Drummer Boy

Was talking to my neighbor in the driveway today–her chubby little one propped on her hip.

“Did you hear about Tommy’s boy?” she said, with a look.  “Killed in a car accident–no seat belt.”

I didn’t know Tommy’s boy, even though he lived just a couple doors down. I used to see a bunch of kids–13, 14, long-haired and droopy-drawered, laughing and yelling and scuffling up and down the street. But I never knew one from the other.

I know he played drums–had a band that practiced every Saturday afternoon. Loud, angry drums. Sometimes I’d get irritated, but I never really minded all that much.

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About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard, doing things with my grandsons and spending time with my beau on his beautiful 22 acres in north central Florida.
This entry was posted in death, emotions, human interest, psychology, sadness, spirituality and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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