The Pots and Pans Band

Sal banged the pot with a cooking stick. The sound reverberated in a satisfying hollow clang. Beside him Anik tapped a pan with his fingertips to create a light pattering rhythm.

In Common, Anik noted, “This almost sounds like ‘Without A Chance’.”

“Nah,” Sal countered. “It’s more like ‘The Monster Inside’.” He grabbed a second dented pan and tipped it upright in front of him. “Listen,” he tapped the second pan rapidly and hummed in tune.

“Yeah, kind of,” Anik conceded. “Try the chorus.” He alternated tapping between the pan on his lap and the floor, creating a disjointed offbeat.

Sal joined in with his makeshift drum set and began to sing in their language. The cacophony resembled a clattering vendor’s cart rolling down the street more than music, but they both grinned in spite of themselves.

As they reached the pause before the second verse, Sal broke off in Common to rib Anik with his elbow, “Don’t make me sing alone.”

Anik scowled, “No.”

“C’mon. Sing!”


Sal rolled his eyes. “Sissy.” He belted out the second verse and pounded his pots with greater fervor. Thudding vibrations jumped up the sticks to his fingertips, and the words built in his chest until they nearly exploded from his lips.

Sal’s voice sprung from his soul. Each word he spoke, he meant. In response, his singing dug into the deepest recesses of his heartfelt emotion to give meaning to every word he sang. This song’s lyrics related fear and lack of control – speaking of monsters and humans and how they are nothing but the same. With Sal singing, they also told the story of how the singer discovered this for himself too late.

The brothers reached the bridge. Clanging turned into muted tapping once more. Their imaginations filled in the blanks where back-up singers would harmonize and stringed instruments would add a counterpoint melody. By degrees, they increased the volume, and by the final chorus they lost themselves in the memory of a song.

Around the corner from the kitchen, the deadbolt in the front door thunked open. Vinny stepped in with plastic bags rustling around his hands. He raised an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let Vera enter.

Her snout twitched, and her tail switched in amusement.

The boys in the kitchen faltered. They sat in a puddle of embarrassment on the kitchen tile.

Vinny slid his shoes off. In Common, he chided, “I don’t think Vera would appreciate your taste in music.

Anik lowered his head sheepishly, but Sal grinned straight into Vera’s wolfish eyes and cheekily twirled his stick.

Vera folded her arms and poked, “What were you singing about?”

Anik glanced away in his little telltale sign, “Oh, just about, you know…stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Vera nodded skeptically. “Vinny,” She prodded a claw into his side. He waved her off. “What were they singing about?”

In their language, Vinny responded, “Home.”

A/N: Here’s some harmless fun in dichotomy to Sal’s bad day. And, hey! Meet the brothers’ “big sister”, Vera. She’s cool.

Common is the local language, if you didn’t catch that, but the boys prefer their native tongue.

Particle Dust Archive

Copyright © 2017 Dante Morose

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