Date: Sat, 1 Jun 2013 03:41:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: ritchchristopher@att.net
Subject: Echoes-From-A-Wishing-Well-chapter-six-revised-adult-friends

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.

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		       "Echoes from a Wishing Well"

			 Copyright Ritchris, 2007
			 (Revised Copyright  2013)

				  A Story

				    by

			     Ritch Christopher


				chapter six

				<><><><><>

	The date was May sixteenth, the year was 1946 when, on the stage of
Broadway's Imperial Theatre, Ethel Merman stopped the opening night
performance of "Annie Get Your Gun" as she sang Irving Berlin lyrics, 'You
get word before the show has started that your favorite uncle died at
dawn. On top of that, your ma and pa have parted; you're broken-hearted,
but you go on...", thus stabilizing the tradition that no matter what, 'the
show must go on'.

	Art was out of town trying out a new Broadway-bound show and even
though he had lost his one and only son, he still felt it was his duty to
make every performance and plan Ronnie's funeral around the show's
schedule. To outsiders, not in show business, this might sound heartless
and disrespectful, but Art was a trouper from way back and the show had to
come first. He could cry on his own time, but he knew he had a job to do.

	Cyrus and Dean were more than aware of Art's dilemma and they
offered to fly to New York immediately to make funeral arrangements and to
look after things which fathers, however shattered, would do under normal
circumstances. Considering the relationship which had sprung up between
Ronnie and Trent, it seemed the natural thing to do would be to take Trent
with them and Trent was more than willing to go. Trent still loved Ronnie
deeply, and perhaps during the two weeks they'd spent together, Ronnie had
become the most important person in Trent's life...but, prior to meeting
Ronnie, Trent's life revolved solely around his Granny Dee. So in reality,
Granny Dee was the person whom Trent had to consider most.

	Cyrus and Dean tried every way possible to get Granny Dee to
accompany them and Trent to New York: they went so far as saying that Trent
HAD to be there, but that he'd need Granny Dee's support to get through the
events to come, but the thought of taking her first airplane ride, plus the
fact that there were farm animals to be fed and watered, she insisted on
gracefully bowing out of going. At first, Trent had difficulty in accepting
the fact that Art would be in charge of Ronnie's wake and services---how
could he not attend to the details himself?---But Dean explained to Trent
the Broadway tradition and told him that if Trent himself were starring on
Broadway and if he should get word that Granny Dee was seriously ill or had
passed away, it would be expected of Trent to go on with the show first and
attend to personal matters afterwards. This seemed harsh and cruel to
Trent, but finally he accepted the situation, that if that's the way things
had to be...then so be it.

	Dean, Cyrus, and Trent had to drive to Knoxville to board their
flight to New York. The two 'uncles' as well as Granny Dee were aware of
Trent's apprehension concerning taking his first airplane ride, including
the heartbreak and quandary he would face once he got to New York...
Ronnie's wake and funeral. It had only been two years past that Trent had
gone through the grief and trauma of burying both his mother and dad. He
was no stranger to death and the aftermath of loneliness which followed...
but who could have foreseen the death of a fifteen-year-old talented
genius, cut down when he was on the brink of becoming the happiest young
man alive?

	Silently, Dean cursed every person in every state legislature who
had ever voted against the anti-hate crime bill in the entire country. As
tragic as it was when an Afro-American is victimized, at least the NAACP
came to his defense, but in many sections of the United States, when such a
crime is inflicted on a gay person, it was thought of by some narrow-minded
conservatives that the gay only got what he deserved...after all he had
committed an abominable crime against God and nature. No big group, no
organization leaped to its feet to stand up for him, make his death
meaningful, not to fight for the rights of the next victim, for one would
come along only too soon. Yes, there WAS an hate-crime law in place in New
York, so how could this have happened in early evening twilight on a
well-lighted public street? This incident and its outcome was cruel and
harsh, considering that the assailants in all probability would never be
caught, never arrested, and never made to face the punishment for this
crime.

	Since Art had basically left all the arrangements to Dean and
Cyrus, it was their decision whether to have a closed or open casket. Art
had explained to them that Ronnie had died from abdominal wounds so that
there would be no visible marks on his body. Still, the sight of seeing the
youngster cold and dead could be horror enough to those who loved
Ronnie...and especially the young, Trent. Dean thought he would wait and
view Ronnie privately before making the final determination.

	Before they left Weston, Dean had asked permission from Dee if he
could give Trent something for his nerves should he need it, or Dramamine
if he should get flight sickness. Dee trusted Dean and said she would leave
it up to his discretion concerning pills for her grandson.

	Ronnie had been killed on Thursday evening and NYPD had contacted
Art in Boston later that evening. Since the new musical numbers that Art
had discussed with Ronnie seemed to work in the second act, the show could
run smoothly for the Saturday matinée and evening performances. Sunday's
rehearsal would be cancelled. Art hoped that everything could be arranged
for a Sunday funeral as he would have to get back to the show on Monday,
not to mention the fact that he hated long wakes. At least that way, he'd
have his work to aid him in the seemingly impossible adjustment in his
life. Art had often told Ronnie that if he, Art, should die in the morning,
to try to get him buried by late that same afternoon. Now the situation was
reversed, it was Ronnie who was dead, Ronnie who was gone, but Art still
didn't want to lengthen the wake, the funeral, and the burial.

	Their flight from Knoxville was scheduled to leave for New York at
7:30 pm. The automobile jaunt to Knoxville would leave Weston at six. It
was just after noon when Dean asked Cyrus to make a light early supper...no
heavy food for this was Trent's first airplane excursion and Dean thought
it best for Trent not to travel on a full stomach of heavy food. Dean said
that he had to drive downtown briefly and wanted Trent to accompany him
while Cyrus was playing chef. When Dee got word that Cyrus was to cook
supper, she insisted that she would be more than happy to prepare the meal
for the three 'travelers'...maybe a big tossed salad with fresh greens and
vegetables from her garden with a ham and cheese sandwich and some homemade
vanilla ice cream for dessert.

	Trent was still in a daze and didn't bother to ask Dean where they
were going or why. The two were silent halfway through the trip
downtown. Finally, Dean broke the quiet solemnity in the car by asking
Trent, "How you doing, boy?"

	"Uncle Dean, all my life I've heard the expression that a person's
heart could break. I never believed it because the heart is muscle with no
bones. Anatomically speaking, there's really nothing that could break in a
heart...I don't know what happens or HOW it happens, but when I heard the
news last night, somehow, my heart broke...not just in two, but in a
million, billion pieces!" Trent spoke, almost gasping through his tears.

	"I think I know how you feel, son. You know something else everyone
says is life isn't fair...and this is a prime example. I don't think Cyrus
or I slept a wink all night. We hardly said a word...just the two of us
lying in bed, not knowing what to say, for fear if either of us said
anything, we both would have broken down and cried all night. Another part
of life not being fair...look at Cyrus and me. We both led long, successful
lives and if somebody 'had to go', why couldn't have been one of us, two?
Ronnie was sixteen. He really hadn't started living his life yet. Seeing
the two of you together made the two of us more than happy as we felt maybe
you, two, were what the other needed to begin your lives together. I...I've
never seen a budding relationship grow so fast. Neither of us, Cyrus and I,
had no doubt in our minds that you and Ronnie had actually fallen in love
in less than two weeks time."

	"Granny Dee saw it too. I...I wanted to talk to you and Uncle Cyrus
about it, but Granny Dee wanted me to go live with Ronnie in New York and
go to the High School for the Performing Arts with Ronnie. Granny was even
willing to sell her farm to pay for my tuition."

	"Good Lord, Trent! Why didn't you say something before Ronnie left?
Cyrus and I, both were under the assumption that you'd NEVER leave Dee. She
wouldn't have had to sell the farm...now even one cow. Cyrus and I had
already talked to the Admissions Director about awarding you a
scholarship. The Director used to work for Cyrus and me. You were going to
live with Ronnie at his dad, Art's apartment...so your tuition, room and
board would be taken care of. Cyrus and I were going to put you on a weekly
allowance to give you spending money!" Dean suddenly realized he'd gone too
far. Fulfilling Trent's pipe dream would only hurt him more when he found
out how close he was to a 'happily ever after' ending."

	"Did Ronnie know about this?"

	"No. Cyrus and I made an incorrect assumption that you'd never
leave Granny Dee and so only Cyrus and I knew about the plan."

	"Uncle Dean, do you believe in God?"

	"That's rather an awkward question, Trent.I would LIKE to believe,
but there are so many Hollywood stunts in the Old Testament, it's difficult
to ccmprehend that one man lived over nine-hundred years. Moses, stretched
out walking stick and the entire sea parted, just as Cecil B; DeMille
depicted. A man's wife turning into a pillar of salt. An army blows its
horns while another army marches around a city seven times and both cities
were destroyed. I think the biggest fantasy is one man built a boat and
gathered up two animals of EVERY species when there were literally
thousands and thousands of animals, birds, and what nots and the entire
world was covered in water except this one boat...meaning that ALL
civilization was killed except for the eight people on the boat and about a
million animals. These all make GREAT movies, but at what time in history
did all these miraculous things stop happening. I guess the only modern day
epic was dropping two bombs on two cities in Japan and killing hundreds of
thousand men, women, and children...the same way that Joshua's march and
Gideon's trumpets did to their cities. Sorry, I got carried away there for
a moment...I guess I'm still not over Brother Jonathan's sermon last
Sunday...forget that! Why did you ask?"

	"I just wondered if Ronnie really IS in a place called heaven and
if he's up there on a cloud looking down at me right now?"

	"Well, Trent, I'm not so sure about the 'cloud' business, but I DO
think a part of Ronnie is still alive."

	"If not in heaven, then where?"

	"In your heart, Trent. Ronnie filled your heart with his love, just
as he died with your love inside him."

	"I...I DID love him, Uncle Dean..."

	"Yes, Trent, and I'm sure Ronnie loved you just as much."

	Their convesation lasted just long enough for Dean to drive into
downtown Weston and park in front of Miller's Dry Goods.

	"Why are we here, Uncle Dean?"

	"I wanted to buy you some travel clothes and perhaps something more
appropriate for Ronnie's funeral."

	"I...I WOULD be ashamed to wear overalls...or even my new jeans. Do
you think that Candy would loan me a pair of dress pants and let me return
them when I get back home?"

	"And let that nice woman, Candy, miss a sale?"

	"You're right. It's just the more things you buy for me, the
guiltier I feel."

	"Trent, I never talk about money. God knows, Cyrus does! To hear
him tell it, we're on poverty's door stoop waiting for someone to invite us
in."

	"But you're NOT, are you?"

	"I don't want to say this to you as if I'm bragging, but do you
know what a seven-figure bank account is?"

	"Not exactly,"

	"Well, pick a number one through nine,"

	"Okay."

	"That's the first number of a seven-figure bank account. Now, add
six zeroes behind the number you picked."

	"I picked, 'eight'..and with six zeroes behind it...that's eight
million dollars! YOU and CYRUS have that much money?"

	 "And more! You must know about royalties and residuals? That's the
profit we're still making on the shows and hit tunes we wrote...and with
all the college drama groups, high school drama clubs, Little Theatre
Organizations, Revivals, professional stock, touring companies, and
especially television commercials where someone takes the tune of one of
our songs and adds his company's product for lyrics, I wouldn't dare
mention how much THAT pays us...year after year and the money just keeps on
acomin'!"

	"Golly Gee! I had no idea you had that much! IMAGINE! A
aeven-figure bank account!"

	"Try eight'!"

	"Holy crap!"

	"In our will, we've donated quite a heavy sum to several charities,
particularly AIDS...and, well, the rest of it was going to Ronnie since
Cyrus nor I have any living relatives. That's why I told you that Ronnie
was more like the son we'll never have...and YOU were worried about
spending money?"

	At least the conversation replaced the morose topic
momentarily. Trent and Dean were welcomed by Candy, Since she didn't know
about the tragedy of Ronnie, she kept the conversation light while Dean
picked out three or four pairs of dress pants and some semi-dress-up
shirts. Miller's didn't have a dress suit fit for the occasion it was
needed. Dean thought after they arrived in New York, he'd take Trent down
Fifth Avenue and fit him with a nice dark blue suit, matching tie, and
shoes."

	The conversation back home was much less somber. When they arrived,
Dee and Cyrus spread a tablecloth over the outside picnic table where the
food was ready. After the meal, the three men were off to New York to face
the saddest music ever written...the death of Ronnie.

	On the plane to New York, Trent sat beside Dean while Cyrus sat
just across the aisle from them. Trent seemed to be in a stupor or a
trance. He showed no facial emotion whatsoever. Dean didn't know if Trent
was suffering from shock or from a deep depression. Several times Dean
tried to make conversation with Trent, but Trent replied with one-word
answers and stared straight ahead.

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	Colette, Art's long-time assistant, met Dean, Cyrus, and Trent at
the door of Art's apartment. She had worked on one show with Dean and Cyrus
before they moved to Tennessee and she virtually fell into Dean's arms as
soon as she saw him. She broke down in tears dredged from the anguish she
had kept inside since Ronnie's murder. Trent had no idea who she was and
assumed she must be a family member. Dean held her close to his chest and
let her release her pent-up emotion. Cyrus, stepping behind her, wrapped
his arms around the two and embraced them both at the same time. Trent
walked numbly into the apartment and looked around, almost in dread, to see
what would remind him of Ronnie.

	"Oh, Jesus, am I glad to see you!" Colette sobbed.

	"There, there, Colette, let it all out," Dean said, comforting
her. "We're here now, and it's gonna be all right. Is Art here?"

	"No, Dean, he should be in later this evening," she
replied. "Please come on in and let me put your luggage in the spare
bedroom."

	"That's OK, Colette," Cyrus said, "I know where it is...I'll do
it. Why don't you sit on the couch and talk with Dean?"

	Dean led her to the couch. There was a box of Kleenex on the coffee
table. Dean reached for half a dozen tissues and handed them to her. She
took them, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Trent followed Cyrus into the
guest bedroom.

	"Are all of us going to sleep in here?" Trent asked.

	"I...I was wondering if you would have any objection to staying in
Ronnie's bedroom. If you have reservations about doing so, if it'd be too
much for you, please tell me."

	"I...I think...I think I'd like to sleep in his bedroom, Uncle
Cyrus. It's...it's not like he died in bed. I...I think I'd feel closer to
him just by sleeping where he slept."

	"Then bring your bag and I'll take you in there."

	Trent picked up the small shabby suitcase which he'd borrowed from
Granny Dee and quietly followed Cyrus down the hall. As he walked, Trent
closed his eyes momentarily, trying to feel Ronnie, but no voice spoke to
him, no arms appeared that might protect him. Cyrus opened the door and the
two of them went inside. Trent had seen a baby grand piano in the living
room, but there was a smaller electric Yamaha piano in Ronnie's room.
Ronnie seemed to have everything a fifteen or sixteen year old boy could
want in his room...a large TV with a game system attached; a computer;
bookcases on three sides of the room with CD's, Broadway scores, plays,
theatre books, etc. On the wall were B'way placards of shows which Cyrus
and Dean had written, plus autographed pictures from the biggest stars on
Broadway, stars that Ronnie had met through his dad. The computer was still
turned on. Cyrus went over to look at the screen and saw the unfinished
letter Ronnie was writing to Trent just before he went out for pizza and
ultimately met his doom. Cyrus didn't want Trent to read it just yet. It
would've been too much for Trent to bear right now. Cyrus saved the letter
and filed it in 'My Documents' and titled it, '4T'...'for Trent', and he
turned off the computer.

	Trent was amazed to see that Ronnie had a king-sized bed and
wondered why someone his or Ronnie's size would need such a huge place to
sleep. Colette had changed the linen and made the bed. Trent wondered which
side Ronnie slept on and for a brief moment, imagined himself sharing the
large bed with Ronnie...as they had planned to do one day. The closet door
was open and Trent saw all the jeans and shirts which he and Dean had
bought for Ronnie at Miller's Dry Goods Store in Weston...and his heart
sank just a little while he stoically fought shedding a single tear.

	"Will you be all right in here?" Cyrus asked quietly.

	"Yes...I'll be fine. Thanks." As Cyrus left the room, he glanced
back to see Trent in the middle of the room, his face seemingly showing
that he saw nothing at all. God, if Cyrus only knew!

	Colette had been using the guest bedroom but, now that Dean and
Cyrus had arrived, she could go home to her own apartment on the upper East
Side. In anticipation of the Tennessee guests arrival, Colette had shopped
for groceries and had filled the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator...as
well as stocking Art's portable bar in the living room.

	After leaving Trent in Ronnie's room Cyrus returned to the living
room.  Seeing Dean and Colette, he almost whispered, "Trent is going to
stay in Ronnie's room."

	"Do you think that's wise?" Dean asked.

	"I gave Trent the option and that's what he chose to do."

	"Okay, then."

	"Colette, do you know if the police caught the guys who attacked
Ronnie?", Cyrus asked.

	"So far as I know, Cyrus, no. They may NEVER catch them," Colette
replied.

	"Have there been more attacks in this neighborhood? I mean, do you
think it's like a serial assailant?"

	"I haven't heard, Cyrus, but then I live on the other side of New
York. One never knows when a hate-crime is going to happen."

	"Is that what you think it was?...a hate crime?"

	"Someone saw Ronnie while he was buying his pizza and said he was
flashing several hundred dollar bills when he paid. So it might NOT be a
hate crime, just the average New York robbery."

	"I can't imagine Ronnie not being able to defend himself. He was
such an expert in martial arts!"

	"Someone way down on the other side of the street saw Ronnie being
attacked and said that there were two of them. One was holding Ronnie from
behind while the other one...well, I guess while the other wielded the
knife."

	"God damn it! You see people stabbed all the time on TV and in the
movies and they ALWAYS seem to recover. I mean, hell, there was one Mel
Gibson, 'Lethal Weapon' movie where he was shot twenty or thirty times and
survived to make the next movie. Why couldn't..."

	"Cyrus, that was in the movies. In real life, that doesn't happen
to real people. They get stabbed, they bleed to death...and they die."

	"My God, it makes me shiver just to think of it! That boy!
Everything in the world to live for...including a new-found love...I...I
just don't know..." Cyrus' declaration brought new tears to his eyes.

	"I...I didn't get a chance to meet him, but was that Ronnie's Trent
who arrived with you?" Colette asked.

	"Yes, Colette, that was Ronnie's Trent."

	"That's all Ronnie talked about since he returned from Tennessee.
I'd never seen him so excited. I really believe that Ronnie was in love
with him," Colette said.

	"He was, Colette...and I believe Trent loved Ronnie just as much."

	"God, that poor kid...what he must be going through...emotionally."

	"I'm sure Trent is suffering, but he hasn't showed it much. I guess
by NOT seeing Ronnie, it's not completely real to him yet," Cyrus added.

	"That's why I think we should have a closed casket...for all
concerned," Dean said. "Even though death is a natural state, one is only
seen in death for such a short time before burial. That's why I think it's
best to remember the 'living' Ronnie and not have the unpleasant experience
of seeing him as a lifeless cold corpse. To me, that's an unnatural state!"

	"I think you're right, Dean," Colette said.

	"No one is going to look at me that way!" Cyrus stated with
authority. "Dean and I both have agreed that when our time comes, we'll go
straight from the deathbed to the morgue to be cremated immediately. I
wouldn't want people filing by me to see me while I'm alive...and certainly
NOT when I'm NOT alive. I mean, after my ashes are scattered, God knows
where, if a few of my friends...if I have any left, might want to get
together for a memorial service and sing some of my songs, then go to it!
But let no priest or preacher read verses I didn't write over my dead
body. Why the hell anyone would want something St. Paul wrote to the
Corinthians thousands of years ago read over them, well, it beats me! Now
if they want to read some of Dean's lyrics or Oscar's, or Steve's, that's
all right...but I didn't KNOW St. Paul and frankly, I don't know ANY
Corinthians!" Cyrus ranted. "Where the hell IS Corinth anyway?" He suddenly
turned away from them and seemed to gaze out the window.

	"On the other side of the Hudson River, I believe, Cyrus!"

	"Jersey?"

	"No doubt! Everything else is, I hear."

	Trent left Ronnie's bedroom and came back into the living
room. Seeing the boy enter, Colette gasped and her face paled.

	"MY GOD!" she shrieked.

	Trent stopped dead in his tracks and all three men looked at
Colette.

	"What is it?" Dean asked.

	"I...I thought...oh, my God. He...he looks so much like Ronnie that
I..."

	"Yes, we know. I didn't think. I should have warned you, Colette,"
Dean said, putting his arm around her. "Trent, this is Colette. She's an
assistant to Ronnie's dad. She'd been staying with Trent while Art was out
of town. Colette, this is Trent Matthews."

	"Trent, I'm so sorry for my behavior...it's just...please forgive
me."

	"I understand," Trent said. "Everyone says we look alike." Dean
noticed that Trent was still talking about Ronnie in the present
tense. Trouble?

	"It's just that you have the same hair, the same eyes, the same
look, and you're the same size that..." She turned away.

	"I think we'd better warn Art before he meets Trent," Dean added.

	"I think you'd better, Dean," Colette added as she turned back,
wiping an eye.

	"Ronnie's got a great room! I know he's rich, but I had no idea."

	"Trent, Ronnie wasn't that rich while he was here. He just had what
most boys from New York have more than boys in Tennessee, I suppose,"
Dean replied.

	"It looks rich to me," Trent said.

	"Guys, would you like something to eat or drink?" Colette asked.

	"Does Art have any vodka?" Cyrus asked.

	"Yes, I just resupplied the bar. I thought lots of people would
come by to pay their respects to Art, so I filled the liquor cabinet and
there's lots of food in the kitchen."

	"Trent, would you like something?" Dean asked.

	"A Coke, maybe, Uncle Dean..."

	"Let me get you one," Colette said. Her inquiring look at Dean
asked about the 'uncle' part.

	"No, Colette, let Trent go into the kitchen and find one in the
refrigerator. If this is going to be his home for the next few days, he
might as well get used to finding things himself. Trent, the kitchen is
right through that hallway there."

	"Thanks!" Trent said as he went toward the kitchen.

	"Dean, my God in heaven! Trent could pass for Ronnie's twin!"

	"Amazing, isn't it? And a little frightening."

	"I've never seen anything like it. I mean, it's like fate or
destiny brought them together...and they were seven or eight hundred miles
apart!"

	"Wait until you hear him sing, Colette!" Cyrus said. "He's got a
voice that's heaven-sent!"

	"Jesus! No wonder Ronnie wanted him to come up here and go to
school with him."

	"They spent the last two weeks together...Trent singing while
Ronnie played my piano. My God, if I'd only made a tape of the two of them!
Cyrus and I sat in our living room and marveled at their talents."

	"Dean, have you and Cyrus planned any kind of funeral service?"
Colette asked, harshly but necessarily bringing them back to the real
world.

	"You know as well as I that Ronnie was NOT the least bit
religious. Cyrus and I talked it over and thought it might actually be a
disservice or an injustice to Ronnie's memory if we had a religious
service. I haven't asked Art if he wants Ronnie to be buried or
cremated. What do you think, Colette?"

	"I'm all for cremation, myself."

	"That's what I'm going to recommend to Art...and then, maybe next
week, invite some of Ronnie's school chums, some of Art's friends, and get
together in a hall or chapel and hold a memorial service for
Ronnie. NOTHING religious, if there's music, let it be show tunes...some of
Ronnie's favorites!"

	"That's a wonderful idea, Dean," Colette said. "That's what Ronnie
would want I think."

	"I think Art will go for the idea," Cyrus added.

	"Listen, guys! What do you want to do for dinner? I can stay and
cook or you can go out to eat and let Trent see some of New York at
night. If it's all right, I WOULD like to go back to my place and just be
alone." Colette didn't have to explain further.

	"You don't want to have dinner with us?"

	"No. I'm not sure when Art will be home and, well, I...I don't know
if I can face him just yet. I know I'll fall to pieces and that's the last
thing Art needs right now. He'll be in good hands with the two of you...and
Trent."

	"I think going out to dinner is the wise choice. Seeing Times
Square at night might ease some of Trent's hidden pain, give his mind
something else to absorb...and besides, you or WE don't feel like cooking
dinner."

	"In that case, let me get my coat and go down to Amsterdam and hail
a cab."

	"You'll be all right?"

	"As right as I can be, Dean, under the circumstances! I'll say
goodbye to Trent in the kitchen."

	Colette went into the guest bedroom, got her coat, and went into
the kitchen to give Trent a hug before leaving. Trent followed her back
into the living room as she left.

	"She seems nice..." Trent said.

	"She was sorta like a mother to Ronnie when Art was out of town."

	"Where's Ronnie's mother? Has she been told...?" Trent's face
showed the sudden pain of having to face his love's mom.

	"Trent, NO ONE, not Ronnie, not Colette, not even Art knows where
Sylvia is. When she left Art, years ago, to Art, for all practical
purposes, she's been dead all these years. IF she's alive, she hasn't made
an effort to contact Ronnie...and as far as we know...maybe she IS dead."

	"Gosh, how could a mother NOT love a son like Ronnie?" Trent said.

	"It's a big mystery, Trent. I'm not telling tales out of school,
but Sylvia could never settle down with ONE man. She had a reputation of
going from man to man to man!" Cyrus explained.

	"But...but Ronnie was her son...her own flesh and blood!"

	"There are just some women who aren't MEANT to be mothers. Sylvia
was one of them, I guess!"

	"Trent, your Uncle Cyrus and I are going to take you out to dinner
at some restaurant and let you see some of the city by night. All the
Broadway marquees will be lit up and you'll get to see things that you've
only seen pictures of. How does that sound?"

	"Only if it doesn't cost too much money. Ronnie said everything in
New York was three or four times more expensive here than in Tennessee."

	"Well, maybe Cyrus can look in a newspaper and find some
two-for-one dinners!"

	"Do they have such things?"

	"Tons of 'em!" Cyrus lied, chuckling.

	"Well, dammit, get the Daily news and start looking for a coupon!
Dean snapped at Cyrus, then winked at Trent. "Remember the private little
talk we had about money?"

	Trent winked back. "I just didn't want us to run out of money on my
first night in New York and have to eat cereal for supper tomorrow night."

	Cyrus looked wryly over the newspaper. "And what's wrong with
having cereal for dinner?"

	"Oh that's right! Trent, your Uncle Cyrus sometimes DOES skip
dinner and eats about half a box of Kellogg's All Bran or otherwise he gets
constipated and then it's sheer hell living with him! He becomes a snapping
turtle!"

	Cyrus was half-joking with his reply,"I've never been constipated a
day in my life!"

	"Oh really?"

	"Yes, no shit!"

	"That's exactly what I was referring to, my love!"

	"Just for THAT remark, Dean, YOU'RE gonna pay for dinner tonight
and I'm gonna order the most expensive items on the menu! How about it,
Trent? Want to join me in a REAL New York dinner in a REAL New York
Restaurant...and don't worry about hos much it'll cost since Dean's paying
for it, Tell me, Trent, do you like truffles?"

	"Granny Dee has a whole box of them. Truffles are my favorite kind
of chocolate!"

	"Oh, I've got SOOOO much to teach that boy!" Cyrus joked. "The kind
of truffles I'm talking about aren't chocolate."

	"What are they, then?"

	"Well, they're kinda like a mushroom, only they grow in deep little
caves in France and a bunch of pigs goes down and routs them out of the
ground with their snouts. They're really like a fungus! Good truffles are
about a thousand dollars a pound!"

	"A thousand dollars for a pound of funguses?"

	"Fungi, boy! Fungi"

	Trent scrunched up his face and added, "Are they served with some
kind of athlete's foot ointment?"

	Cyrus rolled his eyes at Dean as Dean turned away
chuckling. "Serves you right, Cyrus!"

<><><><><><><><>

	The three of them took a taxi to Greenwich Village and went to 'The
Finale', one of Cyrus' and Dean's favorite restaurants and dined on best
cuisine, money could buy,. With wine, the bill came to
two-hundred-sixty-two dollars. Then it was back to Forty-second Street
where Dean found a place that gave night-time bus tours of the city and for
the next three hours, they watched as Trent looked with wonder to his left,
right, up, and down at the sights of New York City...which also included a
ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty and a trip up the elevator at the
Empire State Building. Trent couldn't believe his eyes. The things he had
seen in books were appearing right before his eyes and, as ALL teenagers
do, Trent fell in love instantly with the Big Apple. Only occasionally, did
he find himself thinking of Ronnie and how they could have shared this with
one another. The thing that distracted him most from his pain was seeing
the names above the titles on the Broadway shows. Several times, his
imagination played tricks on his mind, letting him see 'Trent Matthews'
in...whatever! By golly, his name WOULD be up in lights one day, Trent
swore. And it'd be Ronnie's doing.

	When the tour was finished, it was nearly ten o'clock and only as
the taxi took them back to Art's and Ronnie's apartment did reality set
back in after a glamorous, 'first evening' in New York. They entered the
apartment and all three made a bee-line toward the bathroom. Cyrus went to
Art's private bathroom while Dean waited for Trent to finish in the main
bathroom.

	Once their bladders were eased, the three met back into the living
room, just as Art was coming in the front door.

	"DEAN! CYRUS! MY GOD, AM I GLAD YOU'RE HERE!" Art's shout tapered
off into a sob as he embraced his two old friends. "Thank you, guys! Jesus
Christ! I couldn't have made it through the next few days without you".
Then Art turned and saw Trent for the first time. "Oh, dear GOD!" Art
clutched his chest and sank to his knees. His body was as limp as wet
pasta. Dean and Cyrus caught Art before he fell completely.

	"Hold on, Art. Steady yourself!" Dean said. "That's Trent..."

	"MY GOD! I..I..I thought..."

	"We know what you thought, Art, but it's Trent. Trent from
Tennessee."

	"Christ, he...he..." Art had trouble breathing through his shock.

	"We know, Art. Now sit down in this chair and pull yourself
together."

	"Should I leave the room?" Trent asked, somewhat afraid.

	"No, Trent! Don't go! Please! " Art said. "Just come here and let
me get a closer look at you!"

	Cautiously, Trent walked over to Art in the chair and Art reached
out, grabbing both of Trent's hands and pulling the boy toward him.

	"I wish we'd had the chance to tell you about Trent," Dean said.

	"I...I just can't believe how much they look alike!" Art replied,
tears starting down his face.

	"We had a difficult time the first time we met Trent, Art. It IS
amazing." Cyrus said.

	"I'm sorry if I scared you," Trent said.

	"Thank God, you don't talk alike. I can hear your Tennessee accent
and that helps, boy!" Art said. "Excuse me, I mean, Trent."

	"Ronnie's teachin' me...or he...he WAS teachin' me how to...oh,
gosh, I shouldn't have said that..." Trent said with his lower eyelids
filling with tears.

	"No, that's all right, Trent," Art said. "Ronnie is gone, but it's
almost natural that you speak of him in the present tense."

	"What I meant to say is...I'm trying to rid myself of the Tennessee
accent."

	"Keep it! For now, at least!" Art said.

	"We...we just came back from a night tour of the city, Art." Dean
said, trying to change the subject.

	"Oh, really? What did you see, Trent?"

	"Just about everything there is to see at night, I guess, sir!"
Trent replied, "Broadway and Times Square, The Statue of Liberty", the
Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center..."

	"I...I hope you left something for us, you and me, to see
together!" Art said, trying to smile through his pain.

	"Oh, I'll bet there's lots more to see in the daylight!" Trent
said.

	"You bet there is!" Art said. "I...I want to spend some time with
you, if that's all right?" Art said.

	"Sure, sir!"

	"Have you eaten, Art?" Dean asked.

	"No, Dean, and I'm famished."

	"Great!" Cyrus said. "Trent, why don't you and I go into the
kitchen and make something southern for Art?"

	"Okay Uncle Cyrus!" Trent went into the kitchen with Cyrus, leaving
Art in the living room alone with Dean.

	"Dean, I swear to God, I thought I was going to die when I saw
Trent. I mean, Ronnie is my son and EVEN I couldn't tell that Trent wasn't
he. I was sure I was losing my mind! I know now why Ronnie said that he had
become narcissistic. He said that when he looked at Trent, he felt just
like he was looking into a mirror...but I had NO idea! Christ! It's almost
like having Ronnie reborn!"

	"Don't get your hopes too high, Art. Trent has to go back to
Tennessee with us. He still has to look after his grandmother."

	"My God! What's SHE like? I wonder if there's some way I could get
her to come live with Trent here, in New York."

	"You remember our favorite Montgomery Clift movie, 'Wild River'
where Monty couldn't get Ella Garth, played by Jo Van Fleet, to leave the
island in Tennessee when the TVA wanted to flood her property? Trent's
Granny Dee is Ella Garth personified. You could flood Dee's property just
like they did Ella's, but Dee would sit on her front porch and drown
first."

	"Well, shit! You've got to help me, Dean...if it's at all
possible."

	"Dean, you've hardly met Trent. Let things rest a few days. See if
you like him...or, more importantly see if HE likes YOU."

	"I...I must be acting like some kind of an idiot. You're right! I
don't even know Trent, but, God, how often does a man get the chance to get
his son back?"

	"Art, Trent is NOT your son...remember? He's Dee's grandson.
Besides, would you want the same thing to happen to Trent that happened to
Ronnie? This kid has spent his whole life on a farm in Tennessee. New York
is the first big city he's ever seen. He might hate it here. Now just
settle down and don't mention this to anyone again...at least for awhile,
anyway."

	"I...I'm so sorry, Dean. I...I just can't believe what's happened!
I miss him so much! If I hadn't been out of town...if I hadn't left him
those hundred dollar bills..." Art was ready to break down completely, to
let it all out finally.

	"Art, this is no time for 'if's'. It's a time to mourn, yes! But
it's not time to blame yourself for what happened. The same thing could
have happened to Ronnie if you had been in town. The assholes who attacked
Ronnie could have attacked him without knowing whether Ronnie had money on
him or not. You know how some of these fucking druggies act. They'll shoot
you for five bucks in your wallet if they need a fix!"

	"You're right, Dean, but then, you're ALWAYS right." Art made a
conscious effort get a grip on himself. "That's why I wanted you to take
charge of Ronnie's burial. I'm no good at this kind of thing."

	"While we're alone, let me ask you what you think about having
Ronnie's remains cremated?"

	"That thought hadn't occurred to me...but then, that might be the
right thing to do."

	"We could scatter Ronnie's ashes some place where he'd be most
happy..."

	"How about, say, Shubert Alley?"

	"If you think that'd be appropriate, why the hell not, Art?"

	"Let me think about it overnight! There's probably some city
ordinance that prohibits such a thing"

	"No doubt, but if we slipped down 44th, say like three or four in
the morning!" Dean replied. "So this might not be the time to ask, but
how's your show?"

	"The only thing it needs is a complete new score by Barnes and
Barger. Did you two bring your pens and manuscript paper with you?"

	"Our pens and manuscript paper are locked in a vault as
keepsakes...forever!"

	"Don't tell me that you and Cyrus haven't thought about coming out
of retirement for one more show?"

	"Nope...thought hasn't occurred, not the first time!"

	"Christ! How Broadway needs you guys back! Since you guys and Steve
Sondheim stopped writing, there hasn't been ONE good musical written for
Broadway!"

	"I don't have to ask your opinion of Lord Weber. I don't know if
he's a knight or a Lord but Cyrus' opinion and mine haven't changed! He
OUGHT to be a Lord! Every time we hear one of his scores, Cyrus all but
raises the roof by yelling, 'LORD! His music sure does cleanse my colon!"

	"I've never understood how he set that fucking falling chandelier
to music! AND why the New York critics bought it!"

	"That's what people paid a hundred dollars a pop to see. The crowds
were humming the chandelier and 'School Days' when they left the theatre,
while thinking all the while they were humming the hit song...the one and
ONLY hit song. LLoyd writes one tune per show and it's reprised half a
dozen times while mixed in with gobbledegook recititives...and the public
mistakes it for art."

	"Bizarre trash! And it made a billion dollars, at least."

	"Maybe they thought the chandelier was an antique donated by Marie
Antoinette!"

	"Too bad the show didn't have Cleopatra's asp. Then it could have
bitten Lord Andrew's ass and saved Broadway! God, what shit!"

	"Oh, if they had used Cleopatra's asp, the show would have made a
trillion and people could have gone out of the theatre humming, 'Shake,
Rattlesnake, and Roll! The critics would have raved over what an original
score he had written and how clever it was to use a live snake!"

	"God, how I've missed you guys!", Art said, hugging them again.
"You're gone and now, Ronnie?...I...I don't know if I can survive without
all three of you in my life."

	"Have you ever thought of remarrying, Art?"

	"I can't. You know that! Hell, I can't even be sure that, if I
remarried that I wouldn't be a bigamist. I never divorced Sylvia and I
don't know if I'm a widower or not!"

	"Isn't there some law about desertion...if a spouse has been gone
for seven years..."

	"You mean like the statute of limitation? I don't know."

	"Get yourself a pet...an aquarium..."

	"Who'd feed the fishes..or the dog?"

	"Colette...better yet, get yourself a camel and you'd only have to
give it water every seven days. It could thrive off its hump."

	"Maybe, but whether I fed it or not, I'd have seven piles of camel
turds in the living room every week."

	"Well, it was just an idea, Art."

	"Thanks!"

<><><><><><><><><><>

	By midnight, Art had been fed Southern-fried chicken,
corn-fritters, and home-fried potatoes, then the four men had gone to
bed...Art to his bedroom, no doubt to cry himself to sleep, Dean and Cyrus
to the guest bedroom, and Trent found himself alone, lying in Ronnie's
bed. Trent had trouble going to sleep for a while, but he took the extra
pillow, hugged it, gave it a kiss and, after silently crying, fell asleep,
dreaming of what might-have-been in this very same bedroom with Ronnie and
him together, if only.......

	The next morning, Cyrus and Dean went to the undertakers to arrange
Ronnie's cremation while Trent stayed at the apartment with Art. The two of
them sat in silence at the breakfast table, each wishing desperately to
find something to break the unnatural silence, but each too reluctant to
begin a conversation. Art was not going to mention the possibility of Trent
coming to New York to live and Trent didn't know how to approach the
subject of going to the High School of Performing Arts. Trent had thought a
lot about it, especially during the four days after Ronnie had left
Tennessee and before the attack. IF Granny Dee was willing to sell her farm
in order for Trent to attend school with Ronnie, then, it must've been all
right with her for him to leave...but NOT at the expense of selling her
farm. That would be too much guilt for Trent to carry.

	Finally, it was Art who broke the silence.

	"Trent, Ronnie told me about what a wonderful singing voice you
have. Would you feel like singing for me?"

	"You mean after breakfast?"

	"Sure, while Dean and Cyrus are gone. I'd love to hear you."

	"Do you play the piano?"

	"Not as well as Ronnie does---did, but, yeah, I DO play."

	"Then I guess you know lots of show tunes."

	"That's ALL I know, Trent. What song would you like to sing for
me?"

	"Do you know a song, 'Take Me To The World?"

	"You mean from Sondheim's 'Evening Primrose'? You know THAT?"

	"Yes. Ronnie taught it to me. Uncle Cyrus said that if ever I got
the chance to audition, I should be sure to sing it."

	"I'm pretty sure I have the music. It's a bit difficult to
play...as all of Steve's songs are...but I can make an attempt."

	"Okay. You make an attempt to play it and I'll make an attempt to
sing it for you. Deal?"

	The two arose from the table and went into the living room. Art ran
his finger along the shelves of music until he found a book of hand-written
manuscript and placed it on the music stand. Art vamped the first four
bars, made a few mistakes, stopped and played the same four bars WITHOUT
the mistakes. Trent smiled at Art and began to sing.

	Trent sang the first sixteen bars as Art stumbled through the
Sondheim chords and tricky rhythm patterns. Art couldn't concentrate on the
music as he was so enraptured by Trent's singing. Finally, Art stopped
playing altogether and motioned with his hand for Trent to continue
singing. Trent had barely finished singing the bridge or middle section and
Art's eyes were already filled with tears. Art rubbed the goosebumps that
had covered both his arms as Trent lifted his voice and sang full out,
filling the room with shady nuances which Sondheim had written and singing
with a full voice when the lyrics called for it. Trent finished the song by
holding the final note an extra eight bars. Tears were literally dripping
off Art's chin. Again, there was dead silence between the two of them as
their eyes held unendingly.

	 Finally, Trent asked, "Was that all right...?"

	"You said that Ronnie taught you that?" Art had to fight to speak.

	"Uh huh..."

	"Come here to me, Trent..." Art said gently as he stood up from the
piano. Trent walked slowly to Art and Art put both arms around Trent,
hugging him to his chest. "Trent, that was the most beautiful sound I've
ever heard. Oh, God, the way Ronnie bragged on you...He barely did you
justice. I've never heard anyone sing that song the way you just did!"

	"Was it OK?"

	"It was better than I could ever have imagined."

	"Then I'll tell you a secret..."

	"What?"

	"That song...it was Ronnie's and my song...OUR song together!"

	"I can honestly believe that. You do know that Ronnie was in love
with you?"

	"He told you that?"

	"Yes. You see, Ronnie and I, we kept no secrets from one
another..."

	"Then...then I guess you know that he...well, he and I...slept
together..."

	"I won't lie, Trent. Ronnie did tell me."

	"I told Ronnie that I wasn't sure if I was gay or not."

	"That's not necessary. Sex is only a small part of love. I mean, if
you'd never had sex with Ronnie or he with you, you could still be in
love."

	"The day after he left Tennessee...that was the day that I knew I
was in love with him. If it meant me being gay, just to be with him, then I
decided I'd be gay, too."

	"You know he had dreams of you coming to New York to live with
us. I...I told him that it would be like having two sons. Of course I
didn't know how much you two looked alike, but he laughed and told me that
if you came to live with us, you'd be my son-in-law!"

	Trent almost laughed. "Ronnie said that?"

	"He surely did."

	"Could two men really get married? I mean, could I REALLY be your
son-in-law?"

	"I suppose so...if Ronnie wanted it..."

	"But now, there's not much chance of that, is there?"

	Art hugged Trent again. "No, son, not now..."

	"I only knew him for two short weeks, but...it seemed like a whole
lifetime, sir."

	"Trent, in many ways, it WAS a lifetime. At least Ronnie knew what
it felt, to love and be loved...if only for two short weeks."

	"Now that I look back, each day was like a year with him..."

	"When two people are in love, time doesn't exist. A day is
forever...a week is seven times forever or perhaps, an eternity."

	"Then I guess two weeks WAS a whole lifetime...." His face said
that he wished he was a million years away from today.

	"Trent, if I discuss something with you, can you promise NOT to
mention it to anyone...not Dean, not Cyrus, not even your grandmother?"

	"If it's something about Ronnie, I can..."

	"It's not about Ronnie. It's about you."

	"Oh...?"

	"Dean told me not to say anything to you, but Trent, I...I can't
hold it inside."

	"What is it, Mr. Whitman?"

	"Art, Trent, call me Art, please!

	"All right, what is it, Art?"

	"I...Is...is there anyway possible that you could come to New York,
live here with me, and attend the school where Ronnie goes...went, I mean?"

	"The High School of Performing Arts?"

	"Uh huh!"

	"I...I don't know..."

	"I realize that there's your grandmother to consider...I mean,
leaving her or, or hell, having her move up here with you! She could live
in the guest room!"

	"Aw, she'd never come to New York, Art."

	"Maybe not...but...but what about you? Ronnie told me about your
dreams of starring on Broadway. Well, THIS is where Broadway is! It's not
in Tennessee OR California OR any place else. It's right here! With your
talent and your dreams...this is where you belong. You could go to school,
study singing, dancing, acting, speech, fencing, mime, movement, EVERYTHING
you need that you wouldn't find in 'Pocatello' High in Podunk,Tennessee. What
the heck good is it for you to study algebra, chemistry, social studies, and
what-not when all you want to do is sing, act, and dance?"

	"Yes, but are you sure you want ME to live with you? You hardly
know me."

	"Trent, if Ronnie could fall in love with you in two weeks, that's
all I need to know."

	"But..."

	"Don't say 'but', not just yet! Think about it and please don't say
a word to Dean or Cyrus. The decision will be yours...not theirs...and,
God, yes, I DO want you!"

	"I'd better ask a very important question, Art."

	"Go ahead."

	"Are YOU gay? I mean, do you expect me to..."

	"Good grief, NO! Ronnie was gay and I knew about it and approved,
but I am NOT gay. I should have told you that right off. I guess you
must've thought...well, a lot of things! But I'm not gay...not the least
bit. IF you decide you're gay and want to have a boyfriend, I won't say a
word...unless I think he's wrong for you. God! How stupid I was NOT to tell
you! Please forgive me, Trent. There are absolutely no strings attached IF
you come live with me."

	"I...I'll give you my answer when Uncle Dean, Uncle Cyrus, and I
are ready to start back to Tennessee."

	"All right! But if you have any MORE questions about ANYTHING,
please ask...but ask me in private! OKAY?"

	"Okay!"

<><><><><><><><><>

	Although nothing had been stated verbally, a professional
disagreement over the mounting of the show which was still out of town had
grown steadily between Art and the director, George Claiborne, Art, in his
role of stage manager had much more Broadway experience, while Claiborne
was basically a television and motion picture director. As Art had
suggested over the telephone to Ronnie, he'd trying to interject his ideas
into the show while making George feel that they were really HIS ideas and
not Art's. George was truly sorry to learn that Art's son had been killed
on the sidewalks of New York, but George also relished the thought that Art
would be away from the show for a few days to attend to Ronnie's funeral
and to allow him some time to grieve over his lost son. It never dawned on
George that Art was true to the show-biz tradition that the show must go
on, no matter what and that Art planned on not missing any performances. So
when Art said that he would be back on duty as stage manager for Monday
evening's performance. George all but insisted that Art take the rest of
the week off.

	Art was no dummy, he could plainly see that George was using
Ronnie's death as a feeble excuse for ridding himself of Art for a few
days. Finally, Art relented and said he would take three days off, but not
an entire week. Art admitted to himself that HE would like to get away from
George and his pseudo-eclectic ideas for a while. As soon as Art had spent a
little time with Cyrus and Dean, Art was glad that he could be with them
until the following Wednesday or Thursday. But now, after meeting Trent and
hearing him sing, Art wanted to spend the whole week back in New York, It
wasn't that Art didn't want to be away from the show, he was glad to be
away from George's concept of the show and having to witness how badly
George was misdirecting it.

	The funeral director had called Art on the telephone to make sure
that Dean and Cyrus had Art's permission to cremate Ronnie's body, When
Dean and Cyrus returned with the papers for Art to sign, they told Art that
Ronnie's ashes would be ready by Sunday afternoon. Dean noticed a
friendlier relationship between Trent and Art which hadn't been evident
before...it was almost to the point that Dean might begin to be suspicious
that Art and Trent had discussed Trent's moving to New York while he
and Cyrus had been at the funeral parlor. When Trent casually mentioned to
Dean that he had sung for Art, everything seemed much clearer to Dean. No
doubt, Art had become entranced by Trent's talent. Dean called for Trent to
meet with him privately in Ronnie's bedroom.

	"Hey, little guy, there's something I have to tell you and I don't
want it to upset you," Dean said.

	"What is it? Did I do something wrong, Uncle Dean?" Trent asked.

	"No, of course not. I...I wanted to know if you'd ever heard about
cremation?"

	"Sure. I've seen people cremated on TV and in movies."

	"Do you know why it's done?"

	"Some people don't want to be buried in the ground and they prefer
their ashes to be thrown in the ocean or off a cliff or some place
beautiful."

	"So the idea of cremation doesn't bother you?"

	"I don't think so."

	"Well, then, I can tell you that Ronnie's body is going to be
cremated late tonight or tomorrow. I also wanted you to know that if you
want to see him before it's done, we could take you over to the funeral
director's to let you say goodbye to him."

	"I...I don't think so, Uncle Dean. I want to remember Ronnie the
way I last saw him. I...I don't think I want to have the memory of seeing
him lying cold and stiff as I saw my mother and dad. Sometimes when I try
to visualize them, I can't remember them being alive...I see them lying in
their caskets. I don't want my last memory of Ronnie to be that way."

	"Trent, that's what I was hoping you'd say. To be honest, your
Uncle Cyrus and I had a chance to see Ronnie a few minutes ago and both of
us chose not to see him. As you, we want to remember the live and vibrant
Ronnie...the way he always was!"

	"Then does that mean that Ronnie won't have a funeral?"

	"Perhaps not in the way that you think of a funeral. We're going to
have a memorial service, say, next weekend when friends of Ronnie's and
Art's will get together and celebrate Ronnie's life and not his death."

	"Celebrate? You mean like having a party or some kind of
celebration?"

	"Not really a party, but a way for everyone to come together and
remember the good times we had with him...maybe sing or play a few of his
favorite songs."

	"I think I'd like that. Even though I knew him for only two weeks,
I never saw him sad." Trent's face was a dichotomy---he smiled tenderly,
but tears filled his eyes.

	"Trent, I knew him from the day he was born and I don't remember
ever seeing him sad either."

	"What do you do, Uncle Dean, send out invitations or put an
announcement in the papers? How will people know to come?"

	"We'll ask Art about who Ronnie's closest friends were at his high
school and let Art invite the friends he wants to attend and make some
phone calls."

	"Where will it be? Here in this apartment?"

	"Oh no, this is much too small. We'll rent a place..a hall or
chapel, something appropriate."

	"I know this might sound dumb, but do you serve refreshments at a
memorial service?"

	"What do you think? Do you think Ronnie would serve refreshments at
his service?"

	"You know how much Ronnie loved to eat. I'd say, serve pizza,
hamburgers, hot dogs, and lots of 'em!"

	"Then that's exactly what we'll do."

	"Uncle Dean? Do you think it would be all right if I sang at
Ronnie's memorial service?"

	"If you're up to it, yes, Trent. I can think of nothing Ronnie
would have liked better! He loved to hear you sing."


<><><><><><><><><><>


	The following Saturday, Ronnie's memorial celebration was held at
the Studio Rehearsal Hall, right off Broadway...the very place where Ronnie
played piano for many singers to audition. In attendance were twenty of
Ronnie's closest classmates from the High School For The Performing
Arts. Several Broadway stars were there to pay their respect to Art. Also,
twenty-five members of the St. Genesius' Gay Men's Glee Club were there to
sing a medley of Ronnie's favorites. Trent chose two songs to sing...one a
solo, 'Take Me To The World' and a second one which was accompanied a
capella by the glee club, Sondheim's, 'No One Is Alone'. Trent sang
beautifully all the way through the first number, but felt his throat gasp
when he sang the line from the second, 'Sometimes people leave
you...halfway through the wood...'. Art reached to grab Dean's hand as he,
Dean, and Cyrus broke into tears. Ronnie was gone now, but his life had
been celebrated by those who loved him most. Dean, Cyrus, and Trent were
scheduled to leave the next day, but Trent had a final decision to
make...one that would change his life forever...


<><><><><><><><><><><><>

(To be continued in chapter seven of "Echoes From A Wishing Well")

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