I kept my head down, intent on getting the timing right. The next track was tricky because I had to boost the frequency so the songs blended, but the payoff was huge. It was a local singer who’d been around since Dad was a kid. Everyone knew the song, but they’d never heard it like this, sped up and mixed with a beat. The crowd started to cheer and I got swept up in their energy. All of sudden, my hands flew between tracks. I forgot I was in front of everyone. Instead, it was just me, my headphones, and the turntables.
Halfway through my set, I looked at the crowd and laughed. All the joy and relief of playing my music spilled out of me. I belonged up here. I could spin.
- 12 -
Lou
I watched my sister in disbelief. I wasn’t going to lie, I’d been worried. She might have been a trainwreck. I’d been ready to flip a breaker if I had to, to save her from embarrassing herself.
I held up my phone and zoomed in on her, taking a video. The crowd liked her mixes. At first, it was tentative; people hung back waiting to see what she’d do. It was a mob-mentality thing. No one wanted to show they liked her music until someone else did. But once a few people started getting into it, it was like the floodgates opened. A fifteen-year-old who’d never DJ’d in public before, and she was killing it. Good girl, Dizz! I muttered to myself, sort of in a big-brotherly stupor. She was better than I’d expected. She had a presence on that platform.
It was almost the end of the song and her eyes flicked to the door, probably checking to see if DJ Erika had arrived yet.
“Keep going,” I said, gesturing with my hands. No sign of Erika meant she had to keep the tunes spinning. She looked freaked out for a second — her eyes got round and scared — but then she set her mouth and pulled some records out of the pile beside her.
She was halfway into another song when the door opened and a gust of wind swept in. DJ Erika stood there, a laptop bag of gear over one shoulder and a cart with wheels holding the rest of it. “Coming through,” she said breathlessly to the people in her way.
“Erika!” I shouted over the music.
“Oh my god! I’m sorry, Lou!” She threw one arm around my neck and the suitcase almost tipped over. “Traffic was brutal.”
I took the bag from her and moved to the side.
“Who’s that?” she asked, pausing to listen.
“My little sister. Dizzy.”
“Your sister? Isn’t she like ten?” Erika laughed and craned her neck to see.
“Fifteen. She’s pretty good, huh?”
Erika listened for a few minutes. “How long has she been DJing?”
“She’s been spinning for about a year, but it’s her first time doing a gig.”
Erika tilted her head at me like I was joking. “Seriously? She’s a lot better than I was at fifteen!” The tempo picked up on Dizzy’s mix and the crowd shouted its approval. Erika shook her head appreciatively. There was no point in barging to the front while Dizzy had things under control, so Erika and I hung at the back, waiting for the song to finish.
Looking at Erika, I was reminded of the embarrassing crush I’d had on her through high school. It had ebbed a little over the years, but she was still a super-hot girl. Kind of edgy. Cool to think that a girl like her, from our neighbourhood, was becoming the go-to DJ at clubs and music festivals. “So, what’s new with you?” she asked.
I silently groaned. Why did people have to ask that? I knew she was being polite, checking in with me, but there was nothing new with me. For a second, I thought about inventing a story: I was going backpacking across Europe; I was moving out to B.C.; I got accepted to business school; I was starting a band. Instead, I shrugged. “The usual,” I said, like I was okay with it. “How about you?”
Her face lit up. “I’m playing at a music festival in Italy this summer! I just found out. There’s an all-female lineup. I can’t wait.”
“Wow. That’s great. You’re big time.” She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she liked the compliment.
“Yeah, still schlepping my own gear, though.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Might be your sister one day,” she said. I watched Dizzy move the controls, so intent. Erika was right, she had talent. The crowd was feeling her music. I held up my phone to record the rest of her set. It was easy to detach myself from what was going on around me when I stood behind the camera. “I’m going to move up front. You coming?” Erika asked.
I shook my head. “I’m going to stay back here, keep an eye on things.”
Erika moved her bag and case behind the cash desk. I watched her make her way through the crowd. She had so much ahead of her, I wondered why she ever came back. Jeremy and Dizzy had things to look forward to also: another year of college for Jer and Dizzy had her DJing; Dad had jamming with his buddies. I didn’t have anything. No bright spot to move toward. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. There was no reason, other than force of habit, that made me get out of bed in the morning.
I didn’t want to be that guy, the one with the beard and the tie-dye shirt living in my high school glory years. Not that they even were glory years. I’d hated high school — well, not hated, but it wasn’t like I’d been a stellar student. I hadn’t played sports and I hadn’t won any student leadership awards. I just went, hung out with friends, and worked. All that had been okay when I was a kid, but people were moving past me, finding what they wanted to do with their lives, and here I was: same job, same store, same life.
There had to be more. The question was how to find it?
- 13 -
Dizzy
“What a way to start the night! Did you know that was DJ Dizzy’s first time up here?” The crowd clapped and cheered; a few people turned to look at me and grinned. I beamed back. I stood at the cash desk watching DJ Erika set up. She pointed at me from the DJ booth. “DJ Dizzy, you were fire!”
Her words made me flush with pride. Dad slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a hug. “I had no idea that’s what you were doing down here all the time. I thought you just liked Jeremy.”
“Dad!” I swatted at him, grateful that Jeremy was too far away to hear him.
“Let’s keep the groove going,” Erika said with a fist pump. The crowd gave a cheer of encouragement and she started her first track. I watched as Erika moved smoothly between the turntables, adjusting the volume and tempo of each track so they flowed seamlessly together. She used a laptop, the screen an ever-changing chart of colour that moderated the songs. She read the computer like a book to gauge the beat of the music and adjust the controls. No wonder her music always sounded so polished. Thousands of songs, downloaded from Beatport.com, were only a mouse click away.
DJ Erika didn’t just stand behind the turntables, she was part of the show. She danced a little and engaged the audience, gesturing for them to build excitement. She controlled the room, like the leader of a parade.
My phone buzzed with a text. OMG! It was Maya. You were amazing!!!!!!!! I smiled at the row of exclamation points. Lou sent a vid. Post it on YouTube! I spun around, trying to find Lou. He was pressed against the wall, a head taller than most of the crowd, recording the show on his phone. He’d post the whole thing on YouTube later, including my opening set.
By the time DJ Erika played her last song, it was almost midnight and Dad was getting antsy about shutting things down. Luckily, we didn’t have neighbours to worry about. On one side was a vacant lot. The owner was asking way too much for it, according to Dad, and it had been sitting that way for years. Al’s Hardware & Vacuum Repair took up the building next door, but they closed at six o’clock and the top floors of their building were used for storage. The neighbourhood business association liked that we had events. It brought life to our block: the attendees spilled over to the bars and restaurants nearby after the show was over.
People collected their jackets off the coatracks and stood in clumps outside the store, not wanting to head home yet. My brain buzzed with music and the euphori
c glow of having played my first set. While Dad, Lou, and Jeremy shepherded people out the door, I helped Erika pack up.
“Thanks,” she said as I handed her some cords, coiled tightly in my hand. “So, where’d you learn to spin like that? You were totally old school.” She’d taken off her leather jacket and slung it over a chair during the set. Her jet-black, shaggy hair fell into her eyes and she had a cool, edgy style with her loose tank top and leather leggings. If I wanted to spin, I had to up my game in the style department, or get Maya to help me.
“Jeremy taught me the basics. I practise a lot, though.”
“I could tell.”
“How’d you get started?”
“In my basement,” she said, grinning. “I had an older brother, too.” She nodded at Lou. “If I wanted to hang out with him, it was a pre-rec.”
“Is he a DJ, too?”
“No, an accountant.” She laughed. “But he still spins for fun.” She slipped her laptop into its case. “I can’t believe it was your first gig. You didn’t seem nervous at all.”
I thought back to that first moment when I stood in front of everyone and the way my stomach felt like it was going to come unglued from my body and somersault onto the floor.
“I was, at first. But once I got going, things just happened on their own. Does that make sense?”
Erika nodded. “Uh-huh. Only another DJ would understand that. It’s like you get into a zone and you don’t have to think anymore.” She leaned over and pulled a few cords from the back of the controller and wound them up as she talked. “If I was going to give you one piece of advice, it would be to tell a story with your music. There needs to be a beginning, middle, and end. Take everyone on a journey with you. Let the music be your voice.”
Jeremy had told me the same thing. I hadn’t done that tonight — I’d been too focused on not screwing up — but I got what she meant, now that I’d played in front of a crowd. I’d seen their reaction to my songs, the energy they gave and how I fed off it.
A cab pulled up outside the store. “Look, send me some stuff to listen to, okay? A lot of people helped me out when I was getting started.”
The USB with my mixes was in my pocket. I pulled it out. “I’ve got this,” I said and handed it to her.
“Cool,” she said and took it, slipping it into her laptop case. “I’ll listen to it later.”
“Your ride is here.” Jeremy walked over to us and picked up some of Erika’s gear. “Anything else I can grab?”
She shook her head. “Take care, everyone!” she called out. Dad looked up from his cash counting and grinned at her. Lou picked up a bag of records — the ones she’d asked for in lieu of payment — and held the door for her, then walked her to the waiting car.
As the cab sped away with Erika tucked into the back seat, I wondered about her life. Zipping between shows all around the country, even the world. As a female DJ, she was in demand. Would that be me one day?
“She’s pretty cool, huh?” Jeremy said as we draped the sheet over the DJ booth.
“So cool.”
“You won’t forget the little people when you become a big deal like her, right?”
Before I could answer, Lou came over and held his phone out for me to see. “Check this out.” The Mixcloud homepage popped up on his screen. He searched DJ Dizzy and a list of the songs I’d played tonight came up.
I looked at him warily. There were already some comments. He scrolled through. “They’re all good, Dizz! Look at this one, Nice beat. I like the groove.” I felt myself relax. “There’s one here from Italy.” The three of us huddled around the phone reading and then switched to Snapchat and Instagram to see what had been posted to #DJDizzy. There was a post from DJ Erika, probably written in the back of her cab. @vinyltrap #DJDizzy just opened for me! #firstgig #newtalent.
“Hey, look at this one.” Lou pointed to a tweet. Want to check #DJDizzy out. When’s her next gig?
The cash drawer slammed shut and Dad walked toward us, yawning. “Okay, kids. The old man is turning in. Lock up after Jeremy leaves, okay?” Dad gave me a kiss on the forehead and slapped Jeremy and Lou on the back — guy code for goodnight.
“So, are you ready for a regular gig? You and me can headline the Friday Night Spins.” Jeremy said.
“Seriously?” I asked. Jeremy and Lou both nodded. I’d have to prep more songs and build up my playlist, but the thought was exciting.
After Jeremy left, Lou turned the deadbolt to lock the door. I pulled the metal security grill across the windows, secured it, and flicked the neon sign off. With just Lou and I in the store, it felt eerily quiet. My voice, when I spoke, sounded loud and echoey. “Tonight was one of the best nights of my life. Ever. Thanks for organizing it. And for letting me play. You were nervous, weren’t you?”
Lou started to shake his head, but I knew my brother well enough to tell when he was lying. “Maybe a bit.” He gave me a tired smile and met my eyes. “But, Dizz, you can spin.” He clicked off the bank of lights at the front and headed for the stairs. The store was pitched into darkness, just one row of lights still on at the back. “You coming?”
“Yeah, in a minute.” I listened to his footsteps retreat and looked around the store. It had been full of energy an hour ago, but now it sat still, like a sleeping child. The DJ booth, covered with a white sheet, stood on its own. Standing behind the turntables had felt right, like that was where I belonged.
- 14 -
Ray
There were some moments when I looked at Lou and Dizzy and thought, Damn. They aren’t kids anymore. How’d that happen? Tonight, watching Dizzy behind the turntables was like an out-of-body experience. That was my girl up there! I wished the guys had been able to see her. They’d have been so proud.
I got a pang thinking about Georgia, too. She missed out on all of this. Sure, she missed the stuff no parent wanted to deal with: Lou in trouble at school, Dizzy crying about something she wouldn’t talk about. But she also missed the good times, the moments when I thought, These kids are going to turn out all right.
I’d grown up with them, too. There’d been nights when they were little where I could’ve stayed out all night, gone back to who I was before Georgia, before the kids. But they’d changed me, made me realize caring about someone doesn’t make you weak. Having responsibilities, like the kids and the store, made me look at the world differently. Seeing them turn out decent, well, that was icing on the cake.
I hadn’t screwed them up after all.
- 15 -
Dizzy
“I can’t believe I missed it!” Maya fumed. She’d shown up at the store first thing in the morning with cinnamon buns and apologies. No matter how many times I told her that I wasn’t angry, her brow stayed furrowed in a frown.
“How’s your sister?”
“Lily? She’s fine. Mom waited for five hours and all the doctor did was tell her to use Polysporin.”
“Well, at least she’s okay.”
“Yeah.” Maya sighed and stuffed the pillow under her chin. We were hanging out in my room, trying to decide how to spend the drizzly Saturday.
“Do you want to go to Vintage Village?” she asked.
I groaned and made gagging noises. I’d leave Maya’s favourite second-hand store smelling like mothballs. She tossed a pillow at me. “Do you have a better idea?” she asked.
Anything was better than trolling through racks of old clothes, but I didn’t say that to Maya because it was her number-one fun thing to do. “Fine,” I agreed, “but only if you let me play some new mixes for you. I need to practise.”
“Deal,” she said and we headed downstairs.
Dad was talking with a customer. I could tell right away it was his favourite type: the “vinyl virgin.” A walk-in who was a music lover, but only listened to music online. To Dad, this was a national tragedy. It was his secret mission to convert all of them to vinyl. I could hear him espousing the benefits of owning and collecting records. He’d show off th
e artwork, and then put the person in a listening booth with a stack of records. “You’ve never really heard (insert favourite artist here) until you’ve heard him/them/her on vinyl.” He’d look at them with such pity that they’d end up buying a record, or maybe more, and promising to pick up a turntable, convinced by Dad that the purchase had changed their life. Dad’s sales skills weren’t put on, either. He truly believed he was bettering people’s lives, one record at a time.
While Lou worked the cash desk, Jeremy created a display at the front of the store.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, walking over to Jeremy. He had a staple gun in one hand and a poster in the other. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized whose poster he held.
“Someone dropped these off. Thought I should make a display for Georgia, try to drum up some business for her older stuff.”
I tried to keep my face impassive, but when he said, “What? You don’t like it?” I realized I hadn’t done a very good job of hiding my feelings. What he was creating was cool; he’d folded the posters into fans and stapled them together so they hung like origami flowers on the wall. “I was going to put up some trivia, too, like what was her first number one, stuff like that. Lou said he could make it into an interactive quiz online with QR codes.”
“It’s good,” I said and forced a smile. “Dad knows you’re doing this?” We stocked Georgia Waters’s albums, but I felt there was a haze that hung over them, that we, as her forgotten family, had to hack through. Did customers notice the shadow flicker over our faces when they said her name? The hesitation we had when we reached for one of her albums, carefully catalogued by title?
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