Uilleann Pipes

“I might play the uillean pipes.” Keith slanted a glance sideways at Tobias, who was making a fine point of tuning his violin.

“I thought you played the bass,” James said.

“I do play the bass,” Keith said. “But I also play the uillean pipes.”

Asia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t ever remember you –”

“I might have picked them up in a moment of national consciousness,” Keith said.

“What are uillean pipes?” James looked slightly cornered with all of Asia’s brothers crowded into the tiny kitchen in his flat.

“The Irish equivalent of bagpipes,” Tobias said without looking up from his violin.

“Irish equivalent my foot.” Riley stood in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, grinning. “Uillean pipes sound far better than those Scottish honking geese.”

Keith broke into a grin. “A man after my own taste. Do I detect a hint of Armagh in you, m’lad?”

Riley grinned back at him. “Aye. And I hear some Ulster in you, I dare say.”

“Indeed.”

James cleared his throat. “So...how long have you been playing the uillean pipes?”

Keith started to say something, but Asia dug an elbow into his ribs, and he wheezed out, “Five years.”

“I have a set, you know,” Riley said. He reached toward the crowded table and poured himself a cup of hot cocoa. “Serenade us, why don’t you?”

Keith immediately turned a fantastic shade of red. “I, er, I’ve never performed before.”

“Why do you have a set of uillean pipes?” James asked.

Riley shrugged. “National pride. And my granddad played, too.”

“Tell you what,” Asia said, “sometime you play for us, and I will play for you.”

Tobias lifted his head sharply. “Since when do you play an instrument?”

“Didn’t you know?” James said. “Asia plays the piano. Hammers and strings.”

(299 words)