The Nitty-Gritty of It

The hospice nurse examined the printout.

It says you could have been a very mediocre trumpet player, she said.

How mediocre? asked Betty.

It just says very, said the nurse. See?

The nurse showed Betty the paper. Sure enough, that’s all it said.

Wow, said Betty.

You sound unimpressed, said the nurse.

I thought it would say more, said Betty. I thought there’d be more to it.

It’s direct, said the nurse. It gets right to the point. The nitty-gritty of it.

I can see that, said Betty.

It’s amazing, though, right? said the nurse. To be able to tell you that much?

I guess so, said Betty.

The nurse stared at Betty for a beat.

Do you want me to go get you a trumpet? said the nurse.

I don’t know, said Betty. You have a trumpet here?

I think I saw one in the dumpster out back, said the nurse.

A dumpster trumpet? said Betty. I don’t know.

I can clean it up, said the nurse. I mean, I’ve got some cleaner. I’ve got a rag. I’ve got two rags.

Betty looked at her shoes. A bird struck the window. There was a loud thump and then a softer thud.

I’ve got two rags, repeated the nurse. I can spiff it up. Make it shine. I’ve even got some disinfectant for the…what is it called? The lips? The mouth? Where you blow in. You won’t get hepatitis. That’s my promise to you.

This all sounds so enticing, said Betty.

I’ll go get it, said the nurse. I’ll get it and you can decide later. I don’t know why someone threw out a trumpet anyway. There’s a bicycle in there too. I’m taking that. I’m taking it home. There’s half a pumpkin. That can stay.

Betty made her little hands into fists.

Be-bop, said the nurse, pretending to play a trumpet as she walked out of the room. Bee-dee-bop.