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  • Writer's picturejshannon727

A Night in Nashville

It turned out that the Bray City Rollers were rehearsing where I’d spotted the advertisement. Once Raffi and I showed the burly doorman our Department of Farmland Security I.D. badges, he allowed us to enter.

“Me, me, me, meee.”

I was delighted to hear the familiar voice of my brother, Flynn practicing his vocal cords. We entered a dimly lit studio. Flynn stood between two men holding banjos and a young woman seated at a drum set. They all wore Scottish plaid bandanas around their necks.

“Who’s there?” Flynn called out. Then as he recognized my scent, he bounded toward me. “Brother! What brings you to Nashville?”

“Fog,” I laughed. “We’re supposed to be in Montana.”

Flynn nibbled playfully on my ear. “You don’t have fleas anymore,” he laughed.

Raffi peered at my fur with new interest. “He’s joking,” I told him.

“Let’s play these folks a song,” Flynn called out to band. Immediately, the girl beat a cool rhythm on the drums and the men strummed their banjoes. Flynn brayed, and Raffi tapped his enormous toes.

A waitress brought buckets of water for Flynn and I and bottled beverages for the band and Raffi.

“Does your co-worker here know that you used to wet the bed?” Flynn giggled.

Raffi raised his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline.

“You used to be afraid of the dark?” I rejoined.

Flynn took a long drink from the bucket. Sentimentally, he said, “Well brother, we’re all grown up now.”

I set my teeth on his plaid bandana and plucked it off. “Not all grown,” I laughed.

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