A Ball and a Call

When I came in from school today, I found Stanley laying on his back on the living room floor. He had Dad's trombone pressed to his lips. He was making a weird, wet windy noise with it.

"You've got to buzz it," I said.

He lifted the mouthpiece from his lips.

"I know that," he said. "I'm not playing the trombone." He went back to blowing.

"You're telling me," I said. "Just hurry up whatever you're doing. I'm taking you to New Edisons in half an hour."

He stopped blowing again. "Is it working?"

"No," I said. "I told you. You've got to buzz."

"And I told you I'm not playing the trombone. I'm trying to make the ball float. Is it working?"

"What ball?"

"The ping-pong ball."

He went back to blowing and I cautiously looked in the bell of the instrument. There was a ping- pong ball, sitting in the bottom, doing not much of anything.

"Nope."

"Darn," he said, before redoubling his efforts.

"Don't pass out," I said and went to get a sandwich.

Later on, when Stanley had been to New Edisons and back, Allie called.

"How are things today? Are they in good moods?"

"Not especially," I said. "There's a ping-pong ball stuck in Dad's trombone."

"A ping-pong ball?"

"Don't ask," I said. "Did you call this week?"

"Once," Allie replied, "but Dad answered, so I hung up."

"Are you in trouble?"

"Not exactly," said Allie.

"Then what's going on?" I asked.

"Gotta go," she said, and hung up.