When they stopped in front of The
Huntington, he lingered, making small talk. He cupped her cheek.
“’Til Saturday,” he said.
“Yep. Saturday.” He bent down and kissed her,
then, with Buddy in tow, he headed uptown.
A smile from Rocky kept Brooke’s spirits up.
When she reached the apartment, Nan’s guests had cleared out. Nan
was still cleaning up and putting away the dishes.
“Let me help.” Brooke unleashed the dogs and
joined her grandmother in the kitchen.
“It was great you brought the food, darling.
It was just enough. Thank you.”
“These are your friends from the senior
center?”
Nan nodded.
“They’re hilarious,” Brooke said, stacking up
three plates and returning them to the cabinet.
When she was finished, Nan took off her apron
and hung it up. As she was passing through the archway to the
living room, she stopped when Brooke spoke.
“I have some bad news, Nana.”
“Oh? You always call me that when there’s bad
news.”
“Sorry, yeah.”
“What is it?” Ruth leaned against the wall
and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I got fired on Friday.”
“What?” Ruth’s eyes widened. She took
Brooke’s arm and led her into the living room. “Come, tell me the
whole story.”
* * * *
On Monday morning, Brooke got up at the usual
time. After some yogurt and coffee, she turned on her computer.
“Time to job hunt,” she said aloud to herself. She spent the day
searching online, writing query letters and submitting résumés. Her
first stop was the friendly headhunter, Holly, who handles account
supervisor jobs in the industry.
After a brief conversation, Brooke sent in
her information. She kept up the routine until Thursday, when a
free concert in Central Park caught her eye. She rose early and
worked all day at finding employment. By five o’clock, she was
exhausted.
She’d already missed one concert in the Park,
so she grabbed a small afghan, made a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, and trekked to The Great Lawn. My reward for working
hard at getting a job. The Great Lawn was mobbed with
classical-music-loving New Yorkers, but she found a spot and spread
her small blanket out. Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” a favorite of
Brooke’s, was on the program for the evening. She watched other
people as she ate.
There were many parties, consisting of
several couples or a bunch of single people. They had big blankets
spread out and passed around large bowls of impressive seafood or
chicken salads, Caesar salads, expensive bottles of wine, and tony
desserts. A wave of emptiness washed through her. I guess this
is what they mean when they talk of feeling lonely in a
crowd.
Brooke crossed her legs and leaned back on
her wrists. She wore black workout pants and a bright pink tank
top. Her gaze searched for attractive men. She spied several, but
they were talking to pretty women. Everyone is paired off except
me. She wondered if anyone from Gibbon and Walters was at the
concert. All probably still working.
She smiled to herself. A benefit of being
unemployed. The crowd quieted down when the conductor took his
place. The music mixed with the cooling night air to soothe her
frazzled nerves. Enjoy this because soon you’ll be in a new job
and working a million hours of unpaid overtime.
Brooke lay down on the blanket. After
intermission, she fell asleep. The sound of applause woke her. She
rubbed her eyes, thankful for the darkness to cover her
embarrassment. People packed up and the lawn was thick with folks
leaving. Brooke finished the water she had brought. She sat and
watched others milling about, talking, lugging leftovers in
backpacks and picnic baskets.
She stretched her legs out before her, happy
she didn’t have to rush. Her mind wandered back to when she had
classical music in her life every day. She inherited her love of
classical music from her father. At bedtime, he played masterpieces
on a small upright in their tiny house. She’d lie in her bed,
picturing his
Huntington, he lingered, making small talk. He cupped her cheek.
“’Til Saturday,” he said.
“Yep. Saturday.” He bent down and kissed her,
then, with Buddy in tow, he headed uptown.
A smile from Rocky kept Brooke’s spirits up.
When she reached the apartment, Nan’s guests had cleared out. Nan
was still cleaning up and putting away the dishes.
“Let me help.” Brooke unleashed the dogs and
joined her grandmother in the kitchen.
“It was great you brought the food, darling.
It was just enough. Thank you.”
“These are your friends from the senior
center?”
Nan nodded.
“They’re hilarious,” Brooke said, stacking up
three plates and returning them to the cabinet.
When she was finished, Nan took off her apron
and hung it up. As she was passing through the archway to the
living room, she stopped when Brooke spoke.
“I have some bad news, Nana.”
“Oh? You always call me that when there’s bad
news.”
“Sorry, yeah.”
“What is it?” Ruth leaned against the wall
and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I got fired on Friday.”
“What?” Ruth’s eyes widened. She took
Brooke’s arm and led her into the living room. “Come, tell me the
whole story.”
* * * *
On Monday morning, Brooke got up at the usual
time. After some yogurt and coffee, she turned on her computer.
“Time to job hunt,” she said aloud to herself. She spent the day
searching online, writing query letters and submitting résumés. Her
first stop was the friendly headhunter, Holly, who handles account
supervisor jobs in the industry.
After a brief conversation, Brooke sent in
her information. She kept up the routine until Thursday, when a
free concert in Central Park caught her eye. She rose early and
worked all day at finding employment. By five o’clock, she was
exhausted.
She’d already missed one concert in the Park,
so she grabbed a small afghan, made a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, and trekked to The Great Lawn. My reward for working
hard at getting a job. The Great Lawn was mobbed with
classical-music-loving New Yorkers, but she found a spot and spread
her small blanket out. Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” a favorite of
Brooke’s, was on the program for the evening. She watched other
people as she ate.
There were many parties, consisting of
several couples or a bunch of single people. They had big blankets
spread out and passed around large bowls of impressive seafood or
chicken salads, Caesar salads, expensive bottles of wine, and tony
desserts. A wave of emptiness washed through her. I guess this
is what they mean when they talk of feeling lonely in a
crowd.
Brooke crossed her legs and leaned back on
her wrists. She wore black workout pants and a bright pink tank
top. Her gaze searched for attractive men. She spied several, but
they were talking to pretty women. Everyone is paired off except
me. She wondered if anyone from Gibbon and Walters was at the
concert. All probably still working.
She smiled to herself. A benefit of being
unemployed. The crowd quieted down when the conductor took his
place. The music mixed with the cooling night air to soothe her
frazzled nerves. Enjoy this because soon you’ll be in a new job
and working a million hours of unpaid overtime.
Brooke lay down on the blanket. After
intermission, she fell asleep. The sound of applause woke her. She
rubbed her eyes, thankful for the darkness to cover her
embarrassment. People packed up and the lawn was thick with folks
leaving. Brooke finished the water she had brought. She sat and
watched others milling about, talking, lugging leftovers in
backpacks and picnic baskets.
She stretched her legs out before her, happy
she didn’t have to rush. Her mind wandered back to when she had
classical music in her life every day. She inherited her love of
classical music from her father. At bedtime, he played masterpieces
on a small upright in their tiny house. She’d lie in her bed,
picturing his
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