At the sound of a tentative rat-tat-tat, Jessica peeled open her eyes. An emaciated drummer boy dressed in a scarlet uniform stood by the lawn chair opposite her. His gold epaulets were crumpled over his thin shoulders. His small pinched face peered from under a crimson cap.
“I’m fading from neglect,” he said, in a fluty voice.
What now? Jessica thought snapping her eyes closed.
Falling asleep on a sweltering day, even under a shade tree, was a mistake. Her head buzzed; she must be hallucinating.
“Don’t block me out,” the voice insisted.
Jessica reopened her eyes and squinted at the elfin creature. Was he a boy who was visiting the elderly neighbor couple? They might have been embarrassed to mention him, because of his frail condition.
“Are you from next door?” she asked.
He shook his head and drummed out an uneven rap-tap-tap on his small metal drum.
“I’m out of practice,” he apologized. “As you’d know.”
“Why would I know?”
“I’m yours.”
Perhaps, he had escaped the nearby psychiatric hospital? If so, small as he was, he might be dangerous if riled.
“You have the wrong house,” she said squeezing her voice to sympathetic. “I’ve just moved in.”
“It’s all the same to me.”
Maybe he was raising money for a charity to do with his affliction.
“Are you selling something?” she asked, glancing around to see if there was a parent watching from the street.
“No parents,” he said.
Could he read her mind?
“What do you want?”
“I want you to listen to me,” he said.
“I’m all ears.”
“If you keep ignoring me, I’ll lose my assignment.”
“What assignment?”
“You.”
As Jessica struggled to fathom what was happening, she heard a strong rat-tat-tat from the street. Was the boy part of a parade? Or was his presence sinister?
Jessica had started life swinging from hope to hope, risking good will on people others didn’t trust. Before she learned to suspect the worst, she’d ignored negative advice and glided forward chancing for happiness. Now she hesitated before daring any action and was skeptical of unexplained phenomenon.
Another rat-tat-tat beckoned. Overcome by curiosity and maddened by the boy’s behavior, Jessica jumped up and headed for the street.
“Don’t listen to her,” the boy cried but Jessica pushed past him.
‘Her’ was an upright, elderly woman with a pinched mouth and pin eyes focused on a square music card attached to her drum. Aggressively she tapped out a familiar beat.
Jessica turned back at the boy’s shouted “Hey,” to witness him yank off his cap in despair. Seeing his golden curls explode in a halo reminded her of a long-forgotten lover, but it had been a youthful affair and she refused to be seduced by sentiment.
“Please follow me,” the little drummer pleaded.
Everyone was playing for your heart, Jessica thought. The boy would have a better chance of being followed if he fattened up and got with the times.
~ Melodie Corrigall
Published in Blank Spaces Sept 2021