A Girl Named Carrie and a Boy Named Theodore

            This is a story about a girl named Carrie and a boy named Theodore.  They may or may not have fallen in love; they may or may not have become best friends.  When you narrow it down to the bare facts it is a story about a girl who needed help with her advanced math class and the tutor’s son who played the piano and read long novels by the window.  Our story begins one early summer day when Ms. Bellows drove her beat up old Chevy up the long driveway to Matthew McKraxter’s mansion, where he tutored students, predominately in math and writing structure.  Carrie Bellows looked up at the huge house out her window, overwhelmed.  McKraxter had come highly recommended, and though his rates were not too high, the whole setting intimidated her.

            “I’ll see you in a couple hours,” her mother parked, unlocking the doors.  Carrie continued to gawk at the house, “Well get out of the car, I know we are a little early, but being punctual never hurt anybody.”

            Carrie reluctantly opened the car door and stepped out of the car, then leaned back into the car, staring pleadingly at her mother, “Do I really have to go?”

            “If you want that advanced math credit to get into that fancy college you want to go to, then yes.  You are seventeen, Carrie; you can handle this without me holding your hand.”

            Carrie sighed and closed the door, turning back to face the monstrous house.  She heard her mother pull away and wrapped her arms around herself as she slowly began up the steps to the front door.  As she neared the top, she could hear piano music coming from the inside.  She raised her hand to knock when she noticed a golden plaque on the door.  It read: ‘Students Enter and Wait at the Bottom of the Stairs. Thank You.’  She gripped the door handle and turned it and the piano music grew louder as she entered the foyer and she was once again overwhelmed by the luxurious house.  Why would a man with this kind of money tutor students for such a low rate?

            A mahogany door stood slightly ajar a little to her left and the piano music wafted out through the crack.  She looked around, seeing no other movement in the large house and curiosity began to get the better of her.  She wanted to know who was playing the beautiful music.  She began to edge toward the door and peeked inside.  The walls were lined with massive shelves of books and sunlight poured into the room from a large window that took up the whole far wall.  And in the center of the room stood a majestic grand piano, its player with his back to the door.  He was slender, his elbows and shoulders stiff, hunched over the instrument, his fingers gliding over the keys.  He wore a thin white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his wild brown hair sticking out in every which direction.  She wanted to watch more, but heard the footsteps of someone above her and quickly retreated back to the stairs.

            A balding man in a suit appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at her, “Ah, you must be here to see Mr. McKraxter.  Miss Bellows, yes?”

            “Y-yes.”  She answered, all of her former nervousness returning to her.

            “I’ll take you up in a moment, Mr. McKraxter asked me to do something for him first.  It’ll only take a moment.”  The man descended the stairs and entered the room with the piano and after a few moments, the piano music ceased and the man reappeared, “Mr. McKraxter will see you now.”

He led Carrie up the stairs and into an office with a large desk and a slightly smaller desk facing it.  Another massive window leaked natural light into the room.  A middle-aged man sat behind the larger desk, scribbling on a piece of paper.  He looked up as they entered the room, a large smile spreading across his face.

“Why hello!  You must be Carrie Bellows,” he extended his hand and she took it, shaking his hand, “So you are here for Advanced Calculus help, right?”

“Yes sir,” she replied quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Fine, fine.  So where are you currently?  Here, let me take a look in your book…”

 

Mr. McKraxter had seemed nice enough the first time, but Carrie still felt that knot in her stomach again as they neared the mansion.  She climbed out of the car and walked up the stairs to the porch, a little faster this time.  Piano music could be heard again, and she headed to the slightly opened door to peer through the crack at the mystery musician again.  The young man sat there, same as before, stiff arms and smooth fingers, sleeves rolled up the elbow.  She slowly slid through the crack to get a better view of the pianist.  Her eyes never left the piano as she made her way around the room.  As his face came into view she could see he was very young, quite possibly not much older than herself.  Her foot caught on the leg of an armchair near the window and she cried out, nearly falling face first to the floor.  The music stopped abruptly and he turned stiffly toward her.

“I’m so sorry, I can leave if- it was just- the music and I-” she stuttered over her words as he stared at her, his expression nearly impossible to read.

“You must be one of the students?” he finally asked.

“Yes… I’m so sorry for disturbing you I know I shouldn’t have barged in but the music-”

“That’s alright,” he turned back to the piano and began to play a slow piece.

“I… I’ll leave you to your music.”  He didn’t look up and she practically ran to the door and almost ran into the butler, whose name she had found out was Truman, “Sorry!” she blushed bright red.

“Why Miss Bellows, what are you doing in here?” Truman seemed surprised.

“It was the music; I wanted to see who was playing… I’m sorry; I know it wasn’t my place to wander.”

“Why it is quite alright, Miss Bellows, young Mr. McKraxter doesn’t seem to have been disturbed by your presence.”

She felt a lump in her throat as she realized she had disrupted Mr. McKraxter’s son’s piano playing, “I suppose I should be getting up to Mr. McKraxter’s office.”  She slid past Truman and headed up the stairs.

 

“The third time’s a charm,” Carrie thought to herself as she entered the McKraxter mansion.  The piano music was quieter today and there were some long times of pause.  Carrie wanted to know what was distracting the young man, but dared not peek into the door again after the disaster last week.  Truman appeared at the top of the stairs and she walked up to McKraxter’s office.

“So I hear you met Theodore last week,” Mr. McKraxter said as she entered and at her bewildered expression, he elaborated, “My son.”

“Oh… yes.” Her face turned beat red.

“No need to feel embarrassed, he does draw attention to himself with that piano.  I do hope he wasn’t too rude to you, he isn’t the friendliest fellow there is.”

“Oh, no, not at all.”

“That’s good,” she saw a sad glimmer flash and disappear in his eyes, then he sat at his desk and began in on the equations.

 

Carrie’s mother had arrived a whole half an hour early to drop her off today; she had some things to do and told Carrie it would be fine to arrive early.  She entered, hearing the piano music and starting toward the door.  Perhaps she had started off on the wrong foot with Theodore and she wanted to fix things, if for no other reason just so she could watch him play the piano instead of just hearing him from the foyer.  She entered the room and Theodore either ignored or did not notice her.  She watched where she was going this time, placing herself in the leather chair she had tripped over the last time.  He continued to play and she sat and listened, losing track of time until he stopped, grabbing his elbow and wincing in pain.

“You play beautifully,” she said in the silence and he looked up, apparently noticing her for the first time.

“You think so?” he rubbed his elbow, looking down at the keys, “I wrote it for my mother.”

“You wrote that?” Carrie was overcome with awe and walked over to the piano, peering over his shoulder at the sheet of music.

“Yes… a long time ago,” he stared out the window then looked back at her, “And why, may I ask, have you arrived so early today?  You aren’t scheduled to be here for another twenty minutes.”

“Mom dropped me off early… I don’t mind really, especially if I can hear you play.”

“I think I’m done for today,” he rubbed his elbow, standing stiffly and walking with a slight hobble over to the bookshelf, “But there are many good books here to read.  I have read nearly half of them,” he took a book from the shelf and shuffled over to a chair by the window, peering out at the garden it overlooked.

“I’ll leave you to your reading then,” she stood.

“Will you be back to listen next week as well?”

“Yes, I would like to,” she said shyly.

“Then I shall play the piece again… from the beginning.”

She smiled and headed up the stairs to her tutoring.

 

The white car in the driveway was the first thing Carrie noticed, for it was the only thing there that did not belong.  The second thing she noticed was the lack of piano music.  The house was completely still and quiet and she sat down on the stairs, waiting to see Truman appear and tell her it was time.  Fifteen minutes after her sessions would typically start, he appeared at the top of the stairs and she could tell he was frazzled.

“Mr. McKraxter will not be seeing anyone today, Miss Bellows.  I do apologize, but it is somewhat of a family emergency.”

“Well I hope everything is alright.”

“No, ma’am, I am sorry to say that it isn’t.  Young Mr. McKraxter’s illness has progressed and Mr. McKraxter-”

“His illness?” she asked, shocked.

“I really must get back, please call your mother and we will refund your money for this session, I am sure you can resume lessons next week.  Apologies, again.”

 

Carrie was relieved as the sound of piano music filled her ears.  She tried not to appear too eager to enter the piano room and as she did, she saw Theodore was wearing a thick sweater, but otherwise appeared the same.  He stopped when he noticed her in his peripheral vision and looked up, “Wasn’t feeling so well last week… but I will play you that song now,” he turned back to the piano and closed his eyes and as he began, she realized he was playing from memory.  The music was warm, but sad and she had to keep herself from crying.  When he finished, he sat upright and his neck popped, causing him to wince.

She sat for a long while before finally exclaiming, “That was… extraordinary.”

“I am glad you think so,” he still had a slight frown on his face and grunted as he reached up to rub his neck.

Carrie checked her phone and stood, “Well it is about time for my lesson… thank you for sharing your music with me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly as she left and went up the stairs.

Mr. McKraxter was not in his regular humor as she entered the office.  He appeared to be nervous and he stood when she entered.

“Carrie, I am so sorry about last week, I can explain, it was so sudden,” she sat, watching him pace, thinking about what to say, “My son Theodore is a very sick boy… though it ails me, there is nothing I can do to cure him.  You see, Theodore has a form of muscular dystrophy… Emery-Dreifuss is the proper term.  It not only affects his joints, but also his heart.  Last week I think he suffered a small heart attack and it gave us all a scare… now his legs have grown even worse…” he stared distantly out the window, as if he had forgotten she was there, “It’s so hard knowing he won’t live that much longer… and I can’t pay any amount of money to fix him.”  He stiffened, as if remembering Carrie and turned to her, “But enough about that… I would like to once again extend my apologies to you and your mother.”

 

It was a brisk October afternoon and the trees were all beautiful shades of orange, yellow, and red.  Carrie saw Theodore in the garden as they drove up the drive and had her mother let her out at its edge.  She walked out to meet him and noticed he was using a cane.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” he smiled slightly, the first time she could remember seeing him smile at all.  And in the stark light of the sun she realized how pale he was and just how slender his face was.  He wore the same sweater as the other day and thick pants accompanied by army boots.

“Nice cane,” she complimented.

“Yes, yes it is,” he looked down at it, “A waste of money, however.  I won’t be around much longer to use it.”

Carrie tried to ignore that last bit and looked around the garden, “Isn’t this the garden the piano room overlooks?”

“Yes.”

“It’s lovely.  Who tends it? ”

“The gardener… it was my mother’s.”

“I see…” she looked down at her feet, “I have never seen Mrs. McKaxter around the mansion… does she travel often?”

“No,” Theodore looked across the garden sadly, “She died… heart failure.  Looks like I’ll likely go the same way, seeing as this disease is genetic.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry,” she looked up at him to see him staring at her, tears shimmering in his eyes, “I didn’t want to get close to anyone, since I knew I was going to die… I didn’t want to cause them the heartache my mother’s death did.  I tried to stay distant and bury my nose in books and my piano.  But somehow… you found a way in.  And I am sorry that I allowed you to get to know me.”

“Theodore…”

“Soon, I won’t even be able to walk.  I’ll have to use a wheelchair,” he shook his head, staring out over the garden and gripping his cane.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I got to know you.  You are a beautiful pianist… and person.”

He smiled distantly, “I hope I never lose the use of my hands… I want to be able to play the piano right up to the very end,” he looked over at Carrie, “Father wants me bedridden, but I won’t hear of it.  I want to go out doing what I love,” he checked his watch, “It’s about time for your lesson.  Shall I walk you to the door?  I can’t handle the cold for very much longer anyway.”

Mr. McKraxter and Truman watched the two make their way up the garden, Carrie slowing her pace so that the limping Theodore could keep up.

“She is a nice girl, sir,” Truman said to his superior.

“I know… that’s what makes it so unbearable,” Mr. McKraxter retreated from the window to his desk.

 

Winter had fallen and Christmas was fast approaching.  Due to his lack of muscle tissue to protect him from the cold and the stiffening and deterioration of his joints, Theodore had been confined to the indoors and could no longer take his afternoon walks in the garden.  As Carrie entered what she had affectionately began to refer to as ‘Theodore’s Study,’ she noticed his wheelchair next to the piano bench and he sat bent over the keys, his fingers frozen, resting his tired arms and shoulders, wrapped in multiple layers to keep him warm.  She sat next to him on the bench.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, reaching up stiffly to the music stand and retrieving a few sheets of music.  As he handed them to her, she read the top: ‘Mother McKraxter: by Theodore McKraxter.’

“Theodore… I can’t take this.”

“Take it,” he insisted, “I don’t need it… it’s all up here,” he pointed to his temple.

She looked at him a moment longer, then hugged his arm, and he did his best to hide that it hurt him for her to touch him, “Thank you… I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ is enough,” he held back tears, feeling her beginning to cry, “Don’t cry, you don’t want to be tear streaked for your lesson.”

She sat up, wiping her eyes, “Thank you again,” she gripped the sheets of paper in her hands, “This is the most beautiful song in the world.”  He smiled and turned back to the keys and as she left the room she heard him playing the song again, starting from the beginning.  It could barely be heard up in Mr. McKraxter’s office.

“So we left off on the fundamental theorem.  Let’s try example five-”

Suddenly the piano made a loud sound, as if several keys had been hit all at once, then the music stopped altogether.  Mr. McKraxter froze, his mouth hanging open in midsentence.  Carrie felt an uneasy tension forming between them and a knot began to form in her chest as she heard Truman pounding down the stairs.  Mr. McKraxter recovered from his daze and stood, following Truman down the stairs.  Carrie sat staring down at the equations, scared of what she knew was awaiting her downstairs.  She finally stood when Mr. McKraxter did not return.  The door to ‘Theodore’s Study’ was wide open and she could see him slumped over the piano, one arm dangling limply by his side.  Mr. McKraxter stood by the window, staring out over the garden and Truman stood at the front door as if waiting for someone, most likely the doctor.  But the doctor was not truly needed.  They all knew that what had been expected for months, since before Carrie Bellows had ever set foot in the McKraxter Mansion, had finally happened.  And Theodore had been right.  He would no longer be needing his sheet music.

Author's Note

I apologize for the awkward spacing, the format is acting strange... but I hope you enjoy the story.