1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE:LOOKING THROUGH CRACKS

I could never prevent myself from being deeply curious about things I wasn't supposed to see. At home, I searched through drawers in my parent's room when I thought no one was looking, sneaked upstairs to my brothers' room and went through desk drawers and closets,went through upper kitchen cabinets to see what unseen treasures lay there, looked under beds, and inside cedar chests, just to explore what was inside, hoping, I guess, to find an exotic object or some secret thing. What-I didn't know-it was just the thrill of searching for the unknown.

I always felt like there were things I wanted to know, but maybe no one would tell me. Maybe I would find secrets or something tucked away and forgotten that I would want to learn about. I would have to find out by myself. It was quite a burden for an 8 year-old.

The time at piano lessons suddenly piqued my curiosity and presented an opportunity.   I discovered that Mrs. Hutchinson's elderly parents lived in her home, and their rooms in the big two-story house connected to the stairwell where I took lessons, on the first floor.

I didn't know about them for a long time because they were quiet. I thought maybe Mrs. Hutchinson had them bound and gagged during the day so they wouldn't upset her piano students or bother her workday.

But one afternoon,  right in the middle of My First Waltz, I heard someone. It was soft and sweet sounding, like someone talking to their dog, or something they love. The words were muffled, but I heard two distinct voices, one male, one female, back and forth several times.

It was impossible to try to listen to the conversation and focus on the piano piece, and soon Mrs. Shirley knew it. "Concentrate," she said. "Watch your rhythm."

Hearing that conversation was too enticing.  I just had to find a way to see what they were doing in there and if they were all right. I obsessed about it every time I was there for my lesson. What were they doing back there? Why didn't anyone ever see them outside? Were they happy? Did they need anything?

Mrs. Shirley usually only left her chair at the end of the lesson to walk to the door and call the next student. One day, though,she appeared at the door, nodded to me to come in, and then she was called into the front room by Mrs. Hutchinson. I noticed her swallow hard, and without saying anything, she motioned me into the practice room, as she simultaneously walked the other way, toward the living room.

I walked in quickly, shut the door, and went straight to the piano, which was set at a 90 degree angle to the locked door of the elderly prisoners' apartment. After squeezing past the piano bench and Mrs. Shirley's chair, I wedged myself against the door, squinting through the tiny crack that ran along the edge of the door.

I could see part of a man with white hair;  he was portly, and he was standing looking at a magazine. Just as I peered in,  he moved and sat in a large barcalounger with his back to me.

I could hear the voice of a woman, but couldn't see her. My breath was not moving at all, though I didn't realize it until I was startled by Mrs. Shirley's voice, causing me to suck in air loudly.

"Felisa, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," I lied. "Nothing at all," I said, as if repetition would reinforce my innocence.

"Well, stop that nothing," she scolded. "You don't need to be looking back there."

I felt ashamed, but not too much. I genuinely thought I needed to know how they were. I didn't trust Mrs. Hutchinson to be good to them.

The next week Mrs. Shirley made sure I had no time alone to pry, but she called me in a little early while someone else was playing, and I had nowhere else to sit but the stairs. It occurred to me that I had never seen the upstairs portion of Mrs. Hutchinson's house and that I would like to.

Quietly, I pushed my rear up one step, then another, then another. Just as I reached the landing, Mrs. Shirley noticed my feet disappearing, and caught me once again - to my chagrin. "Don't go up the steps," she chided. "There is nothing for you to see up there."

Well, I doubted that was true, but I did feel a little ashamed getting caught snooping twice in one week's time. I supposed I'd have to give it up, content to see only the public parts of the house.

Still, there was one more room that interested me. I'd never been in the kitchen, and I really wanted to see it. One of the kids had glimpsed it through the swinging door that connected it to the dining room, and said it had a little booth, like in a restaurant.  I'd never seen a kitchen with a booth.

The cookies at Club might be my ticket. I began to plot, thinking how I'd surprise Mrs. Hutchinson, who probably thought I was mute, by offering to get the cookies from the kitchen for refreshments. It seemed like a good plan, and it might work, if only Mrs. Shirley didn't stop me. For the first time in my life, I was actually looking forward to Club. 
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