The Symphony Police

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Over at the house, at breakfast…

Ever-sunshine Mom said to Collette, “Oh, your hair is so pretty this morning. You look like a princess.”

“A princess?” asked Puck.

“Yes, a princess.”

“She’s not a princess,” said Puck. “She has oatmeal.”

“There’s logic for you,” Collette said.

“Nothing like a three year-old to put you in your place,” Mom laughed.

Meanwhile, after Francis had finished working out, it was time for algebra. He had also been deep into reading his A&P Technician Airframe textbook.

And Carrie made a special potato soup (her own recipe with a secret ingredient), apple pie, chicken pot pie, and zucchini muffins (from a basket of zucchini and potatoes the little neighbor girl had brought over the previous afternoon).

Paraguay vs. Japan. A draw. Collette always came up with ridiculous reasons for rooting for particular teams. She had originally wanted Japan to win, until she saw the Paraguay coach and decided that she felt sorry for him, and so swayed her opinion.

Shortly after eleven, the neighbors drove off down the road. Sad to see them go. No more friendly waves across the street. No more of them sitting around little fires with the other neighbors. Driving their lawn mower down the street to visit each other. No more testing boat propellers in buckets of water. Change…

Before Puck’s nap, Carrie came over to him. “Could I buy your bellt, Puck?”

“No, Sun, you cannot.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m using it for my toy drawer.”

“You’re using your belly for your toy drawer?”

“Yes. Because he was a naughty little stomach.”

Mom returned around two o’clock. Just in the middle of the Portugal-Spain match. And, of course, Spain won. And drew off a red card for Portugal. Every time. Every time! That pretty much sealed it. She would root for Argentina to win the final.

“Don’t root for them,” Carrie told her. “You’ll jinx it. You always do.”

That night, Mom, Rose, and Francis drove Collette and Puck home. Mom to attend Bible study in Wentzville. Rose to attend movie night with Collette, and Francis to obliging mow Collette’s lawn. Who had ever heard of a fifteen-year old begging to mow an extra lawn? Unthinkable, really.

Before they could begin An Affair to Remember (through which they laughed almost the whole way through), Rose had an all-out battle with a mosquito.

“He got my leg twice and my foot. He must’ve been part bee!”

And after Francis mowed, he took a ride out on the Ruckus, found a cell phone lying in the street, called ‘Dad’ in its contact, found out the phone belonged to his daughter who had now lost her third cell phone, and returned it to her mailbox.

Shortly before nine, Francis hurried downstairs with a call on his cell.

“It’s the Symphony!” he said urgently, passing it to Rose. “Take it! Take it!”

Rose gave him a look and took the call. Five minutes later, she shot Francis with a finger gun.

“What did they want?” Collette asked.

“Who was it?” asked Francis.

“It was the Symphony Police!”

“The Symphony Police?”

“Yes. He said, ‘Rumor has it, the Symphony is switching to rap. And we’re the Symphony Police. We’re gonna turn up on your doorstep if you don’t buy tickets. And if you do, we won’t bother you until next Christmas.’”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. And I was just about to tell him that if he showed up on my doorstep, I’d call the real police.”

Francis erupted into giggles.