Seventy-Six Trombones

We often dispose of our close friends like we sometimes hide recyclable garbage in the black draw-string Glad trash bag.

They get thrown out or donated like used clothing.

I’ve dumped so many in my time from pure boredom.

Others have been black listed because they simply talk way too much.

Most know me in the Biblical sense and I tossed them in the dirty clothes hamper with my terry cloth hand towels.

I miss only one dearly– Faith Ann Sipes, a Mennonite.

Oh sure she was as old fashioned as they come. She was truly a plain Jane. She didn’t even wear those funny clothes to school, but still, she was not on anyone’s A-list.

She sat next to me in band and plays the clarinet like I do.

I took band very seriously but all she wanted to do was talk during eight measure rests.

I was dreaming of my future as a gay man while blowing on that long black woodwind and Faith Ann had a huge crush on me and my clarinet.

The entire band made fun of me and Faith Ann’s crush.

Randy Querry, my best friend and French Horn player made the most fun of Faith Ann when his hand wasn’t closed like a fist and placed into the mouth of the delicate brass instrument.

Faith Ann didn’t get the joke that Randy played with his fingers while the rest of Senior High Band laughed in unison. He held his palm a few inches from his Adam’s Apple and pretended to be stroking the string of a string instrument with his pointer finger.

Faith Ann thought it was really hysterical too, but didn’t know the joke was on her and the long hairs that grew between her plump breasts that she often shoved in my face like tubas.

Faith Ann was the only girl in the clarinet section who could play high G, A, B and C with only one hand. She rested the black musical tool on her tits trying to lure me into that conservative religion of hers.

My clarinet buddy gave up her quest for the guy in the first chair and ran off and got pregnant by a guy much, much older than we were.

"I haven’t told anyone this yet, but I wanted to tell you first– I’m pregnant."

"Why didn’t you tell your boyfriend first?"

"Oh, I already did, but he don’t count– you’ll always be my best friend."

I squeaked on the reed of my horn and although feeling sad for her said, "I’m not upset with you. Perhaps our love was not meant to be in this life."

"Promise we’ll always remain friends forever and that we will always stay in touch," she requested.

"We will. Every time I play my clarinet in life, I’ll think of you and those long hairs on your boobs," I said sarcastically while assuming she’d be pissed and piss off in her pregnancy.

"Oh honey, just wait until you get those fucking things on your tits!"