Virtually all of the leaves lay on the ground now, shorn of their brilliant and diverse colour of a month before, colour that signalled their preparation to separate from the trees that bore them.

Two weeks after the departure of Equality, on a warm mid-November day, Jahrae and llhaesa happily worked out in their new yard, devoting their energy to raking leaves off their sizeable but irregularly shaped lawn.

This was New England, home to a temperate climate with severe winters, unlike Arrhazon City, which fell in a semi-tropical climate on Arrhazon. In New England, trees, armed with millennia of experience, sacrifice their foliage to preserve their lifeline, sending the sap that runs through them carrying vital nutrients, into the root system to ride out the raging winter above.

The result was a rite of New England fall: raking the leaves off the lawn, and finding a proper means of disposal.

Both of the new homeowners were experienced in grounds care at their parent’s home, and llhaesa continued to hone her experience while living in the adjacent property in different guise.

The previous day, the couple sat outside on their front steps, lazily watching the cascade of swirling leaves meander toward ground that disappeared under the new coterie of fading colour.

They resolved then to rescue their overwhelmed lawn from the dropping hordes, and true to their resolution, they took to the lawn right around eight in the morning.

The day proved warmer than normal, some seven degrees warmer than the normal expected high of eight degrees Celsius.

Each armed with a wicker rake, their hands cloaked in yard gloves, they worked their way across imaginary rows, pulling leaves forward, forming a continuous line. The industrious nouveau homeowners would then pull the rows into nodules of leaves they would scoop up and deposit in a pile on the edge of the property, where it would spend the next few years decaying and morphing into rich soil.

Llhaesa sang softly as she worked, enjoying a respite from days on end of mornings balancing practise and a body that insisted what was in her stomach had no right to be there.

Her musical pace keeping fell interrupted to the wide swinging front storm door, which arced outward to allow passage of a rather annoyed Addison.

Addison was on a mission to both inform and relieve the pressure building within, forging a beeline for the rake wielding leave gatherers.

Llhaesa stopped raking, holding on to the rake with her right gloved hand. She felt a measure of concern arising within; Addison rarely demonstrated such annoyance or aggravation. “What is wrong, sweetie?” llhaesa gently asked.

Anderson Cornwall – the comments he made!” Addison blurted out.

“The rock star, that Anderson Cornwall?” llhaesa asked, seeing the confused expression on Jahrae’s face. “What did he say, Addison?

“He made comments about women and their abilities, specifically that men are better musicians overall than women.”

At this, Jahrae burst into uncontrolled laughter, the rake falling out of her suddenly limp hand; Jahrae followed the rake to the ground, falling into the leaves, writhing about in fits of laughter. No one need ask why Jahrae thought this amusing.

“There is more, mum. He gave examples – one of which was you.”

Jahrae’s laughter had diminished somewhat – until Addison elaborated and shared that llhaesa was a specific target of the misogynistic comments. This sparked a new round of laughter from Jahrae, if anything, more forceful than the initial round.

Llhaesa certainly shared her daughter’s annoyance, though not such that it sparked anger within. First, llhaesa wished to reinforce Anderson Cornwall’s right to speak freely. While Addison understood and appreciated this right, llhaesa reminded, “We cannot let him say these things without challenge, even if his real purpose is to seek attention.”

“And to think I would have loved to see him when he plays in Boston tomorrow night. Now, forget it! Mum, you can defend yourself, but what of those who are put down but don’t have a forum from which they will be heard?”

“Good question, Addison,” llhaesa began, knowing her response carried long term impact, “Perhaps we can address this, you and I, but we will do so in a way that draws positive attention; we do so in a manner that is dignified and yet makes a solid point. In other words, we will take the high road. Politeness, depth, and calmness are our buzzwords, Addison.”

“What do you mean by ‘depth,’ mum?”

“Your point of view has to be substantive and make a reasonable point that people can appreciate.

You mentioned Anderson is playing in Boston, tomorrow night?” llhaesa asked, the germ of an idea forming in her mind.

“Yes, he is playing tomorrow night, at the TD Banknorth Garden, why?” Addison replied and wondered.

Llhaesa looked at her daughter, her facial expression now reflecting the development of a plan inside. Turning toward Jahrae, llhaesa began to form up her plan. “Jahrae, how would you like to join Addison and I and go to a concert tomorrow night?”

Jahrae, now back on her feet and through with laughter, knew what plan stirred in her wife’s mind, and well, this was a part of what made llhaesa, llhaesa. “Of course I will accompany the two of you. However, there is the small matter of obtaining tickets, given I suspect the performance is sold out.”

Llhaesa smiled, having already thought that through. “As you know, I contracted with Sarah Willingham Productions to handle our tour next year. Sarah almost assuredly can get tickets for the three of us.”

“Will Serry be sad we did not ask her to go?” Jahrae worried.

“Perhaps, but she is too young for such a late night and such a performance. Addison is barely of an appropriate age, and she will be with us. We will make certain to find an age appropriate show and take Serry.”

Llhaesa went inside and grabbed her mobile, returning outside where reception was better in the semi-rural area. Reaching Sarah’s mobile, the call was brief and productive. Llhaesa closed the mobile, and turning toward the anticipating Jahrae and Addison, confirmed they had tickets for the concert.

“What do you intend to do, mum?” Addison asked.

Llhaesa thought for a moment, and Jahrae stepped into the void of silence to share an observation. “Whatever it is your mum chooses to do, you can bet it is well conceived and implemented. Your mother is not only the best musician who ever lived; she is also the best at rallying support for a cause.”

Llhaesa blushed at Jahrae’s comments, and chose to avoid the praise, instead answering her daughter’s question. “Addie, I am uncertain at this point. We will go and see what unfolds.

What I am certain of is that Anderson will know of our attendance within the hour, and you can bet stories will leak out that we intend to attend.”

“Why would stories leak about us going?”

“It is to his advantage to be controversial, and I suspect that is the real root of the comments you heard. If that is his motivation, he will see to it that word leaks out.”

Late the following afternoon, the three concertgoers prepared for their night out in Boston. Serry stayed with Ronnie, who placated the child on this Friday night by agreeing to a sleepover. Two of Serry’s friends were due at any moment, and she forgot all about Addison, llhaesa, and Jahrae going out together.

With two baths in the house serving three in need, efficiency of time proved a necessity. Jeans were the common rule, though the type varied by wearer.

Diversity ruled with their tops, llhaesa wearing an oversized and loose fitting black tee, Jahrae a sleeveless tee covered by an open buttoned greyish blue Oxford, while Addison wore a simple, form fitting, v-neck red top. All wore tennies upon their feet.

Ready at approximately the same time, they gathered in the kitchen. “Mum, are we taking the roundabout? Please?”

The ‘roundabout’ was actually the small vehicle carried by the main landing craft, which was too cumbersome to use for concert attendance. They had the option of driving what used to be Tim’s SUV, or use the roundabout. One by road, one by air, and it was small wonder Addison desired the air option.

“Jahrae, your thoughts on this matter?” llhaesa asked, extending a timeless peer-to-peer parental courtesy.

“I have no issue with the roundabout. Shall I pilot?” Jahrae answered and asked.

“By all means, please do, Jahrae. Shall we go?”

The roundabout was a fraction the size of the landing craft, and could only carry five comfortably, much like a compact car. Sleek and stylish with a highly reflective burnt orange colour, the vehicle had no wheels and could make the trip by air to Boston in five minutes if they wished, but Jahrae much preferred a slower speed.

Along the way, Addison tuned the communications device to receive broadcast radio, tuning in just in time to hear the disk jockey mention a rumour that llhaesa t’yaeli and Jahrae Khentavra would attend the Anderson Cornwall concert.

“Mum, you were right!” Addison exclaimed as she heard the rumour.

The craft landed in restricted parking at the Garden, on instructions from Sarah.

Entering through a secure area, a security officer motioned them through, obviously knowing their identity. An usher brought them to their seats, centre of the first row.

There was no warm up act, and the show was to start at eight pm. Five minutes late, Anderson and the four members of his band took the stage to thunderous applause from his legion of gathered fans.

The band played three songs before Anderson took the time to introduce the band. Another set of seven songs followed, and at the conclusion of this round, he made his way to the front edge of centre stage. Wearing a wireless microphone, Anderson informed the crowd of the honoured guests in the front row.

Not content to leave the matter with this courtesy, he segued into reprising his comments on women, well received by an audience more than two thirds male.

“There are at least one hundred men who play keyboards better than the best woman; that is just fact, it is not meant as a put down. I am one of them, yet my best instrument, the one with which I am associated, is guitar.

Just listen to each, and you will know the truth.”

Llhaesa decided it was time for friendly competition. Calling out, “Would you care to test your theory of men as superior musicians right now, for your audience, Anderson?”

Acting with bravado such that llhaesa was unable to tell whether it was real or feigned, Anderson put both hands in front of him with palms up and curling towards his chest, calling out “bring it on!” to llhaesa.

Llhaesa made her way around the stage, while Anderson called to the backstage crew to bring out the second keyboard the band carried in case of emergency.

“So, Miss T’yaeli, welcome. Imagine me, hosting a lesbian upon my stage! I will give you credit for being a sport about this, but you do know you will lose this contest, right?”

Keeping her cool, llhaesa calmly replied, “I make no predictions on the outcome, Anderson. What do you propose as competition?”

“Since you play keyboards, we will both play keyboards.”

“You are a guitar specialist!” llhaesa observed. “Are you certain?” she asked, feigning surprise.

With the keyboards set, the two began to duel, with Anderson allowing llhaesa to go first. Both professionals, they knew how to play off the music of each other, and make the exhibition entertaining.

Llhaesa knew she could not drastically understate her ability, though she did not wish to give it her all in the initial exchange. As the duelling keyboards pressed onward, llhaesa decided the time was right to take this further.

Working a complex and fast-paced string that lasted a minute, her superiority began to take root as opinion in the audience.

Anderson, going for broke, played an impressive round as well, and llhaesa respected the difficulty of his play. Anderson finished, and taking his hands off the keyboard, motioned for llhaesa to ‘top that.’

Rather than play something from her vast repertoire of music, llhaesa reprised Anderson’s complex last play note for note – doing so with her back to the keyboard.

Not only did she play back to the keyboard, she memorised everything he played and immediately played it back. That feat, more than the playing of the keyboard with back to it, stunned Anderson.

The crowd called out for llhaesa, an obvious winner of that round, the only round, or so Anderson thought. “Anderson, shall we make this a fair contest, and compete with guitars?” llhaesa asked.

Surprised at llhaesa’s offer, Anderson sensed a chance to gain back his audience. “Absolutely, if you wish to compete against me, I will give you the chance.”

The crew brought out another electric for llhaesa, one with a wireless pick up. She pulled the strap over her shoulder, grabbed the pick tucked into the neck of the guitar, and played a few test notes. “OK, Anderson, I am ready.”

This time Anderson went first, confidently playing an extended and impressive riff that was his signature mode of playing. Soaring and extended high notes filled the Garden, and the crowd thundered its support for their guitar hero.

Llhaesa went next, playing a complex set of chords, adding in long highs and rapid manipulation of the guitar strings, sliding her left hand up and down the guitar neck, deftly working her fingers, while her right hand strummed and plucked. At the end, she pulled out all stops and went into her signature skater’s spin, something no one could figure out how she could do this on a non-ice surface. As she turned, the guitar briefly went over her head, and still a myriad of notes called out. As she came out of the spin, the guitar came down to normal position while llhaesa slid forward on the stage in a semi-split, guitar against her right thigh, striking the final note.

The audience was quiet for what seemed like a couple of seconds, unsure of what they just witnessed. A buzz of excited exchanges began to rise out of the audience, and this turned into enthusiastic applause for her effort. For his part, Anderson’s expression said it all, though he quickly pulled a happy face and graciously congratulated llhaesa, admitting quietly she was the better performer.

Walking over to a microphone just to the rear of her and Anderson, llhaesa, bending down and leaning into to the microphone, called out, “not bad for a pregnant woman, wouldn’t you say?

While you ponder that, I wish to say a few words, and I thank Anderson for the opportunity to speak with you. Anderson is a gracious host, and I wish to thank him for his professional and personal courtesy.

I suspect this is true, and wish for you to know my view. Anderson does not believe the comments made earlier; he is above all a showman and entertainer, and he sees his role as exciting and entertaining his fans.

While I disagree with this particular approach to entertainment, I understand his motivation. What I wish he and you to remember is that there are real people on both sides of this issue. Anderson is a real person with real feelings, and so to am I, and every other woman who endured the comments, even in jest.

My daughter is here, and I learned of this from her. She was upset, a huge fan of Anderson, yet she felt betrayed by the comments, especially when he called out her mother.

Anderson, do not cast stones at your fans, or at their mothers. Know that there should be mutual respect here between us, and think we achieved this tonight.

Yet there are women, talented women, who go about their daily lives, working hard, balancing work and family, who might relax via your music. Do you really wish to insult them? Would you direct your comments to your sister, to your mother, or to your daughter? I cannot see you making your comments to any of the three. Yet all of us you slighted are someone’s mother, sister, or daughter.

If you wish me to appear on stage with you, all you need do is ask, but please respect me, please respect my wife, and please respect my daughter – we three are representative of every woman living on this world.

Thank you.”