On the floor buried under piles of vinyl discs and old photos I found one of Ramon’s harps. It had a crack through the middle. It’s as cold and dry as I imagined it to be. It’s 16 holes long and filled with dust and sand. It’s a chromatic harmonica, I’d imagine early 20th century. With rust through its reeds and chambers this was an instrument that had lived through a greater epoch than I. The name “breeze” is inscribed on the back. It’s quite an antiquated specimen.
I went to the top deck and looked across at the other boats. I watched as a middle aged woman cut the rope tying her boat from the dock. Her young child holding the ropes and folding them away. Their boat began to gently float from the walkway and soon enough was on its way out of the water lodge.
I looked down at the harmonica in my hands and twirled it around. I crunched my fingers over it. In one movement I threw it over board. This was all mine now not Ramon’s.
Flip
