Morceau Symphonique

Dad arrives late, carrying a trombone.

"You have a trombone?" I ask as he hands it over to John.

"I did until a second ago."

John quickly opens the case and starts to assemble it. "I told Mom if she ever saw interesting musical instruments in thrift stores she had to get them."

"I hope all the parts are there," says Mom.

"They are! I played it," says Dad. I picture him back in Ohio, on the front porch at dusk, nimbly adjusting the slide. The deer stir in the yard. Mozart. No - Morceau Symphonique.

The delivery man arrives at the door with our pizzas just as John is attempting to get sound from the brass, all of us (one missing) gathering round.

"A lot of people!" he says as he hands over the boxes.

Today I am thankful for family.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.