The Exchange

I saw it as a perfect opportunity to present the need of a letter of permission over the traditional, sit down, family dinner that occurred each evening in our household. This way there was no hassle of trying to get both my father and my mother in the same room at the same time. I explained, to my parents, the complication I faced traveling independently as a minor. My mother proposed that I sit with her after dinner, dictating all information that was to be included in the letter. 

The following morning, prior to class, I contacted the the Friends of the Cleveland School of the Arts office confirming I had acquired a letter of permission. The woman who had answered the phone said that she would relay the message to the staff member who had been assisting throughout the process. She said that once a time for meeting was established, the office would send a notification to the director of strings who would then relay it to me. 

Just as the woman had stated a notification was waiting for me in first period class, orchestral strings rehearsal. The note said to stop by the Friends of the Cleveland School of the Arts office, after rehearsal, to make a quick exchange. 

Anticipating the sound of the bell, I quickly shoved all sheet music into my backpack. With it's sound I sprung from my seat and speed towards the office, in my attempt to remain within the few minutes allotted between period changes. 

I arrived at the Friends of the Cleveland School of the Arts office out of breath from running down three flights of stairs to reach the schools main floor level. Stopping at the office door I knocked, and before I had finished a third knock, the soft spoken woman pulled open the door. I immediately held out the letter of permission, only inches from brushing the tip of her nose. She laughed, turning from me and heading towards her desk. The woman stood over her desk rummaging through a layer of loose documents mumbling under her breath that she had just seen it. Seconds later, she grabbed a stack of white business envelopes held together by a single silver paper clip. Returning to me, as half of my body remained in the hallway while the other half was in the office, she took the letter of permission from my hand, briefly scanning it while handing me the envelopes with the use of her peripheral vision. I adjusted my stance to compensate for her nearly blind efforts to place the finalized travel itinerary in my hand. With her approval of the letter of permission I dashed off in hopes that I would make second period before the sound of the bell.