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It seemed like forever. A walk that’s taken only some four to five minutes becomes at least seven. It’s the length of the first movement. Well, that depends on whose interpretation it is. Fifty fucking dollars. She thought. Is it really worth the trouble of being alone with this child and his shenanigans? She recalled their last conversation as she hurried out of the door after a lesson. This ‘child ‘and that ‘kid’ and his ‘secrets’ stung like bees as she clamped the top button part of her gray silk blouse shut with a cameo while she dressed that late afternoon. 

“Can we work on Moonlight Sonata next week, Miss Juliet?” She remembered. She waved insouciantly at him as she rushed out the door. Usually, she conducts her lessons at home but being paid twice seemed worth it, but that was then. The last two months have been torture. There’s no pleasure in teaching this boy anymore. She thought of canceling the appointment but it is to be the final lesson though she hadn’t told him and his mom yet. The trek was only seven small blocks away yet her foot felt heavy plodding through sidewalks and streets along with a fawn leather portfolio full of sheet music and Czerny’s Piano Studies. It felt heavier this time around though.

A whiff of gardenia startled her as she passed by the Moore’s house.

Odd.

Angelica Moore abhorred the smell of it and pleaded that the homeowners not to plant a gardenia tree for a square block. She glanced quickly behind her. No one was around. Suddenly the hairs of her arms stood up. Mama wore the perfume on special occasions. Is there anything special with the old woman today? She thought. Miss Juliet fondly dabbed the last drop of that perfume on her coffin Eighteen years ago. The afternoon chill crept in. Gray clouds hung like large birds with sharp beaks and outstretched wings flying high above. As if they were about to swoop down and fetch her. She felt that she was being watched. Alone and scared, she uttered a soft and longing, “Oh Fred, how I miss you!” 

The black wooden gates drew close. She slowed her steps from her usual metronome-like gait. She loves to walk short distances as long as it is still daytime. Walking gives her a chance to think of things she’s comfortable with. As soon as she stepped close to the gate, she fiddled to open it once more. The tall stained glass door of ochre, emerald, and cerulean butterfly motif framed in thick Mahogany door opened slowly a few meters away. A blond, blue eyed boy stuck his neck out of the side of the door and smiled at her, sans two front teeth, and exclaimed, “Mommy, she’s here. She’s here!” 

Miss Chase bit her tongue, walked two more steps before she acknowledged her pupil for the last time, with a faint smile, “Hello Carson!”

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