Date: Tue, 26 Oct 1999 16:43:23 -0400
From: Charlie <charlieje@mindspring.com>
Subject: Andy-10 (Young-Friends)

               X Karen Goes on TV

If he wasn't anything else, Mr. Gigniac was efficient. True to his word, on
the following Wednesday he was at the Conner farm to pick up Andy. They
would drive to Raleigh where Andy would board a plane to fly back to
Atlanta. Dennis had insisted on his flying, and had bought his ticket. No
way, he said, would he risk his future son's safety to the driving of people
he didn't know.

"Promise you'll write me?" a tearful Charlie implored.
"Every day, lil bro. And if I can get my hands on a computer I'll send you
email, and maybe we can even chat online.
"I love you, Andy! God, I love you so much!"
"I love you too Charlie. And I'll be back before you know it. You'll see."

A week came and went. The letters from Andy started. One had been
written every day, as he had promised, but mail delivery being what it was
there were days when there was none; but the next day there were two.
School started, and Charlie started the eighth grade, having been
accelerated a grade. The highlight of his day was stepping off the school
bus and opening the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Karen would
watch from the kitchen window as he rifled through the articles of mail,
then tear open the letters from Andy in the sequence they'd been written.

The quartet was scheduled to sing at another concert early in September.
This was to be their biggest ever. TNN would be there, and if they were
good enough, their songs might be televised. And from there, who knows?
Charlie wrote Andy all about it, and Andy responded with encouragement,
expressing his regrets at not being there. This would be the first
performance since the first of June that Andy would not attend in person.

"I can't, Mom!" Charlie said flatly, "I just can't! Andy was always at my
concerts. He never missed one! And I can't sing knowing he's not there."
"You can," Karen replied, "And you have to. They're depending on you,
Charlie. You're the only tenor that can hit those high notes, and it's too
late to rearrange all that music for someone with a lower voice. I told you
going into this that you'd have to sing when you didn't feel like it, and I
guess now's the time. You've got to do it, Charlie!"

Andy was no help. Charlie wrote him and told him of his dilemma, but
Andy merely responded that he'd be there in spirit, and he knew the entire
quartet would do just fine. So with a heavy heart and no enthusiasm,
Charlie climbed aboard the Conner family car to go to a small town outside
Wilmington, the site of the concert.

Charlie was like a piece of driftwood being carried in a swift mountain
stream. He had no perceptible control of where he was going, what he was
doing. He was driven to the theater and ushered inside. He was dressed and
makeup applied. He was like a zombie, submitting to any and all who
desired to deal with him, make him up, change his appearance, enhance his
natural beauty. Before he knew what was happening he was standing on a
stage and the curtain in front of him was rising.

The first number was no problem. They sang a simple gospel song as a
quartet, with Charlie singing tenor as usual. The second number, equally
easy, was Charlie's favorite. He and the bass, exact opposites musically,
were singing a duet while the other two parts harmonized. While he sang
he scanned the audience with his eyes. It was hard with all the lights, but
eventually his eyes focused and he was scanning the sea of faces. He knew
that there was no way Andy would be there, but he looked anyway. He
drew strength from his father, seated in the second row center where he
always was. As his eyes locked on his dad's, there was a communication
between the two. "You can do it!" he heard, "Knock 'em dead, son!"

The third selection. This was the one that Charlie dreaded. This was the
one he knew, absolutely knew, that he couldn't do. This was Andy's
favorite. This was the one he'd heard Andy himself sing hundreds of times
after he'd first heard it at one of Charlie's concerts. Charlie had begged the
rest of the group to omit this one, but unfortunately it seemed that it was
everyone else's favorite too. There was a short instrumental introduction
and then they were singing. First the quartet, with everyone singing their
own parts:

     Precious memories, unseen angels
     Sent from somewhere to my soul
     How they linger ever near me
     And the sacred past unfolds.

The chorus, and still the entire quartet singing. No problemmo! Charlie was
beginning to think that maybe he could get through this after all.

     Precious memories, how they linger
     How they ever flood my soul
     In the stillness of the midnight
     Precious sacred scenes unfold.

OK, Charlie thought, That wasn't too bad. But the next line was the
moment of truth. He was to solo the line. Andy had told him the first time
he sang it that it had sounded like Gabriel himself singing. And now it was
fractions of a second away. He couldn't do it! But he had to! He took a
step forward, lifted the mike to his face. The audience went totally out of
focus. He couldn't see anything but vague lights. And then it was time for
him to sing. And he lost it!

     In the stillness.... Of the midnight....

The lead singer answered him:

     Echoes from the past I hear....

Charlie responded again, tears flowing in a torrent down his face. He was
running on pure adrenaline now, barely conscious of what he was doing.

     And old home scenes, of my childhood...

The lead singer responded again, and they were singing again in harmony.
But that darned spotlight was still on Charlie! And his tears were flowing
like the Niagra River! But he knew he had done it. His voice had been high
and strong and crystal clear! It didn't help at the moment because he
wanted to be anywhere on earth except where he was; but at last he
understood what was meant by the expression "the show must go on."

They got through the song without further incident; and the next, and the
next. In all they did nine selections. Sometimes Charlie was fine, others his
face was red, his eyes swollen and full of tears. They had an intermission,
and Charlie raced backstage and looked for a place to be alone.

"Charlie!" Karen's voice rang through the curtains, props, electronic gear
that was cluttered everywhere. He didn't answer, but as any other mother
would, Karen heard his sobs, and found him hunkered down in a corner,
sobbing his eyes out. "Charlie!" she called again, this time more forceful,
"Come out of there! We need to talk."
"Not now, Mom!" he sobbed, "Please, not now."
"NOW!" She wasn't screaming, that wasn't her way. But the tone in her
voice said it all: It said she was in no mood to negotiate, so Charlie rose
and faced her. "Yes, ma'am?"

"What was that out there?" she demanded.
"Mom, I tried my best. I thought I did ok."
"Ok isn't enough now, Charlie!"
"Karen," It was Wade, the bass singer. The entire group was here now.
"He's hurting, and he's only 12 years old. And he sounded good as ever.
He did what he had to do."
"Yes Wade," she replied, "He did. I appreciate your concern, but please let
me talk to my son. This is far too important to let slide."

The rebuke was gentle, almost pleasant; but it left no doubt in anyone's
mind that she would finish what she'd started out to do, and without
interruption. "Your singing WAS fine, Charlie, and under the
circumstances you are to be commended for that. But you have to ask
yourself why you're here. Are you here just to show off your voice?"
"No ma'am."
"Your good looks?"
"No ma'am."
"What then? To tell the world that you're a super kid? That you're only 12
and singing with adults?"
"NO! I HATE bein' called a super kid! I'm not! I just a kid that likes to
sing! But I miss Andy so much! This is so important. The whole thing is
bein' taped and is gonna be on TNN. Andy will see it!"

"Now you get my point. Yes, Andy WILL see it. But what's he gonna see,
Charlie?"
Charlie shrugged. "The show..."
"Yes, the show. Which brings us back to why we're doing this at all. Think
about it, Charlie! Think about the words you were singing when you broke
down. Think about what people really hear when they listen to those words
and look at your face. What's your face saying, Charlie?"
"But Mom... those words... all about precious memories... I kept thinking
of the summer we had..."
"Strange, I thought you and Andy had a great time this summer."
"We did, Mom; but it's over."
"Of course it is, Charlie! That's life! Things come and go. But those are
memories that you and Andy, and the rest of us for that matter, can share
forever! If they hurt you, they are a weapon against you. They will destroy
you. But if you can enjoy them, re-live them in your mind, they turn into a
weapon in your hands against whatever you're facing. They will strengthen
you."

"Mom, you just don't understand. It's been a month now, and we're no
closer to getting Andy back. He's startin' to feel really discouraged. It's
hard to get on a stage and sing about happiness and faith when you don't
have any."
"Of course it is, Charlie. So if you don't have any happiness or faith, you'd
better GET some! Is that all your love for Andy means? Try for a month
and then give up? Get on with your life, with or without him?"
"No, Mom! You know better than that!"
"Yes, I do. But does Andy? How do you think it'll make him feel, if he
sees you on the stage, singing your heart out, and all the time your face is
showing nothing but despair, hopelessness? You can give him HOPE,
Charlie! With a few well placed smiles and facial expressions, the body
English you usually use so effectively on that stage, you can tell Andy that
you REALLY BELIEVE that things will turn out for the best! That's why
we're here, Charlie! To give people hope! Not to entertain, to give them
hope! Andy needs you now, Charlie! YOU! That might not be fair but it's
the way it is. No one on earth can give him hope right now like you can."

Charlie stood still, looking into his mother's eyes. He began to see what
she was trying to tell him. Somewhere in his subconscious a light came on.
He pictured Andy in that orphanage, in some sort of a common room with
a dozen or so other kids, watching the concert. He knew Andy would be
bragging about knowing the kid on the stage; about how they would some
day be brothers. And then a very exaggerated picture of Charlie came on
the stage. There was a large sign around his neck declaring that he was
singing of hope, happiness, faith... all those sorts of things, but he didn't
believe them. The sign instructed the audience to just listen to the music,
the perfection of the voices, the accuracy of the harmony, but to ignore the
face because the singer didn't really believe what he was singing. Now he
knew what he had to do. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said as he tried to wipe the
red off his face, "You're right. I'll do better, you'll see."
"I know you will, son. Now you'd better get those makeup people busy on
that face. We go back on in four minutes."

When the curtain rose for the second part of the concert, Charlie stood
front center on the stage. He was to open the set with a solo. As the band
got ready to play, they saw Charlie's hand behind his back signal them to
wait. "Oh no!" Karen thought, "What's he up to now?" She could see his
face from her position at the piano, but it showed no clue. She could see
his entire body trembling with nerves. Whatever he was up to, he was
scared to death!

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began into the mike. Karen was astonished! He
had seldom spoken during a performance, claiming that he could sing what
he wanted to express. He was terrified of that mike unless he was singing.
But he was going on.

"My mom taught me to sing when I was very young. Sometimes it wasn't
much fun because she made me keep repeating it till I got it right. One of
the things she always told me was that there is far more to singing than a
good voice and knowing the words. She taught me to FEEL what I was
singing, and to show it with my face, my movements, my expression.
That's why y'all come to these concerts instead of just buying a CD. Well,
I messed up on a song before the break. I let my mom down, I let the rest
of the band down, and I let Andy down, not to mention you all. Andy is my
brother, and he can't be here tonight, but he'll see this on TV for the first
time. So with your permission, I'd like to do "Precious Memories" again,
this time the way it should've been done in the first place. And this time I'd
like to dedicate it to Andy. Hang in there, dude!"

The audience did indeed approve of his re-take. Most of the people were
more or less locals, and they'd seen Charlie perform before and knew what
he could do. No one on the stage had ever heard of such a thing before, but
they were up for it. Reacting to Charlie's whims was nothing new for them.
He was always changing arrangements, modulating up a key where they'd
not planned, improvising as he sang. They had learned that when Charlie's
emotions got him really into a song, anything could happen and usually did.
But they loved their talented little buddy, and his improvisations almost
always improved the overall efforts, and certainly made playing and singing
with him interesting.

The remainder of the performance went extremely well. Charlie was upbeat
and cheerful, even animated as he cavorted about the stage. This was their
Charlie back! This was the stuff that TV programs are made of! And this
was certainly the stuff that won his mother's approval.

Everyone had noticed the stricken boy on the stage. They noticed the clear,
shrill, strong voice; they noticed the pain that could not be hidden; they
noticed the tears. Then in the second half they saw the change. And they
loved him. Charlie could feel the love in that theater. He could sense the
concern, the empathy. No one in the audience except Dennis Conner knew
what was going on, but everyone knew something was causing turmoil in
this young singer, and everyone responded. Each time he stepped to the
microphone, the applause was deafening!

When the concert was over and it was time to take their bows, the
audience responded to Charlie in a thunderous applause that threatened to
take the building down! Charlie knew it, but he didn't understand why. He
could feel their sensitivity, but he couldn't enjoy it. So he smiled as best he
could, bowed reverently, and as soon as he could, ran backstage.

It was a full fifteen minutes after the curtain came down before Charlie
could face anyone. He had totally broken down, fallen to pieces so
completely that his parents were concerned that he might be having a
nervous breakdown. But he came through it, and finally he lifted his head
to see his mother gazing at him, obviously very concerned. "I'm ok, Mom,"
he said quietly, "I understand now. Just give me a minute, ok?"

"You've got a visitor," Karen said tenderly. "Well actually you've got
several. But this one simply won't take no for an answer. I'm gonna send
him in, ok?"
"Ok, Mom." Charlie didn't want to see anyone, but he was subject to his
mother now. He was, after all, still a little boy, and never more than right
now. So if his mom said it had to be, then it had to be.

"Mr. Meoli?" Charlie said in surprise. "What... er... what're you doing
here?"
"I had to come!" the man said, "I've never missed one of your
performances, unless there were some I didn't know about. And when I
saw your pain tonight, I had to come. Please forgive me!"
"Mr. Meoli... I..."
"Charlie," he said, "My little songbird! You have the voice of an angel!
And whatever is causing you such pain has shown me that you also have
the heart of a lion. Please, tell me what Carlo Meoli can do for you. How
can I help?"

Charlie didn't know why, but he trusted this man. Andy had never told him
how often he'd seen the limo at Charlie's concerts. He had never shared his
concern, merely vowing in silence to do whatever he could to protect his
little brother. To Charlie, Carlo Meoli was a man for whom he'd sung at a
wedding in June, no more. Now he had appeared out of nowhere to offer
his help. Charlie had no reason to believe he could, or even would help; but
Charlie was in no condition to judge, no condition to make decisions of any
kind. So he dissolved in the large man's arms and sobbed, and told the
whole story.

As Charlie was getting control of himself, Dennis walked in the room.
"Excuse me," Carlo said as he held Charlie, "Mr. Conner?"
"That's right," Dennis said somewhat curiously, "And you are?"
"Carlo Meoli." he said simply. "I am undoubtedly your son's largest fan."
"Charlie is having a pretty rough time right now, Mr. Meoli. I'm afraid he's
not exactly himself."
"On the contrary, Mr. Conner. I think he is precisely himself, which is what
makes him so charming. He was just telling me of his difficulties."
"It was a big disappointment when Andy had to go back to Atlanta."
"Had to go back? But why?"
"Mr. Meoli, I don't understand that myself. It's all red tape and
bureaucracy, territorial ownership, all that sort of thing."
"That's my specialty, Mr. Conner. I would not think of intruding, but with
your permission I would like to intervene."

Before Dennis could respond, Charlie was on his feet, in Carlo's face like
an excited child, which of course he was. "You mean it?" he demanded, "Is
there something you can do?"
"I can do nothing, my young friend. But I have attorneys who love this sort
of thing. With your father's permission I will have them get in touch with
you."
"By all means!" Dennis answered, "If there's something you can do, we'd
all appreciate it. I'm afraid we haven't been making a lot of progress."
"You will receive a call tomorrow from a Mr. Evan Turnbull. He is my
attorney. Tell him your story and let him do the rest."
"But," Dennis answered, "Tomorrow's Sunday."
"All the better. Evan can get all your information and have a full day to
work on it. By Monday afternoon he should be able to report something. In
fact, I will make that part of his assignment."

The following morning at 8 am the phone rang. Charlie and Dennis had just
come in from the barn, having finished the chores. They were running late
and had to shower quickly and get dressed for church. "Mr. Dennis Conner
please." the voice came over the phone, "This is Evan Turnbull."
"This is Dennis Conner," Dennis said. "I was told to expect your call."
"I'll try not to take too much of your time, Mr. Conner. Perhaps if you
could tell me the problem?"
"It's simple really. We want to adopt a teenage boy who is in a children's
home in Atlanta, but we are having a great deal of difficulty making it a
reality."
"Why Atlanta? Surely there are lots of available homeless boys in North
Carolina."
"We're not buying a used car here, Mr. Turnbull." a somewhat annoyed
Dennis answered, "We're trying to adopt a boy we've learned to love. It's
just unfortunate for us that he lives in another state."
"Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that any child will do. But
that's a good answer, one that I may very well use before this situation is
over. Please tell me all the details and I'll see what I can do."
"I can't afford an attorney," Dennis said, "Else I'd already have one."
"That's been taken care of, Mr. Conner. Just give me the details if you
would."

Dennis cooled down and went over all the facts in the case, made sure that
the lawyer knew there was no reason why Andy had to go back to Atlanta.
He was under no legal stipulation, nor was Dennis nor his family. He
explained how they'd met Andy in the first place and why they wanted him
and only him. After half an hour Evan said he thought he had enough to
work with, at least to get started. "When would it be convenient for this
boy to arrive?" he asked, "Assuming of course we can make the necessary
arrangements."
"Just let me know," Dennis assured him, "We can pick him up whenever he
can get here."

On the way to church Charlie was all over his father, demanding to know
every word that was spoken. "Don't get your hopes up," Dennis cautioned,
"He seems confident, but until Andy is home, I'm not about to assume it's
all going to be as easy as he seems to think."
"But he said..." Charlie protested.
"I know what he said, Charlie. But lots of people have said lots of things,
and we're still no closer to getting Andy back. There's something going on
and I have no idea what. Until we find out, it's pretty tough to fight it."

Time went by. Andy had warned the Conners that they should not put
anything in their letters that might give a hint of what they were up to in
their efforts on his behalf. "They'd never admit it," he said, "But I think
they're censoring our mail." Dennis doubted that they'd stoop so low, but
it did seem as though they knew a lot that no one had told them.

It was October 2. Tonight the famous gospel concert would be shown on
TNN. As soon as he'd got the time and date Charlie had phoned Andy to
tell him, and Andy had made sure he would be in front of a TV tuned to the
right channel. As in Charlie's vision, half the orphanage, if not all, were in
front of the same TV. At last they would get to see this kid that Andy
never shut up about. He had told them about the farm, about how this tiny
little kid ran the whole thing. He had told them about how great it was just
to be in the presence of such a young adonis full of enthusiasm, love,
competence. At last they would see that he couldn't possibly be as
incredible as Andy made him out to be. But TNN had a few surprises of
their own, especially for Charlie.

When the show came on, Charlie hardly recognized it. The TNN staff had
rearranged the order of the songs, had cut out some of the talking parts,
and had "enhanced" some of the video and audio. They had been warned
that this would happen, but Charlie was still quite surprised at how
extensive the changes were, and how undetectable. He noticed that the first
half, where he'd almost broken down several times, was extensively
modified, and those parts that showed a very upset, discouraged boy, had
been completely and discreetly removed. As they were approaching their
last number, Charlie suddenly jumped up. "Holy crap, Mom!" he screamed,
"Look!"

To Charlie's astonishment, there was a head and shoulders shot of him.
HIM! He was looking straight into the camera, giving his little speech at
the beginning of the second half. They had cut out the part that had
mentioned his having done the number before, but the parts that talked
about his faith, how his mother had taught him to not only sing but portray
what he truly believed, and that the song was dedicated to his brother
Andy. And then the speech was over and the song started. To Charlie's
astonishment, the band, the quartet, went off the screen. In their place were
scenes, movie clips, of two boys on tractors, loading a truck with melons,
raking and baling hay, roughhousing in the yard, even a short clip of them
swimming, one of the few times Karen had been there so they'd worn their
bathing suits.

"Surprised?" Karen grinned.
"Yeah, Mom.... But how..."
"The producer called a couple days after the show. He had sensed a story
and wanted to help. I'm sure he wanted to help himself as well but hey, I
don't care as long as it gets us closer to Andy."
"But where... how did they..."
"I took some videos all through the summer. You two were so happy it
made us happy just watching y'all. I just gave it to him and he did the rest.
But that's not all. Wait till you see how it ends."
"You've seen it?"
"No, but I know what's in it."

What was in it was a clip of Karen standing in her own kitchen. She
explained the situation, that they had been trying to adopt Andy since
August, but for some reason it had been impossible. She said that she
hoped the video clips would show anyone interested how incredibly happy
the two boys were together, how they belonged together. And that's when
the phone rang.

"Hello, Mr. Meoli!" Dennis said after the caller had identified himself.
"Yes, we were just watching it. I think the producers did a magnificent
job."
"Well thank you! I'll be sure and tell him, unless you want to tell him
yourself."
"Oh. Well, no we haven't. Mr Turnbull said he'd done all the legal stuff,
had us approved on this end, but they seemed to be stonewalling him in
Atlanta. He said he really couldn't understand it, but that he would get a
colleague down there to look into it. We're still waiting for an answer
from..."
"No, please don't blame Mr. Turnbull. I'm sure he's done his best, but we
never dreamed there'd be a delay on that end..."
"That was Karen's idea. She orchestrated the whole thing, negotiated with
TNN, arranged to have the clip done when Charlie was at school. He didn't
know a thing about it."
"Yes, I'll be sure and tell her. Thanks for calling, Mr. Meoli."
"You've got a deal, sir. Good-bye."

"What, Dad!" Charlie demanded, "WHAT! What'd he say?" Gone was any
semblance of maturity, control, intelligence. Back was Charlie the little
boy, very excitable, almost hyperactive.

Dennis laughed. It was when Charlie was like this that he loved him most.
This charming little kid was flying around the living room like someone
possessed, totally unable to sit still. "He asked me to tell you that his little
songbird was really outstanding tonight, and that he was very very proud of
you."
"Cool, Dad. But what about Andy? What'd he say about Andy? What's
goin' on?"
"He hadn't heard anything and was assuming that things were going fine.
He said he'd call Mr. Turnbull and light a fire under him. He said this was
too simple a process to be taking so much time. And Karen, he asked me to
tell you that if you ever want a job producing TV shows, just let him know.
He said he spends a lot of money on commercials, and could use someone
with your talents. He said you really got the point across."
"But will it do any good?" she said doubtfully.
"Well, as you yourself said, it certainly can't hurt."

And then the phone rang again.

                *       *       *

If you wish to comment on this story, please send your comments to me at
charlieje@mindspring.com