Читать книгу At the Great Door of Morning - Robert Hedin - Страница 17

Miss Sanvidge

What happened to my old trumpet with the three sticky valves and mouthpiece all battered beyond shining? Or for that matter those long hours I spent languishing away in the last chair of the high-school band room, stumbling through Sousa, “Taps,” “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And what happened I wonder to Miss Sanvidge and her dusky parlor where we used to sit side by side that summer I took up the piano, her little plaster bust of Beethoven scowling down as I plugged away week after week—beautiful, middle-aged Miss Sanvidge, who every Tuesday set the metronome ticking.