Five

The Old Neighborhood

The bus arrived at the stop. The door opened. Struggling, Sharleen managed to get through the opened door, barely able to fit through the exit because of the two overflowing book bags she carried, plus her backpack. Stepping onto the curb, she watched the bus pull away.

Sharleen remained still for a moment, taking in her surroundings. Familiar yet odd at the same time. She noticed the corner store, the neighborhood church, the empty park, and the Cuban coffee shop. All places she remembered frequenting as a child and a teenager.

Sharleen gave the four corners a second glance, trying to see the signs of the bad reputation the area had earned since she’d left. While the neighborhood was the oldest section of town, the alleged element of danger wasn’t present.

It looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same.

Then a different notion came to mind.

Maybe it’s me who’s changed.

Sharleen began to walk, knowing her destination was only two blocks away.

As she approached the school, she smiled. The building itself was nondescript and looked like a gray box with a slanted roof, but there was a nostalgic quaintness to it that was appealing. Passing the chain-linked fence surrounding the adjacent playground, her enthusiasm waned. A sadness veiled the scenery. The playground primarily consisted of asphalt, a rusted set of swings, monkey bars, and a slide. All of the equipment had seen better days. And there was no grass in sight, only dead, golden weeds shooting up from cracks in the ground, desperate for sunshine or rain.

The wild mixture of emotions caused Sharleen to stop walking. Still staring through the fence, memories stirred.

I was the queen of chalk art, she remembered.

As if the memory were being reenacted in front of her, Sharleen saw a particular moment in vividness. She was seven. With a piece of chalk in hand, Sharleen was decorating the ground around her with her artistic version of the world. By the time her father arrived and watched from a distance, Sharleen had covered every inch of nearby space with planets, stars, and the moon. At the sound of her name, she looked up and saw her dark-haired father standing on the other side of the fence, smiling. She stood and ran to him, sliding her chalky fingertips through the metal links to touch his hands. As usual, they were oil-stained from the cars he worked on all day long.

Staring into her eyes, young Guillermo whispered to his daughter, “The world belongs to you, Sharleen. It’s all yours.”

“I love you, Daddy.” Sharleen realized she’d said the words aloud, standing in the exact spot her father had stood seventeen years ago.

Shaking the memory off, Sharleen moved on. As she lumbered through the school parking lot, her bulkiness bumped into a few cars, setting off car alarms.

Relieved to have something to laugh at, she giggled and offered an apology to the cars. “Oops. My bad.”

Continuing toward the main entrance, a rush of new emotions sprung forth, intense and sudden. Right before she entered the building, she glanced up to the top of the flagpole where the American flag waved hello, urging her to walk inside and take her first step on an unknown journey.

Sharleen entered the school, which was no easy feat considering all she carried. Inside, the building was comforting but worn. The overheated air emanated leftover scents from whatever lunch was served in the cafeteria earlier that day. After passing by a massive trophy case, Sharleen stopped and peered inside the first classroom. She smiled at the sight of engaged children sitting at miniature desks. It was the same classroom she once sat in as a Kindergartener.

Stepping into the main office, Sharleen approached the counter. Behind it stood Joyce McAllister, the dutiful and kind school secretary. She was an older woman with a gentle face, frosted hair, and a comforting presence.

“Hello,” she said with a warm smile. “May I help you?”

“My name is Sharleen Vega. I’m from the Department of Parks and Recreation. I’m here to direct the holiday variety show and run the afterschool program,” Sharleen explained.

Sentiment filled Joyce’s eyes. The expression made Sharleen want to cry, but she kept her composure intact. “Sharleen?” Joyce said, staring. “Is that really you?” The woman reached for the glasses perched on top of her head and drew them down to her eyes. She gave Sharleen another look, which was more like a confirmation rather than an inspection. “Oh my, it is. I never forget a face. You might not remember me.”

“I do,” Sharleen assured her while fighting the temptation to reach across the counter and hug her. “You used to give me a popsicle whenever I was waiting to see the nurse. It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”

“I’m so glad you’re back.” A flicker of sadness flashed across Joyce’s face. “I was so sorry to hear about your parents,” she said, tone soft, filled with empathy. “It was a terrible tragedy.”

“Thank you.” Sharleen blinked back tears. “I miss them very much. It’s a bit strange. Being back here, I mean. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.”

“Nothing much has changed,” Joyce said. “This place is long overdue for a facelift, but you know how the school board is.”

“Speaking of, I was told I need to check in with the principal.”

“Yes, you do,” said Joyce. “Her name is Betty Marchant. She’s a lovely woman. We’re very lucky to have her. But she’s not available today. She’s stuck in a meeting with the school board. I’ll let her know you stopped by. I’ll be in touch to reschedule your meeting with her.”

“Thank you, Joyce.” Sharleen moved to leave but stopped. “By the way, do you know where I’m supposed to go?”

“All of the students who signed up to be in the holiday variety show were told to report to the multipurpose room right after school.”

Sharleen glanced up to the clock on the wall. “And when is that?”

In response to her question, a bell rang.

“I better hurry,” she said. “I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

Sharleen entered the multipurpose room for the first time in twelve years, shocked by its appearance. The large room had long been forgotten. She stood near the double doors, hearing them click shut behind her.

The main focal point of the room was a raised stage built into the wall. Old-fashioned in style, the stage sat in silence, looking like it was waiting for ghosts from the vaudeville era to take centerstage and dazzle a long-ago audience. There were a few wooden steps on each side of the stage, allowing access up to the elevated performance area from the right or the left. Several stage lights were positioned from metal beams in the ceiling, aimed at the performance space.

One wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street outside. Sadly, the windows were covered by worn, dark drapes. The heavy material prevented any sunlight from entering the room.

This place feels like a gloomy cave. I remember it being bright and filled with joy. What happened?

Opposite the windows was a closed-off kitchen area that sat untouched. Sharleen remembered it was the area where lunch was served daily to a slow-moving line of tray-carrying grade school students. The majority of the room was still populated with cafeteria-style tables and bench seating, but even those looked decades old.

Sharleen moved to one of the tables and dropped her book bags on its surface with a soft thud. She slipped her backpack off and noticed how much her neck and back ached.

Her mood brightened when she approached an old upright piano, located near the stage. She played a few chords and winced in response.

Professor Richter would die on the spot if she heard how out of tune this thing is.

One of the double doors clicked open and someone entered. Sharleen turned to the sudden sound cutting through the eerie stillness and quiet.

An older woman with short-cropped hair, and a slight bend in her posture walked in, pushing a mobile shelf of books. She parked the cart near the stage. It was difficult to ignore that her simple outfit of faded jeans and a dark sweatshirt were accented by Christmas-themed accessories, including large, dangling earrings. It was clear she was a ray of holiday sunshine in an otherwise dark place.

Sharleen stepped forward, recognizing the woman at once. She was Willie Cole. Back then she’d been a firecracker, often leading the children into peals of laughter with her crazy but entertaining antics. Now, she looked long past retirement but still seemed somewhat spry and spirited.

Willie Cole looked up from her cart, and said, “You Sharleen?”

Oh no. She doesn’t remember me. Do I look that different? My hair’s much longer now and I’m definitely taller than I was when I was twelve, but not by much.

“Yes, I’m Sharleen.”

Willie extended her hand to shake in a no-nonsense manner. “My name’s Wilhelmina Cole,” she said, “but most folks just call me Willie.”

Sharleen shook the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Willie.”

The woman raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Oh? Have we met?”

Sharleen gestured to the musical instrument she was standing next to. “I was a student here about twelve years ago,” she explained. “I played the piano. A lot.”

Willie leaned in for a closer look at Sharleen before saying, “I remember you. You did play the piano. And you were good, too. You came all the way back here to direct a variety show? You’re either desperate for a job or way too generous for your own good.”

Sharleen smiled. “Probably a little bit of both. I’m working for the Department of Parks and Recreation. Just for the holidays. I’m in college. My last year. And this is the fourth job I’ve had in the last two weeks, not by choice.”

Willie appeared skeptical. “But you don’t live around here anymore, do you?”

“No, I moved after my … I moved to be closer to school,” Sharleen said. “And my grandmother. She lives in an assisted living building a few blocks away from my apartment. But I still live in Harmonville. Different neighborhood, but the same town.”

Willie made a sound that was loud and sounded like ha! “Different?” she said. “You’re not lying. I’m surprised this school stays open, to tell you the truth.”

“Oh, no. Are things that bad?”

“Since it’s your first day and all, I’ll spare you the sad details.”

“I’m very happy to be here,” said Sharleen. “I’ve never directed a holiday show before, but it should be fun. I’m looking forward to working with the students.”

Willie chortled and said, “Yeah … good luck with that.”

The doors of the multipurpose room flung open as if they were being ripped from the hinges. Willie and Sharleen were invaded with students rushing in, all anxious, all chatting, all curious.

Surprised by the huge turnout, Sharleen quickly made her way to the stage. She scrambled up the mini staircase and positioned herself downstage center. She looked out at the crowd looking up at her.

“Hello, everybody,” she said. “Wow, there’s a lot of you here.” A quick head count indicated there were at least thirty students. She stared at their young faces and paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the beautiful sight.

A young girl stepped forward, looking up at Sharleen. Her eyes reflected awe and reverence. Sharleen estimated she was around ten years old, maybe a little younger. Long, light brown hair was pulled back into a single braid. “Are you the director?” the student asked.

“I am,” Sharleen replied with a nod. “My name is Sharleen Vega. You may call me Miss Sharleen.”

A young boy approached and stood next to the girl. Sharleen sensed they were the same age and possibly related, although his features were darker. He didn’t look impressed. “Are you another teacher?”

Still smiling, Sharleen answered with, “Maybe someday, but for now I’m an afterschool program coordinator. What I’d like for you to do is line up over here.” Sharleen gestured to the bottom of the staircase on the left side of the stage, the one closest to the piano. “We have a lot of work to do in order to put this show together. I’m going to need all of your help.”

“What kind of a show is it?” the unimpressed boy asked.

“It’s a holiday variety show,” Sharleen explained.

The girl raised her hand. “Do we get to sing?”

“What about dancing?” the boy inquired. “Do we get to dance?”

“Yes and yes,” Sharleen replied. “One at a time, I would like for each of you to come up here and introduce yourselves. Since we’re going to be working together, I’d like to know who you are.”

The young girl put her hand up again. Sharleen was already impressed by how polite she was for someone so young. “Would it be okay if we get our library books first?” she asked, with a slight tremble in her voice. She looked nervous, which only made her more endearing to Sharleen. “Willie only brings us books once a month and the good ones go fast.”

Sharleen looked to Willie for guidance. In response, the older woman offered a slight nod of approval, like a pitcher communicating with an umpire.

Sharleen moved to the mini staircase and walked down the steps. She joined Willie who was standing next to the mobile book cart, guarding it from anxious hands. “Are you the school library?”

“The portable one, yes,” Willie said. “The district won’t give us the money to build a new one after the last one was condemned.”

There was no question in Sharleen’s mind. Introductions and rehearsals could wait. She turned to the students and announced, “Yes, please get your library books first. And then we can start.”

As if an invisible barricade had dissolved, the students made a mad dash to Willie, overwhelming her. On instinct, Sharleen jumped in to help.

“I’ve never seen so many young people so happy to have books to read,” Sharleen said to Willie. “You would think we were giving away free cell phones or video games.”

Willie gave her a look. “I know you’ve been away for a while but try to remember how happy you were to have something new.”

A few minutes later, Sharleen sat at the piano with her fingers poised above the keys. About a dozen students were standing in a short line, waiting their turn. The other students were sitting at tables talking or reading.

Willie was nearby, mopping the floor with something that smelled like pine trees.

As each student reached the first of the line, Sharleen worked with them on scales, trying to determine their singing ability.

I’m in trouble. Very few can carry a tune.

Then, the polite young girl stepped up to the piano.

Poor thing. She’s terrified.

She leaned in close to Sharleen and whispered in a shaky voice, “Do I have to sing in front of everyone?”

Another girl who was taller and bigger stepped forward. Short curly hair bounced with every step. “Hurry up, Ivy,” she said. “The rest of us want a turn, too.”

The impatient girl had a redheaded sidekick who was smaller and mouse-like. She stood next to the ringleader with a threatening smirk on her face. “She won’t sing,” she explained to Sharleen with a dramatic hand on her tiny hip. “She never does.”

The bigger girl spoke again. “You’re wasting your time, Miss Sharleen,” she said. “She refuses to sing in front of anyone.”

Ivy looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Sharleen gestured for her to come closer so their conversation was out of earshot of the other girls.

“What do you say I let these two girls go next and then everyone can leave except for you and me?” she offered. “Will you sing then?”

Ivy gave this some thought before nodding in response and agreeing to the terms. “Yes, but not in front of them. Not ever,” she vowed. “I’m sure you can tell … but Raquel and Camilla don’t like me.”

Moments later, all the students were gone except for Ivy.

At the piano, Sharleen started the scales.

Young Ivy took a breath and began to sing.

Sharleen continued to play with an invigorated enthusiasm, inspired by Ivy’s beautiful tones.

Her pitch is perfect and her voice is remarkable.

With her focus on Ivy and the piano, Sharleen was unaware that a man had entered the room. When she finally noticed him, he remained in the back in silence, listening to Ivy sing. An expression of pride on his face.

Who’s that? And how can we be introduced?

Sharleen stopped playing. The final note disappeared up into the ceiling. She turned to Ivy and with a rush of excitement said, “You have a very beautiful voice.”

Ivy blushed, embarrassed by the recognition of her secret talent. “Thank you,” she said, with her green eyes cast to the freshly mopped floor.

“Tell me your name again,” Sharleen prompted.

The man approached the piano, and in doing so Sharleen’s suspicions were confirmed: he was even more handsome up close. He looked to be in his early thirties. He possessed a combination of rugged good looks and an athletic build. From the clothes he wore, she guessed he did manual work for a living, maybe construction.

He must be her father.

“Her name is Ivy,” he answered.

Sharleen stood. “And you are?”

“Jake Arlington,” he said. “Her father.”

I was right and, oh my God, look at his eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you. You must be very proud of your daughter,” Sharleen said. “Her voice … it’s very strong. Has she been taking singing lessons for a long time?”

Jake gave her a strange look. “No time for lessons, I’m afraid,” he said, sounding brisk. “Ivy, get your things. Time to go.”

Sharleen moved in his direction. “We’ll only be a few more minutes. I would love to work with her until five, if that’s okay. You’re welcome to stay and watch. Ten more minutes?”

“Sorry,” he said. “We have a lot going on right now.”

“But she’ll be back? Tomorrow?”

Jake was already heading for the exit, with his daughter following close behind clutching her library books, a lunch bag, and a sweater.

“You’ll have to ask her,” Jake said before leaving the room.

Ivy tossed her words over her shoulder, still moving, still trying to keep up with her father. “I’ll be back, Miss Sharleen.” Her words sounded like a promise.

“It was nice to meet you.” Father and daughter already gone. Sharleen sat back down at the piano. “Both of you.”