Mason's Apron

The Johnny jump-ups Kitty had planted in the old dresser drawers on the porch radiated sunshine, and the mixture of purple, orange, pink and yellow made Miss Kitty feel confidant. Miss Kitty didn’t bother knocking on the cabin door, but strutted inside, fiddle in hand.

“It’s a glorious, but hot day, boys,” she shouted. “Makes me feel like playing some old time music. Harold, come downstairs, and bring that banjuke and banjo. Miles, break out the bodhran. Let’s jam.”

“Oh my,” Miles squeaked, scampering down the bookcase. His tail, a fluffy, sure and strong extension of his packrat body, couldn’t contain itself, and as soon as Miles feet hit the pine floor, his tail started beating out a jig rhythm.

“Slow it down a bit,” Kitty said. “I know a few songs, but I can’t play quite that fast.”

Miles stared at his tail, commanding it to beat at a slower pace. Naturally, his tail complied.

Harold shuffled down the stairs, a banjo in one hand and a banjuke in the other. All Miss Kitty saw were the two instruments, floating down the stairs, as if they had a life of their own.

“Come and join the party, Harold,” Miss Kitty said, her bow poised and ready to strike the strings of her instrument.

“I’m out of tune,” Harold mumbled.

“No worries,” Kitty said. “It’s to be expected. You’re a banjo player. Take a seat. Miles and I are going to play ‘The Mason’s Apron,’ and then I’ll tune you up.”

Miles was in heaven. “The Mason’s Apron” was his favorite hornpipe, and he loved pounding it out on his bodhran, which rested on the floor. In the middle of the song, Miles jumped on the drum, as if it were a trampoline, using his entire body to weave an intricate and incredibly fast beat.

Harold, sitting in the rocking chair, stamped his feet and clapped his hands. When the song came to an end, the three musicians looked at each other. For the first time, Miss Kitty and Miles saw Harold as the middle-aged man he once was. Harold’s entire face had materialized, and his head sat on his shoulders, minus the jarring scar across his neck that had ended his life. Best of all, Harold's body materialized, complete with t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. His blue eyes blazed merrily, and his lips, full lips with happy wrinkle lines around the edges, curved upward in a joyous grin.