The Music of Spring: Glockenspiel’s Jingle
As it turned out, there was a xylophone in the marching band, but the senior student who played it was secure in his position. I was a sophomore, and the band director smiled as he handed me the case, vest, and mallets to the glockenspiel.
“Welcome to our band, Aoede. We need you. Practice begins at five o’clock tonight.”
I ignored the glockenspiel’s unappealing jingle and shook his hand. “Thank you sir, I’ll be on the field on time.” After that first practice, I wished my parents had named me Terpsichore, for the Muse of Dance. Learning to spin, march and strut while playing accurate rhythm was the hardest thing I ever did.
One day, on my way back from the field, I cut through the gym, where the Ferguson triplets caught my attention. They held two violins and a bass guitar, and played with vigor, but I heard nothing. I still wore the glockenspiel and they eyed me dubiously.
One removed her headphones, and asked, “Do you like to play that thing?”
“I’d prefer the xylophone, but Chambers has that, until he graduates. Let me hear what you do,” I said, and shifted the glockenspiel from my shoulders to the floor. They unplugged their headphones, and turned up the amps. I liked what I heard.
“Are you already part of a band? I want to organize one for the Spring Talent Night.”
“We were thinking about that too, but we haven’t decided who to ask.” The bassist zipped her guitar into its case. “What do you play besides that thing?”
“I own a marimba, and I think it sounds much better than a glockenspiel.”
The gym door opened, and I turned to see Chambers step through it. “Chambers,” I called, “Would you let me borrow the xylophone for a moment?”
The Music of Spring is a short story in nine parts. Read the next installment at The Music of Spring: Wilson’s Uncle.
Read more of my published short stories here.
I’m grateful for everyone who reads this blog on social media. However, if you fear missing out, fill in the blanks on the Subscribe form in the upper right sidebar. Posts will automatically appear in your email. When I’m out of town, I don’t connect to social media to share them there.
Ruth DeMaat
Heidi Kortman
Kathleen Friesen
Heidi Kortman