..and a bag of library books. Why? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.
Way back before kids came along and whims were a little easier to indulge, I had one. Well, not really a whim exactly, but more of a hair-brained, and completely absurd idea that I was going to learn to play the violin. I love the violin. I really do. I want to weep when I hear violins play. So why not learn to play, right? I mean, I read music, how hard could it be?
So, living in Philadelphia at the time, I called Temple U. and inquired about violin performance grad students taking on students. I was put in contact with a very talented young woman named Meg, whose violin playing made me want to weep and her instrument was worth more than most people's homes. I got myself a violin (worth more than most people's... um... small appliances?), a few good beginners music books and some rosin. With some calculating I realized I could catch a bus right outside where I worked in central Philadelphia and ride straight up to Temple, which really, let's be honest here, was in the hood. And there's a lot of hood in Philadelphia. And then after my lesson, I could take a short walk to the train which would take me home to Manayunk where I lived and a little trudge up the hill and I'm home. Easy peasy, lemon squeazy. I cut my nails to the quick and plowed right ahead, sure to become the next Itzak Perlman. No sweat.
On one particular lesson day I went to the Free Library on my lunch break (Free Library - this always confused me. Never met a library that wasn't free. Go figure) and loaded up on books. (Once again, this was prior to kids and you can do that when you don't have kids. Load up on books just for you and actually read them, that is.) So I headed to my lesson with about 30 lbs of books and my violin, but by the time I arrived at my lesson, having walked across town at lunch with all those books, and then carried them from the bus over to the University, my shoulder was killing me. Literally. Ok, not literally, but it did smart something fierce. So Meg decided I'd temporarily ruined my left shoulder and we should scrap the lesson and let my shoulder recover. So without the lesson I realized I'd have a half hour wait for the train. This is where I became an idiot. The exact moment. Right here.
I decided, in my infinite wisdom, that it would surely be faster to just walk due-west until I encountered a major north-south road, and catch a bus home. So with the offending books on one shoulder and the violin on the other I set off. So I mentioned Temple is kinda-sorta in the hood? Well, going due west puts you in the no-two-ways about it, wishing-I-was-packin-heat hood. And yo mamma wouldn't want you on those streets. My only hope was that my violin case might look a wee bit like an M249 automatic all wrapped up to go. I can't go into details about the next 7 miles or so because my delicate brain has tucked these memories away in a locked vault and only years of therapy could save me if I brought to the surface the places and things I encountered that night. And if you think cell phones were really around then, you would be wrong. And if you think inner city Philadelphia had phone booths, with actual phones in them, rather than mere shells with phones violently ripped out, and then used only as occasional trash receptacles and graffiti surface area, well, then you're wrong again.
After miles, and I mean miles, I did emerge into a more respectable part of town and found a phone booth. I called E and explained my plight. I think his response was something like "Hmph." Anyway, I told him to get his sorry hiney out the door and come find me, to which he lamely replied, "I don't know where the car keys are." I slammed the phone back on the receiver and pressed on. When I thought I could go no longer, and still hadn't found the right bus route to get me home, I found another phone. Called again, and again got, "I still can't find the keys, maybe you could take a cab." At which point I had no change left, let alone money for a cab. I was beyond livid. I mean I was a freakin damsel in distress at that point and the best he could do was suggest a cab?
I did eventually make it home. I think it was 9 or 9:30 p.m. when I got home and I'm pretty sure I crawled straight into bed. After dropping those blasted books on the floor and kicking my violin across the room, and telling off E as I dropped off to sleep.
And I had back pain, the likes of which I cannot possibly describe, for a week. Oh, and the car keys? In my pocket. Idiot? I rest my case.
Oh, and in the roughly ten years since this happened I have never actually mapped out the distance I walked that night until now. And it calculates at exactly 8.99 miles from campus to front door. It took me 3 hours.
The violin is stored deep in the back of a closet upstairs. I can squeak very slowly and painfully through "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star". Itzak Perlman? Ugh. And I wish I had photos to accompany this post, but then if I did, you too would need years of therapy to recover. I'm glad I can protect you from that.
4 comments:
I remember your violin phase fondly, especially when you practiced. In fact, you forgot to mention that Dita, our first dog, used to lay on the couch and groan while listening. As for me, I enjoyed listening to the budding violinist (through earplugs).
E
I can't believe you survived that walk. Definitely crazy! I still vividly remember visiting teaching with you driving somewhere north of the church and we saw what we thought was a HUGE rat run across the road. It was probably years later before I realized that it was an opossum. Still creepy though!
I can't believe you walked in that neighborhood at night!?! By yourself!?! I would not walk there during the day by myself! Let alone for 9 miles. However, now that we you know you made it safe and sound it does make for a good story, especially the part that you left the keys in your pocket.
My dear firstborn, You may have stored the details of that traumatic experience deep in the annals of your psyche but you managed to share them with those who gave you life before doing so. Not only the verbal but the visual- bicycles chained to fences with nothing but metal frames, a mere two seconds worth of criminal behavior from those well-practised in such devious behaviors, graffitti on every wall, and had we looked futher would have identified, bullit shells and used syringes. On every corner there were villians with rape, slashing, mutilation and kidnapping on their minds. Does this conjur up any memory? I for one remember after retracing your path ( never unlocking the car doors) how tempted we were to disown E and have you examined for mental stability and good sense, but then a year later I found myself roaming the street of NYC at 12:30am in much the same situation. I believe in angels! Mom
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