Deesis (de’-e-sis): An adjuration (solemn oath) or calling to witness; or, the vehement expression of desire put in terms of “for someone’s sake” or “for God’s sake.”
“For God’s sake, put that damn harmonica away!” He was playing the new “song” he had learned: “Three Blind Mice.” The harmonica’s blow holes were numbered, and you learned to play “by the numbers.” “Three Blind Mice” was 3,2,1, 3,2,1. Pate hadn’t gotten past 3,2,1 and was blowing it over and over. It was making me crazy, but he wouldn,bubt cut it out. He thought it was funny that I was so irritated by 3,2,1.
I said “I swear I’ll jam that thing down your throat if you don’t quit it!” Pete laughed and blew another 3,2,1. I grabbed the harmonica and threw on the floor. I crushed it under my Blundstones. Pete looked at me like he wanted to kill me. He came at me and gave me a shove. I shoved him back. We were having a good old shoving match. “You killed my harmonica you bastard!” he yelled.
Suddenly, the crushed harmonica played 3,2,1, all by itself from the floor. We stopped shoving and ran out of the house. We were both totally freaked out . We heard 3,2,1, coming out of the open living room window. Pete said, “I guess it is irritating as hell. I’m sorry for bothering you with it. We need to do something.”
We decided to “kill” it—we weren’t thinking clearly—we could’ve made millions with a “ghost harmonica,” but instead, we went in for the kill: two idiots. I lit a fire in the fireplace. We were going to burn 3,2,1. Ashes can’t play music. We figured it would be fitting to play some harmonica music while we watched him burn. We put on Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold.” I bent over to pick him up and heave him into the flames. But, when the Young’s harmonica solo began, even though he was crushed, 3.2..1 perfectly mimicked it. We both stepped away from where he was lying on the floor. We put on John Mayall’s “Room to Move.” Again, 3,2,1 mimicked the lively opening harmonica solo. Me and Pete were dancing around 3,2,1 like a couple of maniacs. I yelled, “This too good to be true,” 3,2,1 went silent, and never mimicked anything ever again. We kept him to memorialize the amazing musical experience he had given us. Both of us never quite believed it had actually happened. Maybe it was the pot.
POSTSCRIPT
I bought Pete a new harmonica and paid for lessons. Every once in a while he’ll blow a 3,2,1 in memory of the magic harmonica that was too good to be true.
