A Soul Ensnared

Six

June 19, 2013

"There's been an interesting development between Brent and I," Sonya disclosed, sitting in her mother's office on a Wednesday afternoon. It was her day off. Even though she should be working on securing spots in the Events' Calendar for the release of the biannual newsletter, she needed to speak to her mother.

Outside, the sun was bright, the days were long, and the temperatures hovered in the low eighties. Thick, cumulus clouds dotted the horizon, drifting in lazy array, following the patterns of the warm, southerly winds. The day beckoned for children's kites, toy aircraft, and soccer balls. These were the fair days of spring, when the world awakened from the frigid tundra of Indiana's winter.

Sonya had wanted to convince her mother to join her for a shopping excursion at the local outlet mall, followed by lounging in the sun, decadently sipping mimosas, and snacking on cucumber sandwiches. Instead, Jeanette had asked that they meet on campus. Her mother had pressing lesson plans to create for the following week, and was frantic in her need to complete them. Dreams of mimosas would have to wait. They would probably have to happen alone. For now, Sonya was happy to bring the gossip directly to her mother.

She loved coming to her mother's office. Nothing ever changed. The office looked the same as it did when she was a child, a beautiful disarray of instruments, music stands, and sheet music. The room wasn't large; it was a standard professor's office. Though she had been offered a larger office upon being granted tenure, Jeanette had decided to remain in this room. It was the room where Sonya discovered her love for the clarinet. It was the room where she took her first music lesson. It was the room where she had opened the acceptance letter offering a full scholarship to IU. It was also the room where she had first told her mother that she had dreams outside the clarinet, outside of the world of band, and would not be attending IU for music.

This was also the room where she had first met Brent.

Her memories here were bittersweet, but she accepted the good with the bad, and allowed nostalgia for her former life to engulf her when she visited her mother's office.

The room was painted a standard white. The carpet was a threadbare, faded beige, worn down from years of practice. In this room, pacing, walking, and dancing created an imaginative flow. Movement was encouraged. This was a haven, a sanctuary. Jeanette promoted creativity—even when it meant pounding the floor if a note refused to make sense within a piece. Her students, and understanding the art of music, came before her worry over carpeting.

Bookcases lined the wall opposite the door, filled with musical instruments, score sheets, and veritable books on music theory and composers. Jeanette's desk, in contrast, was simple. It was comprised of a rickety metal frame, topped with a boxy, old, Macintosh monitor. Sonya always laughed when she saw it. Compared to her own state-of-the-art, multi-monitor computer, Jeanette's technology was an ancient relic. She had pressed her mother to convince the college to update her system, but Jeanette didn't feel the need to learn anything "fancy."

She was just fine with what she had, and didn't need anything more. That was her mother.
Not that her mother used the computer, anyway. She preferred hand-written musical scores, outlined lesson plans that had been laid out in her trusted planning book, and researching musical practicum in the college library's reference center. Her mother absolutely refused to search for anything on Google, not like Sonya could blame her. She knew her mother; she knew her mother's life. Spending hours on the computer didn't suit her purpose as much as delving into a book, reading principles from those who had come before her, and deriving new ways to assimilate learning into her students' education.

Whenever Sonya stepped into the time capsule that was her mother's office, it served to remind her of a simpler time. It reminded of her youth—before cell phones, Internet, and social media. Before Facebook and women named Noelle.