Steve walked by the house again. He was back. Same place, different time. This time it happened the weekend that they moved to La Verne. It was now three months and he was resolved that this time it was permanent.

Steve stopped at the driveway; the house was the same as his. He wondered how it would be different.

This time Steve was on the cusp of adolescence. Twelve years old, could he survive being a teen again? Steve had conflicted emotions. Somewhere he remembered being older, but by this time it seemed like a dream or a book he had read. He was now a twelve year old boy.

Steve didn’t make friends easily. The neighborhood was still a little empty. Not even half the houses were occupied. He made friends with one boy down the street, but he didn’t have that much in common — Warren was too girl crazy. Steve liked girls, but they were both only twelve. Steve liked being around a different type of girl than Warren. Warren liked girls who were all frills and afraid to be exposed to the sun. Steve grew up with a Mom and Sister who were considered tomboys. Steve wasn’t too fond of the word tomboy. They were girls who liked to have fun and weren’t worried what people thought of them.

"Are you going to come in, or are you going to stare at the house all day." Steve didn’t say a word, in the doorway of the house stood a woman. She looked like, well, she looked like a Mom of the 60s. "Well?" She said again. Steve blinked and gulped. He started slowly walking to the house. "What is your name?"

Steve stood in the doorway and stared at her. She was slender, pretty (for a Mom), and just a little taller than Steve’s height at five foot three. "Steve." He said with his head looking at the door stoop.

"My head is up here." She said gently as she put her two fingers under his chin.

"Yes, Ma’am."

"My name isn’t Ma’am, it is Mrs. Brady."

"Mrs. Brady?"

"Yes, but you may call me Mom if you like."

"I have a Mom."

"Yes, I’m sure you do."

"You have a piano."

"Yes we do dear."

"A grand."

"Yes, it is a grand."

"A Steinway I think."

"Yes, a Steinway. Would you like to see it?"

"Can I?" She resisted correcting him.

"Yes, I think it is almost ready to play. The tuner is almost done."

"Tuner?"

"Yes, it was just moved, so we need to tune it."

"So, why do you have Steinway?"

She laughed, he was a slow start, but once you got him started talking he didn’t stop. "Would you like to see it? Someone else is itching for it to be ready. I have a girl about your age."

Steve looked down. "Muhh"

She smiled. "Don’t worry, she won’t bite."

Just then a voice called down from upstairs. "Mommy, is it ready yet?"

"Do you have your room ready?" Mrs. Brady called up.

"Yes."

"Mary?"

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Do I have to come up there?"

"No, Mommy. I’m almost done."

"Well, hurry up, we have a guest."

"Aw, Mommy, no guests."

"Mary, you be polite, and finish your room." Silence.

"You come in and I’ll get you some cookies." What is it about Mom’s and cookies?

Steve was sitting at the table with his back to the stairs. He was eating his cookies. He had a tall glass of milk, half empty. Mary walked up behind him. "A boy? Mom!"

"Mary, I said that you need to be polite. He saw the piano, and was curious."

"And I have to let him play?"

"And, what have I told you about sharing?"

Steve looked up at Mrs. Brady. Quietly, barely audible, he spoke. "I don’t play."

"See, Mommy, it can’t even talk."

"Mary!" Sharply.

Mary scowled.

Just then a man walked into the Family Room. "Mrs. Brady, I am done."

"What do I owe you?" She said going for her purse.

"No bother, the studio will take care of it."

"Here." She handed him a five. "You deserve a tip."

"You don’t have to give me that much. I’m getting paid for this."

"Don’t worry, I am sure you did a good job. You deserve a tip."

"Thank you." He took the tip and grabbing his gear walked out the door.

"Now, Mommy?"

"You need to greet your guest."

"Mommy, he’s not my guest."

"Mary." A little sharper.

Mary scowled, a little more sour this time.

"Steve, this is my daughter Mary." Steve hunched his shoulders, and ducked his head. "Now, she won’t bite."

Steve slowly slipped out of the seat, and walked to Mary. With his head looking down at his feet he mumbled. "Hi."

"Mommy, it doesn’t even work properly. It can’t talk, and now it can’t even stand up straight."

"Well, at least you can say hello."

"Hey, now can I play?"

"May I."

"I want to play. You can’t even play it."

"Mary, you know what I mean."

"May I play?" A little too sarcastically.

"I guess so. Steve you grab a chair from the table and you can listen."

Steve walked to the table and grabbed the back of a chair. He took it to the piano in the living room and put it down.

"No." Mary said sharply. "You put it here." Steve place the chair where he was told, sat it the chair stiff as a board.

"Now I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. You just sit there and don’t say a word." Steve just stared at her, just waist high.

"I think you are scaring him dear."

"It’s not much of a boy then." Mary started playing. Steve didn’t recognize the piece, but he liked it.

"Mary, you need to play your practice pieces first."

"Mommy!"

"Don’t take that tone with me."

"Yes, Mommy."

Mary started playing something else. There was no music on the piano. Steve wondered how she could play without music.

Mary played for about a half hour; she looked at Steve and smiled. "You have been good. You can stay. Now I am going to play what I want to play." Mary pulled some music out of the seat and looked at it. After looking for a few minutes she put it back and started playing. Steve scrunched his eyebrows. Mary glanced to Steve and smiled. Without missing a beat playing she said. "I have a photographic memory. I also have perfect pitch. I get it from my father. He is a professional musician. The music I am playing is jazz. This is something from Gene Getz."

"It is nice."

"Yes it is." Mary continued to play. Steve continued to listen.

After an hour more of playing Mary stopped playing. She looked at Steve, and shrugged her shoulders. As if she had made a decision she said. "Do you want to go swimming?"

"Swimming?"

"Yes, we have a pool. Daddy made sure that it was built before we moved in. Mommy, can Steve go swimming with me?"

"I guess so dear. I guess I can take a break."

"Mommy, I am not a little girl. I don’t need you to watch me."

"No, you are not a little girl any more, but it is wise to be safe."

"The boy will be with me."

"And what will happen if there is a problem? I don’t even know if he can swim."

Steve looked up. "I can swim. I have swum since I was little."

"And Mary, will he be able to help you if you have a problem?"

Mary looked Steve up and down. "He is pretty small." She had actually stopped calling him it.

Steve looked up again. "I have been trained in first aid. I have also swum in the ocean since I was small. We spent a few summers at the beach in Laguna."

Mrs. Brady stood there for a few minutes. "I will keep an eye on you from the house."

"Thank you Mommy." Mary got up form the bench and kissed her Mom on the cheek. She walked to the stairs. Steve noticed for the first time that Mary walked with a pronounced limp. He watched her as she slowly walked up the stairs. Still staring he said to Mrs. Brady. "I have to get my suit." He got up and from the front door started running to his house around the corner.

It took Steve about five minutes to get his suit on and run back to Mary’s house. He stood at the front door and gulped. After a moment he knocked. Mrs. Brady opened the door. She was wiping her hands with a cloth.

"Do you ever look up?"

"No Ma’am." He said, looking up about halfway.

"You may call me Mom."

"Yes Ma’am." Steve said. He stood in the doorway rocking between each foot.

"You may come in."

"Yes Ma’am." Steve said still standing there.

"Do you have a question?"

Steve looked down to the ground again. "About Mary."

"Yes?" She said waiting.

"Her limp."

"Well, maybe you should ask Mary."

"Yes Ma’am."

"That’s Mom." She said, but not too sharply. "All of my kid’s friends call me Mom."

"Friends, Mary has friends?"

"No, Mary has no friends. I have four other children. They are all gone. Mary is the youngest by about six years."

"Mary, the runt?"

"Yes, you might say that, but I would recommend you don’t say that to her."

"Yes Ma’am."

Mrs. Brady shook her head. "You go wait by the pool. Don’t go in until Mary gets there."

Steve walked to the backyard watching his feet as he walked. He almost banged his head into the sliding door. Steve sat down on the end of a padded lounge chair. He looked around the yard. It was small with a pool deck. The rest was bare dirt. Attached to the house was an outdoor shower with a drinking fountain next to it.

After a few minutes Mary walked out. She was in a one piece red and black suit — no frills. She looked at Steve, "You not in yet?"

Not looking up he answered. "Your Mom said to wait."

"And you waited?" She said as she dove into the pool.

"No Ma’am." He said as he looked up at the pool.

Mary popped her head out of the pool. "You coming in; it’s cold, we don’t heat it unless we have to."

"Uh."

"You don’t talk much, do you?"

"I can." Steve said, looking right at her.

"Well, you do have a little fire."

Steve got up and jumped into the pool. They swam for a while, each in their own world, living their own adventures. After about a half hour as Steve was lying on his back Mary attacked him. It wasn’t really an attack. It was of a tickle on his stomach. She hadn’t really planned it; she just took the notion into her head. Steve almost swallowed some water. Since he was in the shallow end he stood up. Mary had swum to the middle of the pool and Steve doe after her. The rest of the morning was spent chasing each other. They didn’t catch each other much; it was more like a game of tag. They were still somewhat each playing alone.

When they started playing together Mrs. Brady went back in the house to make lunch.

For the next two weeks Steve went to Mary’s house. He usually dropped by after breakfast. Steve would read or write his stories when Mary practiced. She played a variety of instruments. She practiced the piano, the rest she played for fun.

Mary’s Father was a musician in a Jazz band. The band was on tour in Europe, so her Father did not come home at all that summer. Mary’s brother’s and Sister’s had all played and their Father was experienced in a variety of instruments, so there were a number of instruments in the house.

"Daddy says I am the best musician in the family." Mary said as she put the violin down and picked up the piccolo. "Do you play anything?"

"No, I tried the piano, but I seem to be all thumbs."

"Well, maybe I can teach you something."

"Maybe." Steve said, not looking up from his book.

"You like music?" Mary asked.

"My Grandpa bought me a clock radio for my last birthday."

"And?"

"And?"

"I asked if you like music."

"I listen to the radio when I go to sleep."

"And?"

"And?"

"And what does this have to do with liking music?"

"I listen to music. I think the station is KHJ."

"Boy, getting information from you is like pulling teeth."

"Pulling teeth?"

"Pulling teeth."

"What does pulling teeth have to do with it?"

"Never mind. So since you listen to the radio at night, and this KHJ, what sort if station is this?"

"Um, I think it is a Pop station."

"A Pop station, uh ok. So you like listening to the music on this Pop station?"

"Some of it is nice. The rest I don’t really pay attention to it. The radio plays all nigh, so I am asleep most of the time. Of course, since I have a hard time falling asleep at night I do listen to it for about two or three hours."

"Uh Ok, more information than I was looking for. I see, though, that I need to give you an education. We can listen to the records we have here, and maybe we can take a trip to the record store. Mommy!" She yelled out. Her Mom didn’t answer right away. "I guess I have to go get her."

"Yes dear." Her Mom called from upstairs.

"Can you take us to the record store?"

"That’s ‘will you’ dear."

"Will you?"

"I suppose, I guess we can go after lunch."

"Can we go out for lunch?" quickly to Steve, "Is there any place to go?"

"There’s a Tastee-Freez in town."

"Can we go to the Tastee-Freez?"

"I don’t know dear, that stuff is not very good for you."

"Mommy, we never go out."

Mrs. Brady was at the bottom of the steps at this time. "I suppose, let me get dressed then we can go."

"You’re dressed now."

"I can’t go out in this, and I have no makeup on."

"Mommy you are so old fashioned."

"I will be just a moment."

Mary started walking and headed to the stairs. "I need to get some shoes. Get yours and come."

Steve gulped. "Upstairs?"

Mary stopped at the foot of the stairs "What, you never been in a girls room?"

"My sister."

"Well, come on, it’s no different."

"My sister painted her room purple."

"Really?"

"Yes." Steve picked up his shoes and rushed up to the stairs.

"Sorry, I take a long time to go upstairs."

"That’s all right." He stopped behind her. "Why don’t you take a downstairs bedroom?"

"What, because of my limp?" she asked sharply.

"Yes," missing the sarcasm. "it would be easier."

She stopped and turned. "You are quite a nosy boy."

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. "Oh." He paused and looked down. "I thought we were friends. Is this something friends shouldn’t say?"

Mary looked at him. She smiled a little. "I guess you’re right."

"I wasn’t being nosy. I just wanted to understand. I took a downstairs bedroom. This was the first time I had my own bedroom. My brother and I are downstairs and the girls have their own rooms upstairs.

"Come on, we need to get ready."

Mary’s bedroom was just like his sisters. It was the same one. "I have both bedrooms. The big one has most of my instruments."

Steve watched has as she struggled to put her shoes on. Mary stopped and looked at him. Steve looked down.

"I guess you are a friend. I grew up in Tennessee. I guess the health standards aren’t as up to date as some parts of the country. I got polio."

"Will you be OK?"

"I’ll be fine. I just don’t walk so good."

"It doesn’t hurt your playing, and you can swim."

"Yes, I love swimming, and it is good for me."

Mrs. Brady called up. "Mary."

"We’ll be right down."

Mary walked over to the Classical section. "I am going to show you music from different genres." Steve didn’t know the word but knew what she meant. They looked at Classical, Jazz, The Blues, Rock, and even Pop. They picked up something from each category.

"Oh look, the Beatles have a new album out." At the counter was a display.

The clerk looked up. "Yes, it just came out this month. I hear it is very good." She was hoping to make a sale.

Mary picked the record up. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, kind of a long title."

"Let’s buy it. What would you call it — Pop, or Rock?"

"Well, we have a copy of Pet Sounds, by the Beach Boys. I would call them pop. And our Rock band is Disraeli Gears. I think the Beatles are a pop band. My Dad was telling me that Brian Wilson wrote Pet Sounds because he was inspired by the Beatles album Rubber Soul. I guess we should get it as another pop album."

"Come on upstairs. I have my record player in the other bedroom." The other bedroom was bigger than Mary’s sleeping room. It was full of her instruments. There was a very expensive turntable on the back wall.

"Put the Beatles album on. Let’s listen to it." Steve said sitting on the floor. Mary put the album on and sat next to Steve. They started looking at the front cover trying to see if they could identify the people on the cover. After a while Steve turned the album over. "Hey, this is even better — the words."

After a while Steve got up and started looking at everything in the room. Looking at one item he asked Mary. "What’s this?"

"Oh that, it’s a tape recorder."

"Really?"

"Yes, it’s my Dad’s. He doesn’t really use it though."

"Could I look at it?"

"Sure, there are some blank tapes against the wall."

"Steve started playing with the tape player. He spoke into the microphone, and played back what he had recorded. He could hear the music playing in the background, but it wasn’t a very good recording. "Cn I plug this into the record player?"

"Sure." She said, showing him.

"Mind if I start it over again?" He asked after setting up the tape. Steve put all of the albums they had bought onto a reel.

"You know, if I put some speakers outside we could listen to this while we swim."

Not looking up from her book Mary said, "Ask my Mom."

In a couple of days Steve had drilled a hole to the outside and had hooked up a couple of speakers.

After about a month into the Summer Mary grabbed Steve’s hand as he walked into the door. "Come with me." She pulled him upstairs. In the music room was a small drum kit. "You’re going to learn to play the drums."

Steve looked at her, then at the drums, then back at her. He frowned. "Are you sure about this?"

"Sure, I’m sure I can teach you."

"Ok, I’m willing to try."

After about two hours of practice Mary was lying on her back looking up at the ceiling. "Well maybe you were right, but I’m not ready to give up on you, yet."

"Can we take a break?"

"I think we need a swim." Mary went into her room to get her suit on. Steve had his suit on under his pants. Steve turned to the tape player and started it. He then took his jeans off and went downstairs.

As Mary walked outside she could hear Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys. "That’s very nice." She thought.

They swam as the music played.

Mary taught Steve how to play the bass, and he continued with the drum lessons. He would constantly play them wrong and get confused. For some reason he couldn’t read the music and play at the same time. They spent the summer playing music, listening to music and swimming. They also went to the library, music store and record store.

Summer was ending and it was getting time for seventh grade and Middle School.

"Mommy, do I have to go to school? School is so boring, and I hate people." Mary looked up at her Mom.

"I have no say as to what Steve does, but you have to go to school. I can’t teach you."

"You did when I was little."

"Yes, but this is a new state, and I don’t know if I can teach you in California. Also, this is Middle School; I can’t teach you what you need to know."

The next week Mary and Steve started seventh grade.