Beautiful Music on Burnett Street

“Heart and soul… I fell in love with you… Heart and soul… I fell in love with you… Baaaaaaaby…”

Daria’s grandmother was an excellent singer, even with the polish accent. Michael always enjoyed spending time at her house, with the jet-black grand piano taking up most of the living room in her modest sized house in Van Nuys. Daria’s family was full of musicians: her dad, uncles, paternal grandparents, and her mother was an avid Motown fan. Michael enjoyed visiting Daria whenever she came to his neighborhood. They were friends since meeting in fourth grade at Vintage Elementary. Michael’s family was also full of musicians: his dad was a trumpeter in a jazz band, his brother was a drummer in a semi-famous thrash metal band. But other than this, the two families could not be more different. Michael tried not to let this fact get in the way of their friendship, and gramma Bukowski did what she could to foster the young kids’ talents.

They loved to play, always winding up at the bench. Daria was a true classical player, while Michael was a natural Jazz musician, with his love for improvised solos. Often, she would play a classic song and he would try to figure out how to jazz it up and add a solo. She was very rigid in her playing; he liked to have fun. Together they made lovely sounds that resonated up and down the neighborhood streets on those summer nights, when the temperatures normally dropped double-digits by the time the sun set, and the cool breeze came through the open windows as the music came out. The neighbors never complained about the glorious sounds emitted, enjoying the private concert of Burnett street.

They always ended on Heart and Soul, Gramma’s favorite. Then a quick snack and Michael had to hurry home, before the streets got too dangerous for the young boy. He would call as soon as he got there, then they would spend another hour or so talking about how much fun they had had. This was the best part of his life; an escape from his family and the house they occupied. It was a three bedroom, but there were nine people living there. His older brother usually crashed on the couch, as well as his dad (the two musicians were used to late hours and missed opportunities to sleep). His mother slept in the king bed with his two younger sisters. His grandmother had her own room, as her social security payments were going straight to the mortgage. The third room was occupied by himself, his younger brother, and his older sister. There was little privacy. he relished the chance to get out of the house. But Daria only visited about one weekend a month. When she was not around, he went to Jesse’s house, whose dad let them smoke pot. Jesse was a half-assed drummer, with a set in the garage, next to his dad’s old electric piano. They half-assedly jammed, never making the beautiful music he had made with Daria.

As childhood relationships go, they were tight. After they culminated to junior-high they saw less and less of each other. But she still visited Gramma Nadia. He still came over to play. They both noticed changes. Michael saw the changes in Daria’s body as time wore on. She blossomed; he lusted; she saw his muscles grow; he blushed; they fell in love. But this was a different love. Not the puppy dog crushes that had plagued him before. She was the coolest chick he knew, and now she was showing signs of infatuation while he tried to play it cool. They sat very close on the piano bench, wanting to be closer, even though this was impossible (they were pressed up against each other’s side; you could not fit a piece of paper between them).

The first time they kissed was embarrassingly magical. It was a late summer night, the sun having gone down around 8:30pm, but not becoming fully dark until around 9pm. They talked as the sky went from maroon, to grey, to black. Neither one could tell you exactly what they were talking about, but Michael made his move, and Daria did not rebuff. They awkwardly kissed, open-mouth but no porno tongue, even though Michael wanted to, she pulled back when she felt him try to stick it in. They smiled wryly as Michael made an excuse to leave. She grabbed him and kissed him again; he pulled away; she was askance.

Michael walked back to his house, wondering why he could not just go with it. He truly loved her, a mature love. But what did he know? His parents were freaks, practically dry-humping in front of their children (his youngest sister was seven at this particular time). His brother showed him porno magazines, and his sister had let her boyfriend sneak in and have sex while he listened from his bed across the room. He felt his love for Daria was stronger than the frivolous affairs he witnessed at home.

He called her. She was getting ready for bed. Maybe it was a lie, but he felt she did not want to talk to him. He told her that he would see her next month. She said she had fun. He did not know how to respond. They awkwardly said their goodbye’s. He hung up the phone on the receiver in the kitchen, wondering what it all meant.

The next month brought tragedy. Gramma Nadia passed away. She had always enjoyed her independence, but this would be her undoing. She had a stroke, and no one was around to help. Daria called Michael to check on her, as she was not answering her phone. Michael walked the three blocks to her house. After knocking for several minutes, he returned home and called Daria back. Another half-hour later, Daria’s dad—Nadia’s son—made the discovery. He called the family in Porter Ranch from Michael’s phone (Daria’s father was an Executive at Universal; he was completely out of place in the white trash kitchen). Daria wanted to talk to Michael, who was stoic. She cried on the phone as he tried to find something to say and only managing to sound aloof when he asked when he can see her again. She said she had no idea when that would be. He almost told her that he loved her, but it would not come out.

The funeral was a week later, but Michael did not attend. It was partly because of his lack of a black suit, partly because of his outlander status with regards to the upper-class Bukowski family, but mainly he did not want to face the girl he was in love with. It was easier to bury these feelings, piling excuses on like dirt. You are not cool enough; she would never be truly yours; you’re just a poor kid from Van Nuys with a crush on a rich girl who would not even know you if it were not for her Polish-Catholic, Holocaust survivor, nurturing grandmother.

They continued to drift after this. Nadia had bequeathed the grand piano to Daria. Michael came over to play a few times, but it never felt right in the giant house in the hills of Porter Ranch. It was temperature controlled, so the windows were closed, and the music just came back in on them, trapped. Even if the music could escape, it was mostly chaparral covered hills that would absorb it, along with all the unappreciative rabbits and lizards. They stopped talking entirely by the time they were sophomores in high school. Daria would later go on to join her father at Universal, while Michael became a struggling musician with Jesse. The two would never play again.