Visions of Jazz

Sometimes, things happen for a reason. The night Timmy slipped off the stage at his jazz band concert, he couldn't imagine what that reason could be. From the orchestra pit, he gazed up at the concerned faces of parents and peers alike.

Timmy ignored the throbbing pain in his right wrist and oozing blood from his ear. Why did he ever join a jazz band in the first place? He hated music. Timmy thought back to that rainy Saturday morning where it all started.

Lightning lit the skies as Timmy ran across the street through sheets of rain. Suddenly, he was blinded by twin lights before losing consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't tell where he was but, curiously, a saxophone was leaning over him and said, "welcome."

One by one, smooth as soul, translucent fingers gripped the edge of the brass. Twirling, rising, spiraling, out of the chilly mist pouring from the bell sprang the specter of ol’ Johnny Coltrane! He tipped his hat, proclaiming “You can play a shoestring if you’re sincere.”

With that, a rote solo became a feverish duet. The two spirits pursed their lips in unison, letting jazz flow from their ethereal instruments. The ghoulish pair improvised all night. Before they parted, I stepped out of the shadows to the ask a burning question.

“What is your favorite steak sauce?” I knew it wasn’t a good question, but I couldn’t resist. After all, what is life without flavorful beef? The spirits looked confused and then dissipated into a fine mist. They had answered, by not answering. All steak sauces are the best.