It is Thursday night, and I am riding my bicycle through the pouring rain through puddles and potholes to get to the band rehearsal. Finally arrive, and go inside, where about 6 people are already there. It is warm and dry, and a new location pretty far from the current one, and it looks a lot like the Saratoga Drama Group space.
And I realize I have forgotten my instrument. Of course! There is no way I could carry a baritone horn on a bicycle.
I drive home, but in my car. It's a narrow driveway and a challenge to turn around and not hit other parked cars, in the rain.
When I get home, my mother is there, which is a surprise because it's my current home which she has never been to. She scolds me for not being there when she arrived, then starts crying, and puts her arms around my waist, buries her face in my chest and sobs "he's gone. he's gone."
Who's gone? I ask
You father. He's dead.
Yes, I know.
IRL, mom passed away a few months before dad.
And I realize I have forgotten my instrument. Of course! There is no way I could carry a baritone horn on a bicycle.
I drive home, but in my car. It's a narrow driveway and a challenge to turn around and not hit other parked cars, in the rain.
When I get home, my mother is there, which is a surprise because it's my current home which she has never been to. She scolds me for not being there when she arrived, then starts crying, and puts her arms around my waist, buries her face in my chest and sobs "he's gone. he's gone."
Who's gone? I ask
You father. He's dead.
Yes, I know.
IRL, mom passed away a few months before dad.
Profile
howeird- Mister Eclectic
- Howeird's Place
