open ( baby it's cold outside )

[elyzibeth marie alexander]

♥ E L Y Z I B E T H ALEXANDER

It was a little before seven. A silver SUV pulled quickly into the parking lot of the school and parked in its usual spot. Had it not been obvious that the driver was over the age of sixteen, everyone probably would have thought that it was a teenager driving. The vehicle had turned quickly and stopped so abruptly that it seemed like something a teenager might do. Many could have made the safe assumption that the vehicle had also been speeding down the road as well, going about ten miles over the proposed speed limit. There was nothing to worry about, though. It was not some inexperienced driver trying to show off, but someone with many years of experience under her belt—seatbelt.

The SUV had once been sparkling and clean; of course, it hadn't stayed that way for very long. Handprints could be seen along the outside of the vehicle, the windows especially, and there was dirty lining certain parts of the vehicle. If there were enough hours in the day, the thing might actually be clean. But there simply were not. Besides, even if there were, would the vehicle's owner really get out there and clean it? Probably not.

The inside of the vehicle was just as bad, if not worse. It was obvious that the owner and constant driver of the vehicle had children with her a lot of times. In the far back was what appeared to be a baby bag, filled with little people clothes, children's cups and bottles, diapers and pull-ups. In the backseat, situated behind the passenger's seat, was a pink car seat. In the floor were assorted cereals, mostly fruit loops, along with some little happy meal toys and fast food wrappers. There were about a dozen coffee cups lying carelessly in the floorboard at the front, under the passenger's seat and beneath the glove compartment. It was a wonder why the woman could never find any coffee cups.

Had it not been for the Christmas ornament made from paper hanging from the rearview mirror, most people would have assumed that a thirty-something-year-old woman owned the SUV. They would assume that she had children and was not bothered with the way her vehicle looked; she had an excuse, after all. But the ornament hanging from the mirror read: To Grandma From Bethany. The young girl had given her grandmother the ornament about two or three years ago around Christmastime; it had been an art project in school. Since then, it had been hanging on the rearview mirror, accompanied by a no-longer-scented air freshener.

The woman unbuckled her seatbelt and threw it back towards the window and out of the way; it made a loud clinking noise, which caused the woman to jump and made sure she hadn't cracked her window. She reached over onto the passenger's seat, one hand holding a cup of black coffee, and dug through her purse for her phone. Once she found it, she grasped it in her right hand while holding the coffee in her left. She threw open the door of the SUV and stepped out, her tall heeled shoes clicking against the pavement below. Usually she would wear flats, but the principal had suggested that they wearing something professional, something that made the teachers seem professional and in charge. That made the older woman assume that there would be a teacher check-up, to be sure that the teachers were doing their jobs and to be sure that they had good classroom management. Of course the woman did her job and of course she had good classroom management. But she still wanted to look professional and impress people.

Slamming the driver door shut, the woman walked around to the back and threw up the hatch. She sighed a bit to herself as she sat her coffee off to the side. She leaned into the vehicle and started to remove various cases, almost losing her balance as she leaned over just a little bit too far. She threw three violins onto her shoulders, along with her teacher bag and laptop case. Once she had that all situated, she reached for the various musical books for piano, violin, and vocal things. And once all of that seemed to be in place, the woman grabbed her phone, her keys, and her coffee and miraculously managed to slam the hatch down. She hit the button on her keys, and the doors locked. She made her way towards the school, peering at things in front of her from behind her dark sunglasses. When she reached the doors, she paused momentarily and wondered how the heck she was going to get inside without making a mess of everything. She sighed. But, luckily enough for her, the doors opened and a person stepped out. It was one of the custodians that had arrived earlier that morning, she assumed. She offered a thankful and polite smile and walked in as he held the door for her.

Unfortunately for the woman, she had a long walk from the place where she entered to her classroom. She was used to it, though. More than thirty years had sunken into her feet, so they knew where to carry her. Usually she was exhausted by the time she reached her classroom. But could you really blame her? She was carrying five bags on her shoulders, all of which were quite heavy for an aging woman, and several books were weighing her down. It was amazing that she managed to carry all of that, along with her keys, phone, and a cup of coffee. The way she seemed to do it seemed so very complicated, but it really wasn't. At least it wasn't to Elyzibeth. But then again, she'd been doing it for years and years now.

As the woman walked at a quick pace down the hall, her heeled clicked heavily against the concrete floor. She was dressed nicely today, as requested by the principal. She had on a black, formfitting skirt, which reached her knees and molded to what little curve her lower body did have. Her upper body was clad in a white blouse with a light pink jacket, setting off the black and giving her outfit some color. Her hair was down today and in a mess, which was usual for the woman of sixty-years. She seemed to slow down a bit as she walked; her feet were starting to hurt her. She ignored the pain and just kept on walking. No pain, no gain, right?

As she finally reached her classroom, she was posed with another problem: How was she doing to get the door open without dropping things? A sigh escaped her lips as she blinked from behind her sunglasses and carefully thought it through. The only way she'd be able to accomplish such a task was if she put everything down and then carried it all in after she opened the door. So, she placed the things neatly beside the door, unlocked it, and put the wedge in it. She carried all of the cases and bags in first and sat them in their proper places and then went back out to grab the remainder of her things. Once everything was in the classroom, she went about her business as she usually did in the morning. Afternoons were used for grading, mornings were used for playing. She played piano for about thirty minutes each morning, from the time she arrived until the students in her first class started to arrive. They would usually come in quietly and listen if she was still playing; sometimes students passing by would stop and poke their heads into the classroom to listen as well. Even those that did not appreciate music liked to listen to her.

Taking her seat on the bench at the piano off in the corner of the classroom, the woman situated herself and spread the music out in front of her even though she already had the music memorized. It was a piece she had her piano and choir students learn for the concert back in December. It had gone well, the concert, and many had complimented her for the students' performance. Closing her eyes, the woman let out a small breath and then placed her fingers on the keys of the piano. After a second, she started to play the song. Usually she wouldn't sing along to it, unless she was teaching her students, but today she decided to jump in at a random part, simply because it was just so cold outside. She ignored the second part of the song, since it was a duet and she was alone. She played everything written on the sheet music, but she only sang the soprano-alto part.

"I really can't stay
I've got to go 'way
This evening has been
So nice and warm

My mother will start to worry
And father will be there at the door
So maybe I'd better scurry
Well, maybe just a few minutes more

It's so late at night
Who turned down the lights
I wish I knew how
To break the spell

I ought to say no, no, no sir
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
I really can't stay
Ah, but it's cold outside

I simply must go
The answer is no
The welcome has been
So nice and warm

My sister will be suspicious
My brother will be there at the door
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious
And baby you're so hard to ignore

I've got the get home
Say, lend me your comb
You've really been grand
But don’t you see

There's bound to be talk tomorrow
At least there will be plenty implied
I really can't stay
Ah, but it's cold out side

Baby it's cold outside
Baby it's cold outside…"

She played the final notes and blinked her deep blue eyes slow opened. The light caused her to blink a few times as she allowed her pupils to adjust themselves. Once they had, she glanced around the room. Standing there in the doorway was another person; apparently they had been listening to her play and sing, or so she assumed they had. She swallowed some and blinked a few times, seeming unfazed by the company.

"Good morning," she said in a cheerful tone and a smile, not the least bit concerned with the person standing there or the fact that they had possibly heard her. She tilted her head to the side some and shifted in her seat. She wiggled her toes a bit freely, since she had kicked off her shoes shortly after entering the classroom. She'd put them back on once the students started to arrive. But she doubted she'd even do it then, because heels were just a simple pain in the you-know-what. "Was there something you needed?" she asked, moving sheets of music on the piano stand and pretending to look over something. Her eyes glanced up for a few moments at the person in the doorway, but she said nothing else as she waited for them to respond.

ooc;; feel free to reply. don't feel like you have to match my post length. just give me something to work with, and i'll be happy.

[adrian adam isotoph]

○○(Banging on that drum set)
(like a teenage Travis Barker)○○

It was a priority to get out of the house before his mother woke up. Adrian didn't want to see her after she had been out until around five this morning. She had just fallen asleep when his alarm clock went off. He had warned himself that if he woke her up she would probably land a hand on his face again. So he snuck around the house making sure not to make any more noise than he had to. When he was finally clothed he walked quietly into the kitchen with a posted note and a pen.
Mom,
went to school, be back at around 4... you probably wont be home, dont worry about dinner, I'll make myself something.

Addy

Adrian left the house as quick as a bat out of hell and set off to the street. Being from an extremely poor family meant only one thing. No car until you're old enough to afford it yourself. That meant he was either bussing or walking until he was out of his mothers place. Adrian had the bus schedule memorized for every time he got into a tussle with his mother, and he knew when the bus would come so he could leave. He would rather stay on the street than sleep in the same house as that woman.

The black rubber bottoms of his new DC sneakers hit the pavement quickly. He would be walking today, and it was a far walk. One of the other reasons he had to leave as early as he did. His pale fingers rested in the bottom of his skinny jeans pockets tapping lightly against his leg. Adrian was wearing a leather jacket, the only jacket he owned, and a black fitted hat, the rim tilted toward the sky.

The snow around him was bright, though closer to the road it was tainted with black slush. Adrian kept to himself when he walked, it was only natural in the neighborhood he lived in. 'Don't talk to me, and I wont shoot you next time I see you walking by' was the vibe that the people gave off. All in all, Adrian didn't like anyone enough to talk to them anyway. The only people outside at 6:45 were old men anyway. And they were usually very violent people.

By the time he reached the school, Adrian was already out of breath. He had been walking fast, because of his almost four feet long legs. The tall boy headed straight for the music department. He might be able to get some drumming in before class. He pulled his hat further down his head toward his eyebrows. Adrian was the kind of guy that slouched when he walked, just to make himself seem not as tall. Standing at 6 foot 6 and a half was threatening to most people.

He heard singing coming from the large music classroom and a smile automatically spread across his face. Someone had obviously had the same idea he did. Adrian slowed when he got to the classroom door. His body shifted all it's weight to the left leg as he leaned against the door, watching the older woman at the piano sing. He smiled and closed his eyes, letting the lyrics of the classic Christmas song ring in his head. When she finally stopped singing he was almost in a sleeping trance.
"Good morning." He jumped and opened his eyes. Adrian stood up straight, hitting his head on the top of the door frame.
"Shit!" he snapped, holding the back of his head. He bit the bottom of his lower lip.

"Excuse my language ma'am." Adrian stated, when he finally released the top of his head. "I come in here sometimes to play the drums in the morning. But when I heard you I didn't want to disturb anything." He lowered his head and walked into the room. The music room had high ceilings, so that the sound jumped off the walls better.

[elyzibeth marie alexander]

♥ E L Y Z I B E T H ALEXANDER

Ely seemed completely unfazed by the fact that the young man had said a swear word after hitting his head on the doorframe. She had never hit her head on a doorframe before, but she had hit her head. And it hurt. By the sound his head had made upon making contact with the doorframe, it sounded like it hurt. She didn't blame him for swearing, either, because she would have said the exact same thing and then some. She was no saint, and she would not try to pretend and act like one.

"Don't apologize for acting out of instinct," the woman told him with a shrug of her shoulders. She turned her head to look at the keys on the piano. For a moment she looked over them, allowing her fingers to run gently across the surface. She did not hit any of the keys, nor did she let it make a noise. After a moment or two, she looked back at him, blinking her deep blue eyes a few times. "God knows I've said my fair share of swear words, so I don't have any right to correct you." The teacher usually tried not to be a hypocrite when it came to her students. The only time she told them to watch their mouths was when another adult was around or when she wanted to make sure they wouldn't slip up in case of an unexpected visitor to the classroom, like there was supposed to be today. Other than that, she really didn't care. As long as they weren't fighting and continually using swear words, she really wouldn't say anything. Most of them respected her enough not to use profanity at all, and she was grateful for that.

"A lot of people seem to have the same idea when they get to school in the morning. I find it amusing that my classroom is like a safe haven before school starts. Hell, I've come in here some mornings and the custodians are in here playing on one of the instruments. Most of them don't even know how to play, but they try. Sometimes I'll sit and teach them. I don't mind though. Music's a very universal thing, and it can mean a lot to a lot of different people. And I respect that." The aging woman nodded her head. It was true. A lot of people sought refuge in the band room for whatever reason. Usually the woman would come in to find someone in there playing around on the instruments. She enjoyed quietly watching and listening to them, too, because it kept the idea of music alive. It was obvious that she loved music and that she had a passion for it, or else she would not teach such a diverse group of musical things.

After a faint sigh played across her lips and found its way into the air, the woman stood to her full height, without her shoes, and looked around the room. On the back part of the stage, the drums set was set up along with a few single snares and a bass drum or two. Clearing her throat, she studied the drums from where she stood for a moment and then looked at the dark-haired boy still standing near the doorway. She wasn't about to let him waste his time doing nothing. He had come with the intention of playing the drums, and she was going to let him play the drums. It was obviously something he liked to do or else he wouldn't do it.

The woman stepped up the various levels of the stage-like structure in the classroom until she finally reached the drums. She examined them for a moment, making sure everything was still in place from the day before. She then looked around for a set of drum sticks. Realizing there was none, she walked back down the structure and over to one of the storage rooms. She removed the key ring from around her neck, which contained various keys as well as her teacher identification. She unlocked the door, opened it, and went inside. She returned moments later with a set of drum sticks and walked over to the young boy and offered them to him.

"Here you go," she said to him with an encouraging nod. "You can play, I don't mind. Just…don't play them like a beginner, okay? You know, beating them like you have no sense? Don't do that." She nodded her head. In a way she was joking. But in other ways she was not. Beginning drummers hit the drums really hard and without any skill, so it sounded awful. She was used to it, but she wasn't in the mood to hear "awful" music this morning. She just hoped the boy could play well enough, in a way that could almost serenade her. That would be nice.

[adrian adam isotoph]

○○(Banging on that drum set)
(like a teenage Travis Barker)○○

This teacher was already rubbing off on him in a good way. He wondered why he hadn't seen her any other morning, but the fact that he usually got here before most of the teachers popped into his head. Adrian let a smile spread across his face. At least she's not a hypocrite. He hated when teachers who swore in their everyday life yelled at kids for it. "That's cool, I was expecting like... detention." He let out a deep breath.

He watched as the small woman talked about music. She seemed as though she knew a lot about the history of music. Adrian's eyes lit up when he heard about the custodial staff. He chuckled a bit. One of the janitors lived in the apartment two below him. He was one of the funniest men alive, and sang a lot. Adrian bit his bottom and shook his head.

Adrian's eyes followed as the teacher went over and examined the drum set. It was the same as it had been for ages. Lacking some stuff, but at least it was sturdy. Even after people did their rythemless banging the thing wouldn't break. He chuckled when the teacher realized that there were no drum sticks. That's because Adrian had stolen them only three days prior. That last Friday. His green eyes wandered around the room until she reproached him with the new sticks. He took them and walked over to the drum set.

"Thanks for letting me do this. Sorry if I ended your session." Adrian sat at the stool placed behind the drums. He tapped his foot on the bass pedal for a second, letting the sound fill the room before he started a basic beat.
Boom Boom
taptaptap
taptaptaptap
Boom Boom
taptaptap
taptaptaptap

He kept that up for a while, closing his eyes so that he got better into it. His mouth fell open, it was easier to breath out of your mouth while you drummed. He started humming the lryics to a song he had just finished. The song that; if he had a band, they would probably play.
"Like a cigarette thrown from a passing car..." he muttered.
Boom Boom
taptaptap
taptaptaptap
Boom Boom
taptaptap
taptaptaptap

[elyzibeth marie alexander]

♥ E L Y Z I B E T H ALEXANDER

"Detention." A small laugh escaped from between her light pink lips as she repeated the word. Her head shook a bit frantically as she looked at him. "I don't think I ever give more than five detentions in an entire school year, and those were for serious things. Being loose with the students poses problems sometimes, but most of the students take that looseness and gain a sense of maturity and give a lot of respect. Most teachers, especially the younger ones, don't realize the method to my madness. And I'm not going to tell them. Why would I tell them how I become everyone's favorite teacher?" She chuckled aloud and ran a hand through her blonde hair and messed it up more than it already was. She was the favorite to many of the students, but not all. She didn't really care about favorites; she just wanted the teachers to think up their own methods of teaching and handling their classes. That was part of being a teacher.

She looked down at her bare feet and wiggled her painted toenails. Her youngest daughter had encouraged her to paint them, despite her pleads to leave them their plain color. But Ashleigh had taken it upon herself to paint them while her mother just sat there. They were a faint shade of pink, matching the pink of the woman's jacket. The polish would start to fade within a few days, she was sure. It was the cheaper nail polish, after all. If it didn't start to fade, Ely would put some alcohol on it to remove it. She hated having her nails done, toes or fingers.

"You never end a session, you only begin a new one," the woman told him with a simple nod of her head, one brow raised as if to prove a point. She was trying to be more optimistic than anything, showing him that it was okay to come in wanting to play music. A lot of people did that and gave her an apology for invading her area. But she never did care. She loved when people took an interest in music and when they wanted to display their talents. It was nice to know that not everyone was scared, or if they were, at least they were making an effort to come out of the dark of their garages and bedrooms to show what talent they possessed.

As the boy took the set of sticks from her and walk over to the drums, she watched him. He seemed to know what he was doing as he sat down and started hitting the pedal of the bass drum and then tapping the snares with the sticks. She nodded her head faintly as he did this. It just showed that he was testing it, trying to get into the actual mode of playing. It was apparent when he started playing a normal beat and playing what appeared to be a song. Ely listened carefully and went over the beats he was playing in her head. She counted carefully and mouthed each count while she watched him. She could join in on the piano, maybe even violin, but she wasn't planning on doing that. This was his moment, his chance to play and get into the mood of getting lost. She would just stand there and watch and listen, be an observer. She smiled when he kept things on a more intermediate level, nothing like the beginners but noting like the experts either.

The teacher had a great appreciation for any and all instruments. She loved listening to each be played. Her least favorite of them all was probably the drums, because she was not as well versed in that particular instrument. Really, she did not consider it an actual instrument. Anything could turn into a drum: a table, a chair, the dashboard of a car. Her son knew how to play drums, and he showed his skills every time he rode with her and sat in the passenger seat. She hated when he'd beat to the classical songs she sometimes played, but it was something she had gotten used to over the past few years.

When the boy started to mutter words, the woman grinned a bit more. Her mouth was open, and her white teeth were showing. Dimples were formed around her cheeks, wrinkles around her eyes. There was no doubt that the woman was one of the older teachers that had been there for years now; her smile kept her looking "young," though. Many people had told her that before. But, like every other compliment or comment she received, she shrugged it off with utmost modesty.

The boy continued to play, and the older woman just waited until he was done. She was patient and enjoyed listened to what other people could play, so she was in no rush for him to finish playing or to hand her the drumsticks. He could take as much time as he wanted.

[adrian adam isotoph]

○○(Banging on that drum set)
(like a teenage Travis Barker)○○

The more and more that the teacher talked the more Adrian seemed to relate. She was wise, in a "i'm not a creepy old lady" kind of way. She was close to being his favorite teacher and he didnt even know her name. "Excuse me, if you dont mind me asking... who are you? I mean, what do you teach?" Adrian tried to put it in the nicest way that he could, though it still came out as if he was trying to insult her athority. He didnt want some teacher, that he didnt even know the name of hating him already.

Adrian's chest rose as he placed the sticks on the top of one of the snares. The drums were an outlet, and though he didn't play them violently or ignorantly it still helped him get some things off his chest. The shirt under his leather jacket stuck to his back, though the leather didn't help he couldn't complain about the feeling. He enjoyed being sweaty if it involved drumming first. His pale thumb grased over his lips as he stood. He took the sticks in his pale fingers and tightened his grip as he stood. Adrian wasn't planning on leaving them there to get stolen, he'd been in that scenario before. It was tempting to take them, and he did the first time.

Adrain looked down at his Tony Halk sneekers, the leopard print on the shoelaces entertained him greatly. He bit the inside of his lower lip and hurried back over to the woman. "Excuses littler the highway..." He muttered, reaching his arm out, the sticks resting in the palm of his hand. The lyrics on his wrist shone proudly. He had gotten them done by a man named Paulie, who didn't care if you were of age or had a parent, as long as you had the money. Like a cigarette thrown from a passing car, excuses littler the highway. It was the first song he had written, back when he had only been playing drums for about five years. He was good then, but now he was excelent. Adrian would sit in Henry's appartment for hours practising on the drumset that sat where a normal house would have the couch. Adrian found Henry quite interesting.

"Thanks for listening to me play... most music teachers would bitch at me about how terrible it was. Thanks for not doing that." Adrian bowed his head in a respectful way. He was done for the most part. He didn't need any more fuming, and he didn't want to play his song outloud. So, all in all he was content with what he had done that day. He would probably play after school for another hour or so with the stolen sticks.

[elyzibeth marie alexander]

It was funny how people got ahead of themselves and didn’t bother making introductions before jumping into conversations. Sometimes it was easier that way, mostly for people who would never see each other again. But sometimes it helped two people who could possibly be good friends get acquainted before really getting acquainted. Ely liked that.

"Ely Alexander," the woman told him in a cheery sort of way, not bothering to extend her hand for him to shake. There was no need for formality between the two; she was only introducing herself to a student after all. "And I teach music, mostly orchestral and choral. Sometimes I'll sit in with the other teacher during his band lessons and help him. Two are better than one, you know, so I like to help out." She smiled brightly and nodded her head a few times, not bothering to ask what the boy's name was. She was sure he'd return the favor of introductions without being asked. If not, then it was no skin off her teeth. She'd find out eventually by listening to conversations and people calling each other's hands in the hall. She did that every year. But her curiosity did not stop her from asking him another question. "Are you taking any music classes this year?"

The woman took the sticks from him and held them firmly in one hand. She looked at them momentarily and then just let them rest loosely there at her side. She was not in a hurry to put them back, nor was she really concerned about it. She would put them back whenever she felt like she wanted to put them back. She had about twenty or thirty minutes before she really needed to get things in order for the students when they arrived. But, as usual, she wasn't worried about getting things together. Her students were used to her not being completely prepared, and they were used to her taking forever to get things done. It shouldn't have to be like that, but it was.

"I'm not going to fuss," the woman said, replacing his curse word with a much lighter term. She did not correct him for using such language, though, as that would go against what she had told him earlier. "I mean, if you have the want to learn something, I'll teach you. You've got to walk before you can crawl, right? Even if you had come out beating and banging on the drums like you have no sense, I wouldn't have said anything, just that a little work could be done. But you did well, I must say." She nodded her head affirmatively and looked up at the ceiling a bit, blinking her blue eyes as she slowly made her way back across the room to the storage room. She placed the sticks within it and removed her keys from the door, replacing them around her neck so she wouldn't lose them.