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trombone lessons.
"What do you want to do?" Terry came over after school 'cause it rained out practice today and he felt like skipping his piano lessons.

His mom made him take piano lessons and he treated it like he was having to get one of his fingernails pulled out each time he was supposed to practice or when his teacher was going to come over for a lesson. I knew what he felt like, I told him.

Mr. Swartz would come over to our house to give Jillian a flute lesson and me a trombone lesson and then afterwards, he and Momma would sit at the piano and sing and play music until the wee hours or Dad came in. It wasn't like Dad stopped it or anything, it was more like that was when the three of them would get liquor drinks and play cards, sometimes they'd play until it was like, three or four in the morning 'cause I would hear when Mr. Swartz pulled out of our driveway onto the street with his old VW van and there would be my smiley face clock with the green numbers saying how early in the morning it was, making my dresser front look all green and foggy, almost scary, but not really.

We wouldn't ever be able to skip our music lesson 'cause of the three of them planning it for us and then showing up even if the world were coming to an end, except now I didn't have to worry about that until way, way after my cast comes off and the physical therapist says it's time for me to play the trombone again without fear of my arm falling off or something.

"We could play foosball if you think you could play me with your right hand behind your back the way I have to play you." I knew I could beat Terry with my left hand.

"You're on!"



comments[1]  |   4/5/2005  |  perma-link/trackback

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