Basie likes being the bad boy.
Of course, it hasn’t always been this way. In school, he’d been a team player. Never a guy to glissando, of course, but — you know. He got along.
And then somewhere along the way…
Who’s he kidding? Basie remembers the moment vividly.
It was a Sunday afternoon, of course. He’d been ringing with the others just like he always did. Carolling out now and again at that cute little Choral, who was brand new that year. (When he was younger, he’d really had it bad for Elegy, but — she’d become so moody lately. Choral was much cheerier, somehow.)
And then… it happened. He’d heard about it before, from one or two of the older chaps, but mostly they didn’t talk about it. Blushed. You know.
Near the end of practice he pealed out — and something broke. His perfect B — always a perfect B — came out … different.
The ringer paused. “Someone’s off,” he called, as the sound faded away. “Try again. B below middle C!”
Basie could have quit right there. He thought about it, to be frank. He rested a beat, bereft. Befuddled.
But then, in that very moment, something — something in him became.
There was no point in begrudging it. Instead, he embraced it.
So this is Basie’s life now. He can’t be anything else. Can’t be like before. He can’t… B at all.
Basie knows he might be a bell gone bad… but he can B-flat like a boss.
For the month of December, my goal is to post a piece of festive flash fiction here to the blog every day. Twenty-five stories, each 250 words or fewer — a little fictional festivity to brighten the darkest month of the year. For readers, I offer these stories as a moment of peace within a hectic month of busy. And writers? If you’d like to join me, I’ll feature any flash fiction you’d like to share!