The Trike Returns:
Ring
Marian Wilson
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Freedom Rings
A twisted piece of fiberglass encircled me. It was a pumpkin shade of sousaphone, like orange rings around a smoky sun.
Our marching band played popular tunes: the theme from "Rocky", the Beatles, Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke." One part of "Sir Duke" is completely instrumental. We were to play in unison. Finally, a melody for the bass section instead of oom-pah undertones.
I practiced for hours, clutching the hollow coils that I wore like a halo. During class one day the conductor chastised us, irate that no one could play the complicated riff. He called on us one-by-one to play solo.
The flutists fell flat, the saxophones squeaked, and the clarinets clamored. From a ringside seat, the spotlight beckoned me. My low rumbling notes escaped like glory from a gospel choir.
Dissonant notions clashed as I blushed and sank behind the bell of my tuba. I wanted to blend, to go unnoticed. Yet craving to shine, I was a lost jewel in the sand.
We don't get very far, no wonder. Cause a cacophony. Blow your loudest horn.
~Marian Wilson
Marian Wilson is a writer and registered nurse with recent work published in the Cayuse Press Book of Remembrance, Burning Word, and the Dead Mule. Email.
© 2002 by Marian Wilson. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.