The Gift Standoff

“Roger! Hello, Roger…over here!”

“Oh…Mrs. Pembleton.”

“Roger, I have something for you…a gift. I saw it and immediately thought of you.”

“What is it, Mrs. Pembleton?”

“It’s a tuba.”

“A tuba?”

“Yes, a tuba. It’s a musical instrument.”

“I know that.”

“I want you to have it.”

“But I don’t play the tuba.”

“Yes, but you see, it comes with sheet music and everything. It’s very lovely.”

“I’m certain it is, Mrs. Pembleton. However, as I said, I don’t play the tuba.”

“Perhaps someday you will, though.”

“No. I have no desire to play the tuba.” 

“Perhaps you could learn, Roger.”

“Doubtful. I haven’t a drop of musical ability in my body. Can’t sing. Can’t whistle. Can’t even hum properly, to be honest.”

“I’m certain you will enjoy this. Here, come take it. No charge at all.”

“Mrs. Pembleton. I am appreciative. However, I would get no use from it. So thank you, but no thank you.”

“Really, Roger. Come take it. You will like it.”

“But I don’t want it.”

“But I don’t want it either. And surely, somebody must have it. It can’t just go to nobody.”

“I agree. Somebody should have it. But that somebody should be somebody else.”

“Who is this somebody else that should have it then?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Pembleton. Perhaps somebody else who plays the tuba.”

“Well, when you find this somebody else who plays the tuba, give it to them, with my love.”

“Mrs. Pembleton. You could just as soon find somebody else as I could.”

“But I don’t know somebody else who plays the tuba.”

“Nor do I.”

“So it’s settled. You will find somebody who plays the tuba and give it to them.”

“No. It is not settled in the least. I won’t be spending time looking for somebody who plays the tuba in order to give it to them. It is yours, and you should do that.”

“You don’t have to get snippy. I’m just trying to give you a gift.”

“Perhaps you could give it to a musical school. You know, one of those academies that teaches children to play musical instruments.”

“Oooo. That’s a good idea, Roger. You always were a bright one. Here, now, give it to those academy children. With my love, of course.”

“Why can’t you give it to an academy?”

“Because I don’t know any musical academies, Roger.”

“I don’t know any musical academies either, Mrs. Pembleton.”

“Then why did you suggest it if you do not know any?”

“I was merely giving you an idea of a place that might have need of such a thing.”

“I don’t need more ideas. I already had one – to give it to you.”

“Mrs. Pembleton, why do you even have a tuba?”

“It belonged to my Harold, rest his soul. Always liked oom-pah bands, he did. But…he never got around to learning…I’m afraid.”

“Ohhh…”

“Perhaps…perhaps it is time this makes its way to the rubbish.”

“Ummm…you know what, Mrs. Pembleton…I suppose I could take it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Roger dear. It would mean so much to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know, Roger. You remind me, quite a bit actually, of a younger Harold. That’s why I thought of you.”

“That’s flattering, Mrs. Pembleton. In what way?”

“Oh, well, he was a kind soul. He’d give you the shirt off his back.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“He had a similar build. And dark wavy hair like yours, too.”

“He sounds like a lovely man, Mrs. Pembleton.”

“Yes. He was. And he was a spineless fool. Could never say no to anything either. How do you think I came to own that wretched whale of an instrument?”

The Gift Standoff

9 Circles Fiction

Photo Credit: Nathan Bingle

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