He was a trumpeter.
Every morning, she’d look out for that face, and sometimes even the glimmer of silver in the sunlight that dusted her soul with hope, like golden sparkles in the night. All she needed was that case. That blinding, silver trumpet case.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Oh, don’t worry. It’ll all be over before you know it. You’ll get over it sooner than you think, and believe me, you’ll laugh at yourself.”
How many times had she heard that? She constantly regretted making that move; why did she have to tell her mother?
Then she caught herself. No, she hadn’t told her out of free will. It was somewhat…forced out. Interrogation, prying, nosing around, and finally a direct command. She was exhausted – sick and tired of trying to explain it to her mother. How come her adult mind couldn’t just take it in? Her mother had read her emails, and now she was supposed to take the responsibility for her actions. By invading on her personal messages, she should’ve known that by disclosing these secrets to herself, she needed to, no had to, understand.
And yet here she was again. Sitting at the steering wheel of their car, harassing her daughter with those tedious lectures again. He’s not like that, you don’t know him, you’ve never even met him. The words she was dying to scream back jittered and slid around in her brain, but she let them fret, crashing into each other. She was in no position to argue – talking back only lengthened the lecture by at least ten minutes.
She didn’t get it. Confusion was something you didn’t get used to – just like fear, it gripped you again and again, always throwing you off track and fogging your head, just like now. How come mother held such a strong faith to this stereotype of boys? They’ll abuse you, they’ll hit you, they’ll cheat on you, they’ll never love you, they never mean the things they say or do, they’ll only act like they like you so they can ra….you later on.
Had she forgotten the old tomboy she had once been in elementary school? She’d spent almost her whole childhood in an environment with boys, and surprisingly most kids weren’t like that. That’s just because they’re little, when they grow up they’ll treat you like dirt, believe me.
Ok, sure, I’ll believe you. But why do I still feel like you have some problem with me liking him? What’s wrong with that…you deny it and say you don’t have a problem with it. It’s typical of kids your age…
There she went again, treating her like a little girl. Sometimes, she thought her own mother was supervising her development from a distance, like some sort of judge who was criticizing your every move…
No. She didn’t care if her mother told her she’d get over it, that she’d be laughing at herself in the future. That was true about the other guys she’d liked…but not this time. Sure, she probably would get over him…but there was one thing she knew for sure.
She wouldn’t be laughing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So…you thinking about joining Marching Band next year in high school?”
It had taken so much out of her to just try to casually drop that sentence. As usual, he proved how talented he was at killing conversations.
“Mmmm…probably not.”
Her heart sank. But she didn’t show it, and just nodded thoughtfully. She cursed her mind, and wondered why she could never think of something to say to continue the severed conversation. Secretly, she wished she could ask him why, but that wasn’t appropriate in this situation.
Then something stupid happened.
“I’m going to be joining Marching Band next year.”
ACKKKK!!! HOW DID THAT COME OUT? SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO SAY ANYTHING!
“Oh…”
Her heart plunged, lower than before, if that was even possible. His response was indifferent. He obviously didn’t care. He probably hadn’t taken her words in.
She walked away, and he didn’t even notice. He was already busy laughing with his friends. How could she have thought that saying something like that would’ve made a difference to him? She was such a stupidiot…he was probably going to quit his trumpet next year anyways…his precious trumpet……………her precious trumpet……………
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don’t know where you are now…
Or what kind of person you’ve become…or stayed as
I don’t know who you’re with
I don’t know what you’re doing
I don’t even think you’d remember me…
I don’t know if you play your trumpet anymore
I don’t know what you’ve done with the case
But I do remember you
And your trumpet
And its case
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had never wanted to get married as a kid.
And it proved true. Many years later.
Here she was, at Costco, pushing her cart around lazily, scanning the shelves for anything she would need. Somehow, she wandered to the instrumental sales. Though she still played the clarinet, it was the trumpets she looked through first. But she didn’t see any silver case like the one imprinted in her memory…
Suddenly, she was rudely bumped from behind by accident. A boy. With something silver in his hand.
No.
It couldn’t be.
But before she could get a closer look, a girl rushed up and dropped a comment about flute conditions. The boy didn’t really hear her – was he shy too? She watched as the girl’s face fell, and decided to make a move.
As the boy strayed farther from the instrumentals rack, she followed. She had to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to that girl. She had learned from her mistakes, but problem was, it was too late to fix them. She wasn’t going to let that girl end up this way.
She finally caught up with him as he stopped to glance at a rack of jackets. Regardless of awkwardness, she grasped his shoulder, and pulled him to a halt.
“Hey kid.”
He glared – suspiciously.
“What?”
“See that girl?” She pointed back towards the instrumental racks. He nodded.
“Uh-huh. She’s my friend.”
“Well listen up. She likes you. Like, a lot. Hey, no, don’t run off. I’m not finished.” She tightened her grip, this part was important. “I don’t know what you think of her, besides a friend (that’s obvious), but she might think you’re the most important thing in the world. I’m not asking you to like her; nobody can do that (duh). But let her know what you think of her. That’s all.” She let go.
And he didn’t leave.
“Run along now.”
He finally did, and as he cautiously sidled away from her, she noticed the thing dangling from his hand. It was silver…and………of course…
“Mom, I like this one. It looks cooler than the others.”
As his mother carried off the shiny object, the boy blinked awkwardly, and tapped his friend on the shoulder. What he said, she couldn’t make out, but with a nod, she walked away, satisfied.
She knew what it was he had asked his mother to purchase.
It was in a silver case. One that looked exactly the same.
He was a trumpeter.
