“Okay, honey. Call me again soon. I want to hear more about Grace.”
“Okay. Wuv you, Mom.” I winked at the girl as she stared me down a foot away.
“Wuv you, too?” She laughed.
5. You Were Like a Light
Matt
I killed time by rearranging my portfolio. At some point I knew I’d have to get out and make friends, but for the time being I was hoping to catch one person in particular, either on her way in or out. I’m not sure how obvious I was being by leaving my door cracked, but I didn’t care, especially when I finally heard Grace’s voice from the hall.
“Knock-knock.” I got up to put on a shirt but she pressed the door open with her index finger before I had time.
“Oh, sorry,” she said.
“No worries.” I opened the door all the way and smiled. “Hey, neighbor.”
She leaned against the doorjamb as her eyes fell from my face and traveled down my chest, to where my jeans hung below my boxers, and then further down to my black boots.
“I like your . . . boots.” She looked back up to my eyes. Her mouth was open very slightly.
“Thanks. Do you want to come in?”
She shook her head. “No, actually I came by to see if you wanted to get lunch. It’s free,” she said quickly, and before I had time to answer she added, “They’ll actually pay you.”
“What is this free-paying lunch place you speak of?” I quirked an eyebrow at her.
She laughed. “You just have to trust me. Come on, grab a shirt. Let’s go.”
I ran a hand through my hair, which was sticking up in every direction at the moment. Her eyes fell to my chest and arms again. It was hard for me to look away from her heart-shaped face but I glanced down to see her hands fidgeting at her sides. She was wearing a black dress with flowers on it, tights, and little black boots. She rocked back on her heels a couple of times. She reminded me of a hummingbird, one of those people who are always moving, always fidgeting.
“Give me one second,” I said. “I need a belt.” I rummaged through my belongings on the floor but couldn’t find one. My jeans were practically hanging off at that point.
Grace plopped down on my bed and watched me. “No belt?”
“I can’t find it.”
She hopped up and went to a pile of my shoes near the closet. She yanked the laces out of one of my Converse and did the same to one of my Vans and knotted the ends together. “This should do.”
I took the shoelace belt from her and fed it through the loops.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When I threw on my black Ramones T-shirt, she smiled appreciatively. “I like it. Ready?”
“Let’s hit it, G.”
We jogged down the three flights of stairs and Grace shoved opened the glass doors to the building. Walking in front of me, she threw her arms open and looked up at the sky. “What a great fucking day!” She turned around and reached for my hand. “Come on, it’s this way!”
“Should I be worried? How far is it?”
“It’s about six blocks. And no, you shouldn’t be worried. You’re gonna feel good about this. Your heart will feel good, your wallet will feel good, and your tummy will feel good.”
I didn’t know anyone over the age of twelve who still used the word “tummy.” We walked along, shoulder to shoulder, taking in the warmth radiating from the concrete. “I heard you playing last night,” I told her.
She glanced at me nervously. “Was I too loud?”
“Not at all.”
“My friend Tati came over and practiced with me. She plays the violin. I hope it didn’t keep you up.”
“I liked it a lot, Grace,” I said, seriously. “How’d you learn to play?”
“I taught myself. My mom got me a cello from a garage sale when I was nine. We didn’t have much money, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. There’re no frets on a cello so it requires a lot of ear training. I just listened to a ton of records and tried to re-create the sounds. I got a guitar after that and then a piano when I was twelve. In high school, my music teacher wrote me an insane letter of recommendation. That’s how I got in here. I struggled last year, though, and wasn’t sure if I’d stay.”
“Why?”
“I had no formal training outside of my high school orchestra, and this place is really competitive. I’m mostly trying to get good enough to be a studio musician.”
“What kind of music do you like to play?”
“I like to play everything. I really like rock and roll, but I like the classical stuff, too. Even though it’s a huge pain to lug around, I love the cello. I love how its texture can be growly or smooth. When I play the strings without a bow, it reminds me of skipping rocks, and I can’t help but picture those flat little pebbles against the still water.” I stopped. She walked a few feet ahead and then turned back to me. “What’s up?”
“That was a really beautiful way to put it, Grace. I’ve never thought about music that way.”
She sighed. “I just wish passion was enough.”
“There’s no right or wrong in art. My mom always said that.”
I detected a slight nod and then she gestured toward the street. “Come on, we have to cross.”
I was completely lost in New York and hadn’t gotten my bearings, or even figured out how to use the subway, so having Grace there lessened the frightening newness of the big city.