Barry was our only option. Two days before Battle of the Bands and we were down a sax player.
“Well, let’s hear ya,” Ray the drummer said.
My pleather jacket was suddenly too much. Sweat flooded my pits as Barry, tuba and all, panted onto the stage. Silence. Then he latched on, blew in, the robust notes swelled, the deep blare blasted—‘Jubilee Stomp.’
We—me, Ray, Gretchen on bass—stood slack-jawed by the buttery burps of tuba.
Barry finished, out of breath and glistening. Claps, whoops overtook.
I spread my arms wide, enveloping Barry, my brother, and damn, that tuba.
Having raised a flute player, I completely understand. Well done.
A delight. Thanks!