Public Republic

Alice Jennings

Photo: Roberto Cacho Toca

They slip into the front seat of the station
wagon. This is their time together, each
week. He backs down the driveway, lights
up and inhales the smoke as she recites
the day: the long mass, recess, those stupid boys.
They stop at the midtown storefront. She yanks
the suitcase with her accordion from the back.
Still dressed in her uniform, the navy jumper
with the school’s crest, Altiora Quaerite, at her
heart, the limp white blouse, she opens the studio
door with the belief that “higher things” are likely.
She will learn how to play the minor cords
tonight she thinks as he pulls out,
lights up and heads to the bar for a drink.

“Accordion Lesson” first appeared in Boyne Berries, March 2014