“Welcome again, Shiloh. We met last week during the staff meeting, but I’m sure your mind is full of various names and faces. I’m Kristina Banks, or Kris for short, and I teach orchestra. I left right after our meeting last Monday for a last-minute vacation, and wasn’t around when you and everyone else were organizing your classrooms. Just in case you weren’t told, the orchestra practice room is right next to the band room; holler if you need me.”
Shiloh grinned. How did this vivacious lady think anyone could forget her? “I remember you, Kris,” Shiloh said. “Especially since you and, temporarily I, comprise the music department. Things are going well so far, but thanks for your support. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you over the next eight weeks. How long have you been here?”
“Ten years, and I love it,” Kris said. “The kids are great, the faculty is great, and so are the parents. The pay could always be better, but what teacher doesn’t complain about that? How long have you been teaching?”
Shiloh hesitated. “I’m … I haven’t been in a classroom setting, but I have taught one-on-one lessons for years.”
Kris raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well … I hope this works out for you. Welcome again.” She sauntered over to the refrigerator and retrieved a Diet Coke. “My morning caffeine fix is necessary,” she said, and filled a mug she was carrying with ice from the teachers’ lounge freezer.
Shiloh fixed a smile on her face, but she wished she were invisible. That had not gone well. What was she going to say when they asked where she’d received her degree, or how long she’d had her teaching license?
She spent the rest of the break listening to her new colleagues trade stories about their Labor Day activities, praying that they’d stay on topic, rather than inquiring further about her background and training. When the bell finally rang, Shiloh hoped her relief wasn’t palpable. Everyone finished what they were doing and left quickly. Shiloh headed for her classroom, too. She didn’t have to teach another class, but she was required to be present during this period in case a student came in seeking additional help.
When she reached the band room, she sagged in relief.
That bothered her, though. Why was she so concerned about fitting in and wanting them to like her? Why was she allowing concerns like this to mar her first day with her students? Shiloh made a mental note to call Dr. Carter this evening to make sure her teaching colleagues would be okay with her lack of credentials if they found out, especially since she was subbing at a magnet school. She didn’t want any surprises or drama. If her lack of a degree and teaching experience were going to be a problem, better to end this now before she, or her students, got attached.
Part of her wished she could snap her fingers and zap herself to the safety of her home. Usually on a weekday morning she’d be in her sunroom practicing the flute, or completing some of her household chores. That was familiar. That felt comfortable. Being in the classroom with the students had been exhilarating, but teacher politics might be the end of her.
sixteen
Lack of sleep left Shiloh less perky this morning than she had been on Day One.
She had tossed and turned most of the night, fretting over her inadequacies. What if her informal teaching style meant she wasn’t giving students what they needed? What if the other teachers protested her presence? Not only would she be embarrassed, so would Randy.
She wanted to talk with him about her concerns, but feared he’d tell her she should have thought about all of that before taking the position. Yesterday, he and the boys had celebrated her first day of teaching by preparing dinner and surprising her with a cake. Their thoughtfulness made her feel special, but the butterflies remained, even after a brief chat with Dr. Carter, who assured her that she had received a full endorsement from officials at the state Board of Education.
“Dr. Singleton, Sherman Park’s principal, is well aware that you are two years away from completing your bachelor’s degree,” Dr. Carter told her. “She also knows you are a talented musician with one-on-one teaching experience, and that you have a way of connecting with students. You aren’t the first non-degreed person we’ve had in the classroom. We don’t do it often, but on occasion, there’s good reason for exceptions, and with the school year so close to starting, we needed your help.”
He reminded her that he’d already received a glowing letter of reference from the current dean of the music education department at Birmingham-Southern, who had reviewed her undergraduate records and reported that she left the college in good standing, with high honors. A letter was also en route from the university in Paris, where Shiloh spent the summer after her sophomore year, studying with master flutists.
“How many people can say they’ve done something spectacular like that?” Dr. Carter asked. “Don’t worry about anything; you’re good to go.”
Shiloh clung to those words this morning, half an hour before the first period, as she wrote scales on the chalkboard that she wanted her students to practice as a warm-up. Mrs. Helmsley had provided a range of ideas, and this was one of them.
There was a light tap at the door, and Monica poked her head inside. “Good morning. You’re here early.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Griffin,” Monica said. “May I come in?”
“Sure. Grab a seat and give me a minute.”
Shiloh scribbled the rest of the musical notes on the board before sitting next to the girl, in the front row of the C-shaped setup.
“I just wanted to follow up on what I mentioned yesterday, about becoming a professional flutist, and ask how to go about doing that. I know I should go to a school with a good music program, and I’ve looked at a few online, but I have no clue which ones are really good, outside of the famous ones we all know about, like Juilliard and Berkeley. My private teacher keeps talking about those, and I’ll probably apply, but I wondered if you could give me some guidance on some other good programs, too.”
“Have you talked to your guidance counselor?” At Lem’s high school, part of the guidance counselor’s job was to help juniors and seniors plan for college; Shiloh was certain the counselors at a magnet school like Sherman Park would offer that kind of assistance, and more.
Monica nodded. “Yes, but he doesn’t take my flute idea seriously. He keeps telling me to stop treating a hobby as a career path, plus I’m just in tenth grade, so he says I’m rushing things. But when I search online, I see there are flutists playing in orchestras, collaborating with recording artists, and performing in other arenas. I really want to do something like that, and I’m afraid if I wait until my junior or senior year to get focused, I won’t be adequately prepared.”
Shiloh was impressed again by this soft-spoken girl, and by her tenacity. Monica was right. The professional musician world was competitive, and it required a lot of focus and sacrifice. She sat back and folded her arms.
“I see you have your flute,” she said to Monica. “Would you play something for me?”
“Sure.”
Monica opened the flute case and quickly assembled the instrument. After a few puffs to tune it, she closed her eyes and launched into a fast-paced version of an R&B jazzy classic, “Just the Two of Us.”
Shiloh’s eyes widened. This girl had to be kidding. She waited until Monica reached the end of the piece and was preparing to play something else, before stopping her.
“Where did you learn that?”
Monica gave her a shy smile. “I taught myself. Actually, Phaedra and I both did. We play this song together at different events people invite us to. It’s great to combine my flute with her saxophone on this number.”
Shiloh was floored, but Monica seemed to be just warming up. “The next piece I’ll play is something Mrs. Helmsley gave the class to learn.”
Monica launched into “November Song,” and her delivery was flawless. Shiloh shook her head. This girl had “it.” Beneath the big hair and tiny frame resided a gift.
“Wow, young lady. I don’t know what to say.”
> “Do you think I could play professionally?”
Before Shiloh could enumerate to herself all the reasons to be cautious in encouraging the girl, she blurted a response—the kind she had longed to receive years ago, when she felt just like Monica—passionate about music and eager to make it her career.
“Absolutely. You have the talent. But making it a career is going to take a lot of drive and hard work. Hours of practice. More private lessons. That’s what you have to ask if you’re ready for. I’m not an expert since I’ve never played professionally, but I’ll do what I can to guide you in the right direction.”
Monica’s eyes lit up and a grin spread across her face. “Thank you, Mrs. Griffin. I’m so glad you came this year. I’m so happy right now.”
Shiloh held up a finger. “Remember what I just told you; it’s going to take a lot of effort to get where you say you want to go. It’s not all glamorous and fun. Keep that in mind, okay? Why don’t you continue to research careers for a professional flutist, and also review all of the pros and cons? You’re wise to start looking at colleges offering what you want to study so you can apply early. I’ve got a few good ones in mind to share with you, but I will explore a little more before giving you my recommendations.”
Shiloh couldn’t believe Sherman Park’s guidance counselor had not given the girl more help. But maybe it was because Monica was still a sophomore, with quite a few seniors in need of assistance first.
“Where did you attend college?” Monica asked.
Shiloh hesitated, not because she was ashamed of having studied at Birmingham-Southern; to the contrary. It was noted as one of the best liberal arts colleges in the nation. But mentioning the university triggered a lot of regret, and a flood of memories she still yearned to forget.
Right now, she wanted to stay in this moment with young Monica, and steer this girl down a path on which her musical talent could shine. She told Monica about Birmingham-Southern, while simultaneously praying that the girl would consider Alabama too far from Milwaukee to put on her list of options. The college wasn’t the problem, nor were the people. It was a personal symbol of pain for Shiloh, and admittedly, she couldn’t separate her reality—or someone else’s—from that fact.
“If you start working on your applications and preparing audition pieces with your private teacher, you should be okay. You plan on taking the SAT or ACT, right?”
Monica nodded. “I’ll take the SAT this fall, just to see how I do, and again next fall, to see how the scores compare. That still gives me my senior year to take it a final time.”
Shiloh patted Monica’s hand. She barely knew the girl but was already falling in love with her.
“You’ll be fine. Do some research and narrow your list of potential colleges and let me know what you come up with. I’ll help you find an audition piece that will blow an audition panel away, if you nail it. Since you play by ear too, you may want to prepare a traditional piece, which I’ll help you find, as well as something contemporary—maybe a jazz or classical piece—that showcases the range of your talent.”
The bell rang and Monica disassembled her flute with record speed so she could be on time for her first-period class. “Is it okay to leave my flute here, since I’ll be back in a couple of hours?”
Shiloh nodded and pointed to her desk in the corner of the room. “Put it over there. See you soon.”
Monica seemed giddy as she dashed out of the room. Shiloh felt a part of her heart go with the motherless girl. Whatever Monica’s hopes and dreams, Shiloh was now invested in helping birth them.
seventeen
The end-of-class bell rang today before any of them were ready. Shiloh had been teaching only two weeks, but already had grown fond of her students, and was delighted to see they were warming to her as well.
“Aw, man; I just got the notes right!” Evian quickly blew through the melody on his trumpet one last time before tucking away his music and packing up the instrument.
“Keep practicing,” Shiloh encouraged him. “You nailed it, and it will only get better.”
“Are you going to come and see the performance, Mrs. Griffin?” Tedra asked.
Shiloh smiled at the petite girl with wiry blond hair and copper-rimmed eyeglasses. She played the clarinet and rarely talked, but it was nice to realize that just as she was aware of the countdown occurring with her long-term sub status, so were they. Shiloh had been pleased with their progress and had high hopes that Mrs. Helmsley would find her students fully prepared for the fall recital, which was scheduled for the first week in November.
“Of course I’m coming, Tedra,” Shiloh said. “After seeing you guys work so hard, I wouldn’t miss the recital. I’ll be here sitting front and center, peacock proud.”
Drew, one of the drummers, snickered.
Shiloh grinned at him. “I know, I know,” she said. “Old-lady, Southern language. I’ve already been told I need to get some swag.”
The class erupted in fits of laughter over her use of “their” cool word, then most of them ducked out to make it to their next class.
Phaedra and Monica trotted over to hug Shiloh.
“We love you, Mrs. G! You are hilarious,” Phaedra said.
Shiloh hugged them both at once and chuckled. “Ya’ll just feel sorry for me.”
“Ya’ll?” Monica said and giggled. “I love your accent and the funny things you say. You are so cute!”
Shiloh smirked. “You girls are going to be late for your next class. Get out of here.”
Phaedra took off with a wave goodbye. “Happy Monday!”
“One more thing,” Monica said as she headed toward the door. “I read online last night about a summer music competition for young musicians at Columbia College Chicago. The students who audition and win a spot will work with professional musicians for four days to prepare for a weekend performance. Winners will be selected in various instrument categories to compete for a partial college scholarship and a chance to attend a national musicians’ conference, where they can network with professionals and learn more about music-related careers.”
“Wow—you applying?” Shiloh asked.
Monica nodded. “I have to audition, though. Will you help me find a really good piece?”
Shiloh felt a knot forming in her stomach, but the smile never left her face. She of all people being asked to help this sweet girl with something as life-changing as this.
Lord, you have a sense of humor. You really do.
“You bet, Monica. I’ll bring some ideas to class tomorrow. Or if you want me to email you some pieces to consider, shoot me an email so I’ll have your address, and we’ll go from there.”
Monica gave her a thumbs-up before scooting from the classroom.
Shiloh smiled as she disappeared. The girl’s lanky frame reminded Shiloh of herself at that age. So did Monica’s hopes and dreams. How had one fateful summer killed hers?
eighteen
Jade’s call canceling Naima’s flute lesson came that afternoon right after school, and as far as Shiloh was concerned, it was right on time.
“I … I’m not myself tonight. I’m going to stay home and take some medicine,” Jade said. “Naima’s disappointed because she loves spending time with you, but we’ll pick up where we left off next week, okay? I’ll plan to see you Wednesday night at Bible study, and I’ll lead the session, like we discussed.”
Shiloh hadn’t wished an illness on St. Stephens’ “Second Lady,” but she was grateful for a break from the scrutiny Jade’s visits to her home always yielded, and from hearing about Jade’s fabulous life. Shiloh believed that she wasn’t feeling well, though. Jade had seemed distracted at the last two Bible studies, asking members to repeat their comments, then still giving idiotic replies to whatever they shared, as if she hadn’t accurately heard them. Nicholas had just turned two, but Shiloh was beginning to wonder if she was under the weather because she was pregnant again.
Whatever the reason, tonight’s reprieve was
perfect. Not having Naima this afternoon would give her a chance to start dinner early and begin researching flute solos for Monica’s audition. While David worked at the kitchen table on his fourth grade art project and the tilapia baked, Shiloh sat across from him, in front of her laptop, and searched for musical scores in an appropriate level of play for Monica. There were the traditional and lovely flute solos the judges were likely used to hearing, but she also searched for some contemporary pieces the girl might like. “Ribbon in the Sky” or “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” might be nice surprises.
When Shiloh wrapped up her research, she checked her messages and saw that Monica had followed through with forwarding her email address. Shiloh sent the girl links to the various musical scores she had selected and suggested that Monica play around with each of them to pinpoint her favorite few.
That task accomplished, Shiloh closed the laptop and left the table to check on dinner. The baked tilapia smelled delicious, and a quick check of the pot on the stove indicated the rice would be ready in minutes.
Raphael burst through the kitchen door with a water bottle in one hand and his football in the other. Another blessing tonight had been having him ride home with a teammate rather than having to be picked up.
“Hey, son,” Shiloh said. “How was practice?”
He had reached the age where he could now play for his school, rather than in a community recreation league, and so far he loved his coach and teammates.
“Good,” he said, and put his bag and ball in a corner.
“You know you have to take those things up to your room,” Shiloh said without looking his way. “And when you’re done, you can help me get the salad ready.”
“Aw, Mom,” Raphael said.
“Aw, son,” Shiloh said.
She strolled over and hugged his waist, marveling at the fact that at just twelve, he was already her height. Five-seven or not, she was still mama.
“You’ll thank me when you’re all grown and you know how to take care of yourself and prepare your own meals. David is trying to finish his art project, but I’ll have him set the table to make it all fair. Your older brothers have been doing their part, too, since I’ve been working.”
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