Prom and Prejudice

Claudia Reynolds was my idol. Any time I got stuck on a piece, I'd find footage of her playing it to try to figure it out. The emotion she put into her music was without equal, and her phrasing was always perfect.

"Well, this is for you." She handed me an envelope, and inside were two tickets to see Claudia Reynolds that weekend at Carnegie Hall.

I was stunned. "I can't ..."

Mrs. Gardiner waved my protest away. "Nonsense. It's my pleasure. You deserve it."

I thanked her profusely and immediately called my mother to tell her our plans for Saturday afternoon. Having that to look forward to made the remainder of the week, including the rest of my exams, bearable.

I could hardly wait to get back home. Every time I returned to the city Jane offered me a ride with her and Lydia. But, as always, I declined and took the ninety-minute train ride from town to Grand Central Station. No other Longbourn or Pemberley student would be caught dead on mass transit, so I knew I would be alone. I needed the solitude before going home, a chance to detox myself from all the negativity and pressure of campus. It was as if I dropped off my emotional baggage at each station stop along the way.

By the time the train arrived in Manhattan and I saw my parents and a couple friends waiting for me at the kiosk in the middle of the station, I was the old Lizzie. The happy, warm Lizzie of yesteryear. They embraced me and instantly I knew that despite the remaining commute back to Hoboken, I was already home.

Twenty-Three

BEING HOME, SLEEPING IN MY OWN BED, HANGING OUT with my old friends, gave me the centering I needed after the past few confusing weeks.

Even though I'd spoken on the phone with my parents every weekend, they acted as if they knew nothing of the past two and a half months. Over Saturday morning breakfast, they grilled me about classes, friends (they were under the impression that I had more than just two friends, and I didn't want to correct, or worry, them), the recital, and even the dreaded P-word.

"Isn't prom a big deal at Longbourn?" Mom asked. "I remember it from that brochure we had."

I shrugged. "Not really." I envisioned the majority of my classmates experiencing an unexpected shiver down their spine at my blatant lie.

"Do you want to look at dresses while we are in the city today?"

"No, that's okay."

Mom came over and hugged me. "I'm so glad you're home. I don't like you being so far away. This house is entirely too quiet without you and although I know how hard you're working, I plan on you playing that piano while you are here. I just had it tuned!"

Our piano was from my father's childhood, complete with ivory keys. It had family history, but it wasn't the greatest-sounding instrument. After playing the gorgeous grand pianos at school, it was always a shock to my system to play the upright. But it was what I grew up on, and I loved it regardless. It had character, and I had learned many times this past year that money does not buy character.

In the early afternoon, Mom and I headed into the city for the concert. I had butterflies in my stomach. I always walked by Carnegie Hall when I was in the city. That was the dream -- to play there. In the meantime, I would settle for this. Not only did I get to go to Carnegie Hall, but I was going to see one of my favorite pianists. I was still touched by Mrs. Gardiner's kindness -- this was her way of suggesting that my own break wasn't that far away. Which made going to Longbourn seem strangely worth it.

My pulse began to quicken as we approached the building. As we entered the main hall, my breath was nearly knocked out of me. The chairs on the stage were dwarfed by the high ceiling and ornate columns on the sides. I turned around and saw the balcony seating, which seemed to reach the sky. I looked up and could practically feel the glow from the oval set of lights that illuminated the hall.

An usher escorted us to our seats, which were in the fourth row on the aisle. I could see the keyboard on the grand piano that was commanding center stage.

"My goodness, Lizzie," Mom remarked. "You must be the perfect student in order to get such royal treatment."

I smiled. I was happy I could do this for my mom. She was the reason that I had first gotten into music. She loved it, but couldn't play. She tried but didn't seem to have the capacity for it. And since, at least according to her, I began banging on the piano when I was old enough to walk to the upright, she enrolled me in lessons by the time I was four.

When I'd run out of teachers in the Hoboken area who could challenge me, she'd started taking me into the city. She'd spent so much money on my lessons, I didn't want to disappoint her.

Music was our thing. We'd listen to albums together, I'd put on concerts just for her. And now I was able to take my mother to Carnegie Hall.

"Someday, Elizabeth, someday," she said to me as she squeezed my hands.