@jgoldberg [ Joe x Pippa ]
It was a very cold day in December when Pippa stumbled into the little bookstore she'd walked past many times. As the cold penetrated her jacket and seeped through her skin into her bones where it solidified, the young woman still smiled. She could never imagine a life without cold winters. The extra time it took to put on more layers was worth it when the cold air stung her nose.
Pippa was 27 this year. Today, had been a relatively good day by her standards. No hoarse whispers in her ears, no imaginary friends, no incessant ringing in her ear. There hadn't been a need to dampen her senses with alcohol or the various labeled drugs in her medicine cabinet. A walk would be enough medicine today. Or so she thought.
The woman pushed open the front door. There were a few others scattered around. The seemingly sole employee was already busy "helping" a woman. The two were chatting away, the woman giggling wildly and tucking her hair behind her ear. It made Pippa want to roll her eyes, but instead, she quickly walked past them.
Her little feet carried her slowly up and down the aisles, taking in the various colors and words, titles and authors. When she was younger, Pippa lamented that she'd never be able to listen to every song ever made, nor would she be able to play every song, every instrument, every note. Now, as an adult, she lamented being unable to read every book. She figured spending some quality time with these books, taking in their spines and even taking some off the shelves to read blurbs and the first few pages would suffice for now. They still deserved attention, even if she couldn't give her all.
Time slipped by and without noticing, the book store had gone quiet while she still wandered around the back, reaching the music biography section. Her eyes scanned the shelves, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a smile. Stories of the greats neatly sat pressed together. Frankie Manning, Stan Gatez, Thelonius Monk, Chet Baker, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald. So many names she'd grown up with, from girlhood to womanhood.
Music critics around the city praised Pippa for her ability to "bring the very souls of the greats back from the dead with her electric playing". While it was flattering, Pippa hated the sentiment. She didn't bring them back. They were always there, simply using her as a conduit to keep the beauty of music alive. She owed her life to them, not the other way around.
Pippa pushed a few of her unruly red curls from her face when her eyes fell on her own face. There she was, 20 years old, holding a pair of drumsticks, young, laughing. She was in the top left of a group of other young, laughing musicians. Her classmates. Pippa had founded a club at Julliard focused on jazz revival and making it accessible to those without means to pay for performances: The Jazz Gaggle.
The weirdly talented group of friends taught the inner-city kids, fostered young talent and played in the streets of Manhattan. They shared their love for music in the purest way they knew how: being weird and spontaneous. One day, a music journalist reached out asking to write a book about the group's mission. The Young Faces of Jazz: The Story of the Julliard Jazz Gaggle.
Seven years later, she stood in a little bookstore, staring down at her smiling self on a book cover. Pippa never remembered being that happy. Then again, seven years was a long time ago.
