- 18 -
Lou
Trainspotting was one messed up book. I hadn’t read it before and the characters all spoke in Scottish slang. I had to read most of it three times before I understood what the hell they were saying. I’d stayed up late reading, but when I woke up Friday, I was looking forward to heading back downtown to the campus.
I hadn’t told Dad where I was going, just that I’d be gone for a few hours in the afternoon. He hadn’t asked any questions. Dad’s always been good about giving us our space. There’ve been times where I thought it was cuz he didn’t care, like when I was in high school. I wanted him to give me someone to rebel against. It used to piss me off that I could come home as late as I wanted and he never said anything. My friends were jealous because they got in trouble. They couldn’t believe Dad shrugged it off, saying he trusted me to make good decisions. The funny thing was, he was right, he could trust me. I’d gone through a brief tagging phase. My buddies and I would ride our skateboards like we owned the sidewalk, using the Sharpie marker I carried in my pocket to tag doors, walls, railings, mailboxes, anything we could. I guess, at the time, it was a thrill; now, it seemed stupid. The tagging came to a stop when someone tagged our washroom and I’d had to clean it off the door. Not sure if Dad knew what I’d been doing with my friends and was trying to teach me a lesson, or if it was just coincidence, but I stopped tagging after that.
I did other things, too, typical teenager stuff: smoking pot, drinking, and one unfortunate incident with firecrackers in the boys’ washroom at school, but nothing that hurt anyone and nothing I regretted. Even though Dad claimed he didn’t know what the hell he was doing being a parent, he got it right a lot of the time.
If he’d asked me where I was going today, I would have told him. Nothing to hide about sitting in on a university class. I’d googled the teacher: Professor Addison. The class she taught was called Cult Fiction for Genre Exploration. I did some more research to figure out what that meant, and her reading list popped up. I’d read some of the books, but made a list of the ones I needed to get from the library.
This time, I’d brought a notebook and Trainspotting. I waited outside the building till just before class was set to start. Even though I’d double-checked that there wasn’t anything wrong with sitting in on a class, I still felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was stealing education from the students who had paid for it. People who monopolized the listening booth at the store and didn’t buy anything drove me crazy. Dad said he didn’t care, that the whole point of the store was for people to hang out and soak up the music. I hoped Professor Addison had the same hippie idea about her class.
The blond-haired girl came race-walking toward the building, her bag bumping against her hip. I went up the stairs and got to the door just before her. I pulled it open and moved aside so she could go through first. Old-fashioned, but some girls like that. She had blue eyes. Intense blue eyes. A faint smile of thanks curved up her lips, but mostly she just bustled through. If she remembered me from the coffee shop, she didn’t say anything.
The classroom doors were still open, so we weren’t late. I walked as close to her as I could, daring myself to ask her if she’d finished The Elders of Warren, but I chickened out. I didn’t want to sound like a stalker.
I followed her up a few rows, praying that she’d find a spot with an empty seat beside her. Whether she did it on purpose or by accident, I don’t know, but when she sat down, there was a seat on her left and I grabbed it.
- 19 -
Dizzy
When I got to the store after school on Friday, Jeremy was behind the counter. “Did you hear my mix?” were the first words out of my mouth.
He went to the store sound system and turned a couple dials. Within seconds, my mix was flowing through the speakers. “I’ve been playing it all day,” he said with a grin.
“So, you like it?”
“Dizz, you rocked it. It’s really eclectic. Who’s that voice? It sounds like Georgia Waters.”
I was surprised that he’d picked up on it so quickly. “It’s an old record of Dad’s. I found it on his shelf. No label, so I don’t know who it is.” The lie tumbled off my tongue. I felt a flash of guilt and wondered if I should tell Jeremy the truth.
“Sounds like Georgia,” Jeremy repeated. “Your dad did tour with her, so you never know. Maybe an old recording?”
“Yeah,” I said, sort of breathless.
I’d played it for my friends at school and they’d gone crazy, gushing about how great it was. Maya had leaned over my shoulder as I sent it to DJ Erika. By the time school ended, Erika had tweeted out #rockin #newtalent Check out 15-year-old @DJDizzy’s new mix and included the link to the song on my Mixcloud account.
“Check out Mixcloud,” Jeremy urged. “See what your numbers are doing.” I dropped my bag behind the counter, carefully avoiding the Georgia poster display on my way over, and pulled up my account on my phone.
“Oh my god! I’ve had over a thousand listens!”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, making his glasses slide down on his nose. “I think that’s more hits for your one song than all my songs put together.” I waited, wondering if there’d be a flash of jealousy, but Jeremy looked happy for me. “It might go viral if the numbers keep climbing.”
“You think?”
“You might be an internet sensation.” He said it tongue-in-cheek, but I kind of liked the idea. That was the whole point, right? For people to hear my music.
And then, another thought crept into my head. What if Georgia heard it? Would she recognize her old recording? The thought gave me a thrill. I’d started out wanting to tell a story; what if there was a happy ending? What if Georgia’s music, which had torn my family apart, brought it back together?
- 20 -
Ray
Donnie rested his elbows on the top of the bar. The place was quiet; most of the customers had left. A few sat huddled in booths, whispering. This was how I liked a place, the music mellow, lights dimmed. Used to be I wanted a place rocking, people laughing, shouting, music pumping. So loud I couldn’t hear myself think.
How many nights had I hung out here? Too many. I gave up feeling guilty for having a night away from the kids when Lou turned twelve. Figured he could look after his sister as good as I could. It’s amazing the two of them turned out the way they did with me for a dad. Never thought I’d have kids, never mind raise them on my own. But they’d turned out real good.
I took a swig of my drink, enjoying the winding down. A guy can talk in a bar like this. The bar top was sticky with spilled drinks. I hooked my feet around the legs of the stool. Donnie’s eyes were on the TV up above, tracking a puck across the ice. I had something to tell him, but it was hard to get the words out.
“Georgia’s playing in a few weeks. You know about that?”
Donnie turned to me. “Yeah. Hard to miss. There are billboards all over the highway. You going?”
“Barney’s looking into tickets.”
“What about the kids? You gonna take them?”
I’d known Donnie since the day the store opened –– he was my first customer. Strolled by in his suit and tie after work and stopped in. Didn’t leave that night till two in the morning. He’d lost his little girl a few months before and told me all about it. Not the kind of thing most people would tell a stranger. Or maybe it was. Maybe it felt good to tell me, a guy who didn’t know him from Adam. After that night, he didn’t come back for another year. Kinda forgot about him till he showed up one night with his guitar case. He was looking to jam. Hadn’t picked up his guitar since his little girl died, and he was ready. Said I was the guy he wanted to play with.
I can’t imagine how the two of us sounded that first night. Guitar and sax. Not a usual combination. But he came back a few days later with Rudy, a bass player he used to work with. I think that was the day he met Dizzy. She was toddling around in the kind of jammies with feet on them. You should’ve seen his face.
It melted right there watching her. Guess his little girl would’ve been the same age. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose one of the kids. Pain like that doesn’t leave. Ever. I still saw it on his face sometimes. He’d drift off, thinking about his little girl, of what he’d lost. No one told me how love for a kid can kick the shit out of you. Guess that was why Georgia was such a mystery to me. How’d she leave them? How’d she walk away and never look back?
I spun my glass around, marking up the bar top with rings. I wasn’t avoiding his question, I just didn’t know what to say.
“Last time they saw her was what — ten years ago?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded. The guys all knew about Georgia. Wasn’t such a big deal to say I knew her back when she was still Georgia Hay. No one knew Georgia Hay. But when she became Georgia Waters, well, shit. Having kids with her, now that was something people would want to know. The guys have never said anything about it to anyone. They understand that keeping things private matters. “Haven’t heard from her since, except from lawyers.”
Donnie snorted, then raised his beer to his lips and drained it. He hadn’t changed much over the years. Stayed fit, not like Rudy and Barney, who lumbered around like bears. Big Tom’s always been, well, big. Donnie’s hair might’ve gone grey at the temples, but other than that, he looked like he did the day I met him. “The kids never ask?”
“Not Lou. He holds his cards tight, kind of guarded, you know? Says he doesn’t care, but I don’t know. Might just be him talking tough.”
Donnie nodded. “What about Dizzy? You talk to her about it?”
“Yeah. Don’t know what good it did.” What did I know about talking to a teenage girl?
Donnie gave me a long look. I asked him once if it hurt to see Dizzy, her being so close to his daughter, Tia’s, age. He shook his head. Told me it gave him something to hang on to, made him remember his little girl, in a good way. He figured she’d be a lot like Dizzy if she were still around.
I swirled the ice in my drink. The bartender was cleaning tables and stacking chairs. If I wanted to tell Donnie what I’d been holding on to all these years, I had to do it now. “After she came back last time, she had her lawyers write something up.” Took a deep breath and drained my glass. “A contract. Says I’ll get sued if I do anything to jeopardize her career, or something like that. They don’t want anyone knowing about the kids.” Took a breath to calm down. Even now, years later, it got me riled up. She wanted us to fade into her history, disappear. Like we never existed.
“The kids don’t know any of this?”
I shook my head and wished I had another drink. “They were too young, but now, I’m thinking, if one of them tries to see her, that’ll be breaking the contract. I could get in a lot of shit. I’ve always been honest with them about things, but this —” I shook my head. “Didn’t want them to know how much their mom didn’t want them in her life.” I heard the bitterness in my voice.
Donnie let out a long exhale and tipped his beer to his mouth, swallowing the last dregs. “You think they’re old enough to understand how things were? How they are?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. I saw how Dizzy looked at the poster of her mom that Jeremy had hung up. Glancing at it, comparing herself, not standing too close in case someone figured it out. “I’m just hoping the kids lie low, don’t do anything that gets them noticed by her people.”
Donnie tapped his watch, and I knew it was time to go. The lights were going to flare on in a second and there was nothing worse than that burst of light. Made everything harsh and clear again. It was better to take a look around in the dark, see what you want. And ignore what you don’t.
- 21 -
Lou
Something was changing. I felt it when I woke up in the mornings. I didn’t have to drag myself out of bed. Right away, my brain would start ticking, thinking about Professor Addison’s class and Olivia.
Olivia. Angel-haired, blue-eyed, geeky, funny, honest, determined. Alabaster-skinned, long-necked, a reader, smart, quiet. She was amazing. I wanted to shout it out. How had no one else discovered her? It was like reading a great book and wanting the whole world to know about it or finding an undiscovered Bob Marley recording. Just thinking about her made me smile.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I counted down the hours until it was time to leave for Professor Addison’s class. I never knew there was so much to think about when I read, the way an author repeated images and symbols, how characters changed, and the language the author used. Sitting in her class, reading the books, and listening to the discussion stretched my brain. It felt good. Last class, I’d raised my hand to answer a question for the first time. It had shot up on its own, and it wasn’t till I started speaking that I realized maybe I should shut up. What if someone realized I wasn’t supposed to be there?
But nothing happened. I was one of them. One of the smart people who showed up for class and had something to say. The only thing that made me different was that I hadn’t actually paid to be there.
Then, Olivia’s hand went up. “I don’t agree with Lou,” she said and proceeded to tear apart what I had thought was a brilliant observation.
Professor Addison raised an eyebrow. “Care to comment?” she’d asked me, and this time her eyes did flicker to her class list. It was beside her on the desk, along with a stack of graded papers that had been assigned before I’d started coming to class.
I shrank in my seat. “Uh, no.” A few people laughed, not in a mean way. Olivia shot me a worried look, but I kept my eyes on Professor Addison. There was no Lou on her list. And I hadn’t written a paper either.
I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the class, slouching lower in my seat so I could hide behind the guy in front. Not so easy when you’re six feet tall. As we packed up, Olivia grabbed my sleeve. “Are you mad?”
I shook my head. “No.” I couldn’t talk to her here. I didn’t want anyone overhearing us, especially Professor Addison. But Olivia kept staring at me.
“It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “Come on, I’ll tell you outside.” I walked out of the aisle first, timing my exit so that a few people stood between me and Professor Addison.
But she called to me anyway. “Lou?” I took a deep breath, side-stepping a few other students. I looked at Olivia.
“Wait for me outside?” I said.
We’d started going for coffee after the class. At The Bean, that same little shop where I’d seen her reading The Elders of Warren. It had happened by accident the first time. We’d both ended up going there after a class. I’d stood in line behind her, trying to come up with something to say to her. In the end, she’d turned around and smiled at me. Guess she’d known I was there the whole time. “There’s a table at the back,” she’d said and nodded toward it. Her eyes danced a little, waiting for me to reply. “Want something to eat?” was my brilliant next line. She’d given a little laugh and shook her head.
I waited until Olivia and the rest of the class filed into the hallway before talking to Professor Addison. She was even smaller in person than she looked from our seats. She pointed to the class list on her desk. “I don’t have a Lou on the registrar’s list.”
So this was how it all came crashing down. I wished I could have delayed this moment for a few more weeks. I really wanted to talk about A Clockwork Orange, next week’s book.
“Uh, yeah. I never —” I stumbled through an answer. “I didn’t know if I’d like this.” I nodded to the room.
She peered at me through her wire-framed glasses. “And?”
“I do.”
“Hmm. Well, you can continue to audit the class, like you’ve been doing.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“But …” My stomach dropped; here it came. “It’s a shame because writing papers is an important part of the class. And, obviously, you can’t turn in a paper to a class you aren’t registered for.”
I pulled my toque farther down on my for
ehead. She’d given the class a list of new topics last week. I’d read them over, my mind sparking with ideas for a few of the questions.
“There’s financial assistance available, you know. If it’s money …” Her voice trailed off. Was it money? I probably had enough in my account to pay for a class. All my paycheques went into the bank and it wasn’t like I had any expenses. Tickets to shows were the only things I spent money on. And coffees with Olivia.
“I don’t even know if my grades are good enough for me to get in.”
“Go to the registrar’s office. Fill out the registration and see,” she suggested. “I’m teaching a class on heroes in subculture literature for the summer session, you might like it.” The thought of taking more classes gave me a jolt of excitement.
“Yeah, okay, maybe I will.”
Professor Addison smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Good.” She turned to the desk, to collect her papers. “If you wanted to write the paper, just for practice, it might be a good idea. You could ask your girlfriend to read it. She’s a good writer.”
I swallowed back the smile at the thought of Olivia being my girlfriend. “Yeah, okay. Cool.” There wasn’t anything left to say, so I hiked my backpack up on my shoulder and went to the door.
Olivia was waiting against the wall, checking her phone. She looked worried. “Everything okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “Just some paperwork stuff I have to take care of.” She gave me a curious look but didn’t ask any more questions.
I squinted into the sun when we stepped outside. One of those bright late-winter days. Small piles of dirty, slushy snow littered the curb, but there was a sense of newness in the air. As we walked, Olivia fidgeted, hands in pockets, out of pockets, adjusting the strap of her bag. She opened her mouth to say something a few times, then closed it. “I’m waiting to hear about my application for Waverley. It should be any day.” Her words came out in a rush.
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