Zack had mostly played percussion in high school, dabbling in the tuba a bit. When he graduated, he made his career repairing band instruments. He learned to play just about everything to a minor degree, enough that he could test them to make sure they were fixed correctly.
There had been a community band at one time, and Zack had considered joining. But then COVID came, and everything shut down. There was no music, no community togetherness, and definitely no band. But now, a couple of years after COVID, the community members started talking about reviving the band.
Since Zack hadn’t played in it previously, he was somewhat surprised when his old band teacher called him.
“Zack,” his teacher said, “they have asked me to restart the community band. We are hoping to play some patriotic tunes for Memorial Day. I know you are still involved in music, and I hope you will join us.”
“Are you wanting me to play percussion?” Zack asked.
“That would be great,” the old band teacher said. “I must admit that the percussion part is quite limited and somewhat boring in most of the songs. But I know you would do well.”
Zack agreed to take the assignment. He went to the first practice and found out what the teacher meant. There were a couple of big percussion songs, like “Stars and Stripes Forever,” but most of the time, Zack found he just sat there with nothing to do.
Zack approached the band teacher. “Is there something else I can do when there are no percussion parts?”
“Well, we are missing the tuba,” the teacher said. “Didn’t you used to dabble in that a bit?”
Jack nodded. “I did. It has been a long time, but I think with some practice I could do it. The problem is, I don’t own a tuba.”
“The community actually owns one,” the teacher said. “We used to have a tuba player, but frankly, I can’t remember him playing much. He must have been timid and played softly.”
They retrieved the tuba from a storage room, and Zack took it home to practice. He knew music brands and knew this was a high-end instrument, unlike the old high school one he used to play. That one looked like a car that had been entered in a crash-up derby and lost—multiple times. He couldn’t wait to try this one.
When he got home, he sanitized the mouthpiece, put it into the tuba, and blew—nothing. Zack couldn’t even get air to go in it. He tried a couple more times, then removed the bell . He reached a coat hanger into it, and the first thing he fished out was a petrified hot dog. More food followed, along with Mardi Gras confetti and other unimaginable things from performances and parades the band had been part of. It was no wonder the previous guy couldn’t be heard. He couldn’t even play it. Zack wondered if he ever did.
When Zack was sure he had everything cleaned out of it, he gave the tuba a chemical bath that only band repair technicians do. When it was all dry and put back together, he raised it to his lips, and a beautiful, deep sound resonated from it.
The following week, when the first tuba part came, Zack played, and the band teacher stopped leading. Everyone turned to look at Zack.
The band teacher smiled. “Zack, that was beautiful.”
Zack grinned. “It’s amazing the sound a person can get out of something that has been used as a storage unit after you empty and clean it.”
