He walked through the crowded wet streets, stretching his stride as long as possible. If he could cover more ground quickly, he wouldn't need to break into a jog to make his train on time. He watched his feet, not glancing up at the people who passed by him, or the street performers hoping to attract an audience, or the preachers who handed flyers to whoever was within arm's reach. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulders so it wouldn't rub against his collar bone as he picked up speed and his heavy books began to bounce up and down uncomfortably with his movement. He turned up the volume on his iPod so he wouldn't be distracted by surrounding sounds. He just wanted to make his train without being bothered. Now only one street stood between him and the station. He could see that the cross walk light was green, and not wanting to miss the light, he ran. When it turned orange, he sprinted. And just as he made one final leap from the street, to safety of the curb, the l...

I have so many magical moments that I accidentally see from my corner at the piano when I play for the Beginner's Ballet class. Here is another. ~~ The 5 year olds had a substitute teacher, a serious looking, tall Russian man with a thick accent. A bit intimidating compared to their regular, petite ballerina instructor. "How you make  plie ?" He boomed to the little girls. They struggled to understand his words. A few picked up on it though, and they demonstrated a  plie , squatting clumsily in their white tights that sagged on their tiny bodies. They giggled at his funny voice, snickering through their nose behind their hand, as if that would mask their silliness. At this level, the girls were still learning the difference between left and right. It was a 50/50 shot in the dark, and something they weren't too interested in getting it right. "Fiyrst (first), we do combination to za right, zen to other side." He explained. I wanted to tell him ...

This is a short story I wrote years ago. I wrote it in high school, then revised it for a college writing class, then about a year ago sent it into an online magazine where it was published. It's one of my favorites and I hope you enjoy it. "I Knew You'd Come"  By Elizabeth Grimes I have the best granny in the world, or so says the homemade, brightly colored, baked clay  clumsily glued to a safety pin “broach” I made for her in first grade. Constantly levelheaded and always sensible, my grandma can be found in the front row of every Christmas play, piano recital, and cheerleading competition, bursting with pride for her grandchildren. Each of her co-workers know by heart the lives of my sisters and I. “Oh!  You’re  Mary’s granddaughter,” they say when she introduces me. “Boy have I heard a lot about you!” She drags every person she can club over the head to one of my boring jazz band concerts or just to listen to me play the piano at Lee’s Restaurant and sip coffe...

One day, the 7-year old Intermediate Ballet class I play piano for, had a substitute teacher. Though the little girls didn't realize it, they were quite privileged to have  this  instructor. A famous Russian ballerina who now taught the professional dancers that made up the ballet company. Immediately I could sense this would be a different class than the girls were used to, for this teacher was disciplined and focused and was used to nothing less than the full attention and hard work from her students, no matter what their age.  From my seat behind the piano, I watched the girl's faces as they struggled to understand the higher-level of combinations from their new teacher. I saw some grow frustrated, confused, and some gave up. But for as much as these girls were not used to their new teacher, their new teacher was not used to the inexperienced girls, and continued her class as if she were teaching her skilled adult company.  In the middle of the class, the i...

"It was just her and her mom for a long time when we met, and naturally she was a little protective of her mom when we began dating. I tried to plan activities that the 3 of us could do together and over time, we became good friends. Three years went by and I asked her one day after I picked her up from school, 'How would you feel about me and your mom getting married? Would that be okay with you?' She looked down shyly, but I could see that she was smiling. I knew it would be okay. Our relationship shifted after the wedding as I took on a more paternal role. I was involved in her school decisions, her daily life, and her discipline. I always loved her, but now I loved her like my very own daughter. She still called me by my first name and I didn’t blame her. I knew I could never fathom the feelings and emotions of a preteen girl and I just wanted her to be comfortable with our family situation, though I secretly longed to hear her call me Dad. One day she got home from ...

There was a woman named Lyn who was a perfectionist in every way. Her house was always spotless. Her white carpet was never stained with a single drop, or sprinkled with a solitary crumb. Every item had its place and was organized into tupperware, folded on shelves, and stacked in order from tallest to shortest, biggest to smallest, or at a 90-degree angle. Should something be out of place, even if it was only a pillow that had gone astray from the neatly made bed, Lyn would become despondent. Even her yard was manicured to perfection. She had the greenest grass, the weedless-iest garden, and the cleanest sidewalks. In fact, her favorite day of the year was the first snow-fall, for this meant she had one or two days when she could take a break from her endless laboring and the yard would still look absolutely flawless when covered with a smooth, pure white blanket of snow. Today was that day. And it couldn’t come at a better moment, for her family would come celebrate the holidays ...

Since everyone seems to enjoy stories where I make a  fool out of myself , I thought of another one to share: This was years ago when I lived in an apartment in El Paso for my Army Air Defense Artillery Officer Basic Course. Back then, I lived, ate, and dreamt Army. It was my number one priority and I dedicated every fiber of my being to becoming the best officer possible, at any cost. I was never late or out of uniform, and I studied like a mad woman for the challenging written and practical tests. One night, asleep in my bedroom, I woke up to use the bathroom. I got out of bed and walked my closed bedroom door only to find that I could not open it. I thought maybe I had accidently locked it, but when I looked at the door knob, I discovered, there was no lock at all . Since it was a matter of being stuck, I jiggled the knob every which way possible, while pulling and yanking with all my might. Nothing. Now I actually started to panic a little. I lived alone and had just moved to...

I recently applied for a writing internship at a prestigious New York City magazine who caters to “affluent” clients. To prepare for the interview, I fixed up my resume, printed out writing samples, and spent a half hour deciding what to wear. After trying on a dozen outfits, I noticed the time. I had about 4 minutes to get to the corner bus stop in order to catch my ride and arrive on time. So in a blind frenzy, I threw on my faithful, easy to wear dress that always looks good no matter what, grabbed my purse, and made a dash for the bus stop. After the typical New York City adventure of subways, street signs, and traffic, I finally arrived at the upscale, streamlined office. I was asked to take a seat in the waiting area and breathed a sigh of relief at conquering the chaotic morning. As I waited to be called in, I felt something itch my collar bone. Absent mindedly, I rubbed it when I realized what it was. The tag. Yep, the dress was on backwards. Again, my old friends, panic and...

“Now I’ve brought presents for all of you girls,” the ballet instructor announced to the jittery young dancers at the beginning of class. “It’s a decorative, small pouch that you can use to place your jewelry in while you dance.” The girls seemed pleased with the small token and flocked to the laid out selection, eager to choose a color. There was pink, purple, white, gold, and brown. The girls, though young, were as elegant as swans in their dance apparel, tall, thin, and with skin as smooth and light as cream. One girl reached the pouches last, and found that the pretty colors had already been selected. She hesitantly reached for the final one that remained, brown. There weren’t many times when she experienced this uncomfortable feeling, her skin conspicuously different from the others. But when she did, she wished she could hide for a moment until she felt the stares stop. Her head down and shoulders slumped she studied the brown pouch. “Oh my goodness!” the instructor suddenly ga...

I sat at the piano in the very first ballet class for the youngest beginners, no older than 4 and 5. I watched quietly as the teacher tried to settle the girls who explored the large room with excitement and wonder. They wore their brand new pink leotards and white tights, just taken out of the package today. Their mothers had brushed their hair into a ponytail, then twisted the loose ends into a pink, sparkly hair wrap. Bobby pins held the wispy hairs tight to their heads. The girls wandered inside, taking notice of their elegant appearance in the wall-sized mirrors, as if today was the ultimate of all “dress-up” days. They grasped the wooden bar, and mimicked the movements they’d seen ballerinas do on TV. The girls jumped up and down like popcorn when they finally took notice of the teacher, tall, sophisticated, and graceful. She wore a chiffon black skirt around her waist that gently swayed with each movement, and satin pointed shoes with pink ribbons that laced up around her ankl...

She pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders and shifted uncomfortably in the metal folding chair that sat in the morning shadow of the building lined street. The chill of the early day made her shiver. The stage and podium were set up only a few rows in front of her, giving her an unblocked view. She waited in nervous silence, her trembling hands clutched the tissue that she held to her face to catch her uncontrolled tears. The eerie feeling of both sorrow and dread was now a familiar, annual event. The bell rang at 8:46, sending a jolting chill up her spine as she released a suppressed sob into her tissue. She closed her eyes, and again, let her mind torment her with what he may have experienced at that exact moment nine years ago. Maybe he felt the ground underneath him give way. Maybe he tried to call her. Maybe he prayed, cried, ran. She shuddered again, and felt the comforting hand of a stranger on her shoulder. She listened as the names were read out loud with similar inf...

He had been watching the darkening sky for an hour now. The wind picked up, giving him haunting chills up and down his arms. He knew the storm would strike at any moment. He gazed out into the chilly water, now brewing uneasily, and prepared himself for a fight. He straightened his back and drew in a deep breath, resolving to combat the elements and save his ship at all cost. That’s when a gust of wind came out of nowhere and like a fist, knocked him off his feet. It had begun. His ship violently rocked from side to side, making it impossible to keep the wheel steady though he gripped with all his might. He had lost his crew in the last storm and now only he remained. Powerful waves crashed upon the deck and swept him across the wooden floor. Just as he braced himself to crash into the wall, an enormous wave tipped the ship just so, threatening to dump him over the side into the vast, unforgiving ocean. At the last second before he was separated from his ship forever, he managed to g...

I’m running like a mad woman down a mountainside in sweatpants, t-shirt, slippers, and wet hair in 40-degree weather, through mud puddles, gravel, and overgrown brush. Why, you ask? Let me tell you. About once a month, I drive down to the North Carolina Smoky Mountains to visit my husband as he finishes up school. While I’m here, I do much of my correspondence with the New York City music scene by e-mail and phone. I send out resumes, headshots, musical recordings, and videos to possible employers and all but beg them to hire me for an advertised gig that I’ve found online. It’s a taxing life, with little stability, but one that I am willing to give up job security, our four-bedroom house with a yard and a pool, and any sense of a normal life for. Dedicated, or crazy? I applied for an internship several weeks ago with a large New York City record company. I thought, Here is my chance to learn all the ins and outs of the business, make some contacts, and maybe get some discounted stu...

There once was an abandoned, run down barn that sat near a beautiful countryside home. The barn was an eye sore for many of the neighbors, but no one took the steps to remove it. Some children dared to go near it, feeling adventurous and seeking out mystery, but all were in trouble when their parents found out. The barn was home to all sorts of critters, including four feral cats. They must have been brothers and sisters as they were all black with white paws and faces. Inside the barn, they trapped and ate their meals, huddled close together during the winter nights, and explored every corner of their home. The cats were thin, for their meals were sparse. Their behavior was skittish when seen, for they rarely encountered humans. Their coats were shabby and dirty, for they lived a difficult life. Yet, they were always together, guarding and helping one another. Hunting meals was a team effort. When one left the barn, the other three followed. If ever only three cats were spotted, it ...

It is rare for me to find a legitimate piano gig. It is even more rare for the hirer to return my phone call and/or e-mail. And it is practically an occasion to break out champagne and dance a jig when all the details work out and I am officially “booked.” So I was totally psyched when I booked an accompaniment gig at the  Broadway Comedy Club . Not the Vegan Poetry Reading House, not the accompanist for a Catholic school’s children's Christmas program, but the Broadway Comedy Club - in the heart of New York City and a legitimate landmark where many famous musicians have performed. The gig was to provide accompaniment (which isn’t my best skill) of Broadway songs (which I don’t know a lot of) for professional vocalists (who can be a bit…diva, or divo). We had one short rehearsal the day before the performance and I arrived at the rehearsal about 30 minutes early because I still had no concept of how mass transit runs in this city. I made it a rule of thumb to leave an hour before I...

It’s easy to see the magic in a beautiful day - the color of the blue sky with brush strokes of white wispy clouds, the way the sun’s light enhances every color from the lush green grass to the color of the flowers swaying in the breeze. And in the setting of a beautiful park with a vast, tree-filled landscape and crystal pond in the center, I could very well call this my magic moment 2. But something in the middle of the park tugged at my heart and will stay with me for a long time. A little boy, no older than 3, sat on a child-size rock next to the pond. He was alone. His mother and brother were at the playground a few yards away. His body was unusually relaxed for a 3 year old and his gaze was intently fixed on a group of ducks in the middle of the pond. The ducks swam slowly and smoothly from one end of the pond to the other and the little boys’ head followed in correlating motion. His hands were folded neatly in his lap and occasionally, he raised a hand to point at a duck as...