Sean Connery Played The Trumpet
Last night, Sean Connery appeared in my dreams. He sat motionless at a gala event for forgotten celebrities, sporting a tan wicker hat and a black checkered blazer. He neither spoke nor acknowledged the crowd, but we all knew he was there.
An orchestra shuffled onto a stage and struggled to play a melody. The crowd grew uneasy and fell silent while the sweaty musicians suddenly started to sputter, yet my eyes were fixed on this magical bearded man. The lights dimmed slowly and my dream started to unravel! Sleep was ending and I had yet to talk with Sean Connery.
Then it happened.
The man, the legend, proudly rose from his solitary seat and produced a trumpet from the folds of his garments. A spotlight materialized and encircled the aged actor. Before he even played a single note, the crowd erupted with cheers and applause.
Mr. Connery started to wail on that big brass cannon. The masses, worked into a frenzy, tore at their clothes as if removing fabric engulfed in flames. The orchestra members bowed low to the ground and the conductor fell lifeless from his shrouded platform.
I looked at Sean and he looked at me. He nodded as we smiled with mutual appreciation. I felt a presence close to my chest and discovered a trumpet between my hands.
This was my moment, my time to shine.
I raised the heavy instrument to both lips, quivering at the anticipation of synchronous musical bliss with James Bond himself.
I awoke before a single note was played, my cat pouncing on my slumbering chest.
Yet there, in the ether of a cold and frigid Tuesday in November, I can still hear Sean Connery playing a distant trumpet. Perhaps, one day, he will play for you.
