Reckless Abandon(48)
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 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 play?
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 as preparations to open the school were underway. 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.”