When the Trumpeter Carries On by Sherry Morris
Dad’s wife Shirley calls. Invites me to Thanksgiving.
He’s getting old she cajoles. Misses you. He’s your father after all.
Her nagging nasal voice whines down the line—an earworm I still don’t know how to treat. My no-show at his big 7-0 hasn’t been forgotten. I tell myself that like the times, he’s changed. Tell Shirley, Alright-alright, I’ll go.
Her expert speed-dial fingers deliver an impressive more-than-you-can-eat, turkey-dressing-all-the-trimmings-plus-pumpkin-pie spread, but it’s dread that fills my guts.
Everything is breezy-light—politely nice. But as afternoon drink spills into evening, careful chit-chat fails. Dad sits, head of table, less than ruler-straight now. His blood-orange face, puffed-out cheeks, twitching mouth are familiar, yet distorted. The bulging eyes are new. I’ve been away a long, long time.
He starts. A variation of a tune I’ve been subjected to since childhood—subtle undertones and restrained melodies now bold bombastic blasts.
We’ll Make America Great and Glorious Again.
I sober fast watching this old man Trumpet live. It’s somehow worse than his Facebook posts that belittle Black lives. He’ll never change his bigot’s tune. My tolerance of his intolerance has kept the peace, but I don’t feel like peace right now. I want to make my own musical mark—
Crash cymbals either side of his head.
Bash a big bass drum to drown him out.
Take the bathroom plunger, cover and uncover his blowhard mouth as he blares about building walls, that all goddamn lives matter and I laugh and laugh as his -ists and -ics are wah-wahed away.
I take a deep breath. Interrupt. Here’s what I’m thankful for Dad… You. I’m who I am because of you.
In the silence, my words resonate. He’ll hear them as he wants. That’s fine. I’ve said my truth. Regained my peace. Hum a tune as I gather my things and leave.
Originally from Missouri, Sherry Morris (@Uksherka & @uksherka.bsky.social) writes prize-winning fiction from a farm in the Scottish Highlands where she pets cows, watches clouds and dabbles in photography. She sometimes reads for the wonderfully wacky Taco Bell Quarterly and her first published story was about her Peace Corps experience in 1990s Ukraine. Her work appears with Longleaf Review, Fictive Dream, Molotov Cocktail, Barren, Taco Bell Quarterly and many other publications. Visit www.uksherka.com to read her work.
@Uksherka & @uksherka.bsky.social
Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash
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The perfect come back! I’ve never heard such a one and I’ve been looking. Brava!