Later Naomi sat alone in the classroom.
She laughed.
Thirty years of learning condensed into four seconds.
At thirty-three, Naomi became program director.
She resisted.
Then accepted.
Administration involved less harp and more spreadsheets.
She complained constantly.
Danielle said:
“Your father loved spreadsheets.”
“That is not inspirational.”
“Genetic.”
They smiled.
Naomi’s program changed slowly.
More rental instruments.
Practice access.
Teacher training.
Transport stipends.
No glamorous transformation.
Funding disappeared some years.
Returned others.
A donated harp required $4,000 in repairs.
One van broke down.
Children forgot music.
Parents missed pickups.
Real programs were messy.
Naomi loved it.
At thirty-six, she encountered Karen Wallace again.
Not at a gala.
At a teacher conference.
Naomi saw her name on the panel list first.
Karen Wallace
Director of Strings and Interdisciplinary Music
Ashby Preparatory Academy
Naomi stared.
Twenty-four years.
Karen was gray-haired now.
Older.
Still teaching.
Naomi considered avoiding her.
Then decided she was too old to rearrange conference schedules around a morning from childhood.
They met near coffee.
Karen recognized her immediately.
“Naomi.”
Naomi smiled.
“Ms. Wallace.”
“Karen.”
“Okay.”
There was awkwardness.
Then Karen laughed softly.
“I have wondered for years whether I would ever see you again.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Karen smiled.
“Still direct.”
“Usually.”
They sat.
Not because reconciliation required it.
Because both had twenty minutes before panels.
Karen asked about Naomi’s work.
Naomi explained.
Instrument access.
Teaching.
Administration.
Karen listened.
Then:
“I use that morning in teacher training.”
Naomi went still.
“With my name?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Karen continued.
“I describe what I did.”
“Stopping a child before asking.”
“Assuming instrument familiarity from appearance.”
“Changing tone after learning status.”
Naomi looked at her.
“Do you make yourself the villain?”
Karen thought.
“I used to.”
“That made the story easier.”
Naomi smiled slightly.
“Then?”
“I started talking about the system around it.”
“My school.”
“My expectations.”
“The kinds of students I was used to seeing.”
“The festival setup.”
“My anxiety about protecting equipment.”
“And race.”
Naomi nodded.
“Good.”
Karen continued.
“I was afraid if I added context it would sound like excuse.”
“It can.”
“Yes.”
“But context matters.”
Naomi took a sip of coffee.
“Evelyn taught me that.”
“Dr. Grant?”
“Yes.”
Karen smiled.
“She terrified me.”
“She terrified everyone.”
They laughed.
Then Karen became serious.
“Did I hurt you?”
Naomi could have said no.
The easier adult answer.
Instead:
“Yes.”
Karen’s face changed.
Naomi continued.
“Not in a huge way.”