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Chuckberry Streets Forever
Keep Your Piano, Mister Bates
The sharply defined fantasy edged out the sleet and sprays of water from passing traffic so that Sheila was no longer trudging to her piano lesson. Instead, there she was duck-walking through the intersection, guitar wailing, and a crowd gathering. Faceless, murmuring in the rain/sleet mess, people were unable to continue to their destination they were so drawn to the music.
That’s the kind of power Sheila dreamt of and it was never going to be hers sitting at some dumb piano.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Bates. The trains are messed up because of the weather.”
“It’s your forty bucks, young lady, but this lesson ends promptly at 7 pm regardless. Now. Have you been practicing that piece daily as I instructed you to do?”
“How was your lesson, dear?”
“Fabulous, Mom.”
“You’ll never find a husband with that sarcastic attitude, kiddo.”
“Mom, I’m fourteen. Did anyone call?”
“I’m your secretary then? Sit down and eat, dinner’s getting cold.”
“Did someone from Edgar’s Music Emporium call? It’s important.”
“No one called. Now eat.”
