The Garage Sale Tuba

 

            It was elegant and the craftsmanship far exceeded that of any European sports car.  My desire to buy it was strong and immediate but my inner voice kept reminding me that not only did I not know how to play the tuba, I also had no room for it in my apartment. 

            Somewhat mesmerized, I just kept staring at it, my reflection as well as my thoughts becoming distorted at its curves.  It had been polished and polished again and the Sunlight revealed its flawless complexion.  I thought how it must weigh down any musician daring to strap it on like suspenders, their knees buckling under the strain and with each deep resonating note played their spine reverberating like a tuning fork.

            A small white tag hung from the felt lined case but was angled downward.  I couldn’t see what price such a piece would demand.  I could only speculate that a mortgage would be involved with payments exceeding my monthly wage. 

            One of the three ladies holding the garage sale had noticed that my gaze was locked onto this musical sculpture and in my peripheral vision I could see her moving toward me.  Still, I did not acknowledge her presence but remained visually lost in the bends and turns - flowing then returning, winding about as if unsure of where they should be.

            She had said something to me but I didn’t immediately process it.  I was just aware that someone had spoken and I should look up and respond.  I should force myself to break my focus but knew if I did the moment would be lost.  Rational thinking would take over and dissipate this sudden and perhaps irrational passion.

            “Do you play?” she spoke again, her words shattering the bond, my face once again feeling the warm breeze of the day.  I looked at her.  She appeared genuine.

            “You looked to be deep in thought” she said in a much softer tone.

            “I was at the Rose Parade, walking behind a float.  It was a giant cowboy hat made out of wheat, with a fancy hat band made of deep red roses.”

            I looked back down at the price tag, hoping the breeze had flipped it over so I might put the thought of buying it out of my head completely, but it hadn’t.

            “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, looking at me like we were at a school reunion and was trying to remember who I was.

            Her two friends were smiling at me and suddenly I felt as if the tuba had been a giant lure and I had just been hooked.

                        It’s odd but I hadn’t smelled the coffee until she mentioned it.  It smelled good but it seemed strange to be offered a coffee while standing at a garage sale.

            “Cream and sugar?” she asked as she turned to walk back up towards the garage.

            “Just sugar,” I said, following her like a new puppy.  She was wearing light blue jeans with a navy colored sweatshirt.  Her sandals made me think of the beach; in fact, I think I could see sand down along the bottom edge of her foot and running along the stitching of the straps.  I almost said something but thought better of it.  We were not close enough to the ocean to still be walking around with sandy feet.

            Her two friends were now with another customer who was examining an old steamer trunk.   For a moment there I thought I heard a Russian accent.  It stuck out in my mind because she sounded like Natasha on the old Bullwinkle show saying moose & squirrel.  Great, now I’m going to have that stuck in my head all day.

            As we entered the garage I wondered what the heck I was doing.  I didn’t even want coffee, but now she was already pouring it.  The ceramic mug had a logo but the way she was holding it I couldn’t make it out.  I glanced around at the garage.  It was almost too clean.  In fact, except for the aroma of the coffee it even smelled clean.  The floor had been painted a battleship gray and didn’t have a tire mark or oil spot anywhere.

            “I’ll let you add your own sugar” she said as she handed me the mug. 

            “Thank you,” I said – slipping my finger through the handle and turning it slightly to see the logo.  It said North Shore Realty, so I took that as my opportunity and holding up the mug asked, “Are you a realtor?”  She smiled and said, “I have to step into the house for a minute, please excuse me,” and she disappeared through the door.  So there I was standing in some stranger’s garage having coffee.  I had a strong impulse to just set the cup down and leave but a sudden loud noise, like some foghorn sounding, echoed off the walls of the garage and startled me.

            I hurried back out into the drive and saw someone with the massive tuba wrapped around them like a giant squid.  They hit another note and I could feel the sound waves pass through me.  My heart sank.  What were they doing with MY tuba?  I watched as they worked themselves out of it and gently laid it back into the open case.  It must have been heavy as they seemed to be struggling with the thing.  I’m sure they had their grubby little finger prints all over it by now.

            I was hoping they were going to just walk away.  I stood there sending them mental thoughts; walk away… Walk away… leave, you don’t want it.  That’s when I noticed the coffee lady had been standing right next to me, in fact, very close to me.

            “I wish people wouldn’t handle it,” she whispered.

            Without thinking I blurted out, “I’ll take it?”

           

            Crap, I said to myself, what have I done?  My thoughts flashed to my checkbook register but the numbers weren’t in focus.  As I tried to envision what I had left in there the figures I was seeing seemed to float off the page and kept changing places with each other.  Was I having some kind of stroke?  I shook my head trying to clear the fog and almost spilled the coffee.

            I felt a hand gently take hold of my arm and as the lady leaned in she softly said, “I think you’ll be very happy with it.”

            Now I had to go over and see the price tag.  The other person had walked away and my mysterious host suddenly had a polishing cloth in her hand and was hurrying over to wipe it down.  I must have been right about the fingerprints.  As she ran the soft cloth around the giant tuba I leaned down and flipped the price tag over.

            FREE   -   I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Still leaning over I said, “Are you kidding me?”

            “Not at all, it is free to a good home, as they say.”

            I was absolutely stunned.  As I stood back up I handed the coffee to her and said, “I’m sorry but this isn’t right.  I can’t just drive away with this beautiful instrument and not pay for it.”

            She smiled.  “The cab driver will explain everything.”

            That didn’t make any sense.  “I have my car,” I said, looking down to the street.  My car sat right where I had parked it, why would she think I needed a taxi?

            She closed the lid of the tuba case and angled it up so I could grab hold of the handle.   “Here you go.”

            I didn’t protest anymore but lifted it up and walked down the drive.  I leaned it against my VW bug until I could get in and lower the top.  Once I had the top down I scooted the passenger seat all the way forward and then lifted the instrument up into the back seat, leaning it down across the back of the front passenger seat.  There wasn’t an inch to spare but it would travel just fine.

            As I got in behind the wheel I looked back up the driveway.  I didn’t see the coffee lady and the other two women were still standing by the steamer trunk talking with their potential buyer.

            I drove to my apartment all the while wondering what I was going to do with this thing.  I guess I’d just have to figure that out when I got there.  

           

                        That evening, after going through the day’s mail and putting my dinner dishes in the sink, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the tuba case and sat down in front of it.  I un-did the three latches and lifted the lid.  I couldn’t help but smile.  There she was, this magnificent tangle of gleaming brass that seemed to be a visual symphony all her own.

            I noticed a small pocket in the felt lining of the lid.  It had a business card partially sticking out from it.  I expected it to be from some music shop or maybe from the last person to tune this thing, but all it said on it was, Middle C – A – B-Flat.

           

            I had no idea what that meant but in looking at it I noticed it spelled out the word cab.  Maybe this is what the garage sale lady was talking about: The cab driver will explain everything.  Too bad I don’t know how to play middle c, or right or left c for that matter.

           

            Pulling at the silver mouth piece it easily popped off.  I scrubbed it with hot, soapy water and dried it with my dish towel, then set it on a paper towel to let the inside dry completely.  While that was drying I headed over to my computer to do a little research.  It shouldn’t be that difficult to find out how to play three little notes.

            I couldn’t have been more wrong.  Although there is a flood of musical information on the Web, I found nothing remotely close to showing me the key positions needed that would produce the desired results. I was going to have to just put this out of my mind for a few days and then come back to it later.

           

            It was coming up on four weeks since I had brought home the giant paper weight, still in its case on my living room floor.  I wasn’t any closer to knowing how to hold it, let alone play the thing, but I did have a plan.  Yesterday I called the music teacher at Crawford High School, a Mrs. Linda Daley and explained my situation.  Today, at lunch I am going to meet with her and one of her students who will show me exactly what I need to do to produce those three notes.  I was excited but at the same time a little nervous.

            When I walked into the music room there were three people sitting up on a stage area, one lady who I assumed was Mrs. Daley and two men, one in a suit and the other dressed in a white shirt and tie but wearing a sweater vest instead of a sport coat.  I didn’t see any music student so I figured I had just walked in on some other meeting.

            The lady saw me as I came through the door and held up her hand, signaling the man in the suit to stop talking.  She stood up and her voice almost echoed as she said, “Are you Randy?”  I nodded and took another hesitant step toward the stage.  “Please, come on up.”  The sweater vest guy stood and pulled another folding chair over.

            “I’m Linda Daley; this is Mr. Alex Hampton and Mr. Will Scott.  They will be joining us today.”

            Sweater vest guy extended his hand to shake mine but the suit just stared at me and then, even before I sat down he asked, “Did you bring it with you?”

            “I drive a VW bug; it’s not that easy to bring anything along. So no, I don’t have it with me.”

           

            They seemed disappointed but still eager to talk.  “Like I said on the phone, I was just hoping someone could show me how to find three notes on the thing.”

            “Middle C, A and B flat?” The suit said.

            “Yes,” I said sitting down and pulled the business card from my pocket that I had found in the tuba case.  Mrs. Daley took it, looked at it and handed it to the sweater vest guy.

            “What’s going on?” I said.  “Is there some problem?”

            Mrs. Daley and the suit looked at each other and then over to the sweater vest, who said somewhat grimly, “This is it, and he reached across handing the card to the suit.  There’s no doubt.”

            That afternoon the three of them told me an amazing tale, a fantastic adventure that sounded like they had taken it from some children’s book.  When they started telling me I thought they were going to suggest that I had some genie trapped inside my tuba who was going to grant me three wishes, but that wasn’t even close.

            What I do remember is the part about the Russian sorcerer and his three assistants.  Three women forever linked to him.  As they were telling me I couldn’t help but to think of the three ladies running the garage sale and I recalled hearing a Russian accent from the two standing over by the steamer trunk.

            My thoughts were running wild as they were telling me this incredible story but then when sweater vest started talking about a magic potion my thoughts flashed back to the cup of coffee.  I couldn’t remember if I ever took a sip of it or not.  I don’t remember tasting it, only smelling the aroma and feeling the hot mug in my hand.  I couldn’t remember if I took a drink or not.

            They were still talking but I was not listening.  My thoughts were back recreating the garage sale and I was trying to visualize the faces.  I don’t remember ever seeing the face of the person who had played two notes on the tuba and I can’t remember where they wandered off to, I only remember them walking away and then me blurting out, I’ll take it. 

            Suddenly suit guy leaned towards me and snapped his fingers.  It startled me.  He obviously could tell I had not been paying attention.

            “Never play those notes in that sequence.  Ever.” and he leaned back in his chair.

            Sweater vest cleared his throat and asked, “Would you consider selling it?”

            Suddenly I was wishing I had been paying closer attention to what they all had been saying.  I looked at him but wasn’t quite sure what to say.

            “We can give you $3800.00”, the suit jumped in, sounding a bit too eager.

            Mrs. Daley’s attention turned to him and she quietly said, “We can’t bring it in here.”

           

            “I’m just going to keep it for now, I said but I want to thank you for…”

            “$5,000.00” the vest guy interrupted.

            I stood up and plucked the business card from the suit, who had been fiddling with it the whole time.  My foot steps echoed as I walked across the music room back to the door.  I could hear them whispering but I didn’t care.  I just wanted to get out of there.

  To be continued...