"A school where you learn how to be a professional entertainer? I'm just going back into English, history, and math to get myself a liberal arts degree. You know how many freshmen flunk out of college? You don't have to worry about failing exams."
"You're so lucky you've got a talent. Honey."
Was I?
How often had I asked myself, is this a blessing or a curse?
How often had I wondered, where would all of it really take me?
Soon, I would know.
Fortunately, we had great weather all the way to New York. We had to spend one night on the road. Daddy had planned the trip like a battle, figuring out how many hours it would take to get to our first rest stop, our lunch, our motel and dinner. Some road work and traffic backups spoiled his plan and slowed us up. but Mommy wouldn't permit him to go too fast.
Occasionally, at Mommy's request. I took out my violin and played for them while we rode, and especially when we were stuck in traffic. Daddy thought it was amusing to open all our windows and let the people in cars around us hear me play, too. Some people actually applauded.
"It's better than this CD and radio!" Daddy cried. "We have our own built-in musical artist, performing live!"
Daddy was never as talkative as he was on this journey. Mommy was the same, and when they were quiet. I rattled on and on, talking about things my school friends had said, asking questions about places we passed. For a while, it was as if we were all afraid of any long silences, afraid of permitting our dark thoughts to get control. Our little family was splitting up and it was very traumatic, even if it would be good for my future.
The reality of what was happening and what I was doing didn't set in until we confronted the great New York skyline. Traversing the George
Washington Bridge, we rode in awe. I kept thinking. I truly an crossing from one world over to other. The bright day made the skyscrapers sparkle. Their windows like precious jewels catching the sunlight. Wasn't this a good omen? I thought. Please, dear God, let it be.
As soon as we turned into the traffic, the tension was palpable in our car. Horns blared around us. Drivers, especially taxicab drivers, stuck their heads out of their windows and screamed, waved fists, and cursed. Mommy sat forward, cramped with nerves. Daddy began to mutter aloud, wondering how human beings could put themselves into such a horrid situation day in and day out. It seemed to take forever to reach the exit we were told to take off the East River Drive. Once we were in the city proper, however, the wonder returned. Mommy laughed at the way people hurried along.
"It looks like the sidewalks are moving!" she cried. "I forgot how exciting it is here."
She marveled at the shops, the restaurants with their patio seating, the fashionable women in high heeled shoes and designer outfits.
"What fashionable women?" Daddy asked, his e
yes suddenly going like windshield wipers.
"Just keep your eyes on the road. Isaac Forman. I'll watch the people," she admonished.
Her feigned concern brought a smile to my frozen face. Now that we were actually here and I was really going to do this. My blood seemed to congeal and my heart go on pause. I kept holding my breath, and finally realized I was embracing myself so tightly, I nearly suffocated.
We followed the detailed directions and soon turned onto streets that seemed magically removed from the hustle and bustle. The buildings looked immaculate, all with security guards in crisp, bright gray and burgundy uniforms, either in front of or just inside their lobbies. There were black and gray iron gates and parking restrictions everywhere I looked, emphasizing how special and restricted these places were. We turned down one more street, and then all of us, almost simultaneously, released a sigh of amazement.
It was truly as if we had left the city and entered a magical kingdom. A high, black wrought iron gate fenced in the property, upon which there were sprawling maple trees, fountains, stone benches, walkways, and gardens. There, at the center of it, was this enormous mansion with a very busy roof line consisting of spires, pinnacle turrets, gables, and shapely chimneys, confronting us with its majesty, its formidable size. To me, it was larger than most hotels. The grounds were certainly larger than my own school grounds!
It's impressive, I thought, but it was strangely dark with its black shutters like heavy lids over stony dark eyes, almost an illustration in a book of fantasy, a castle rising from the bog, spreading over several acres in magnificent but intimidating grandeur. When the sun took a fugitive position behind a passing cloud, it became even darker, more foreboding. Would I cross a moat and be made a prisoner, or kept secure, safe, far from the demons that lurked in what Grandad Forman always called Satan's city?
"This is a school?" Mommy asked. astounded. "How can it be?"
"It's the right address, isn't it?" Daddy said, slowing down, somewhat skeptical himself.
"Yes,," Mommy said, gazing at the directions. "This is the Senetsky School address."
There were no signs announcing it as so. We paused at the gate. It was closed.
"What do we do now?" Daddy asked. "I don't know."
"That looks like some sort of a call box to let people know you're at the gate," I said, pointing to it.
Daddy inched closer, and then lowered the window and pressed a button.
"Yes?" we heard a female voice ask.