trumpet alliance

Eloise stopped at the sight of the open screen door, her chapped lips beginning to bleed between the pressure of her pressed front teeth. She pulled in a fast inhale and found the words.
“I love you, but I can’t come in.”

Her brother stood from where he was on the small wooden steps that led into his humble suburban home. She could feel the potential for the differentiating debate rumble below the surface of their silence. Please not this once, she felt herself beg his frozen stance. Her honest share had wedged itself into uncharted territory and her anticipation of his response pumped sweat droplets into her gently clenched palms. 

Jonathan looked at her for one moment longer before turning and disappearing into the house. Not a sigh of release but an exhale of some extent fell from her body. It was over. Although she had stood her ground and defined a very necessary boundary, the uncertainty of where their communication now stood was painfully unclear. 

The sound of the screen door pulled her attention. Jonathan pounded his heavy feet back over the lawn, his small trumpet in hand. 

For a moment she saw the flicker of the ginger haired boy who used to protect her adolescent secrets, knocking his promised alliance through the wooden slats of the bunkbeds.
Now as he took his place in the center of the lawn, almost standing protectively over her delivered care basket, she saw the spirit of the same boy who helped her tie stuffed animals to the ceiling fan to watch them fly.

Jonathan pulled the instrument to his lips and began to play a slow smooth melody to the empty streets. And as Eloise watched him lean into a different language, his deep brassy notes sang his compromise. 

-b

May 6, 2020