For the first time, I was getting on a bus and leaving my neighborhood to go to a school miles away. That school year brought two significant changes. I started learning to play the flute in the fifth grade.
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(The Colonel with his secret blend of eleven herbs and spices had nothing on flute makers.) The manufacturers know how to keep us in a state of breathless longing. They’re made of silver and plated with gold or they’re a proprietary metallurgic combination. Flutes are crafted in sterling silver, Britannia silver, gold of various karats, platinum, and wood. You have your primary flute, your back-up flute, the flute that no longer suits you that you’re trying to sell, your dream flute that you’ll buy if you win the lottery, a low flute you don’t really need and will rarely play but that you covet nevertheless, the impulse-buy flute, the flute on eBay you think you’ve found a deal on that you hope no one else spots, the flute you never knew you wanted until you tried it at a flute convention-all those flutes (and possibly more, if you’re daring enough to go the Craigslist or pawn shop route).Īnd if the flutes themselves were not enough, we also have a dazzling array of materials from which to choose. It’s a story about flutes.įlute people are nodding in understanding and solidarity. Actually, it’s a tale of three flutes with brief appearances by three more flutes. In Dickensian style, it’s a tale of two flutes. It’s about a literal object of my affection-a flute. It’s a big love story, and it’s not about a person. These stories are capped at one hundred words and are about the object of the writer’s affection, sometimes a sibling or child but usually a romantic partner. The New York Times has a feature called Tiny Love Stories.
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