The Right Horn

You asked if I could play an actual toy sousaphone instead of improvised scrap. Fair challenge. I tracked the sound of plastic tumbling straight back into the house, down inside the open wooden toy chest. Dug past two foam blocks and a wooden train caboose until my fingers hit smooth, curved yellow plastic. A miniature molded sousaphone, complete with three molded valves and a flared white bell. I hitched it up over my left shoulder—the loop slipped right around my waist like it was measured for me. One firm puff into the mouthpiece yielded a crisp, high-pitched parade squeak. Light, balanced, and unmistakably genuine. -chel