chapter FOURTEEN
For a girl who grew up in the Midwest and spent the last few years in Pittsburgh, moving to Manhattan was quite a change, though I’d like to say I’ve been catching on rather easily.
Since I’ve moved to New York I’ve learned: avenue blocks are longer than street blocks, there are separate downtown and uptown train entrances (a lesson I learned the hard way, after swiping my trusty Metro Card), cabs with the number lit up are empty and available, cart food is delicious, five dollars for a domestic beer is completely reasonable and an empty subway car during rush hour is not a good thing.
I’ll let you use your imagination as to why (I also learned that one the hard way).
The city has an energy unparalleled to any other.
Even in the fall, a time of melancholy when the leaves are making their way to the ground, I find myself breathing in the new life the city has given me.
Sure, I haven’t taken advantage of the nightlife, and I only know a handful of people, but just walking through the streets, looking at the architecture, seeing the people and hearing the sounds of the hustle and bustle gives me the charge I need to put one step in front of the other.
I chose my neighborhood because it’s a short walk to the Juliette Academy.
The school is housed in a landmark building on the corner of Suffolk and Rivington, in the Lower East Side.
The Gothic Revival architecture of the building has lancet windows and spiral-like finials that make it look like a nineteenth-century church.
I wasn’t home from Italy two weeks when Frank contacted me, letting me know the school was opening the first week in October and was looking for an Assistant Director of Music Performance.
I couldn’t believe they wanted me. I mean, the pay isn’t that great.
But, an assistant director role? That’s huge, especially for someone with zero teaching or managerial experience.
Frank and I know each other from the music circuit. He heard about my accident and knew I was in need of a career change. He said he would deal with the benefactors and finance managers. That works for me because accounting, spreadsheets, marketing . . . that is all way over my head.
It’s not lost on me this job is a blessing.
I don’t have many job skills, and teaching is something I did not want to do.
For starters, it’s difficult to teach someone control of a bow when I can’t hold one myself for more than a few seconds.
We’ll also try to put aside it’s incredibly depressing.
If I can’t play, why do I want to teach someone else how to?
Yes, it is selfish. I know. I’m working on that.
I push open the heavy wooden stairwell door and exit onto the fourth-floor hallway.
My office is a tiny seven-by-seven–foot space housed inside one of the four classrooms on this level.
It has white plaster walls, linoleum floors, a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet.
I decorated the walls with music note decals I bought off the Internet.
Treble- and bass-clef bars line the wall you face when you walk in.
Behind my desk is another decal that says, “Music is not what I do, it’s who I am.
” I have no idea whose quote that is, but he or she should be revered.
To get to my office, you have to walk through one of the music rooms. Frank says it’s part of the charm of working in a historic Manhattan building.
The classroom attached to my office belongs to Crystal, who is teaching cello.
Go figure.
She also has a bad habit of leaving her instrument in my office so she doesn’t have to lug it to and from work. I can’t deny I loathe that it sits in the corner of the room looking at me all judgmental.
At least it’s better than bunking with Lisa. She’s the violin teacher.
Crystal is a sweet twentysomething like me who trained at the Fiorello LaGuardia High School of the Performing Arts and then furthered her studies in Rochester.
Unlike me, she is a professional cellist who books regular gigs with a wedding orchestra.
Teaching is a great way to supplement her income and keep herself familiar with new techniques and trends.
Lisa is older than us, with a husband and two kids. She teaches at a local public school during the day and then at the Juliette Academy in the afternoons. Her patience and experience with the younger children is something I’d like to emulate someday.
For now, I’m happy to stand in the back with a clipboard.
It’s only been a few weeks, but the two have been nice to talk to. They don’t seem bothered by the fact I’m their boss or that I don’t go out, ever. I’m not against it. As I said, I’ve been busy.
Especially on days like today.
Today, the Juliette Academy will open its doors for the first time.
There’ll be a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the morning, followed by the influx of fifty new students enrolled in the after-school program.
Tomorrow, we’ll welcome fifty more and the next day and the next.
By the end of the week, we’ll have welcomed all two hundred and fifty students to a world of music and wonder. I’m actually a little nervous.
“Hey, hey, hey there, Ohio. Are you ready for the big day?”
I look up from my notes to see Crystal walking in with her massive tote bag in hand. She’s wearing plaid capris with a fitted, white button down top and black blazer, accessorized with a chunky necklace and high heels with a strap that wraps around the ankle.
“Nothing to prepare. This is the Frank show. I’ve respectfully asked to be excused from the media circus that is taking place today.
” I motion my pen over to her cello that’s been judging me from the corner.
“You shouldn’t leave that here overnight.
The school is not responsible if it’s stolen off of school premises. ”
Crystal shakes out long, loose curls with her hand, letting them fall over her shoulders. Her hair is a deep brown that looks almost burgundy in certain lighting. In the sunlight, it has a Julianne Moore-esque tint to it. Her eyes are hazel green, and she has the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen.
“Eh, let ’em steal it. It’s my old piece.”
Her words are like a knife to the stomach. If she only knew what I would pay to be able to play again . . .
I brush off the thought. “I’ll have to have you sign a document dissolving the school from retribution should it go missing.”
Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Crystal changes her stance. “Yeah, yes, sure. Whatever needs to be done.” She removes her coat and places it on the hook behind the door. “Are you okay? You seem a little on edge.”
Am I okay? What does okay even mean? Well, if I’m gonna be a smarty-pants about the whole thing, it’s from the Dutch phrase Oll Korrect, meaning “all correct.”
But I’ve come to find okay to stand as an acronym for “otherwise known.”
So today I’m okay.
Otherwise known as, I can’t stop thinking about a certain man who captured my soul and hasn’t given it back.
Otherwise known as, trying to find a new place for myself in this world since the one I thought I had has vanished.
Otherwise known as, will there ever be a day when people stop asking me if I’m okay?
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just making sure everything is set for today.” I offer her a kind smile and go back to reviewing my notes.
“You?” She asks in a flabbergasted manner. “You’re the most organized person I’ve ever met. You’ve got everything covered. Let’s go out for a drink tonight. Celebrate!” Crystal says, reminding me a lot of Leah, just a bit more refined.
“Thanks, but I have work to catch up on,” I say, hoping she can’t read through my fib.
Crystal eyes me cautiously but shrugs as she usually does, shaking out her hair again. “Sure. Well, maybe next time. I’m gonna go freshen up before we go down. Meet you back here in fifteen?”
I nod my head and go back to my work. The city has given me a newfound energy and purpose, yet I still find myself withdrawing at times.
At noon, Crystal and I make our way downstairs and take a spot in the middle of Rivington, where a large crowd has gathered for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
The street has been blocked off for the event.
NYPD are stationed at both ends of the street where barricades have been placed for the next hour preventing cars from coming down the one-way street.
A small stage is set up to the right of the front door with a podium and microphone. A woman is currently doing a mic check as the mayor—who I was impressed would be here—is talking to Frank off the side of the stage.
Crystal and I spot a dazed-looking Lisa and flag her over to where we are standing.
When she sees us, her eyes light up, and she side steps her way through the crowd.
Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a large oversized sweater over leggings and Converse sneakers, clutching a cup of deli coffee in her hands.
Everyone was told to dress nice today. For Lisa, this is nicely dressed.
“I can’t believe I took a day off work for this. There are so many other things I’d rather be doing right now,” she says, sliding between me and Crystal.
“Like practicing for an audition I have tomorrow,” Crystal says.
“Or creating an agenda for a spring concert,” I add.
“Or having sexy times with the husband,” Lisa chimes in. Crystal and I roll our heads in her direction. “What?” she says, shrugging. “Two kids, remember? Some day you’ll understand.”