Great Uncle Samuel’s house smelled of an odd combination of aromas Sammy had never experienced in his life. This was what drew Sammy’s attention, not the ramblings of the old man. His great uncle was prone to “tall tales,” as his father called them. Stories about famous people who the old man probably never met.
Sammy barely listened as the old-timer rambled on about his medals and some beach called “Normandy.” Sammy wished he could be on a beach right now, instead of being stuck in an Iowa farm house, listening to an old man telling war stories.
Sammy listened to the familiar, rhythmic tone of his great uncle’s voice, and again tried his level best to look for some trait he shared with his name sake. The old man’s nose hooked while his did not. His hair was messy and while gray had long since won the battle, Sammy could see speck of black. Sammy’s own hair was light blond. The only similarity seemed to be the eyes. Light blue eyes, what his mother called “sky blue.” Everyone said that Sammy had his father’s eyes, but he knew that everyone lied. His eyes were his great uncles, and his alone.
“Sammy, you want any more lemonade?” His great uncle asked getting up.
“Sure.” He said, startled from his day dreaming. When the old man left the room, Sammy took the liberty of snooping around. He found an old photo of his great uncle surrounded by men with musical instruments.
“Ah, you found me with Miles!” His great uncle chuckled.
“Who?”
“Miles Davis boy. You don’t know who Miles Davis was? I’ll be right back. He hurried out of the room, and came back with a round disk. The old man placed it on a machine with what looked like a horn at the top, and placed a needle on it.
“Now, you sit back and listen boy.” His Great Uncle instructed. “Why I remember the day I met Miles, it was a June morning in nineteen…” the old man droned on again, and his voice joined the music, accompanying it perfectly in pitch and rhythm.