Boy Blushing

The husband, woken by his blaring alarm, grimaces. He sits up. Hears creaks in his neck. It's still stiff. Bad accident at work a decade ago. He drags his tired feet to the mirror. All things fall apart. He sighs, and turns on the radio for the traffic report, his morning routine. His wife gets up, and goes to the bathroom for her routine. And so it goes. Like every day. Like every other day.

He looks back to the mirror and sits. His face is still masked by an ever-present frown. He furrows his brow. His face reacts, with wrinkles. As if his face were made of wax. He brings his hands up for a searching feel, and then, with deep regret, brings his hands back to his lap. He sighs; his back hunches.

The radio blares, “Seems like traffic is all backed up today. Accident on the Whitestone Bridge, multiple car pile-ups. Looks like no one’s getting through there for at least a couple hours.”

Gets back up. Changes the station to anything. Anything else. Resigns himself to a day of misery. Like every other day. And so it goes.

As he turns to go to the kitchen, his ears perk up. A song of his youth is playing on the radio. He stands there, swaying to the beat, memories flooding into him. This one song has been with him, his partner, his companion through fun times, through tough times. He remembers his prom night, his wedding night, birth of his first child, which was also at night. All the good times. He remembers the fights, the accident, the death of the second child. The bad times. And his song was there for him.

He lifts his right arm in triumphant victory. He has survived. Persevered. The song’s chorus comes; he brings his hand down and starts to strum a beautiful, magnificent air guitar. His hips start to swivel. He ignores the creaking, the cracking. They are his percussion, his accompaniment. He is the star of his own personal rock concert, hitting every note with perfect ease. But then the song begins to intensify. He knows. The upcoming guitar solo. Accident can be damned. He bobs his head to the beat, stomping his foot to provide the drums. His hands are flying up and down the fret board, shredding this air guitar. Hips are in full gyration. The song goes into its grand finale. He is a force of nature at this point, complete full-body motion. And so the song ends, the hammer falls and he jams his hand down forcefully.

The performance gets rave reviews from the lone eavesdropper. His wife chuckles. And the boy blushes.