The photo shot with the blathering idiot and the accordion as the candidate on the Pro-Accordion Party ticket for the highest office in the land was just short of being a disaster.
First, he was not a natural at holding the accordion and wondered if anybody every really was. It seemed an instrument better suited for playing sitting in a chair, or on a bar stool.
Then there was the fingering issue. They wanted him to look like he knew what he was playing and not simply have his fingers splayed across the keys as if he were randomly smashing them.
On top of that was the bellows. He needed to have the bellows open wide on some shorts and closed tight on other photographs.
“Remember our party slogan,” said the consultant with the florid lips. “Say it with me—”
The blathering idiot closed his eyes and said, “We are the party that is wide enough to welcome everybody and small enough to focus on your needs.”
In his imagination, the blathering idiot could picture the consultant made a motion with his hands, opening them wide on the first part and collapsing them together when he said small enough.
“No, no, no,” the consultant said. “The word is broad as in broad enough to welcome everybody but focused enough to understand your individual needs.”
“But I don’t know how to play the accordion,” the blathering idiot said for perhaps the fortieth time since this photography session had started.
“That’s okay,” the consultant said. “I’ve already told you that puts you in touch with most of our potential voters. They don’t know, either. It will give you the common touch.”
The blathering idiot opened his mouth to say something when the consultant said, “ I don’t care about you not wanting to be a common man. Get over it. You are.”
The blathering idiot looked at the door to the studio and willed it to open and for Lydia to walk through it with Xenia. Xenia was in school today, but she would understand all this and explain it to her. But right now she was in class learning to play the recorder. The blathering idiot wished he knew how to play the recorder, wished he was in her class learning right now.
But the door did not budge, and neither did the consultant.
The blathering idiot had a sinking feeling and he felt a little dizzy. He looked at the door again, and it appeared tilted, maybe even spinning.
The blathering idiot had a sinking feeling, as if he might have just crossed over … into The Twilight Zone.
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