It Blows (bp coyle)

It is so unfair of Daddy to force me to keep doing it. A twelve-year-old girl should be able to decide for herself. I hate the oboe!  I am terrible at it. It makes me want to cry.

One hour every day after school. Two hours on a Saturday. And then there is Sunday. That is the worst. Every Sunday after dinner we go to see Granny at the old folks home. And I have to play for her. God those old people must hate me. And Granny will definitely not be leaving me anything in her will.

Oh poor Granny, I should not think that way about her. Anyway, not today. Today I took the damn thing out of the car before we set out. Daddy will be mad at me. He is fluffing up Granny’s pillows, this is the moment.  ‘Debbie is getting so much better Mom,’ he tells her. ‘Wait until you hear her this week.’

So I blurt out that I forgot it. Daddy doesn’t get angry like I was expecting. Instead, he reaches under his chair. ‘That’s okay sweetie,’ he says to me. ‘I brought the spare one, just in case.’

 

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