Loss and Magic

August 7^th 1989 Loss and Magic

The beautiful trumpet had cost over $400. Way out of our league. “Never mind” said Jan, “Think of it as an investment in his future.”  Our littlest boy had joined the school orchestra. They insisted on the best instruments.
We had to teach him how to use the bus so he could take his trumpet to school and then on to the practice which happened before we got back from work. He was only seven years old and small, with an infectious grin a sense of fun and forgetful.

It must have been tiring because once, he fell asleep on the bus and ended up at the end of the run. The bus driver brought him and his trumpet back for free and very late. 

Another day, he got off the bus after practice and arrived home in the dark, dog tired and ready for a quick supper and bed.  He was almost asleep as Jan was sorting through his school gear for lunchboxes, notes and homework assignments.
“Where’s your trumpet?” she asked. “I can’t remember,” he said drowsily “ I think I left it at school – or maybe on the bus.” He closed his eyes, sleep effectively halting any further conversation.

In despair we rang Lost Property at the bus terminus. “No, no trumpets have been left here. But that driver hasn’t finished tonight’s run yet. He’ll be in at 8.30, ring then. If he’s got it, you’ll be able to pick it up without going through the red tape.”

At 8.30 Jan confirmed that the bus driver had it and if we collected our precious trumpet straightaway, we could avoid the  paperwork mountain.“You know” she said, “Since we are bringing these kids up with natural consequences, really it should be his job to collect his trumpet.” I agreed, and woke him gently with the news that it had been found and we’d be going in to collect it now.  Without complaint he put on his dressing gown and slippers and went to sleep again in the car. Maybe he thought he was dreaming this.

The bus depot was an enormous austere building with the atmosphere of a 1920’s car factory. Buses were arriving and leaving, others were parking, or being worked on by mechanics, or being cleaned by an army of detailers.  Drivers were clocking on and off, handing over buses. The noise was tremendous.

Our bus driver came out of the canteen wiping his mouth, carrying the trumpet. He was a big man with a kind look in his eyes. “Well young man, you were lucky we found your trumpet. I think you should play us a tune in repayment.”

I looked at Rene, wondering what his reaction would be. He hesitated, then came that infectious grin. He was wide awake now. He nodded shyly and took the trumpet out of its case.

Trumpets are not quiet instruments, and Rene was surprisingly good. The first few bars of “Mary had a little lamb” stopped the activity in the hangar in its tracks, and as the melody rang out, people came over to see what was going on. Soon this small boy in his pyjamas was surrounded by a big circle of burly men listening entranced. The terminus had become as quiet as a concert hall. When the tune came to an end, these tired busy bus drivers, cleaners and mechanics cheered and clapped and demanded an encore so Rene obliged.
At the end, there was a long moment of silence.  It was magical. This tiny figure in a dressing gown and pyjamas had brought the place to a standstill.
“Thank you young man,” our bus driver said, breaking the spell “now it’s time for me to go home and for you to get to bed.”
The depot became busy again.

On the way home Rene asked me very seriously “Dad, when you lose an instrument do you always have to play a tune?”
"I'm not sure" I said guardedly wondering where this was leading.
He grinned. “That was fun, maybe I should lose my trumpet on the bus more often.”

“Don’t you dare.” I growled.