Meet Virginia

The front doors at Virginia Dent's home don't exactly look like front doors. I dodge to my left and look at the doorbell next to a side door, but there are cobwebs on it. Home security stickers peer at me from various spots along her stoop. I return to the real front doors and ring the doorbell. A minute. No response. I ring it again. No response. So I pull out my assignment sheet and give Virginia a call. I hear the phone ring inside. The voicemail comes on. I leave a message. Maybe she's already started her violin lesson and she can't hear the noises I'm making, I muse to myself. Just then a woman and her son - Virginia's 3 o'clock student - pull into the driveway, and voila! The door opens, and there stands Virginia, sporting a bright yellow shirt and ruby-red lipstick. The next day I'm hanging out with two old timers on a golf course and Virginia gives me a call. She tells me who she is, I say hello, and then I pause. You left me a message to call you, she says. Yes, I reply, that was yesterday when I was standing at your front door.