The Secret Order of the Oboes in the Storm
When Patrick Slattery was twelve years old, he founded The Secret Order of the Oboes in the Storm.
The Order's ongoing mission and creed, as inked by Patrick on the inside back cover of a spiral-bound notebook:
1. To stalk through storms in tight, black ponchos like hungry panthers in the rain.
2. To find ourselves beneath the windows of the cutest girls in school, whereupon backlit by lightning flashes and accompanied by thunder, we will be desired for the music we play.
3. To bring about, through an all-around air of danger and mystery, the renewed worldwide appreciation for woodwind music in general and especially that of the oboe.
Patrick agonized over the selection of the Order's other four charter members. A new Order just starting out, demands a solid five--of this Patrick was certain. An odd number is crucial of course, for the symmetry of objects doesn't translate to that of souls. And while three seems like a empty cause, seven feels like a mob.
"It is," Patrick muttered to himself while pouring over yearbook photos, "those disparate attributes each member lends to an Order that place it well above a gang or group."
Patrick drew a red line through every student in the school band but himself, then flipped to the section for JV Sports. He pointed a trembling finger at the sneering letter-wearers.
"A football player!" Patrick gasped. "The Secret Order of the Oboes in the Storm needs a football player in its secret ranks."
Patrick made a short list and practiced his opening speech. Tomorrow he would single them out and cross the quad, and find the Little John to his Robin Hood, the Fezzik to his Westley, the Obelix to his Asterix... Well, so to speak.
Patrick went through the motions of preparing for bed, but with faraway eyes and a hero's stride. He turned out the light, listened to the rain and knew that by the very next storm, things wouldn't be the same.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 12:36 AM
8 comments
8 Comments:
I can play the French Horn, and have often been complimented for my mouthing technique, the Oboe can be that far removed. I can bind my breasts and talk low if its a male only order, one needn't worry, I'm not that delicate. Tell patrick a boy named "bob" is keen to join the Order.
Patrick Slattery sounds like the kind of kid who is determined to strike dead sexy poses and pray for the proper response from beautiful cute girls.
Of course, the likely result is that Patrick will get thumped by the football player for his request and that the cutest girls will spray Mace at him from their lighted windows. Reality bites sometimes.
Admit it, Latigo. Patrick's your cousin, right?
Hey can I join? I took 3 years of Violin.
I was beaten to death with an oboe once. It took me a long time to recover.
This is why I only play stringed instruments. If an oboe breaks in a fight, what do you have? Splinters.
If a guitar breaks in a fight, why you have six garrote!
Am sorry to get swamped in the detail, but "tight, black ponchos ........" Personally I look extraordinary in "tight, black" things, but how practical is a tight black poncho? One would possibly not be able to reach for your holster/light a cigarillo/access your front door keys. [Obviously depending on your definition of tightness}
I mean if this is the situation why not stealthily wander, wrapped in silver duct tape as really slinky elephants?
Hmmm. I must stop and wonder. Did he pick the JV football player because he knew he could mouth the oboe or did the JV player have to accustom himself to the mysteries of the reed?
I'm actually not certain Patrick will quite realize the opportunity your horn mouthing technique presents his Order, Helga Von Porno--he's only twelve after all. But I'll pass your info on nonetheless if you insist.
I sure hope not Slarrow--he seems like a real nerd, you know?
Don't ask me TSP--ask Patrick. (But I'm pretty sure he's going to shriek that violins aren't woodwind and then try to poke your eye out with an oboe.)
But recover you did Monkeypotpie, of that I'm glad. Don't take splinters lightly. Splinters can infect--not always, but often.
Truly Anonymous, these questions really should be posed Patrick Slattery. Between you and me, I think stalking around in silver, slinky duct tape would be ultra-sexy.
I'm not sure Amandarama--a little of both maybe? (We should all be so lucky as to have a Little John, Fezzik or Obelix by our side.)
You played it, didn't you. The oboe, I mean.
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