MY PIANO TEACHER LIVED two floors below us. A large lady with a stentorian voice and glasses dangling on her ample bosom, she caressed the ivories with a passion most teenagers reserve for romps in the hay. Single and living alone, music was her life and her students her family. That she was a stellar pianist and painstaking teacher was overshadowed by how the grandmothers of the building, mine included, viewed her. Miss Printer, you see, couldn’t keep her legs together.
