Knowing Mom’s not supposed take personal calls at the warehouse where she works I hope it will pressure her to overlook why I shouldn’t be allowed to go downtown to see a concert.

Mom picks up and tells me to keep the call short, so I propose the plan of going to the concert with Marc but don’t mention the part about still needing to invite him.

I hear metal wheels rolling on cement and a loud bang, like a washing machine being loaded off a truck. “This is something I should really talk to your father about.”

I keep quiet. The wheels roll again.

“You have enough money? And you’re sure about the buses? Okay, you can go but be careful. Straight there and straight home.”

“Thanks Mom. I really appreciate it and I’ll be super, super careful and come straight home right after.”

Rotating the phone dial seven times connects me with Marc.

“Hey P, I was just gonna call you. Got something to show you, but you can’t tell anybody.”

“What is it?”

“Not over the phone. Come to the park.”

“I can’t, I’m going to see the Mahavishnu Orchestra at the Forum. Wanna come?”

“That’s the weirdo you like with the double-neck guitar.”

“He’s not a weirdo, he’s a great musician.”

“Nah, that stuff sucks. If it was Sabbath, I’m there.”

“So, you don’t wanna go?”

“Nah. But come to the park before. You gotta see this.”

“I can’t. Gotta make sure I get a ticket.”

“Then tomorrow, at noon by the benches.”

“Sure.” A dial tone buzzes in my ears.

In the shower feeling rejected the water sprays into my face. No one else comes to mind. “Maybe I shouldn’t go?”

“You can’t miss this.” Del whispers into my ear and washes my back.

“But I’ve got no one to go with.” I want to turn around but she hugs me from behind, her wet skin against mine.

“You need to see this.”

“But Mom thinks I’m going with–”

Her finger presses against my lips. “Just go.” Soap lathers on my chest and spreads over my belly and hips. “You’ll be fine.”

Her words change my mood as the water rinses everything else away.

A line of hot light seeps through a split of dark green curtains and onto my face. I roll over to the other side of the bed to get away from it but nearly fall off. The clock says it’s almost noon.

“Ran?” Buck naked, with my head sticking out my bedroom door I wait for a reply. Nothing. I check out the windows to see if he’s outside. I bet he’s out with his buddies racing mini-bikes at Terracotta. Dad won’t buy him one because he’s too young, and they’re too expensive. It pisses Ran off but he’s lucky his friends let him use theirs.

It’s great having the place to myself. I grab my guitar and strum an E chord as loud as I can. “Baaaaaaaaaa-by,” I sing, strumming the chord even harder. “I loved you…“ I fingerpick A minor seven singing, “…so.” I toss my guitar on the bed and run into the bathroom to pee.

I head downstairs in a pair of blue jean cut-offs in case anyone suddenly shows up, plus I don’t like our chairs in the kitchen, your skin gets all sweaty from the plastic seats covers.

Our kitchen’s small and has super-fake flower patterns on the wallpaper, table cloth and chair covers. Even the phone receiver has flowers on it. It feels crowded at dinnertime and Wilt’s not even here anymore. The dining room has a large oak table that sits eight, if we add the extra sections to it, but we only use it on special occasions with extra family around.

The radio drones on with the station Mom listens to when she gets ready for work. They don’t play any music, just talk. Every morning she turns it on and pours a coffee. She must carry it with her taking little sips until she forgets where she set it down, then has to run off to work. I find her cups all over the place, usually three-quarters full.

Changing the station to CHOM-FM I recognize the song by Offenbach, a blues-rock band from Montreal. I love the sound of the organ. “Câline de blues,” says the announcer, as I fill the coffee machine with water and throw a filter in the basket.

P minor blue

the story of an aimless, Prairie boy coming of age in 1970s Montréal…, has early drafts in first person. It seems appropriate since the book is based on my early years. And though it helped me create the plot’s general structure, I did struggle telling the tale, feeling vulnerable, exposed, and too self-conscious. So I changed to third and completed a couple drafts over the last few of years, while maintaining my musical commitments.

This latest draft I’m calling Draft 3/1st person because half way through Draft 3 I hit a wall, the one I saw off in the distance. I stopped writing in August to reconsider the Narrator’s perspective. He was proving unreliable. So I got another one. Those who know him, call him P.

With P reborn and freed from the uptight voice who worried too much the draft ran away with itself. Now I can add …whose life finds direction when he discovers the creative spirit in music.

FUSIO Rock Classical Jazz World Hip Hop

Come with your instrument, as you are, and be apart of a band.

Drums, guitars, tabla, singers, congas, cellists, rappers, kora, pianists, DJs, … whether you play electric or acoustic, all instruments are welcome, from experienced beginners to semi-pro.

Experience the joy of jamming/improvising/creating music in a group. Free up how you play by learning to interpret a piece music with other musicians.

Explore and interpret or jam and improvise. Each group is unique, built upon the strengths and desires of its creative members. Songs, mash-up, or instrumental pieces, catchy, groovy, or introspective, let the music flow naturally.

Contact Bill Parsons at billpa@rogers.com for placement, or further information.

Students will be contacted for placement details once they are registered. Ensembles are tentively scheduled to occur on Monday evenings, Tuesday evenings or Sunday afternoons starting as of January 11, 2010.

After the snowstorm, early the next day.

Having managed to dress and pack without uttering a word we leave the shed and cut between the farmhouse and the barn. The sun explodes onto glossy white and nearly blinds me. Dawn and I glide across the ice-covered snow skating to the road close to the bridge.

On the other side of the bridge at the gas station we enter a door marked café. Behind a cash register a thin, blonde woman in a blue parka flips pages of a People magazine, smoking a cigarette. Fiddle music scrapes on a roughly tuned radio.

“Bonjou’.” The woman peeks over her glasses as she blows a stream of smoke to her side, and continues reading.

A chunky unshaven man in a black toque sits in a booth with a cigarette and coffee staring over at us. He makes me nervous.

“Un café pour moi, et…” Dawn glances at me.

I hold up two fingers.

“Deux, s’il vous plait.” Dawn points at the washroom sign and leaves. She looks pretty tired.

Sitting at the counter I cream and sugar my coffee worried I might have suffered brain damage from smacking my head against the windshield last night. The bump feels pretty sore and I have a bit of a headache, but that could be from the whiskey. I hope so.

Dawn returns and drinks her coffee in silence. I spin on my swivel stool and catch the toque guy staring at Dawn as he puts on a plaid jacket and comes over to the cash register. Dawn asks him for a ride in French. I shake my head at her but she ignores me and organizes a lift.

We follow the toque guy to a red three-quarter ton truck where he insists that Dawn sit in the middle. He talks to her in French laughing and rubbing his hand against her thigh as he grabs the stick shift. I want to slug the bastard but he’s pretty big and we’d probably crash so I turn and glare out the window. Dawn takes my hand and places it on her thigh. What a gal. She seems to know what she’s doing. She must be at least eighteen.

The truck pulls over to the side of St. John’s Road. Thank god.

“Merci. Salut.” Dawn shuts the door and waves.

“That was lucky,” I say. “I can easily walk home from here.”

“Where do you live?”

“By the hospital. And your place is just over there. God, I can’t believe we just met last night.”

“It’s amazing.” Dawn gives me a nice long hug. I don’t want her to let go. “You know, even though last night was a nightmare, it turned out okay. I had a great time getting to know you.”

“Yeah, me too. It was fantastic.”

“You’re really sweet. And I’d like to see you again.”

“Really? That’d be great.”

“But I don’t want you to think we’re dating or I’m your girlfriend. If you wanna see someone else that’s fine. I just wanna keep it, entre nous, you know, between us. You know what I mean?”

“Sure. That’s cool.”

She takes my phone number and gives me a kiss. “I’ll call you later. After I talk to Nigel and find out what happened. I hope they’re okay. Anyway, good luck with your parents.”