I thought this regression into adolescence was going to stop, but now it appears I’m no longer fourteen; I am ten. I was sitting with Gary, watching a duo play drums and electric guitar on tv.
“Hey,” I said, “I could learn to play the guitar. You could play the drums, and I could play the guitar.”
“Sure” he said in a studied flat emotionless tone.
I turned to see the sarcasm I expected in his face, because I have so little musical talent. I can play “Mary had a little lamb” on piano, and I learned a total of one song on the violin. (“French Folk Song”. I can still hear it. Kind of a squeaky little tune.)
“No, really” he said to my face. “We could have a combo.” Not in an Mickey Rooney “Let’s Put On A Show!” tone, but sort of encouraging.
“Okay,” I mused, “Arzaana-fay hasn’t been using her baby Fender. And she could get the amp back from that guy in the band.”
So now I’m committed. (Not literally, yet. I think Gary would have to file some papers.) In a few weeks, check back in and see me say “Hey. I think I’d like a pony.”