It was ironic that I always returned to it, my home where I went to junior high school and high school until I was off to college and independent.
One time while returning, I saw it in the street and had to stop. I forgot what it was called, this whatchamacallit, but we had to play it in 3rd grade music class so there shouldn't have been any in this town.
I took it to where I was staying with my companion in a motel and cleaned it. It was unscathed by lying in the street except for a patina of age.
Once it dried off, I put it to my lips, put my fingers on it, and blew…
To my surprise my fingers knew what to do all the way from childhood and I was playing a beautiful melody that I couldn't do when I was a kid because it was so hard.
Thank you for always commenting favorably on my stories even though you probably should slap my wrists with a ruler like a good teacher for not paying attention to all those English classes I took. ;-)
No, what I pictured in my dream was a black plastic mouth organ. With a tube to blow on and a keyboard for the right hand to modulate the sound. Is there such a thing?
So, while writing the story like I always do, I recalled that during one grade in elementary school in another city the whole class was required to buy a black plastic Kazoo for about $6 so that we could all play music (badly) together. I had already failed at the piano and was about to fail even more miserably on the expensive piano accordion that our parents were sure we would excel in and make money playing polkas in bars. When all I wanted was a guitar and become a rock and roller.
Surprise finds in unexpected places are always eligible for long-term memories. Unusual events stay with us, either for reflecting on during the day, or sometimes in the nocturnal meanderings.
Christmas When Music Almost Killed the World is a novel in which nothing is quite what it seems and everything is loaded with shadowy dreams of the past and nightmares set to soul-pounding music of the future.
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