I’m sorry…” he tried, but then realized he’d probably said the wrong thing again.
Ella shook her head. A moment later, Jazz asked, “Can you tell me how you got your name?”
His new friend brightened, her wide smile returned, and she became very animated as she began to speak. “Sure,” said Ella. “I’m named after a famous singer named Ella from a long time ago.”
“That’s kind of unusual too, I guess,” he said. “I like it, though.”
“Thank you,” she said. “My Mom worked as a kind of a musician. She liked to sing, and she did it in night clubs before and after she married my Dad. She paid for college and graduate school doing her singing.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jazz. “I don’t see…”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ella. “Her favorite singer was Ella Fitzgerald. I’ve grown up listening to her music.”
“I don’t think I know about her,” said Jazz. He thought that it was better to be honest than pretend to be aware of Ella Fitzgerald only for her to discover later he was lying to impress her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can play you some music on my iPad with Ella singing. Also, my dad has a bunch of old records he plays every once in a while.”
This conversation came to an end and the two children sat in a rather awkward silence. Ella spoke at last.
“Where are you going in Florida?” she asked.
“Disney,” he said. Then he thought that wasn’t saying enough, and added, “I mean, Walt Disney World.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s good, Jazz.”
“Why?” he asked. “I mean, why do you care about it?”
“Because we’re going there, too,” she added. "Where are you going to stay?"
“I think Mom said something about The Contemp… er, The—Uh—”
“The Contemporary,” she said. “It’s a big hotel. It's really a neat place. The monorail goes right through the middle of the hotel. You just hop on it and you can get to Epcot or The Magic Kingdom in just a few minutes.
“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” he nodded.
“That’s great,” said his new friend. “We’re going to stay there too.”
“Oh!” said Jazz. “So I guess—” He hesitated. “Maybe we could do some things together?”
“Well, yeah,” she grinned. “I hope we can do that. That would really be fun. I was wishing I had someone more my age to ride all the rides. I mean, my Dad is lots of fun and all, but...."
"I know what you mean", Jazz said, interrupting her. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but then, in the next second, everything in both of their lives changed forever.