How to play the harmonica

This one goes out to my number one fan.

Every night before bed, I stand at the top of the stairs, harmonica in hand.

It’s a very old instrument, having been in my family for generations.

My grandmother used to play it when she was young.

I push the air through impossibly small vents — softly, at first because I’m never sure if I’m holding the thing right-side up. Then I try to figure out how to take a breath without pausing my performance. Do I inhale through the vents too? Sometimes, I think I might suffocate. I usually end up meandering across all the vents, exhaling, inhaling and sometimes trying to sing a little bit through the holes.

As you might expect, it all sounds dreadful. An orgy of drunken elephants.

And every night, after my performance, from somewhere downstairs, I hear powerful applause. My mother drops everything she’s doing to bring her hands together for her boy, the former drug doer who is now a harmonica-huffing prodigy.

It’s been like this every single night for the last six months, at least.

And you know what? I’m not getting any better. But I’m starting to figure out how to make the song last longer. What does the future hold for my harmonica playing? What strange and terrifying lullabies will I subject my mother to in the days ahead? Only hell truly knows.

But one thing is certain. I won't stop. Can't stop. And, night after night, my mom will respond with the same maniacal applause.

“Thank you very much,” I holler from atop the stairs.

No, really, mom. Thank you very much. And good night.