Lucia and the Cello on the Stairs

Lucia had lived in the old yellow building for exactly three weeks and had perfected the art of not being noticed: headphones on, eyes on her shoes. When a thump rolled up the stairwell, her first plan was to slide the headphones down and tiptoe home. Her second plan stopped on the fourth-floor landing, because below her a cello case was wedged across the turn of the stairs like a cork in a bottle.

Mrs. Marta, the retired cello teacher from the third floor, was pushing it with both hands and a great deal of dignity. “I am quite sure the building has shrunk,” she announced. Above them a trombone warmed up with a sound like a sleepy hippo. The elevator was broken, and the rooftop concert would start at sunset, cello or no cello.