TIMELESS BY CA IVES

Chapter Tonight (prelude)

Chapter 1 Scene 1 Performing

Performing, Trix becomes divine. She is the god and goddess, timeless, encompassing the sexiness of both sexes and the beauty of all races. Her body can do anything. She wields herself like water.

When Trix sings, ideas enter our consciousness while we marvel at the artistry of her crisp and sultry voice. She captivates the crowd, captures and embodies the music, while I radiate in her glow from behind my guitar. With our voices joined, I express and soar like I never can alone. On her stage, I am a performer, and that is powerful.

When she’s not performing? Well…that’s not a distinction she would make.

Was it only a week ago she found me?

Chapter Last Friday Night

Chapter 2 Scene 1 Sweet Release

Twenty minutes in line felt like eternity, shivering outside the pulsing dance club until the muscled bouncer finally moved aside. Goosebumps stood out while I rubbed my bare arms, but Chris didn’t offer me his sweater. As we stepped through the door, low-pounding music shifted abruptly from muted to mind-blowing. I covered my ears involuntarily, then slowly lowered my arms to my sides, hoping no one noticed. I felt a pang when the big guy waved me through without even checking my ID – it only highlighted that my twenty-fifth birthday loomed large, just one week away. Somehow, finding myself at the mid-point of my twenties gnawed at me.

The club was Chris’s idea for fun. Things felt pretty fresh and raw between us – we’d wanted to be together for months, but had only recently admitted it. I had left my long-term boyfriend, Ethan, for Chris, and that made us squirmy together. Worse, I’d moved to the city just three days before, crashing at his small apartment when we hadn’t even dated yet. We’d gone from fantasy to serious in a quick series of sudden moves, without even nodding to the reality and scariness of joining our lives. So here we were, in this loud and crowded place, not talking about it. Maybe I’d have rathered stay in or gone someplace quiet, or maybe I just felt like a tag-along to Chris’s well-established life. Regardless, I was in the mood to secretly disdain his choice of club. I thought it was just like him to choose the kind of pulsing, noisy joint where artists, ruffians, and musicians hang with rich kids and other wannabes, so everyone feels cool and cultured. That’s how he wanted me to see him.

Three guys waved and hooted at Chris from the other side of the bar. He smiled big and led me by the elbow in that direction, but I wanted to dance. I tugged his hand, shimmying backward towards the floor, trying my best to look enticing. Chris shook his head and pointed to the guys, as if I hadn’t seen them. I puckered my brows and tilted my head to the crowd of dancers with a smile, but it wasn’t enough – he hesitated. I’ve never had much patience for hesitation. I dropped his hand and spun into the crowd.

I had my choice of partners out there, but I couldn’t seem to get into it, turning from one hot, moist body to the next until finally, I danced with the music itself. I closed my eyes, the bass line pounding through me and my arms and torso flowing with the melody. Typical club fare suited me fine, steady and upbeat, no thought or analysis required. I let my body be with time and space and sound in the moment. I breathed in the smells of sweat and perfume, flesh and want, while lights danced over my eyelids. My body let my spirit take over and it felt like sweet release.

One after another I shook off the last month’s flashes. Chris’s shy smile when our hands first met across a sticky campus coffee table – this I zapped with a head-shake. The moment Ethan’s face morphed from disbelief to pain once he realized I was leaving for real – that, I smashed with a stomp! The instant his face switched from pain to anger – shoved off with rolling hips and swinging head. One by one I cleared the distractions until I felt alone in a clean, white space with the music and my body’s movement. I held myself close, slid my hands over my hips and appreciated my own muscled thighs and smooth skin. I shook my hair out and released myself to the joy-spot of being simply a body in motion with music. I just moved.

Out of nowhere, I started back to myself, stumbling as the rhythm flew from me. I opened my eyes to see only hers, piercing into my soul from across the crowded room.

Trix sat taller than anyone around her; regal, contained, like a feline queen. Short-cropped, serrated black hair accentuated her high cheekbones and long face, culminating in a wide, full-lipped mouth. Each feature on its own looked exaggerated – together, they settled into place on an exceptionally striking face. Everyone at the table had situated themselves around her and she took it as her due. People pawed for her attention while she kept her eyes on me. And those eyes – dark, intense, large, and slightly too wide apart –shone with recognition like she already knew me inside out. I felt an electric shock, and found it alarming.

I felt suddenly too self-conscious to be seen. I realized I stood statue-still when people started bumping me around. I needed to get away. Where was Chris? I quelled my almost-panic at not seeing him right away. I finally caught sight of him, laughing large near the bar. My elbows won me no friends but got me through the crowd. I slid up beside Chris, my heart racing, and tucked myself under his arm. He absently pulled me closer, still intent on his conversation.

Then suddenly, she stood there, in front of me, her eyes unwavering from my face as she spoke.

“Well, Chris, you’ve brought us a new mouse to play with?”

Chapter 2 Scene 2 Too Cool for School

Her words sounded put-on-accented, elongated and clipped at the last second. Wait – they knew each other? Chris’s face showed clear distaste. He couldn’t help scrunching up his nose at what smelled to him of pretense.

“How’re tricks, Trix?” he asked, which from someone else might have sounded lame, but I thought he pulled it off. He seemed wary. She didn’t even glance at him. Trix reached over and took my hand in hers. Her fingers felt long, like a man’s, and bony-strong; soft and firm at the same time. Her thumb lightly traced the calluses on my fingertips. I searched for her eyes but all I could see was black.

“Come sit with us,” she called over the music, her words only for me. She pulled my arm to lace our hands over Chris’s head, lifting me onto tiptoes as I found myself spun around, Chris trapped between us. Trix grabbed Chris’s hand firmly with her other, and dragged us both behind her like small children at a fast clip. She ploughed through the dance floor where a path opened before her, like Moses through a red sea of dancers. Chris rolled his eyes back at his friends, but he didn’t resist. Neither did I, for that matter. I was already in her power, and we hadn’t even been properly introduced.

Trix waved two people away from her table and deposited us in their chairs, backs to the dance floor. I shrugged apologetically, but the dethroned couple had already disappeared into the dancers. Trix crouched by my side so our faces sat level, and looked me in the eye.

“Perhaps she has a name?” she drawled, without letting go of my hand. She leaned in close to my ear, and her stage whisper sent a thrill down my neck.

“Tell me your secret name.”

I couldn’t respond. I felt her words sinking into my chest, speeding my heartbeat then seeping through my stomach and lower, spreading a sweet, achy trail. Trix spoke directly to my body. I felt almost paralyzed. I wondered briefly if I’d been drugged. Then, Chris broke my moment with a nudge, drawing my attention to a stunning blonde across the table, watching me through narrowed eyes. I gathered she’d been speaking to me. I signalled to my ears, as though I just hadn’t heard her over the music.

“I’m Trace,” the woman shouted from across the table, with a hint of expectation that the name should mean something to me.

“Um, hi,” was what I managed in return.

Trace looked like exactly the kind of woman to intimidate me. Beautiful and self-assured, she sat askew in her chair, legs draped over the side so her bare feet rested against the forearm of the man beside her. Dancer or gymnast? I wondered as she flexed her toes and I caught sight of taut calf muscles under her paisley tights. She had pulled back her thick sunshine hair in a high cheerleader ponytail, so the full force of her lovely features shone without obstruction. Clear skin, ironic pout, large breasts and a confidence fully justified by her appearance. She was the popular rich girl who never needed to ingratiate herself or even consider how others might feel. At least, I decided all that about her in the ten seconds we’d held eye contact.

Trix used a single fluid movement to grab a chair from another table and sit backwards, chin propped on her hand, gazing at me as though nothing could interest her more. I felt disconcerted, so I tried not to seem uncomfortable and only got stiffer. On my other side, Chris leaned in conspiratorially, but he spoke at full volume.

“Trace plays with Trix. They have a little act.”

Trace just looked away, bored, but irritation flashed across Trix’s face before she smoothed it into a smile.

“We have a band. Trix n’ Traces, maybe you’ve heard of us? Bash here plays bass.”

Trix indicated the dark, serious man acting as Trace’s footrest. He lifted his hand in a friendly wave, his raised eyebrow substituting for a smile. These people were too cool for school, and I was starting to feel like I’d had enough for one night. I thought we were here to dance? I turned to Chris for help, but his eyes sparkled with interest. I realized he enjoyed seeing me squirm a little. It told him more about me, I guess, to see how I acted in unknown territory. So instead of helping, he decided to stir the pot.

“Christine plays a mean guitar!” Chris offered the tidbit mischievously, like a single appetizer at a hungry table. I glared at him. Did he really want to force me into this conversation? Couldn’t he read me at all?

“Chris and Christine?” Trix asked me, her features miming incredulity. “Cute.” Her tone said this accidental cuteness undermined our entire relationship and made us somehow pitiable. I couldn’t tell her teasing from scorn, and I felt on guard. I looked away.

“So you play?” Trix asked, but she’d already known.

“Yeah, since I was a kid,” I admitted. “I started out with rock, then I’ve been playing classical with the Orchestra back home. While I did my degree…?”

I trailed off. Did I sound like I was bragging, or just lame? She continued watching me, waiting for something else.

“And, I sort-of had a band?” I offered shyly.

“Originals or covers?”

“Mostly covers.”

“Rock?

“Um, basically…”

“Pop?”

“Not really. Sort of?”

“Country?”

“No!” I sounded too insulted and laughed to cover it up. She regarded me sceptically, then smiled, deciding to play.

“Don’t get all huffy, music’s music. How about Punk.” She tossed it out expecting an easy no, but she didn’t know me.

“A little.” She tilted her head with interest. “You know, Green Day, Rise Against…”

These she dismissed with her hand – not surprising, I could tell she was a purist.

“So I’m guessing no Minor Threat.” I shook my head. Had I even heard of that band?

“What about what’s playing right now?”

Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed the music until she asked. It seemed like dance fare, maybe a little more intricate but who could tell at this volume? All the music was mostly beat. I tried for humour.

“What, synth pop? I don’t even think there’s a real guitar in there.”

Wrong direction – she pursed her lips, put out.

“There is so real guitar! It’s an art, the mixing and matching – don’t knock it. Okay, so…how about…Metal?”

I hesitated. Did she want a yes or a no? I knew I shouldn’t care, but I wanted her approval.

“Maybe a bit?”

She smiled to herself. “Metallica?” she tried. I shook my head. “Then it’s gotta be Guns ’n Roses.”

“Just once.” I admitted reluctantly.

Trix chuckled, like she’d seen three moves ahead in chess.

“Sweet Child.” She stated it, knowing she’d score a hit.

“Okay, yeah, but…on the acoustic, quiet, pretty…” I retorted a little defiantly, to cover my embarrassment at being caught in sentiment.

She laughed, leaning forward to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.

“You’re telling me your whole story in a song, little sister.” I looked down, embarrassed. She tucked her hand under her chin.

“What about current stuff? You a Black Keys kinda girl?” She sounded almost bored now.

“More…White Stripes. Or…closer to Metric, maybe?”  Her eyes widened just slightly, letting me know she hadn’t pegged me yet. I wondered what she’d expected.

“What kind of audience are you playing for, Mouse, that would put up with the mix you’re spinning me?”

“Um, eclectic?”

She snorted a laugh out her nostrils.

“Clearly. How about this: female musical hero.”

Trix watched me closely. I didn’t hesitate – this one was easy.

“Joan Jett! It’s not even the music, it’s just her absolute dedication to rocking out!” I enthused in spite of myself. “You know?” I finished weakly.

“Hm.” Trix’s thick, curved eyebrows contracted together for a few seconds in thought. She took a deep breath and pushed it out fast, nodding once to herself. “I see. You’ll do, Mouse.”

I felt I’d narrowly passed a test I didn’t quite deserve to pass, but I’d had fun rising to the challenge. I could play almost any style, but Trix did me the honour of trying to guess my musical heart. I thought maybe she’d stopped short, but at least she had decided to take me seriously.

“Zeppelin or Floyd?” Clearly we had reached the last question, and I had an answer.

“It’s Sophie’s Choice.”

Trix laughed out loud and I felt like I’d won a prize. She clapped her hands together.

“Good. Bash, Trace – a guitarist! We were just talking about changing it up, and here she is.”

Bash shrugged. Trace widened her baby-blues and huffed out a puff of frustration. She parted her plush lips, closed them again carefully, and shook her head. Then slowly, gracefully, she unwound her legs to stand, kicked on her sandals, and simply walked away from the table. Trix didn’t look up. Chris shook with silent laughter beside me. He leaned in and loud-whispered too-close, right in my ear so it tickled and I cringed away.

“I could use some popcorn for this show.”

Then, almost like a light switched, Trix lost interest in me. She stood and reached for Bash’s hand as he came around the table to join her. Without another word, they strode to the dance floor. Trix stroked the top of my head on the way by, the gesture as intimate as a lover’s touch.

“Let’s dance,” Chris murmured against my neck, his arm slinking around my waist as he stood. I focused my attention back to him as we melted into the music and each other. Chris liked going with the moment so his creative intensity made up for any lack of technical skill. We could really work each other up on a dance floor, sliding together and apart, appreciating each others’ bodies and physical control. He wore a green-sheened black t-shirt, fitted to his muscled chest and cutting his biceps at a nice angle. I enjoyed the lights dancing on his clean head, and the intensity that gripped his face. I relished looking up at him, always a little taller than I expected. He looked like a contender, after all.

Chapter 2 Scene 3 Sex and Pancakes

So I hardly thought about Trix while we danced, except when she distracted the corner of my eye.  And she wasn’t exactly on my mind as Chris and I tugged and tore at each others’ clothes before we even got through the apartment door back home. Our kisses fervent, our fingers clumsy, we had sex leaned over the telephone table by the front door. When he not-quite-gently yanked back on my hair, I could see his face in the mirror, screwed up a little tighter every time he thrust. The power there took my breath away.

Afterward, Chris cooked and I yawned into my hands at the kitchen table. The clock declared 3:03 am, so pancakes seemed like the thing to do, though maybe sleep was winning out. That was when my mind wandered back to Trix, and I realized that her whisper still lingered in my skin. Her advances had felt unmistakably sexual in nature, and I had to admit, I didn’t mind. I’d been with a couple of girls before, sweet kisses and exploring fingers, but no one like her. Ethan hadn’t minded me exploring with girls – he liked to hear about it, or watch. In fact, he was pretty lenient about flirting in general, though I suppose it didn’t serve him in the end, considering where I was now. That made me wonder suddenly how Chris might react to similar dalliance. He was not the kind of guy to bode competition – he felt the pride of my full allegiance. I felt a little pang of loss. Of course, based on tonight’s evidence, Chris might at least find it amusing to watch me flirt with girls. I decided I should ask him but as I opened my mouth, he beat me to the punch with his own direction.

“So how did you like your first Friday night out in the big city? Hey, I think that might even count as our first official date!”

“That’s weird, isn’t it? We’re like, living together but we haven’t even been going out? I’m still really amazed I’m here.”

He looked up sharply. “No regrets?” he asked, like he really wanted to know. I squirmed around the truth.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I wish I hadn’t had to break Ethan’s heart, for example.”

It had seemed like a good, easy truth to start on, but he glared at me angrily.

“You can’t feel sorry for him? After what he did?”

Now it was me who didn’t want to talk about something. I switched direction fast.

“So, yeah, well…the club was fun. That Trix is pretty intense! How do you know her?”

Chris shot me a look that said he knew exactly what I was doing, but he was going to let me change the subject…for now.

“She’s with Bashir, or Bash as she introduced him. He was…is, on our research team, at the University. We were office mates last year, we T.A.’d a class together. I went to their wedding.” He sounded a little too nonchalant for the grin tugging the left corner of his mouth. I decided to fish a little, let him have his fun.

“Who’s wedding? Don’t tell me Bash is married to that blonde bombshell?” I probed. He broke into a grin, abandoning the straight face.

“Worse, he’s married to TRIX!” He couldn’t hold back his loud bark of a laugh, the one that burst out like the world’s craziness took him by surprise. “They went ahead and did it – they got hitched last June.”

“What? But I could have sworn…aren’t they both gay?” was what popped out of my mouth.

Trix was married? Really? I could usually tell a hag-fag from a boyfriend, and that man was no boyfriend, at least not to her. And Trix – I didn’t see how I could have misread that. I’d felt her hot breath on my neck as a mating call. She couldn’t have been clearer about her orientation if she’d worn a chick-magnet t-shirt.

“Well, sure, but it got his parents off his back about marrying a nice girl. Interesting, right?”

This was my chance to see what he really thought, so I pounced on it.

“Yes, especially since she was all over me. How did you feel about that, by the way?”

“Huh. Well, maybe she was just trying to make someone jealous.”

“Gee, thanks. But I mean, how do you feel about her coming on to me? How would you want me to respond to that?”

Chris held back his answer, busying himself at the stove. He hadn’t expected this conversational direction, and I wondered if he felt disappointed in me, or even jealous himself. But maybe he just didn’t hear me, because he flipped the last pancake from pan to platter, spinning back to present the lovely, steaming mound with a smile of pride. As he moved around me, I grabbed a pancake before the stacked plate could hit the table.

“Ow!” I yelled, dropping it in my lap. Instantly, Chris swooped and scooped the offending dough with a wrist-flick toss into the sink, making a perfect basket.

“Watch out, don’t burn yourself!” he laughed.

He lifted my fingers and blew on them softly. I felt touched by the gentle breeze of his breath, the strangely tender shape of his mouth, his shyly downcast eyes. I felt a surge of love. He kissed the tip of my tallest finger, then deposited a brown bottle on the table with a flourish.

“Only real maple syrup in our home,” he proclaimed. He was often thoughtful in the details.

Those pancakes were beyond good. I felt so hungry, and there was nothing in the world that I would have preferred in that moment. I let my attention sink into them, my nose filled with aroma, my mouth warm with golden flavour. I lost track of the conversation.

Chapter Saturday Morning

Chapter 3 Scene 1 Groggy, Messy, and Grumpy

I woke up groggy, messy and grumpy. I could see Chris across the room at the computer, slightly blurry, his back to me. For all intents and purposes, we really shared just one room. A flimsy half-wall and cupboards partitioned the kitchen, and the bathroom did have a door, so by city standards it qualified as a “three room” apartment. Still, the space offered little scope for privacy.

“You’ve got email,” called Chris, and I felt a burst of righteous anger.

“What are you doing in my inbox?” I demanded, my tone edged with a slight screech.

“Calm down,” he sighed, already exasperated with me. “It’s in MY inbox, for you. Come read it. I won’t look over your shoulder.”

I felt ashamed, and irritated with him for letting me stay ashamed instead of helping me laugh it off or giving me a hug. Didn’t he care about me at all? He went into the bathroom and shut the door. I cursed that we were already off on the wrong foot for the day, and it was my fault.

I read the message on the screen:

>>Chris, Tell her 2 come 2 Timeless, 1pm bring guitar XXOO-Trix

How presumptuous. I really wanted to go, though. I wanted to see what her music was about. She interested me; well, honestly, the way she moved her body compelled me. I wanted to see more. I tried the bathroom door and found it locked. I felt a pang – he locked me out? But maybe it was just habit. I stood outside and called out,

“So, what’s Timeless? Should I go?”

“I need a minute in here.”

“But, how will I get there?” I asked through the door.

“What, you’re going?”

“Well, yeah! You coming?”

“Really, Christine, I said I need a minute in here, okay?”

“Fine!”

I flopped on the sofa to wait him out. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the shower turn on – some minute! I closed my eyes and practiced my meditation, music floating through my head, my breath even, present in the moment. In. Out. My irritation dissipated. In. Out. I fell asleep.

Eventually, Chris opened the door, startling me back to reality. Steam escaped in a whoosh as he stepped out. I felt struck by his white, muscular chest, like the ivory statue of a lovely man. Glistening water droplets beckoned from his bushy little mid-chest soul patch, begging me to lick them away. I didn’t resist, and he moaned a little with pleasure, putting his arms around me. We held each other a long time.

“Sorry I was a grump,” I whispered into his damp, curly armpit hair. He smelled like soap and water, clean and warm. He didn’t reply, but gripped me a bit tighter and kissed my shoulder. We separated slowly, and then I felt him shift back to business as he moved sideways, sweeping up my clothes from where I’d left them on the floor the night before. He tossed them into the hamper, picking up where we’d left off.

“Timeless is the old art-house theatre where Trix and Traces plays, mostly. It’s downtown – the wrong side of the tracks. It’s far. Three buses.”

From his dresser drawer, Chris selected the top t-shirt, shook it three times and slid it over his head, muffling his words.

“They gutted most of the chairs to make a dance floor, and opened up the lobby for lounging and gaping. It’s a pretty cool place. Though in the afternoon, I imagine you’ve been summoned to band practice. I’m sure you should be honoured,” he added cynically.

Chris walked to the kitchen, looking fresh and ready to face the day, while I dragged my bedraggled self behind him, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders like a cumbersome robe.

“Should I go?”

I expected a joke, or a tease, but he looked down at me seriously.

“You want to go?” he asked.

I debated different ways to answer before settling simply on “Yes.”

Chris’ eyes squinted a little as he looked into mine. I wondered what he was looking for. Whatever it was, it seemed clear he didn’t approve.

“Look, why don’t you just tell me why you think I shouldn’t go, instead of beating around the bush?”

“I didn’t say…” he started, taking in a breath, “Okay, well, here’s the thing. Trix is all drama. She makes drama in the air by breathing. She’s like a tornado of craziness. Maybe you need more drama, I don’t know. I mean, you just left your ex to move here with me after a few months of flirting over coffee – isn’t that enough drama for now? I want to settle in here and figure this out together. Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t get why you might want to check it out. Maybe you’re looking for one more chance to show Ethan he was wrong, that you still have a chance to be a star?”

That’s what he thought this was about? I felt a prick of irritation that he would presume to say it, especially since Ethan wasn’t wrong.

“What? Quit analyzing me!” I brought us back on point. “I’m not joining the band. I’m just going to see what I can see. You know I can’t even bring my guitar – Gretel’s completely banged up.”

In fact, I couldn’t bring any of my three guitars. Ethan was holding two of them hostage in my old apartment – a Les Paul knockoff he’d handed me down, and my prized classical acoustic. My precious show-quality Gretsch, “Gretel” got damaged in the move; actually, Ethan threw her down a flight of stairs behind me the day I left. I still had the yellow and green bruise remnants and a jagged scar; a sickening, vague reminder that I was always letting everyone down. But unfortunately, I’d stumbled again upon that sore point with Chris.

“Not just banged up! The guy threw your guitar at you down a stairwell. In a violent rage!”

“It’s not that simple. We were always together, through high school and college. Then I said I didn’t want that anymore. Of course he got upset.”

“Don’t minimize what he did. You got stitches on your leg, and it was me with you at the hospital, remember. I can’t believe you’d defend him.”

“Yeah, well, Gretel is broken, and Ethan’s holding the other two hostage, so…”

“Jerk,” Chris muttered, still riled.

“So, anyway, I’ve got no guitar. I just…I don’t know anyone here, I’m totally outside the scene. Then this band lands in my lap. I want to stay…open. You know? To possibility.”

Chris’ eyes clouded with perplexity. I wished I could give him more to go on, but I didn’t know what he wanted to know. I wasn’t hiding anything – I had told him my reasons as clearly as I knew how. He seemed to arrive at some conclusion on his own, because he sighed.

“Hey, if you want to go, go! Be my guest. Just try not to get sucked in, okay?”

“Sure, whatever.”

He ruffled my hair, kissed the top of my head, and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t offer to come with me.

Chapter 3 Scene 2 More Like Mirrors

I had a hard time finding Timeless. I got flustered at the transfer and took the wrong bus, then got off and had to walk pretty far, not really sure of the way. My phone’s GPS was no use, the signal cutting in and out among high rises. The city neighbourhoods felt almost schizophrenic, with patches of run-down, scary-looking buildings dotting high-traffic, polished commercial zones. I started feeling the streets as a repeating background loop, the same 4-corner Starbucks, Drugstore, Bank, Restaurant over and over. By the time I found my way to the other side of the tracks, I was sweating and puffing and wondering why I had bothered.

When I finally arrived, Timeless loomed large on the corner of the main street and a tight ally way. Formerly a stately building now in various states of disrepair, Timeless sported the expected giant marquee, regal stone steps, huge red double-doors and lions-head knockers. It was all just a bit shabby short of sheik. If the brickwork looked a little crumbly, that only added to the authenticity in my books. I climbed the steps in eager anticipation, reached for a knocker, knocked loudly, and waited. Nothing. I looked around for a buzzer, aware that I was being watched curiously by several people loitering on the street. I felt embarrassed and unsure. I was definitely in the right place. I pulled the handle, but the door didn’t budge. I tried the other door, same deal. Frustrated, I skipped down the steps two at a time, and peeked around the edge of the building.

The ally-way was just wide enough for a single car, dusty and strewn with various refuse. About halfway down, on the ground with his back against a propped-open door, sat a teenaged boy with his eyes closed and an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. Above him, laundry hung on taught, thick lines stretched across between the buildings. For a moment, I imagined one of the large-cupped bras falling directly on the kid’s head, a minor amusement insufficient to distract my grump.

The boy didn’t acknowledge or even seem to notice my approach, and I got suddenly overwhelmed by the effort it would take to speak to him, or ask about getting in. Drained, about ready to call it quits and go home, I surprised us both by sinking to the ground beside him, bricks solid against my back. For one brief moment, his eyes lit with curiosity, like I presented an unexpected spectacle. But before I’d even registered his interest, he stared back down at his lap, closed off.

“Are you sitting here for a reason?” he mumbled, without turning his head my direction. I got the impression he was both very tired, and very shy.

“The doors are locked. Trix told me to come today.”

He laughed a quick and unexpected “huh,” glancing at me briefly. His eyes were the colour of milk chocolate flecked with golden toffee; they darted away like a squirrel’s.

“Oh, she TOLD you. No asking for Trix!” he exclaimed. I couldn’t figure out whether his tone meant admiration or criticism. I had a sudden sense that Trix had recently hurt his feelings – I constantly got flashes like that from the way people said things, a certain turn of the mouth, hunch of the shoulders. I thought it meant I was empathic.

I found something vaguely, disturbingly familiar about this boy, like when you can’t place a face but maybe he was a wanted criminal from the back of a bus, or someone’s cousin met at a wedding. A thick black spike through his freckled nose made him seem young and vulnerable to me, although his manner seemed older, maybe eighteen or twenty. He evoked a strong tenderness in me that I couldn’t explain, like I imagined I’d feel about a kid brother if I weren’t an only child.

“I’m Chrissy…uh, Christine,” I stumbled, and immediately wanted to kick myself. I was determined to be Christine, not Chrissy, in this new life, but old habits die hard, and I’d messed up my first intro in this place. He didn’t seem to notice, though.

“Jamie,” he replied, hauling himself to his feet. He held out a hand, callused skin and dirty finger nails; I felt proud I only hesitated a second before taking it. He pulled me up with surprising strength, sinews rising on his mottled arm. Jamie stood only a few inches taller than me, but his frame held the gangliness of a much taller teen. His version of skinny fell just short of gaunt, slightly sunken cheeks telling the gravely story of past eruptions. The tracks scarring his arms looked old, but I wasn’t sure if that meant he wasn’t using or he’d moved on to other body parts. He didn’t seem high.  As Jamie turned to open the door, his longish hair fell away, and I noticed a burn scar along his lower left check and the top of his neck. Of course, he noticed mine at the same time.

“Hey,” he cried, guard down. “We’re twins!” When I didn’t reply right away, he seemed even more awkward than before. He motioned to his neck, and to mine, with hands that floundered in the air.

“Um…your scar…sorry…I just…”

“More like mirrors, actually,” I replied, cautious and clearly ending the conversation. My own burn isn’t something I think about much anymore. An accident with hot grease when I was a kid left a discoloured, puckered sweep from my jawbone down the right side of my neck. It’s the kind of thing people might not notice, depending what I’m wearing, or suddenly notice the second or third time we meet. My hair mostly covers it. I don’t consider it much, but I didn’t like him reminding me about it.

I followed Jamie into the building. The shallow, metal-grate landing barely held us both as he reached behind me to slam the door shut. When he gave it a rattle to be certain, I thought we would both topple over as his hip bumped against me and the staircase wobbled. Jamie looked down at my body in such close proximity, a sly grin crossing his face before he turned and bounded down the stairs like a puppy.

Chapter Saturday Afternoon

Chapter 4 Scene 1 POW!

The stairs ended in a tunnel, which led to a fork, where Jamie flew down the hall to the right. I followed. The hallway twisted suddenly left into a large, open, low-ceilinged area that I guessed sat under the stage. I found myself in a semi-chaotic workshop. Except for two pristine work tables and an impeccably-made cot, every inch of space held something. Tools, paint, material, lights, instrument parts, open circuit boards, lumber…I couldn’t take it all in. Several intense, abstract panels of colour lined one wall, so big I didn’t know how they would get out the door. A full-sized sheet hung from the ceiling so that it touched the floor, still wet with an intricate design of muted phosphorescent colours.

Something large and heavy fell almost directly over my head – instinctively, I ducked. I glanced quickly at Jamie to see if he’d noticed, but he stood with his back to me. I heard fast, heavy footfalls above, and a muffled, heated conversation.

“Well, so, this is where I live?” offered Jamie, turning shyly.

“It’s, uh, cozy.”

“I’m here all the time, anyway, it’s easier. It’s not special treatment. I do production. Like, stage, lights, and now I have to do sound? I work with the mentors and the kids. But mostly, I like to make stuff.”

His voice rose at the end of his sentences, like I was a teacher come to inspect the premises. I felt a little sad that I couldn’t reach across the gap to him. We were so different. I gestured toward the freshly-painted tapestry.

“So this is your work? Really cool! is it a backdrop?”

Excitedly, Jamie scampered to the sheet.

“Big show on Friday! Trix wants SPECTACULAR! I got these paints leftover from a show at the Royal. Guy I know there let me take ’em. Doesn’t look like much now, but when the light hits it, POW!”

He slammed his fist into his hand while doing a little jig, one knee and the other, then remembered himself and looked down shyly. I laughed out loud – I couldn’t help myself. He peeked up from under his eyebrows like a favourite child who knows he’s pre-forgiven for whatever mischief he might conjure. The smile we shared made his pock-marked face dazzling. He was a good looking kid, after all. Then, before my eyes, Jamie suddenly crumpled.

“But maybe it’s not that good,” he mumbled, looking down, talking to himself. “I don’t think she likes it. She…” He broke off, biting his lip. Abruptly, he bent and started cleaning up newspapers and brushes on the floor. So I was right – Trix had hurt his feelings. I crouched beside him to help clean up. He didn’t look at me.

“You probably want Trix – she’s on the stage.” He pointed up.

I realized he had reached his capacity for interaction at the moment, but I still felt a little stung at being so summarily dismissed. I moved to the door.

“Uh. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Well, nice to meet you…” I stammered, backing out.

“Hey,” he called. The way the light and shadow cut his upturned face, he looked about six years old. “Good luck!”

“Um, thanks,” I laughed. It seemed an odd parting thought, but, whatever.

Chapter 4 Scene 2 You’re here! You’re late.

Up and down the hallway, half-closed doors revealed small, messy make-up rooms and bursting costume closets. Peeking instead of watching, I stumbled forward through an open doorway into the theatre, directly in front of the stage.

Trix perched on the fourth rung of a ladder downstage left. She wore garish yellow-and-black-striped tights under shorts; from below her legs looked impossibly long. A worn-thin AC/DC t-shirt rode up as she reached, playing peek-a-boo with her belly button. From my angle below, I saw more than that. Her outfit either cried out I’m a total dork or I’m too cool to care; her presence left no doubt which was true. A huge smile broke out as she saw me standing there.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. She leaped to the stage floor like a panther, landing in a crouch.

“You’re late,” she clipped, standing, with a bite of command. “Where’s your guitar?”

“Um, I’m between guitars at the moment.” She grimaced at me, frowned. Re-evaluating?

“And you’re okay with that? A little break from playing?”

I didn’t appreciate her scrutiny. It hadn’t been that long – my digits weren’t soft. I felt myself disengaging from the conversation. She noticed, and switched tacks.

“But you’re here! So use that one over there, for now. Let’s play!”

Trix headed centre-stageward, calling, “Back at it, people!” over her shoulder. A wave of her hand brought two boys running to remove the ladder she’d been climbing.

I stepped back to take a good look around. A well-used building, Timeless seemed to be a former theatre, converted for movies then back again, with a massive stage fronting the retracted screen. The theatre walls ascended surprising heights, ornamented with unapologetically ostentatious plaster sculpting.  A large empty space surrounded the curve of the stage, seven remnant rows of theatre seating encasing the back like leftover piecrust. Two spacious aisles sliced through the seating at ten and two o’clock, slanting upward to wide, arched doorways, beyond which I noted the low-ceilinged lounge, complete with martini bar and sparkly chandelier. Four perfect, gilded balconies overlooked it all.

I turned around to face the stage, and walked backwards until I bumped into the leftover line of theatre chairs. I used my bum to lower a creaky seat and sat in the front row, acutely aware that I was not doing as I was told. The level of activity in the room surprised me. Based on my band’s experience, I had expected maybe four or five people plus a sound tech, if we were lucky. Here, I saw maybe a dozen musicians picking up instruments, and twice that many people doing repairs or working on sets around the room. This band had at least two guitarists already. Everyone moved to a corner of the stage, leaving the centre quite open, as if they didn’t want to take up space. At a walking pace, Trix turned herself around and around the circle they left, arms wide-spread. She stopped at perfect downstage centre, pinning me with her eyes; squinted, then settled her face into a mask.

“Alright, ONE TWO THREE, FOUR” she called, and the music started.

Chapter 4 Scene 3 She can use that one

I needed half a minute to wrap my head around the sound. Bash’s bass line carried me along a heavy cross-rhythm, with occasional curves like the ends of a moustachio. One bare-chested percussionist produced deceptively subtle, intricate electronic beats, offsetting the drummer’s heavier hand. Keyboard filled in and punctuated without over-synthesizing the sound, mostly. Dance-fast but lacking the light banter of dance music; hard-edged but not always; some country twangs but mostly rock…no, pop…but not really. This music defied simple definition. I loved it.

Trix stood still while they played. I felt her watching my reactions. I closed my eyes against her watching.

I could imagine this music pumping an audience, especially with the right lighting and atmosphere. I felt myself moving, carried forward in my seat. But I also gradually noticed that something felt off in the guitar. The lead guy definitely had experience, his beat-up vintage Stratocaster intoning what could have been a companion piece to the rest of the band. Interesting, evocative, his interpretation almost worked but it wanted to take over the song, and no one was going there with him. Beside him a younger guy, maybe sixteen, just couldn’t keep up. I felt schadenfreudely satisfied by his lack of skill.

After another minute, Trix signalled a stop. I opened my eyes to see her pivot slowly and deliberately towards Mr. Strat.

“What song are we playing?” she asked him, almost mildly.

“Universe Now,” he answered. His demeanour didn’t shift at all. He was older than I’d originally thought from his tight, fit little body – probably over forty. Maybe even fifty.

“You are playing Universe Yesterday. Or possibly Universe An Hour from Now? It’s not working. Try something else.”

Mr. Strat didn’t acknowledge the reprimand, but Trix nodded and turned on her heel as though he’d agreed. She could have been parodying a drill sergeant but she seemed to mean it.

“Alright, little girl,” she called to me. “You didn’t pay admission for this show. Get up here and play with us. Are you a musician?”

The challenge bugged me, but I did feel like playing. I had been semi-consciously imagining myself playing the whole time I listened, which was why the guitar started jarring me in the first place. I itched for it in spite of myself. Walking towards that stage felt a little unnerving, and also comfortable, like home. Maybe like going home when you’re not sure who lives there anymore.

I climbed up to the stage.

The teenaged guitarist eyed me uncertainly, making as if to hand me his guitar while watching Trix for instruction. His face knew how to laugh, but just then appeared a bit crestfallen. Trix noticed and shook her head once to the side.

“No, she can use that one.”

She waved at a guitar, plugged and ready, lying on a stool. The boy’s eyes widened visibly, his mouth rounded into an unconscious oh, like a comic book character who just can’t believe it. I could see why. This was a nice guitar. More than nice – a cherry Gibson SG, well loved. The spotlight shone down on her glossy exterior like a heavenly blessing. I stroked the wood gently, as one strokes a horse’s muzzle to say, hello. I thought I heard a collective intake of breath, and I felt every eye in the place on me and that guitar.

“Oh, relax, people! It’s mine,” she confirmed to me. “They think I’m a bit possessive.”

Trix turned around in a wide circle, her arms spread in supplication as she called out.

“See? See! I can share. I don’t even know her and what’s mine is hers.” She leaned in my direction and stage whispered, “But I do know you, don’t I?” I rolled my eyes at her. I caught Trace and Bash exchanging a glance and wondered what that meant.

I felt self-conscious. My face warmed as I picked up the guitar. Its weight felt strange to me, the neck just a little too long, but my hands came alive touching it. I picked a little at the chords, getting the feel.

Chapter 4 Scene 4 Freedom

Absently, I strummed out the first bars of my favourite song. To my surprise, Mr. Strat repeated the response back to me. I caught his eye, and we smiled at each other. We played together and he surprised me again – he sang. His voice sounded gravelly, but pretty too. I couldn’t believe he knew the words.

As the moving river down the mountain flows
I’m gonna move, I gotta move
As the salmon swims and wildlings roam
I’m gonna move, I gotta move

As I joined him, so did Trix, suddenly behind me where I couldn’t see her face. Her lovely deep voice made me a bit ashamed of my own, but I’d started and I continued.

So I strap on my backpack and I hit the road
If it gets too heavy, you know I’ll drop the load
Moving along life’s highway,
Taking the moments my own way
Moving along so I can stay alive
Stumbling forward I will learn to thrive

Bash joined unobtrusively with his bass, filling out the sound, adding something a little sharper-edged to the longing ache this song already held for me. Several voices that came in at the chorus stayed to hum when they lost the words.

Like the whisper-wind of the leaves in Spring
I hear the call, I heed the call
Chasing lights fantastic through the streets
I heed the call, I want it all
I think I can get there and be someone new
If you want to meet me, I’ll look for you
Moving along life’s highway,
Making the moments my own way
Moving along so I can stay alive
Stumbling forward I will learn to thrive

So many voices joined now that I couldn’t see where they were all coming from:

That’s what freedom means to me
That’s what freedom means to me
It ain’t love if it ain’t free, baby
That’s what freedom means to me

Then suddenly just me. Did Trix give a signal I missed? I almost stumbled, but kept going. I closed my eyes.

Though a simple man I’ll always be
I hear the call, I heed the call
Though the Northland holds its cold grip on me
I heed the call, I want it all
I know I’ll be back there when my time is through
But it only matters
If I’m with you

The chorus rejoined me for the finale:

Moving along life’s highway,
making my way home my own way
Where I belong so I can stay alive
Stumbling backwards I will always survive
That’s what freedom means to me
That’s what freedom means to me
It ain’t love if it ain’t free, baby
That’s what freedom means to me.

Clapping and hollering filled the space, and I even heard a couple of whistles. I hadn’t realized how many people were there, working in the wings, hanging things in the rafters. I felt embarrassed. I felt welcomed. It could have been a contrived scene from a movie, but it didn’t feel that way to me. I felt like I’d come home for the first time. These people knew my favourite song well enough to play it, sing it, hum the tune. That sing-along is one of the happiest memories of my life. I put it in an impenetrable bubble in my heart where none of the rest of what happened can touch it.

Chapter 4 Scene 5 And I was in

Trix waved everyone back to work distractedly, caught in thought before abruptly snapping to.

“Okay, people, now that our new Mouse feels more at home, let’s get back to it. Are you ready?” she called, and anyone not at their instrument scrambled.

“Let’s try it again – Universe Now – one, two, three four!”

The band started playing. I stood there like an idiot. The same song sounded different on the stage. Guitar limp in my hands, I closed my eyes to listen. I still hadn’t heard Trix sing, and I worried she was watching me. Still, I didn’t open my eyes. Fast and heavy with a strong, dance-able beat, Universe Now offered multiple paths for entry. I let my thinking fall aside, feeling out the music for my personal call.

Trix started a low, keening sound. The music tugged at her voice, drawing it open to increasing volume and fullness. I felt enlisted, a gravitational pull to play into the tornado in which her voice rose and rose, until it filled the theatre and there was nothing left but to finally break in anguish. A natural beat of silence, then the walls echoed with Trix’s deep, elongated and finally distorted laugh. We dropped fast into a strong, repetitive grindy beat.

And I was in.

I’ve always loved jamming with other musicians and seeing what comes out. I listened for where they were going, especially Mr. Strat and the drums. I blended in my own unique colours, and fed off the others to add to the experience. I felt shy to meet their eyes, but pleased that they were looking for me.

As she started into lyrics, I found Trix’s acidy vocals and Mr. Strat’s slight whine made for a vaguely unpleasant blend. He definitely had his own, strong style, and he played a little more bluesy, a little less edgy than she sang. I felt tension between them, each wanting to lead the direction. I recognized the feeling from when my parents fought over what was best for me. Without my really noticing, my own playing began drawing in elements of each. It felt like holding a balancing pole with one at either end. Exhausting, but I triumphed in the accomplishment.

I missed a few cues but no one minded. Not having responsibility for the core elements of the song felt freeing. I was left to become part of the music, enveloped with the band in a way I had not expected. When I heard someone throw in a playful few notes, or turn down an unexpected track, I felt deep appreciation for the essence they infused into our shared space. I felt myself feeding into and from an unfamiliar energy flow, finding its rhythm.

As we neared the end of the bridge, I leaned heavily on distortion and vibrated slowly down the scale behind the music, stopping just short of a full complement to pause at the natural pause, then filled that void with the guitar’s low but rising groan, grind, wail, screech, scream, pitching higher until it disappeared into silence. A guitar impersonation of Trix’s opening wail.

Trix’s deep laugh broke the silence just as drums and bass crashed into that space together like a tidal wave. As I jumped in the current I opened my eyes to see Trix actually surfing the wave in perfect parody, her face tight with concentration as she executed impressive spins and jumps. I could almost see a surfboard beneath her feet. Our eyes locked and I was playing only for her, playing to keep her moving. Finally, she rode into shore as we eased ourselves to an end.

My hands tingled electrical short-out; my fingers felt tender. My heart raced. I deliberately slowed my breathing, and almost immediately remembered to feel a little shocked with myself. That wailing stunt could have been really cool or really, really stupid, and I hadn’t even weighed the chances before launching in. I felt my colour rise as I considered my narrowly-missed embarrassment, even while I relished the pleasant rush of unexpected daring.

I watched Trix grab a towel and sponge off her forehead and arm pits showing no modesty. Without further delay, she counted us into the next song.

“Anti-flow. Ready? One, two, three, four!”

This piece played slower and simpler, so less room to move – I felt sorely tempted to sit it out. Self-consciousness had crept in, but I stayed put and played in a simple background loop. A young guy joined the stage on trumpet, punctuating the early stanzas with a sad, elongated sound, then breaking into a compelling solo. I would have bet against a trumpet working, but this one had style.

A young rapper strode boldly on stage, talking fast over Trix’s relaxed vocalizations. Their vocals blended and separated over the lyrics and his improvisations; his spoken word and her slow, languid croon. As the verse closed, Trix skipped back and gave over the stage, letting him show his stuff. As he finished, each instrument stopped in turn until only a single drum beat out the windup. Throughout the theatre, people clapped and hooted – the boy had fans.

Chapter Saturday Evening

Chapter 5 Scene 1 Feeding time at the Zoo

Suddenly all heads turned to the aisle, where a teenaged girl pushed a large, unsteady cart, creakily bearing a teetering pile of food. As a single beast, every person dropped what they were doing and ran for the cart. Blocked, the girl was forced to stop as hand after hand grabbed at the food. Throwing her arms up, she giggled delightedly at the attention all around her, clapping her hands like a little girl. But she wasn’t little – at least 25 pounds of extra flesh peeked out around her tight-fitting clothing.

Trix appeared in front of me, gently removing her guitar from my unconsciously possessive grip. She motioned to the commotion.

“Feeding time at the zoo, Mouse,” she shared. I scrunched up my nose, disgusted by the nickname, until I realized that just made me look even more mousey. If she kept calling me Mouse everyone would, and I didn’t want that. Trix leaped from the stage without noticing my reaction. I clamoured clumsily down behind her.

Food revealed itself as sandwich wraps, vegetarian but not bland or boring – warm, full of sprouts and shredded carrots with a gentle, insistent spiciness. I savoured the sour, salty bite even as sauce dripped on my chin. Surreptitiously, I wiped it off with the blade of my finger, and flicked towards the floor before wiping the rest on my jeans – they needed a wash anyway. But I sure hoped no one saw that.

I looked around for somewhere to sit, but I didn’t see anyone I knew at first glance. At least twenty people lounged around the theatre, eating intently with few words between them. In the dim light, I realized most were teenage boys, or not much older. Trace and Bash sat on the stage steps off-side, forming an insular clique. Trace saw me looking and leaned in to whisper something to Bash, pointedly not inviting me over. Fine, I’d have felt intimidated anyway.

Trix walked the room, talking briefly with everyone who crossed her path. Trailing her, my eyes caught on Jamie, bent over a kid at the sound controls, his compact body exuding a competence and gentle authority I hadn’t sensed in our brief encounter. He looked somehow older next to someone his own age. I kept my eye on him while he retrieved a sandwich, then I hurried to nonchalantly take the seat beside him. He flashed me a quick smile before looking down at his lap.

“You nailed it,” he assured me, his face in profile. “I bet she has you in the show.”

“Really?” I asked, quite pleased with this praise. He still didn’t look at me, facing front while he spoke.

“Most of the kids subbing on guitar kinda suck lately. Next to them, you’re a rock star. Plus, Trix’ll like how sexy you look with her big Axe in your fast little hands.”

He turned, looking me up and down boldly with no attempt to hide his assessment. The next second, he ducked his head shyly. This boy was a mass of contradiction. I felt tempted to whack him for insolence, but restrained myself – I had to remember that I’d only met Jamie a couple of hours ago. He felt like a kid brother, if I’d had one, but he seemed too fragile for even playful roughhousing.

“So is that what this was?” I asked, “an audition for something?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Jamie’s tone said he’d figured as much. “Trix says gotta keep the sound fluid, you know? So she subs in musicians like, all the time. Some kids wait months to get a spot to show their stuff, and then you… well, here you are. Anyway, it’s cool, how songs change when new musicians get into them? She keeps people around while it’s working, then subs in someone else. Some regulars show up? But the only ones who are always here are Trix, Trace and Bash. Well, and me.”

“What about Mr. Strat? That old guy on the Stratocaster?”

“John? He’s amazing, huh? But he and Trix don’t like to share the sandbox. He’s kind of…in and out? He’s Trace’s uncle, and I don’t know if he has that many places to go anymore. So, he keeps coming back? Things go better when he’s here, he kinda keeps the calm in the bunkers.”

“The bunkers? What’s that mean?”

Now I felt really curious. Keeps the calm? But Jamie nudged my attention forward. Trix stood, quietly watching the assembly, waiting for us to notice her. She said nothing, but her bearing, her very presence in wait, demanded our attention. All the little satellite conversations dropped off suddenly as people turned their faces her way. When she had the room at attention, she spoke.

“We had some great subs today. Thoughts?” Trix looked around. One guy called out “Al Roy!” and punched at the sky. I heard mumbled assent and the rap artist raised his fist in thanks.

“Yes, that almost worked. Let’s jam a few numbers this week and see what sticks. Could be interesting for Friday.”

Jamie leaned in and whispered, “Can’t believe Trix went for that! Nobody gets a show first time out, and rap? He probably just won twenty bucks off those guys. Wait, don’t say I said that.”

Trix cut through like a teacher who caught us passing a note.

“Yes, Jamie, please share your thoughts with the class.”

Stammer gone, Jamie responded with a confident smile that didn’t match the skittish kid I’d just been chatting up.

“Chrissy Christine here lit up your sorry stage,” he stated with a sly smile my way. Shit, he did notice my name slip after all. He nodded my way, gaining some agreement from the room. My face burned, and this time I really did almost whack him. Trix grinned appreciatively.

“Indeed. And she can play, too. Of course we’re keeping you, Mouse. You’ll join us Friday night.”

It wasn’t a question. I could hardly lift my eyes.

Discussion continued. The boy who couldn’t keep up on guitar needed more practice with a band before he could try again. The trumpet could come to rehearsals, but no promises, and if he made a nuisance of himself in every song he was out. Someone wanted to know if he played saxophone, which interested Trix for about five seconds until he admitted he didn’t. A lot of laughter and light-hearted banter accompanied conversation that moved over various aspects of the performance. No one seemed to take criticism too seriously, and since I’d escaped unscathed, I found it easy to join in the general mood.

When my phone buzzed a text, I suddenly noticed the time, later than I’d planned to be there. I didn’t even know what time the bus came by, or even when the last bus left. Time to go. I quietly made my way to the front, seeking the exit.

Chapter 5 Scene 2 Welcome to Timeless

The front lobby looked dark except for a string of lights over the snack counter. I almost didn’t see Trace standing in the shadows until she moved so those lights caught her champagne hair, sleek white jeans, glint of teeth. Her smile called me friend, but I didn’t buy it.

“I was hoping I’d catch you, Mouse.” She curled her tongue around the nickname gently with a wry humour that knew it got under my skin and thought I should get over it.

Trace rolled her body a little to lean against the counter, regarding me sideways, a cat flirting with the furniture. I noticed her almost-flat upper lip and very slightly down-turned nose, these minute imperfections only enhancing her loveliness by flourishing her smile. She totally possessed the words beauty and grace as I imagined them. I worked to quench my quick burn of envy.

“Christine,” I corrected automatically.

“Right. Let’s just stick with Mouse. You know, you never should have hit that stage without seeing me first. I need to take care of you.” Her tone sounded coy. She made me nervous.

“Take care of me?” I squeaked.

She straightened her posture, assuming a more business-like air.

“There’s paperwork, forms to sign. Step this way, please, miss.”

“But I was just…” I started. Ignoring my protest, she glided beside me, dropping her hand casually on my shoulder. I felt a little powerless to resist as Trace moved us towards a windowless, unmarked, thick steel door just behind the snack counter. Using a key, she opened the door and slid a guitar pick into the hinge to prop it open. Before we left the lobby, she pointed to a large sign I’d failed to see, but which I never could have missed if I’d come in the front doors. A rough piece of wood, about four feet wide, hung dead centre. Its neon orange glow provided a blinding backdrop for the hand-painted purple inscription:

These premises monitored by video surveillance AT ALL TIMES! The world is watching.Be warned.

I loved the extreme messaging – it sounded just like Trix. Beneath the sign, someone had graffitied ornate lettering that looked like they’d misspelled sex: sXe. I wondered if Trix had painted the sign herself, and whether the graffiti was vandalism or an intentional touch.

“That’s the first thing,” Trace tossed over her shoulder as I followed her down the dark, narrow hallway. “I assume she told you we livestream those practices to the website? You’ll have to sign off on that, and other publicity stuff. If, of course, you’re going to play?”

Stepping over the threshold into the only lit office, she spun around to catch my reaction. I skittered reflexively away from her gaze before forcing my eyes up from the shadows to meet her laser-blues. That accomplished, I felt a little cocky.

“Well, I just played. Did that get broadcast on your livestream?”

“Of course.”

“So if I don’t sign, you guys are in breach already, right?”

Trace pursed her lips, then deliberately rearranged her features into a sweet smile.

“I suppose.” Her hand wave dismissed that thought as she leaned in with a secret to tell me, my new best friend in the treehouse.

“I really hope you will join us. You’re obviously talented, quite…pretty, just what we need to round out the show. Please, say you will.”

She lilted her tone, tilted her head; a baby doll. Too sweet on purpose, almost over the top. She could have been more convincing, but she was letting me see her maneuver, almost daring me to call her out as a fake or believe her hook, line and sinker. I had no idea how to respond to this, and my awkward came out gruff.

“Why don’t you give me the stuff you want signed?”

Trace regarded me a few seconds longer, then moved slowly to the desk, landing softly in the chair. From a prepared folder, she slid me pre-filled release forms for media, safety and general liability, all convoluted language in 8pt courier. A personnel form required my Social Insurance Number. The volunteer agreement wanted permission for a police background check. There was even a form to verify that I had read and understood all the forms.

“You people want me to sign my life away.”

“Just any liability we might have for it. You take responsibility for yourself in these walls, and you let us use what we record. That’s what this jargon means. Are you in?”

I honestly couldn’t see any reason why not to sign. I didn’t love the idea of band practices broadcast online, but it might help build a local following.

“I don’t know if I’m, uh, in, exactly. But if I don’t sign all these, I can’t play again, that’s what you’re saying?”

“You got it, Pontiac.”

I picked up the pen. She diligently signed witness after me on each sheet, stacking the results neatly back into the folder. After disposing of the last, Trace sat watching me, head cocked to the right, waiting for me to reveal whatever puzzled her, or maybe she expected me to transform into a chicken or something. What did she want? I didn’t expect her next question.

“You live with Chris? Bash’s friend from school?”

Why would she ask that? I felt like she really wanted something else. I decided to stick with simple answers.

“Yes.”

“A nicely-proportioned man, your Chris, quite attractive. We miss seeing him around here. For awhile, he was here all the time. Now, not at all.”

“Really?” I wished this was not news to me. My mind ran over conversations with Chris for any clue of his personal involvement with Timeless. I felt pretty sure he’d never mentioned this. I was also sure Trace had guessed that.

“Bash misses him, but I don’t think Chris was ever coming here to see Bash.” I sat back as my suspicion gave way to certainty. Trace was leading me down a garden path. I itched to tell her to just get on with it. She looked thoughtful.

“Really, I don’t think we’ve seen him since Luca left.”

There it was. Now a simple question on my part to get her to the point. I almost couldn’t choke it out, but I managed.

“Who’s Luca?”

She nodded her satisfaction as I spoke my line in the play she’d written.

“Our disappearing sound tech. She and Chris seemed close…but then, she left, and now, you’re here, so, mystery solved! Maybe we’ll see more of Chris again, if you’re going to be around?”

Trace smiled brightly, as though I’d cleared things up for her, knowing full well she’d just muddied my waters. “Well, I’ve got everything I need. We’re done here. Off you go!” She passed me a little booklet.

“Welcome to Timeless,” Trace stated, speaking the booklet’s title with raised eyebrows, prettily acknowledging the irony of her welcome. I wondered how she could pull that off.

“Um, thanks.” What else was there to say?

Chapter 5 Scene 3 Too Tall to be Yoda

I felt I’d just been bested at a game I didn’t know had started, with rules I’d never learned. I replayed the conversation as I made my way back up the dark hallway and out the front door, thankful to be alone. I hesitated on the sidewalk, then decided to head back the way I’d come that afternoon, hoping I’d find a closer bus stop along the walk. This edgy neighbourhood didn’t invite a nighttime stroll. I felt nervous. I heard footsteps behind me, faster than I liked. I sped my pace and so did they. Suddenly, Trix knocked my heart into my throat by loping up beside me.

“Hey, Mouse, what did you think?” she asked. She threw an arm casually over my shoulder, like she hadn’t just given me a heart attack. I didn’t respond right away.

“What, you don’t like me calling you Mouse?” she asked, direct. “What would you have your nickname be?”

“I don’t want a nickname.”

She stopped, so I stopped out of politeness. She took my shoulders in her big hands, turned me to her, and bent down fast, bringing us face-to-face. I got lost in the large pupils of her dark eyes, a little mesmerized. I couldn’t look away. She spoke low, her voice deep and barely above a coaxing whisper.

“Tell me your secret name.”

“Sun,” I answered immediately. I didn’t know why. Our eyes held contact as she laughed a slow, deep, good-natured chuckle. She took my chin between her fingers and thumb as her mouth softened into a sisterly smile.

“Yes, little one, you might be giant in there somewhere.” She turned my face to the left, regarding my scar. “How to let it out without the burn, hmm?”

I moved away. We resumed our walk.

“Why Mouse?” I asked, already feeling resigned to the inevitability.

“Small as a…cute as a…” she laughed, reaching over to tickle my tummy like a toddler. I giggled in surprise. Then pouted.

“More like, quiet as a…or mousey…”

She snorted, amused.

“I don’t think anyone would take it that way…well, maybe as an irony. No one could describe you as mousey, Christine. You’re quite lovely.” She turned and swept her hand under my cheek so I looked up at her. I thought for a second she would kiss me, but her expression stayed quizzical, curious.

“Surely you know that you’re beautiful?” she asked.

I couldn’t keep looking at her disappointment in my lack of self-admiration. I shrugged away and we walked quietly for a minute. In truth, I was feeling a little resentful at her intruding so far into my own space. Not just the constant touching. I bristled at her presumption, to just call out things that I didn’t even talk about to myself, like she knew them already. Who was she to expect me to share these things openly? Why should she make it her business to know where I fell short on my personal development path? I felt afraid of looking foolish to her, but also defensive of my right to be just as I was – the combination made me petulant.

“Well, I know you think I’m hot. What was that the other night? I don’t even know you, and you’re coming on to me in front of my boyfriend?”

“That?” She seemed both amused and a little annoyed, almost mocking by elongating my that. “That’s who I need to be at a nightclub, and you got my attention, little girl. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I just am who I need to be for that. It’s a trick you could learn, you know. You might be happier. Chris is a big boy, he can handle it. And surely I didn’t hurt your pride, either?”

I found myself smiling at her shyly. I didn’t like to admit how much I enjoyed being the object of an interesting person’s attention – being singled out, held in a special position, given shows of preference.

“So you’ll play, for sure, on Friday? Right?” Her sincerity felt disarming.

“I don’t know the music.”

“Songs’r all here.”

She tossed me a memory stick from her jacket pocket, as if that solved the problem.

“How can I practice? I don’t have a guitar.”

“A true musician needs no instrument to practice. Listen. Contemplate. Ready yourself.”

“What are you, Yoda?”

She laughed, a genuine peel of enjoyment.

“Use my Gibson when you’re here until you have your own. At home, try my way. Listen to the music. Imagine yourself in it. Your body can follow with what you’ve taught her so well.”

“You’re too tall to be Yoda.”

“So you will come? I need to know today.”

Something in her earnest plea made me want to come through for her.

“Okay, I’ll come.”

She rewarded me with a huge smile – I thought her eyes would bug out of her face, she seemed so happy.

“Good. Practice every day at one p.m. Don’t be late.” Her giddiness infested what she meant to be a bossy tone. She hadn’t been as sure of me as she seemed. But I had to disappoint her.

“Every day? All afternoon?  I can’t. I have to look for a job.”

“What? Getting your ass pinched waiting tables at the Hard Rock Café?”

“Yes, or something. In the short term. Later I can look around for…I don’t know. Movie background music? Ads? Maybe teach?”

She looked incredulous.

“And that is the extent of your aspirations?”

I felt irritated. Where did she get off? It should have been clear to me far sooner that the heights of excellence were not for me. I had skills – technically exceptional – but I always missed the solo opportunities, got passed over for lead, or left out of the band. When the budgets tightened at the University, it was me who got cut. I saw myself as one of those Olympic skaters who come in 32nd. They are far more talented than your average figure skater, among best in their country, but they will never rank.

“Who am I to have aspirations? A steady income will do,” I answered sullenly.

Trix had heard me play all of one time. Of course I played well. People are always impressed at the beginning. But over time, they notice that something small is missing. If I knew what it was, I would have changed it, but I couldn’t figure it out. For years I practiced and practiced, thinking I just needed to get better. I had only recently accepted the truth – in fact, during that last fight with Ethan. Because he was right for once, damn him.

Trix stopped again. I felt tense about missing the bus, so this time I kept going. She skipped sideways along the sidewalk ahead of me, surprisingly light and quick like a daddy-longlegs, cutting me off so I bumped into her. I lost my balance, landing on my bum like a two-year-old. We both found this incredibly funny, especially as the bus roared by and eased my tension, since I had obviously already missed it, nothing to be done. We laughed together as she helped me to my feet.

Trix kept my hand, and swung our arms leisurely as we walked the remaining block to the bus stop. I felt calmer once I could stop and look around.

“Okay, look.” Trix turned me toward her. She held my arms on both sides, just below the shoulder, firm in a yielding way. Normally I would feel pinned, but instead I felt secure for the first time in a long time. I was still marvelling over this and almost missed what she said next.

“It’s hard to get beyond ourselves, beyond where we’ve been and what we think is wrong with us, to imagine what’s possible. I know you’re still behind that wall, but you mustn’t give up. I can see your potential.”

Did she say what I thought she said? Did she just name my deepest, darkest, secret fear and I missed the metaphor? Relief pored through me. She knew I was flawed. She believed in me anyway. But wait a second. Being who she needs to be? In one session, Trix had seen my weakness and my strength. Was she going for the easy win, playing on my fear, feeding me hope? Why? She watched my face with what looked like real concern.

“Christine?” she started, gently, carefully. “This is no big deal for you. One night on a stage for a big crowd! To feel that way is rare. Why wouldn’t you crave that? I don’t understand your hesitation.” She did appear genuinely puzzled.

“I said I’ll come,” I replied irritably. She sighed, and leaned forward to press her forehead against mine. We looked into each others’ too-close, bleary eyes.

“Don’t let me down” she whispered.

It seemed minutes passed. Finally, she raised her head and looked around.

“Mouse, why are we standing at a bus stop?”

“So I can go home?”

She laughed. “I’ll take you home, come on!”

Chapter 5 Scene 4 Whoopdazzled

I had never ridden a motorcycle before, and this weather-worn Indian didn’t inspire confidence.

     “Oh, quit making faces! She’s a classic. Would you rather take the bus?” Trix asked rhetorically. I debated telling the truth. She threw me a helmet that felt huge and awkward, crouching nimbly at my feet to fasten the band under my chin. I felt like I did when they put a hockey helmet on me to ride my tricycle – ridiculous.

     “It’s big for you, but it’s the smallest I have. It’s Trace’s.”

     I’m not sure why she thought that particular piece of information might endear the helmet to my heart. She had to try a few times to start the bike, and did so with a bouncing vigour of certainty that the next one would take. Putter to roar,the machine jumped a little under her, like a living animal. She flashed me a wide smile.

     “Hop on!”

     I clamoured up behind her, my arms flopping uncertainly. She reached around behind and grabbed my hands, wrapping them securely around her waist. With no further preamble, we spurted off into the night. As we rounded a corner, I felt her tight abs contracting under my fingers, even through the jacket.

     “You’re tickling me!” she shouted back in the wind.

     Weaving around and between two cars, she called, “It would really help if you leaned with me.”

     “What?”

     “Lean with me! When I lean, lean the way I’m leaning!”

     It felt like dancing with my uncle on a terrifying roller coaster, but soon I began to get the flow. We moved as one through harrowingly close traffic. Trix didn’t slow down at all unless she had to – she liked to keep to a gear. Moving out of downtown, we rode along the waterfront. I could picture us from the side-view, blue light and moon shining background, like the poster for a movie. My hair flowing back in the wind, her sleek body bent over the handlebar – I liked to see my life that way, as moments captured in ads about how great my life was.

     Constant rumbling under me,up tight against her strong back while the world flew by, I felt my blood flowing. I experienced a fleeting desire to reach up and hold Trix’s breasts cupped in my palms, though of course I didn’t. I felt that I was embracing her, not just holding on, creating an intimacy between us. My jealousy piqued thinking she rode this way with Trace all the time. The ride that had started out harrowing almost became relaxing just as we pulled up outside the “century home” walkup where Chris and I shared the third floor.

     “Whew!” I exhaled, my legs shaking a little as I stepped off. I stumbled, and almost fell, but Trix was there to catch me. I held her arm for balance while I took off the helmet and shook a tangled mass of hair from my face. I couldn’t even drag my fingers through it.

     “I’m a bit whoopdazzled from that ride.”

     She laughed with me. “Whoopdazzled? I like that. Good album title, maybe.”

     She tied my helmet to the back of the bike. I watched her bend, still feeling her torso hum solidly under my palms. Her physicality spoke to me. I found myself thinking, if this were a movie, and she were a man, she would turn and kiss me right now. Trix turned just as Chris’ loud laugh roared from the open window above. He must have company, I thought. Shit. I was not in the mood for people I didn’t know. I delayed going up.

     “Do you want my cell number? I mean, we can’t have you emailing Chris every time you want me.”

     Trix chuckled low. “No, we can’t have that! Okay, zap it to me.”

     “Um, what about your number?”

     “I know how to find you. You can get me on email.”

     “You won’t give me your number?”

     “Okay, fine, but I’ll warn you now – don’t bother texting me.”

     “Why not?”

     “I get, like, a thousand a day. I never look at them.”

     I noticed I had two texts waiting – Chris probably wanted to know when I’d be home. The other was from Ethan and I didn’t even look at it.

     “So how do I reach you? Call? That seems…rude.”

     “Either I’m available or I’m not. Messages just add to the noise. Call back twice, fast, and I’ll figure it’s important and answer if I can. So don’t call twice unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

     “Got it,” I smiled. “Uh, thanks for the ride!”

     “Are you okay with the world the way it is?”

     What? Where did that come from? I watched myself blink blankly. I thought, and said, “The world is the way it is. What’s that got to do with me?”

     My tone sounded too dismissive, a bluff. I felt foolish the instant it came out. I often regret thinking and saying simultaneously – sometimes I end up stuck with a position I don’t want to defend.

     “Aren’t you in the world?” she asked, slightly teasing. I felt my guard rise.

     “Yes, but it’s going to go on just the same with me or without me.”

     “You don’t think you can make a difference?”

     “I don’t mean that, exactly.” I felt frustrated. “Look,” I burst out, “I get confused when I think about this kind of…existential stuff. I feel upset, so mostly I just try not to. I know that makes me shallow.”

     I could hear how defensive I sounded.

     “Shhh, don’t stress!” Trix cooed. Her brow furrowed as she leaned in closer to my face. “It’s just conversation.”

      I noticed my breathing came light and fast, my jaw tight. I relaxed my cheeks and temples, and allowed my brain to rest down in the cradle of my skull. I breathed in. I breathed out. Trix watched me, curious. Our pupils clicked in.

     “You’re an interesting specimen, Mouse,” she stated. I felt it as the height of compliment. She shook her head as though to clear it. “And yet, I have places to go and people to shmooze still tonight. So I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?” Trix’s tone demanded only one response, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it. I was still feeling confused and a little high from the ride. I knew better than to take on commitments in that state.

     “Trix, I have to see, okay? Let me listen to the music. I have a life to rebuild, Chris…and I don’t know if I can take this on. I think I want to, but music is complicated for me, I can’t think when I’m in its grasp, you know? You’re so…and it’s all really…but my head is too full.”

     I’d said a lot of nothing. She waited for more; I blinked first.

     “Look, if I don’t come tomorrow, can I come anyway another day? Or is that it, I’m blackballed?”

     She smiled a little sadly. “ If he came yesterday and we weren’t here you may be sure he won’t come again today.” I suddenly remembered playing Quotes with my dad on long bus rides. I really wanted to get the quote.

     “Waiting for Godot?” I asked, not at all sure I had it right. She just smiled again. I felt so irritated I wanted to stomp my foot. “Fine, but what do you mean?”

     “Whenever you come, we’re there. I have the cheese – I saw how you held that guitar, sweet Mouse. You’ll be back. But, I hope you come tomorrow.”

     Trix leaned in fast and kissed my cheek, then motioned me to the door. She was going to wait until I got inside, as we’re taught a polite date will do. I found it pretty charming.

Chapter Saturday Night

Chapter 6 Scene 1 Enhanced Air

I opened the downstairs door to a sweet, cloying smoke only hinted at from outside. I felt a little happier just breathing the enhanced air. It felt like being young again, as if I weren’t still young. I started to generate interest in meeting a few of the characters Chris had talked about during our getting-to-it stage. I wondered who might wait inside.

           As I stepped into the apartment, pulsing I’d felt from the stairwell solidified into music from Chris’ hi-fi. Erotic, velvety drum dominated a complicated blanket of sound. I counted at least nine different instruments almost right away. My appreciation for his appreciation of complex experimental music opened the door between Chris and me early on. He liked showing off his rarities, doing the world a service by sharing them. No one could escape when Chris said, “hey, let me play you this amazing new track I found!”

           Chris sat on the floor, leaning against the leg of the sofa, spacing to the music. Above him, a serious-looking, large-nosed, sandy-curled woman lounged, her feet resting on the lap of an adams-appled dork with eyes smoked half closed. This must be Freida and Tim. Freida worked with Chris at the university research lab and competed with him for position. Tim was The Wife.

           On the floor across from Chris, a darker-hued beauty leaned back against the legs of an all-American linebacker, his fingers playing in her hair. Rekha and Lance, I decided. Rekha was The Wife, like me and Tim, but unlike us, she actually was a wife. Diamond and band. Chris had described Lance as a super-genius perfect-man, and Rekha – smart, beautiful and talented – as his deserved prize. They looked the parts. Rekha held out the joint and I took it before sitting down beside Chris.

     “Look what the cat dragged in,” Chris joked loudly. Did he know about the Mouse nickname?  I searched his face but found only friendly pot-slackness. “Christine, this is Freida and Tim, Lance and Rekha.” He pointed around at the couples, proving my first assessment correct. Tim, who was closest, reached up to shake my hand. I shook, but I felt awkward – was I supposed to shake hands with everyone? Instead, I waved in a friendly way and met each person’s eyes. That seemed sufficient. I sat beside Chris and snuggled into his arm as I toked. It had been a long time, so the buzz hit me right away, softening muscles I hadn’t realized were strung tight. I felt nice.

     I passed the joint over my head to Freida, who briefly interrupted her stream of tepid debating for a puff. She and Lance seemed to be discussing a book they’d both read.

     “Basically, he wants us to read his apologies and agree that it doesn’t matter if he failed and made a mess, because he learned.” Freida sniffed, then yawned.

      “That is what it’s about, isn’t it – we mess up, swallow our shame and try to be honest and methodical about figuring out what went wrong. That’s the data we use to build our models, so we need people to reflect on it, write about it,” countered Lance.

     “But really. Does he think he’s personally invented fire when he rubs two sticks together? His findings are all derivative of other people’s work that he just suddenly understood.”

     Chris broke in, the Master of Being on Both Sides at Once.

      “It’s how he brings it together and shows it in the field – that’s what I find interesting.”

     Lance shrugged, uninterested in further engagement. Tim rubbed Freida’s feet. The music seemed to fill the space nicely.

Chapter 6 Scene 2 Don’t be harsh

     “Professor Cache can’t make it tonight, Christine, but he says hello,” Chris told me.

   Cache. Shit. I felt anxious and relieved at the same time. I had sort of blocked out that he supervised Chris’ project at the University. My psychologist for two years in junior high, Dr. Cache had subsequently dated my mother for a year when I was sixteen. Not my favourite person. He was always so insinuating, like he knew me better than I knew myself, when really, he just saw what he was looking for.

The relationships weren’t entirely coincidental. When Chris started his sabbatical at my home-town campus last year, Cache sent him to the orchestra’s Christmas performance and asked him to deliver flowers for me backstage, “for old time’s sake.” That card upset me, and Chris’ awkward attempt to understand my stammered explanation touched me like a sweet compliment. Ethan was away for the break. I agreed to go out with Chris for a drink. The rest was history – or, now, the present.

It hadn’t occurred to me that I might be expected to socialize with this man Cache, who knew too much and not enough about me. It kind of made my skin crawl. I felt like an idiot for not considering it sooner.

“So where have you been tonight, Christine?” asked Rekha, companionably interrupting my fret. It took me a few seconds to clue in, and in the meantime Chris answered for me.

“Christine spent the day at Timeless.” He raised an eyebrow theatrically, like he was holding out a tantalizing tidbit.

“Where smart guys go to die,” sneered Freida.

“Don’t be harsh,” admonished Tim without opening his eyes. Frieda ignored him.

“Timeless is why Bashir didn’t get Associate Professor last year. I still can’t believe he married that…woman.”

“He seems to really love her.” Rekha spoke more to herself than the group.

Chris laughed loudly. “He’s gay, people. They both are. The whole thing is a sham.”

“Maybe he feels it’s the best he can do,” Rekha debated mildly, sticking to her position without challenging his.

And Chris backed down. Chris, who liked to debate a side until drained dry of debatable material, hung his head and said, “Yes, you’re probably right.” I looked back and forth between them – there was an undercurrent there that I didn’t understand.

“Hey, maybe Trix is a man,” Lance wondered out loud, his voice excited by a new theory. “She looks kind of like a transvestite. That would explain a lot – like how her tits are never the same size twice.”

Chris jumped in, ready to engage that. “No way. Do you really think she could hide a package those outfits? She’s just a lesbian, no more no less.”

“Well, she somehow sunk her claws into our Bashir,” observed Lance, leaning forward to take the joint from Tim over top of my head. I ducked away, afraid of ashes. “It’s true that Trix is not exactly the university wife to help him get places,” he mused. I snuck a glance at Rekha. Presumably, she was that kind of wife. I wondered what she thought of that.

“Why not?” asked Frieda with feigned innocence. “It’s not like she’s uneducated. She did go to acrobat school.”

“Really?” I asked before I meant to, oddly tickled at the idea of such a thing as acrobat school. The next second I realized Freida must have been kidding. Embarrassment creeped over me – I let my inhibitions down and now I looked foolish. But Rekha nodded.

“Yes, actually. Trix’s parents defected from a touring troupe. They started an acrobatics school in a warehouse to earn their living, and it became quite prestigious. Trix grew up there.”

“You know her, then?” I asked. Rekha smiled ruefully, and answered carefully.

“Yes, I have spent some time with Trix.”

I wanted to know why, but Freida could not be distracted.

“In any case,” Freida’s hand waved away my interest in acrobatics, intent on sharing what was really important. “Cache told Bashir, in front of me, that Timeless is a waste hole, going nowhere for research, and he should be applying his capacity to systemic global issues. You can’t deny his leaving has slowed down our work so he can hang out and fiddle around on a guitar all day.”

“Bass,” corrected Tim mildly. Freida ignored him.

I was having a hard time piecing together this conversation, but I couldn’t find a productive question. I didn’t want to sound stupid. I knew, at a basic level, that Trix’s bassist Bash, or Bashir to this crowd, was also the forth member of Chris’ research team at the university. Chris, Freida, Lance and Bash, with Cache supervising. The project was in “Global Human Systems,” or something – it sounded a little ominous to me, especially with the good doctor involved. I had no idea what any of that had to do with Timeless, besides the fact that Bash was in the band.

“Has Bash left the university?” I asked, confused.

“A sabbatical,” corrected Lance with a hint of doubt. “He got permission for a special project. Timeless is… I don’t know. Like an experimental lab, or a tribe he’s observing.”

“Didn’t you notice Trix’s minions at that sweatshop?” demanded Freida. “She recruits kids with nowhere to go, indoctrinates them and exploits them, all for her deluded dreams of grandeur.” Professor Freida warmed to her topic. “I would have thought Bashir was smarter than to get sucked in. I’m not sure what he hopes to gain in this scenario. At least it bumps me up on the list for field placement.”

I wondered briefly where Chris fell on that placement list. The possibility of living abroad remained a shared ambition.

“It’s not quite like that, Freida,” Rekha responded quietly. “They’re doing some good work. They’re changing the course of lives.”

“To what end?” interjected Chris unexpectedly, “And by what means?”

I felt surprised. He seemed torn, his voice betraying uncertainty. I’d never seen him uncertain. This loaded conversation had me flummoxed – obviously I’d missed some connection. Were they saying Timeless was some kind of experiment?

“What they’re doing,” reflected Rekha seriously, “it’s not orthodox, it’s not tested, and it’s not guaranteed to do anything. But harm? I don’t think they’re doing harm. At least, if they are, it’s no worse than the alternative for anyone involved.”

“Except Bashir,” sighed Lance, sadly. Rekha reached back to squeeze his hand. While Freida seemed righteously superior, Lance appeared genuinely sorry to see Bashir make poor choices.

“Well,” mused Chris, almost to himself, “they’re almost out of time to find out one way or the other.”

Freida perked up. “Why, Chris,” she asked, intrigued “Do tell. I thought they were funded? Why would they be short on time?”

Chris looked embarrassed. It seemed to me like he accidentally came too close to something he’d meant to stay away from. Maybe Bash had confided in him, something he shouldn’t share with this gossip circle. Part of me wanted to jump in and save him, not to mention save Trix from this strange and cutting conversation. But I also wanted to know what he knew, and I wanted to know if he’d tell it. I waited.

Rekha saved him in the end, by turning attention my way.

“What took you to Timeless, Christine?”

A good question. Much the same thing I wanted to know about her. I hardly knew the answer. Yesterday I’d never heard of Trix, and tonight I felt as though she and Timeless had encompassed my whole world in a day. I wanted to choose my words and get my tone right. It felt very important that Chris’ friends see my interest as anthropological and not devoted convert. I didn’t want to share too much with these people. While I prepared to speak, Chris jumped in.

“Trix was hitting on Christine at Baloo’s last night, right in front of me, no less. Then she got a VIP invite to band practice today. My girl has a soft spot for showy rock-based electronic rebel-pop.”

“Ah, a closet Rush fan, no doubt,” chimed Tim.

“Aren’t we all?” from Lance.

I could probably have predicted the conversation from there, but I had to stop listening. Chris was getting restless, too. He could ride a social gossip wave for fun, until it got old or uncomfortable. He had probably introduced musical genres to distract people into boredom so they would leave. I could almost hear him judging the prattle while providing all the expected responses with forced gusto.

Retreating from the conversation in my mind, I suddenly realized that Chris had created this social gathering for my benefit, and because I came home late, he’d been entertaining our guests for awhile already. Of course, if he’d told me…oh, maybe the text I missed. Still, I felt blindsided. It wasn’t anything in particular he said or did, but over the course of conversation I noticed him inch away from me, just slightly, claiming a little more space and resettling. I’d come home too late. He was irked with me.

I felt tired and a little muddled, and I wanted to spend some time online. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just ask them to leave, but it probably would have been rude since I’d just arrived. My mind felt sluggish and reluctant. I desperately wanted to be alone. In a moment of inspiration, I excused myself to the washroom.

Chapter 6 Scene 3 In the Bathroom

I sat on the toilet, head in my hands. I had heard too much to process. My brain hurt trying to wrap around the various impressions of Timeless, Trix and Bash, as expressed by this group of people. I took a breath. I pictured my questions and thoughts as the tenuously trembling fluff on a dandelion stem. In my mind, I blew gently and watched them float away, knowing I’d need to gather them back up at some point. I let a wave of calm descend on me.

My phone buzzed with a text. I roused myself to look at the screen. Oh. Ethan. As I watched, the texts kept coming, buzz buzz buzz.

     Ethanalogy: The other night dear

     Ethanalogy: As I lay sleeping

     Ethanalogy: I dreamt I held you in my arms

     Ethanalogy: When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

     Ethanalogy: So I hung my head and I cried

An oft-overlooked later verse to You Are My Sunshine. He typed all that on those tiny, little keys with his big, clumsy thumbs. Poor Ethan could be a bit of an over-romantic at just the wrong moments. Sweet, but then so’s a marshmallow. He just wanted to be content, all the time. He didn’t inspire my kindness anymore.

     I replied:

     PurC: need my guitars

     Ethanalogy: sold

     PurC: ha ha

     Ethanalogy: need my <3

     PurC: …

     Ethanalogy: come get them

     PurC: send them

     Ethanalogy: no $

     PurC: how much?

     Ethanalogy: u find out

     He had a point. I hadn’t done any actual work, and I’d made this mess, after all.

     PurC: ok

     Nothing back. He was pouting

     PurC: played td

     Ethanalogy: G4U

     PurC: u ok?

     Ethanalogy: no

     PurC: u gonna b ok?

     Ethanalogy: ?

     PurC: i’m sorry

     Ethanalogy: come home

Well, it felt like progress. I sighed, missing how easy things used to be with Ethan, the only friend I’d always had. I’d known Ethan since we were little – the kid next door to my grandma’s. My band mate before there even was a band. We started having sex at fourteen, “to get it over with,” we said. I felt natural and safe, trying things out with him – we learned a lot! We could be amazingly blunt with each other – rub a little softer, put your tongue here, try longer strokes, don’t do THAT! We became confident, and eventually wanted to try it out with other people, so we did. I never wanted to date him back then – our relationship was not romantic. He was my best friend.

Ethan and I ruled the set in high school. Wherever we sat around playing guitars for fun, that was where the party happened. A picnic table on the beach, crashing some rich girl’s party, holed up in a drug-dealer’s basement, the 7-Eleven parking lot – it didn’t matter. Around us, barriers broke down. Cheerleaders might find themselves at the same gathering as head-bangers and vampire goths. Something about Ethan made everyone feel at home, and something about me seemed edgy and adult, or something. Together, those qualities created a kind of universally-appealing cocktail, especially when we made music. It’s not that we had a lot of friends, it’s that people and their friends liked being around us. We were golden.

We started taking music on the road at sixteen. Sparsely populated dives and church basements, but we showed up full force, enthralled with the idea of being “on the road.” Weekend warriors, only as far as we could drive in his dad’s van, our drummer a pudgy farm-boy and never sure which of Ethan’s friends could get off work to play bass. We played lots of covers, tossing in a few of our first wriggling attempts at song writing. We sucked.

But in our home town, we always filled our local hangout, “The Status Quo” to capacity for our shows benefiting local waterlands, or fighting the evils of extra packaging on our fast food. We were popular, in demand.

I kept my grades up to keep my Grandma off my back. Applying for University became just another set of papers that adults dropped in front of me. That’s how much attention I paid. I never intended to go, even when I registered. My Grandma had saved pennies my whole life for my tuition. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t enough for me.

That summer after graduation, we hit the road for real. My dad’s old buddy snagged us a few off-third stages with a travelling show much bigger than us. On a day-lit stage we helped build, we played mostly originals to varying crowd responses. But several times, I got invited to jam with some pretty impressive acts with better time slots on bigger stages. That summer I knew what I wanted.

Ethan had the opposite reaction. It’s not sustainable, he told me. That life, it’s not a life, it’s just a show. I thought he was being morose, maybe jealous. But he shook my confidence. He wouldn’t come on the road with me after graduation – not yet, he said. Reluctantly, I agreed to a year of school before deciding. We moved in together for convenience. We noticed we were only sleeping with each other lately, and it turned into monogamy. We settled into student life.

School demanded more of me than I’d expected. We played less and less frequently. Ethan and I both worked at a local pizza place to scrape by – him in the kitchen, me waitressing and sharing my tips. I got very involved volunteering with the student orchestra and even a little obsessed with taking classical compositions from their intended instruments to acoustic, electric, and classical guitar. I could see the appeal of deepening my knowledge, and I appreciated the respect accorded classical music. I liked being part of that. It felt like another level, and I was proud to find myself swept up in it.

A few years later, facing graduation, Ethan told me he was applying to grad school. My professors were very encouraging, and I followed suit. I won a nominally-paid spot on the University’s professional orchestra to augment my T.A. salary. It was all made very easy, and I kept myself too busy to notice my dreams dissipating. Then, about two weeks before Christmas, Ethan suggested we both try teacher’s college. Just another year. Just a backup. Think about it, Chrissy, a little house, summers off to bum around and play music. It could be a nice life. But, you know, it’s just an idea.

Something cracked. I couldn’t see him the same way anymore. He wasn’t a pre-rock star, he wasn’t an amazing musician-in-training, he was just a guy who wanted to teach long division to third graders so he could sit at his backyard pool noodling around all summer. Before my eyes, his stomach seemed to expand, pink skin showing under the hair, inflated by a beer belly I’d only begun to suspect. I watched his hairline recede, just a bit, so he’d always look a little surprised, like his forehead was too big. I saw him standing at a barbeque flipping burgers in a backwards baseball cap and a black skull-and-crossbones apron to show he’s still rock and roll at heart. Pulling out the guitar around the campfire in summers with the kids, reminiscing about the old days. That was what he was.

What did that make me?

I stewed on it. Days went by and we hardly talked. He tiptoed around me. He tried to start conversations but my answers stayed short, and if I didn’t have anything to say, I just shrugged. I didn’t try to start any conversations. Ethan left for Christmas with his family the day of my big Christmas Concert, like it was nothing, and that night, Chris showed up back stage behind a big bouquet of flowers. Chris, who was going to travel the world and fix it with data models.

A timid knock interrupted my reminiscence. I wondered how long I’d been in the bathroom, and worried that I’d been missed. I washed my hands, looking in the mirror. My hair had gone insane. I tried patting it down to no avail. My eyes shone red. Ah, well. No choice but forward.

Chapter 6 Scene 4 So awkward

I opened the door. Tim and I bobbed our heads, self-consciously slipping by each other through the narrow doorway. Out in the Living Room, Freida and Rekha carried cups to the kitchen.

“Oh, don’t,” I cried, hoping I sounded distressed enough for socially acceptability.

“No, no, of course we won’t leave you in a mess, Christine. You’re just settling in.” Rekha touched my arm on her way by, reassurance of good intentions. Her hand lingered longer than I expected. I headed kitchenward, lest they think I hadn’t been planning to clean; which, in fact, I hadn’t. Luckily, Tim emerged from the bathroom, so Freida headed back to the front door.

Tim sat on the linoleum, fumbling with shoe-laces while his spindly knees threatened to break right through his jeans. “So, I’ll see you Monday morning Christine?” he asked, looking up at me expectantly. I blinked like a deer in headlights. Chris hurried over behind me.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t seen each other all day. Christine, Tim says he can have students for you Monday, if you want them.”

“Well, this week, anyway,” corrected Tim, scrambling to his feet. “Monday there’s the paperwork, a standard test, watch the orientation video. We’ll record you and get your bio for the website, and that’s it. I’ll get you a client list and materials, and you work the schedule out with them. ”

I managed to clunk out a few gears.

“…teaching…guitar…for your…clients…?” was what I pieced together.

Tim regarded me shrewdly. I knew he understood immediately that Chris had over-promised without consulting me, but he decided to save us face by pretending otherwise.

“Right! Exactly! I’m sure Chris mentioned I’m district branch manager for ‘Your Kinda Music.’ We offer private in-home lessons for privileged children. You’ll take a thirty-five dollar cut for your hour. Someone with your…pedigree, we won’t have trouble filling your schedule. Listen, I’ll tell you all about it Monday. Chris can give you directions, right Chris?”

Tim reached out and shook Chris’ hand. I felt vaguely like I’d just been farmed out as chattel; men making deals. I brushed away my unfairness. Freida leaned over and kissed my cheek, then unexpectedly moved to kiss the other cheek as I turned away. So awkward. We smiled through it, and they were gone.

For about ten seconds of first reaction, I seethed, thinking how Chris had clearly committed me to something I knew nothing about. But almost immediately I felt a surge of relief. The job situation, magically resolved. I could make my schedule. “Your Kinda Music” was likely not MY kind of music, but at thirty-five bucks an hour, I could get with the program. Sure beat getting my ass pinched for tips, right? Regardless of my reaction, Chris had already moved away. Was he oblivious, or seeking to avoid my already-expired wrath?

“Lance, I did want to show you this model I’ve been working on before you go – I’m a bit stuck and I need your help.”

“It’s late,” interjected Rekha mildly from the kitchen.

“Just let me look for ten minutes, so I can sleep on it – okay, hon? Chris? Christine?” He seemed like a big little boy, eager for compromise. He looked very cute, an innocent Prince Charming. I found myself smiling at him encouragingly, nodding my head. Noticing that, I moved to the kitchen where I belonged.

Chapter 6 Scene 5 You don’t know me

Rekha stood elbow-deep in suds, washing our garage-sale glasses. She had removed her elegant rings, and they sat brilliant in stark contrast to the cheapness of our countertop. I grabbed a towel from the drawer where Chris kept them, neatly folded. I started drying glasses and putting them away, hoping Rekha didn’t notice the stains on the shelves.

“I find myself wondering what you think of Trix, Christine,” came Rekha’s opener. Her lattice-textured eyes reminded me of the bark on my Climbing Tree. I glanced her way, feeling cheeky.

“Yes, I find myself wondering the same about you,” I countered.

She smiled, and didn’t hesitate to answer.

“I think that Trix is…something else entirely. She is so right, that sometimes it feels wrong. It’s like something is missing, but you can’t say what.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I don’t know her very well,” I blurted, a sideways betrayal. It didn’t fool Rekha.

“Trix has a way of…sucking people into her vortex. It’s an interesting experiment they’re doing, to be sure.”

“I think she has star potential,” I offered, as though to right my wrong.

“Oh, I never said I doubted that. It’s just a strange thing, doing youth outreach to create stardom for yourself. It sounds perhaps too much like a cult.”

“Is that what they’re doing? It didn’t feel that way to me. Just, a bunch of people interested in the same thing, loving music, getting ready for a show.”

I saw that Rekha held a question in her eyes, but she didn’t ask. I felt disappointed. Instead, she opted for what I was starting to see as her signature: tepid, open-ended non-disagreement.

“Yes, it could be just so. I’m glad you had a good day there. Will you play with them on Friday?” A fast topic switch, meant to catch me off guard. It worked.

“Yes. I think so. I mean, I want to. It’s just…a lot to take on.” I always end up telling the truth when I have to answer cold. But sometimes the truth belongs just to me, and I felt like Rekha was plucking at my innards. The moment I answered, I resented having given her my nuggets of truth.

“Do you find it a little intimidating, perhaps?” My hackles rose. After an off-balance day, this woman pushed all my buttons.

“Why do you say that? You don’t know me.” I felt my face flush. I noticed the unreasonable rate at which my ire rose. Rekha modelled reason, caring and good-guestedness, while I, her host, got hostile. I had a responsibility not to take her prodding personally. I tried to focus my breath to my belly while Rekha smiled kindly. I felt lucky to have the dishes as an excuse to turn away.

“Anyone would be intimidated by Trix, Christine. I know that I am. She is larger than life. And this performance is no small thing. Maybe you are not aware of the buzz that already surrounds Friday’s show?”

I felt deflated by her gentle insistence that I acknowledge my humanity. I sighed.

“I’m not aware of much, it seems.”

“Poor girl, you’re trying to drink the ocean!”

I reminded myself that she intended her sympathy as supportive, so it was my job to receive it that way. She interpreted my silence as openness to advice.

“While you are getting your bearings, Christine, may I suggest that you be careful how involved you get with Timeless? Trix will always serve her purpose first, you know.”

People acting in their own interests was news? She must have thought I was a child. I wished she would stop using my name, like a social worker. She triggered my middle-finger-to-authority response button. I could hardly stay civil, even though I knew that was unreasonable. In spite of myself, I reacted to her friendly suggestion as criticism.

“Isn’t everyone likely to serve their own purposes first?” I challenged.

Rekha adopted a thoughtful posture and appeared to ponder.

“I suppose, to some extent or another,” she admitted. “The thing I can’t help but wonder is this, Christine: if this big show is a success, what then? If Trix becomes world famous, out-selling the Beatles, will the young people who worked so hard to get her there come along for the ride, or be left in the dust?”

I felt very defensive, like I was being forced to answer for Trix when I knew almost nothing about her. I compared the two women. Trix had pushed me into intimacy as well; maybe they weren’t so different. But for me, Trix’s questions had felt like aggressive curiosity, while Rekha’s felt like jostling for control. Trix had been looking for my answers, but I had a sense that Rekha wanted me to arrive at her answers.

“I don’t know,” came my honest answer at last. Rekha smiled, and in a moment I found myself completely reconsidering my reactions to her. Her eyes softened, her smile exuding sisterly sincerity. For the first time she felt real to me, more than surface – maybe her intentions really were good.

“Christine, I like you. I’m sorry to put you off. I don’t waste time – this is me. I will tell you what I see and think and you can do what you want with it. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have fun playing with the band. I just encourage you to pay attention. I mean it kindly.”

I believed she did, but it still ruffled my feathers. I didn’t know what to make of Rekha. I felt like a kid in grown up clothes around her.

“How do you know Trix? Did you play with the band?” I asked. Rekha laughed.

“No, no, I don’t play anything well enough to inflict it on the public! I helped with the outreach program, leading group sessions and providing individual counselling.”

Ah, ha! Social worker. I so called it!

“You’re not still doing that?”

“No.”

I waited. Sometimes if you leave enough silence, even the most seasoned will crumble to fill it. Rekha sighed.

“I practice the professional discipline of psychology. Trix operates by her own belief systems. There were times when we seemed to work at cross-purposes with the…clients. She didn’t see it that way – she felt our approaches were complementary and she was not willing to bend. I felt I couldn’t continue.”

Rekha handed me the last glass and pulled the drain. I passed her a fresh towel for her hands.

“Thanks for doing the dishes,” I said blandly.

“Thanks for having us over. Chris is a special man, so we’re glad you’re here to take care of him.” Politeness blanketed us, smoothing over the rocky conversation.

We four converged on the door as if by hidden signal. Arriving and leaving have always been my least favourite parts of social interaction. Do you hug? Shake hands? Nod? Kiss? If my choice is less intimate than the other person’s, am I considered rude? It’s like playing rock, paper, scissors for social points.

“I think you’ll like working with Tim,” shared Lance as he shrugged into an expensive leather jacket. “He’s an interesting guy. It was nice to finally meet you, Christine.” He leaned in and hugged me, his cheek lightly sandpapering mine. What did he mean “finally”? If anything, I felt like Chris and I were sudden, not long-awaited. Maybe it was just a turn of phrase, but it seemed an odd thing to say.

Rekha took both my hands in hers. “I can’t wait to see you perform on Friday!” she exclaimed with obvious anticipation.

“Thanks,” I choked out. Strangely, the thought of playing in front of strangers hadn’t bothered me, but knowing that Rekha planned to be there put a knot in my stomach.

I felt Chris’ eyes on me, and realized my mistake in an instant – that Rekha knew I was playing when he didn’t probably violated his unspoken hierarchy of news-telling. Would he be hurt? Angry? I didn’t feel up to finding out.

Chapter 6 Scene 6 Who’s Luca

As the door closed, I felt myself deflate. Chris caught me in his arms, not angry after all.

“Poor little one, so tired,” he cooed. I let him take most of my weight and deposit me on the bed.“I should brush my teeth,” I murmured.

“Shh,” he whispered, stroking my hair and the edges of my face. I started drifting off to sleep, when suddenly, I remembered that I had a question for him. Without opening my eyes, I murmured,

“Who’s Luca?”

Chris’ hand stopped moving, then removed itself to his lap. He sighed, muttering something to himself that could have been “of course.” He sighed again before resigning himself to answer my question.

“Luca was the sound technician at Timeless last year, before my sabbatical, before we met. You might as well know, for awhile I thought I might be in love with her.”

My eyes shot open, but I didn’t move. I chose my words carefully.

“And now you don’t?”

“Now I don’t.” He spoke firmly. Even a hint of…bitterness?

“Because?”

“Because now I am in love with you, so I know better.” I felt suspicion ball up in my tummy.

“That’s nice and simple.” I could hear the brittle control in my voice. Too much thinking and feeling in one day. I didn’t want something else to deal with. Why had I asked this tonight? The longer Chris took to respond, the more anxiety filled my head. I was usually good at waiting people out, but my tired fought with how urgent these questions felt to me, now that the box was open. I propped myself up on my elbow.

“Okay. So, why did she leave?”

“It’s complicated. And it has nothing to do with me, anyway.” That last came out tinged with real anger in spite of him. I was starting to feel like this conversation came later in our relationship than it should. Our messed-up start really had me off-kilter.

“What’s that supposed to mean, nothing to do with you?” Shrill, but I couldn’t stop. “You tell me you were in love with someone before we met – well, okay, that happens. She left, and I’d like to know why.”

I could hear my rising hysteria, and I wished I had eaten something more substantial when I’d gotten home. Chris seemed frustrated. He started to talk, then stopped. He stood up from the bed, walked around, and came back to stand in front of me. He crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

“Look, Luca’s a tranny, okay, Christine? Like, she used to be a guy, but now she’s…he’s…I was the only idiot that couldn’t see that. She left for whatever reasons she left, and didn’t think twice about me or anyone else. Anything we had was just my ridiculous imagination, and it doesn’t even matter because I could never be into that, okay? Does that satisfy your curiosity?” He turned sideways, staring at the wall.

Poor Chris. He couldn’t stand getting publicly caught in ignorance of common knowledge. Embarrassment coupled with a broken heart – no wonder he hadn’t raised this topic willingly. I hadn’t taken him for a hater, so I assumed that his reaction and language were about being surprised and hurt. I felt bad for him.

“Hey,” I whispered softly. He turned, his mouth set defensively. I realized he thought I might laugh at him. I opened my arms, offering silent sympathy to melt his defiant stance if he would let it. His face crumpled with what looked to me like relief. He sank down on the bed, settling his head on my chest, his nose and mouth nuzzling comfort from my breasts. I wrapped my arms around him and promptly fell asleep, the day finally beyond me.

Chapter Sunday Morning

Chapter 7 Scene 1 Renders me Timeless

I woke up alone next to Chris’ semi-warm impression, and heard him brushing his teeth in the bathroom. I reflected, a little sullenly, that moving in together was a ripoff – I couldn’t go home at night and dream about him without the cold reality of spit in a sink. In the beginning, shouldn’t it be sunshine, roses and wake-up sex?

     My hair stuck to the back of my neck and my face felt warm. I kicked off the sheets. I found myself wearing one of Chris’ giant t-shirts, which meant he’d changed my clothes sometime after I’d fallen asleep. I’ve always been a very heavy sleeper. As a kid, my parents carted me around and I’d sleep anywhere – sofas, floors, behind the bar, in the car, at the back of the bus. They would carry me from place to place, completely oblivious.

     I felt grateful that Chris removed my grungy jeans and top, but hoped that didn’t mean I smelled bad when he came in for his sorry-you-got-your-heart-broken hug. I flipped my pillow over, flopped onto my stomach and allowed myself a lovely, freeing air-out. I tried to remember what day it was, arrested by sudden Monday panic before relaxing into Sunday bliss. I felt myself drifting off again.

     Flat-out face-down, I roused slowly to a tickling sensation which I came to recognize as Chris licking my toes. I felt squeamishly uncomfortable, but also a little turned on. What an odd thing to do! I hoped I didn’t have sock lint. He wrapped his mouth around my big toe and I laughed out loud. I started squirming away, but he used one arm to hold my legs in place with a gentle, deliberate pressure. I experimented with trying to move against him and the pressure increased proportionately. Surrendering felt like falling into place.

     As Chris worked his way up my calves and higher, gently separating my legs into a wide V with his elbows, I felt my muscles ease and my nerves tingle. Chris understood about pressure and lightness, variety and steadiness. From our first time together, he read my body’s cues before I gave them, anticipating what I would respond to and taking it a step further. Sex with him felt exciting because it was a bit edgy, safe to be dangerous because I trusted him. I didn’t need him to deserve my trust to give it, and that turned us both on.

     This time, his touch felt more loving than I’d ever experienced with him. Slow, in charge, but somehow more appreciative and indulgent than I’d come to expect, he seemed to actually enjoy this exploration of my body. Feeling that let me relax and just enjoy the attention. He kissed my inner thighs with increasing pressure, then ran his tongue along the underside of my labia. I shivered, my face buried in the pillow to block my other senses. I felt him suck my folds into his mouth, his lip catching my clitoris from underneath with each gentle tug. His tongue darted inside me while one thumb gently but insistently rubbed at my anus. I felt myself moving with his rhythm as waves of pleasure coursed through me, but I also felt vulnerable, exposed.

     I extricated myself, rolled over and pulled him upwards to taste myself in his kiss as I guided him inside. That felt more familiar and safe; I closed my eyes. We moved together for quite awhile before he pulled out for a condom. Sheathed, he grabbed my hips and turned me over, entering from behind. His strong thighs built an intensifying rhythm that brought us both to the edge. I felt him shudder, and tightened myself around him inside, pulling him deeper to prolong his orgasm. He collapsed on my back and I felt strong, holding us both up on my hands and knees until eventually, I couldn’t. I dropped my shaking arms and we crashed to the bed, his deadweight almost smothering me. His heaviness felt satisfying; he still pulsed erratically inside. I reached my own hand into the pressed-down space between my legs and the bed, where twenty seconds brought my waiting orgasm to fruition. Chris groaned, feeling my waves push his deflating member out. I hoped he’d hold onto the condom to avoid spillage. I gently elbowed him a little so he rolled off, and we both lay, spent, for several minutes before I felt him leave the bed.

     Good sex renders me timeless. As Chris cleaned up, I lay where he’d left me, feeling heavy and disoriented. I had to remind myself of where I was, and what else might exist in the world besides this moment of feeling good. I dreaded paying that much attention.

Chapter 7 Scene 2 Lifesaver

“I thought maybe I’d take you over to the University and show you around,” Chris called from the open bathroom door. Then, a little less sure, “If you want?”

     Reluctantly, I half sat up.

     “Oh, Chris, I kinda told Trix I’d be at rehearsal today.”

     “You’re kidding.”

     “Um, no? What time is it?”

     “So, what, you’re in the band?” Chris kept his tone light, like banter, but edgy. So, he was upset about me playing after all. He washed his hands, rinsing for an inordinately long time. The sound of the water grated on my ears as I waited until he could hear me.

     “You sound so surprised. No, I’m just going to play this show on Friday, so I have to do rehearsals. What time is it?”

     Chris opened his drawer, emerging with a plain black t-shirt, which he gave three shakes before donning. He turned to me with his serious face on.

     “Christine, are you sure you want to do this?”

     “What do you mean? If I’m doing it, I want to do it.” What could be more obvious?

     “Look, you haven’t been here long, but Trix n’ Traces is actually starting to be a big deal in this city. They get a lot of local attention. When they play, it’s a packed house and then some. The crowds are really…eclectic. It’s high profile.”

     “And I’m small town?”

     Chris appeared wounded by my tone. Sometimes I just can’t help my tone. That’s why I usually don’t say anything. He came to sit beside me on the bed, fully clothed. Acutely aware that I looked disheveled, naked under the covers, I felt vulnerable . I held the sheet closer to myself.

     “Christine, you are a talented musician.” He spoke gently, but with insistence. “Watching your face playing with the orchestra is how I fell in love with you. It didn’t matter that you were with someone, I wanted that, you, in my life. Do you think you want to be a rock star? Really?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe.” I pouted. “It sounds so ridiculous when you say it like that.”

     “Is this your dream? Or your dad’s?”

     Now I really did need to say nothing. He had pushed into territory where he had no business treading. I felt trapped by his weight on top of the sheet, his body blocking my exit from the bed. I had to control my driving impulse to push him out of the way, break free. How could I feel so loving toward him one minute, and want to shove him the next? It occurred to me that I really must be psychotic. I felt frustration building pressure in my brain, and I imagined it swirling, swirling around, all black and purple and splashes of blood red. I deliberately relaxed the pores of my head, opening them, letting the swirl get sucked out by the sudden release of pressure. I felt my skull ease, my breathing slow. I looked Chris in the eye.

     “Okay, so, I’m going to play on Friday, and I said I’d go to practice. Before I got here, you told me you’d be busy a lot and I had to amuse myself. I’m amusing myself. I’m sorry it worked out this way today.”

     He paused. He considered. In typical Chris fashion, he intellectualized the problem very quickly. I just had to feed his own words back to him, like a familiar key for his locks. He sighed.

     “You’re right. I’m just stuck on this model and it’s Sunday. I’d like to spend the day with you. I want to continue knowing you better, now that we’re here.” He flashed his winning smile, the one that closes the deal. But not this deal – I knew where I was spending the day.

     “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had plans for us today.” Chris shifted away from me. He looked briefly at the door, then back at me. He nodded to himself, thoughtful, silent. I couldn’t hold his eyes so I put my head on his shoulder. He reached up to absently stroke my tangled hair, working out the knots with his fingers. I’m sure he tried to be gentle.

     “Well, another day then.” Chris stood. I yawned and stretched.

     “What time is it?”

     “Around nine o’clock.”

     “Really?”

     He headed for the computer. “What time did you think it was?”

     “I had no idea.”

     Chris stopped and looked back at me – I’d regained his interest for the moment.

     “No idea? Like, if I’d told you it was, say, four p.m., you would have believed that?” I was starting to feel like an alien under scrutiny. I didn’t like it.

     “Well, until I looked at my phone, or a clock, or went outside,” I stammered.

     “Unbelievable.” I wasn’t sure how he meant that. His tone sounded almost admiring but maybe he was making fun. I decided to lighten things up.

     “You blew my mind, I guess.”

     A shy smile curled the corners of his lips. Men like to blow your mind, and why not?

     I started prattling as I’m apt to do in the morning, wondering out loud if so few hours of sleep would suffice for a long practice. It would be nice to have some time with the equipment before I had to play again, and I still hadn’t really listened to the music. I announced my decision to start making my way – first, personal hygiene, then food, and maybe some research to see if I could find a more efficient route. Rip the music to my phone. Maybe I could make it by 11:30 if I stayed focused, I mused aloud. Well, noon. I talked more for my benefit than any actual conversation with Chris. He clearly thought so too, since he didn’t respond to anything I said.

     “You should come!” I called, my words slightly garbled by toothpaste.

     He seemed to hesitate. “No, I want to see the impact of the data that came in yesterday. I’m not really up for an afternoon of noise. Thanks, though.”

     I decided to hit the topic head-on.

     “If I’m going to be playing at Timeless, you’ll have to go back sometime.” I spit out the toothpaste. “Luca’s not there anymore, so I don’t get what the problem is.”

     “I’d just rather not go. Sorry.”

     I felt a bit snubbed, but I left it. I didn’t want more conversation, really. Clearly Chris didn’t want to talk about Timeless, and I’d said what I needed to say. Being honest with myself, I didn’t want him to come. I might feel more self-conscious with him sitting there, judging.

     Jeans, T-Shirt and a ponytail later, I reached for the door knob just as the landline rang. I usually let Chris answer, but I was right there so I picked up.

     “Hello?”

     “Oh, good, I caught you! It’s Rekha.”

     “Um, hi.”

     “I hope it’s not too early. It’s just, I seem to have left my rings at your apartment.”

     “Pardon?”

     “Last night, when I was washing dishes, I took off my rings…”

     “Oh! I remember. Let me look.” I leaned toward the kitchen for a clearer view. Sure enough, diamond and gold glittered incongruently from our dull countertop, just where she’d left them.

     “Yeah, they’re here.”

     “Perfect. Are you going into Timeless today? Can I get them from you there? I need to be downtown later this afternoon.”

     The request wasn’t unreasonable, but I didn’t feel comfortable with that responsibility. I felt even more uncomfortable with saying no. Never answer the phone.

     “Sure, okay, I’ll bring them.”

     “You’re a life saver, Christine.”

     Great. Now I was going to have to carry a bag, which I’d hoped to avoid. Unless I wore them? I picked up the engagement ring, its diamond large enough on the simple, thick band that even I knew it must be expensive. Without thinking too much about it, I slipped my finger through. The ring slid right off, a size too big. On sudden inspiration, I slid the bands into my cell-phone case.

Chapter 7 Scene 3 Like a piece of MEAT?

Armed with my new bus plan, fully charged phone and cued up music, I made my way into the world. I breezed by people on the sidewalk, suddenly full of energy, feeling on top of the world. I knew it wouldn’t last, so I rode it out, smiling and bouncing along to the bus stop. I pressed [play] on Trix n’ Traces.

     The music captured me right away. My first thought was how it sounded like nothing I’d ever heard, but I realized that wasn’t exactly it. This music sounded more like everything I’d ever heard, but then, not really that, either. Intricate beats promised an answering call to a dream I once had that I’d longed for ever since. Trix’s high-and-mightiness, her exuberance, sexiness, quick flashes of anger, serious intent and mischievous sense of humour all blended into a sound that not only compelled me incredibly, it totally ROCKED! I had been listening for about fifteen minutes before I knew it. Only as the bus appeared on the horizon did I slowly start to realize that I had to learn and play this music in the space of a few days.

     I resisted the urge to turn around and just go home. I willed myself to mount the bus steps, and forced my face into a smile for the driver. I paid my fare and took my transfer, then told myself to sit down and quit panicking. I sat, but inside I freaked out. What was I going to do? Where did the electronics end and the guitar begin? How could I pick out what I should be doing, let alone reproduce what was clearly and distinctly Trix’s own guitar work? It sounded just like her – self-assured, with a hint of showy, chic flare to accent highly-skilled proficiency. Trix was a gifted player, not so much because of her clearly-earned technical skill, but because her guitar sang for her. Or maybe, it let her sing through it. How could I possibly replicate that sound? Could I even learn these songs by Friday? What had I gotten myself into?

     My phone vibrated a new text:

     Ethanalogy: Ur moms L4U

     Shit. I neglected to let my mother know when I changed cell numbers, and of course she picked now to catch up. Through Ethan. Mom had a radar for bad times, and I didn’t look forward to her opinions. I hoped I could head things off.

     PurC: DN gv her my #

     Ethanalogy: 2L8

     PurC: Grr

     Ethanalogy: wru?

     PurC: bus

     My phone rang – Ethan. At least it wasn’t my mom. I answered.

     “Hey, Ethan.” I knew I sounded wary – I felt it.

     “Hey, Chrissy.” My stomach lurched. My name in his voice felt shockingly warm and familiar. The loving tenderness I could still hear almost broke my heart. For a second, I yearned to curl up on our old plaid sofa with him. For a second, I longed to feel safe.

     “Why’d you give her my number?” I whined.

     “She’s your mom. Why didn’t you give her your number?” 

     “Ooh, Mr. Self-Righteous. You know why.”

     “So do you.” He always sided with her. Ethan believed in family.

     “Anyways,” he continued, “I called your place to give you a heads up, and Chris said you’re out, didn’t know when you’d be back? So, what, things a little rocky in the love nest?” he ventured.

     “No, why do you say that?” I sounded defensive.

     “Just surprised he let you out already – if I were him, I’d want to keep you to myself awhile before you’re on to the next thing.” His teasing tone didn’t hide the bitterness. I didn’t care if I deserved it. I reacted right away.

     “If you’re going to be an asshole, I will hang up.”

     “Fine. But you’re avoiding the question. You guys still in love?”

     “It’s none of your business.” He barely let me finish the words before jumping on them.

     “I think it is, actually. Since I’m the one who’s going to be picking up the pieces when you come home.” When. His innocent certainty hit me like a punch in the gut.

     “Oh, Ethan…”

     “Whatever. Look, whatever, okay? You come back. You don’t come back. I still love you. I still care.”

     That he really meant it only made his words harder to hear. I needed to back this conversation up, knock it down an intimacy level.

     “Things are fine with Chris. I’m on my way to a rehearsal. I’m playing a show on Friday.”

     “A show? Already? No WAY! I didn’t think you’d even have time to audition anywhere yet. Is it with the city orchestra?”

     “No, it’s a band.”

     “A rock band? Well, alright Chrissy!” He actually sounded enthusiastic. I accepted his interest like a tentative step on thin ice.

     “Not rock, exactly. I don’t know. I just started listening. It’s a local band. Chris says they’re getting attention. Trix n’ Traces? T-R-I-X, like the silly rabbit,” I offered helpfully. “Wait, was it the rabbit, or the cereal?”

     “The cereal. Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!” Ethan mimicked. I giggled at the incongruence between cool Ms. Trix and those ads, but then my mind flashed a picture of her bobbing down the street beside me, and the rabbit’s fluid impossibility wasn’t as far off as I’d thought.

     “I’ve never heard of Trix n’ Traces,” he admitted, “but hold on, I’m about to be an expert.” Distraction achieved! I smiled to myself. I heard the clack of typing and pictured Ethan, forelock hanging over one eye, lounging in my writing corner with the morning sun beside him and our cute little mac book perched on his lap. I shook my head to clear the image.

     “Good, then you can educate me. These people are weird. I’m a little scared, actually.”

     “I can see why! No one is that tall in real life. She must make you feel like a dwarf, Short-Stuff!” Ethan laughed – I didn’t. Another familiar pattern. Ethan continued wasting my minutes enthralled with whatever he’d found online.

     “Wow, look at that! What is she doing…? Whoa!”

     “You do know I can’t see, right?”

     “I’m just watching youtube. She moves like Cajun Tiger.” He started humming The Love Cats by The Cure, then stopped. He whistled low, in awe. “She’s sexy in a way that makes me feel like a fetishist just for saying so.”

     I laughed. That was actually perfect. Ethan made a low, uncertain sound in his throat. When he spoke again, I knew he also felt the thin ice sliding us along.

     “Chrissy,” he started hesitantly, “this isn’t so much your kind of thing, is it? I mean, there’s a lot of electronics, showy stuff, it’s like a big…theatre production or something. This video is grainy, but it looks pretty choreographed.”

     “I don’t know what I’m in for,” I pouted glumly.

     “Oh, don’t get down. I’m sure it’ll be fun to try…”

     “No, you’re right, maybe I should stick with what I know. I think I’m over my head.”

     He didn’t answer right away. When he did, I heard something in Ethan’s voice that I couldn’t place, something determined and tender that I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

     “No, Chrissy, you should push your talent and see what it can do. I can totally see you doing this. Listen, she’ll spotlight you on a few songs, let you play into the noise, dance up and down your legs – you do know she’s a total lesbo, right?”

     “Nice.”

     “Yeah, well the way she’s dancing with that blonde, it’s a wonder their crowd isn’t full of frat boys. Practically soft porn. Have you checked this stuff out?”

     “Not really. There were people over last night, and I was a little late getting started this morning.” I knew right away that I’d made a mistake. I’d used that line too many times when the mornings were with him. Silence teemed with tension several seconds too long.

     “I’m sure you were. Fine. Okay. Listen, um, enjoy the practice.”

     “Wait, Ethan?”

     “Yes?” The hope in his voice made me feel bad. But this was important.

     “I need my guitars.” He didn’t reply. I waited. Finally he took a deep breath and spoke.

     “Okay, Chrissy, listen. I was really angry when you left.” My heart skipped a beat. Creeping tension tightened my shoulders up into my neck.

     “Ethan…”

     “Listen, just listen, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

     I felt bile rising from my stomach. I knew Ethan was angry, but I hadn’t allowed myself to seriously consider that he’d do anything to my guitars. The classical acoustic was a gift from my grandmother, paid for by her Catholic Women’s League upon the occasion of my high school graduation. I named my new guitar Villanelle, so she could bring my music poetic discipline with freeing magic. She’d been with me for every performance I’d given with the orchestra. If Ethan had done something to that guitar, I didn’t think I could forgive him.

     “I’m sorry. I smashed the electric pretty much to bits.” I didn’t react. I never loved that knockoff Les Paul backup, itself an Ethan hand-me-down, so smashing it seemed a dubious punishment. He knew what I was waiting for. I resented having to ask.

     “What about Nell?”

     Ethan said nothing. My voice vibrated with the stirrings of hysterics.

     “Ethan, you know. You know about that guitar.” My voice got louder in spite of me. Around me, other passengers looked up, then quickly down again.

     “I didn’t smash it.”

     His tone gave him away – he was holding something important back. I tried for benign.

     “Good. Can you send her to me, then?” A nice, even tone.

     He didn’t answer right away. My palms felt itchy; my finger nails dug in. My breath shallowed. I heard Ethan swallow and breathe in sharply.

     “Chrissy, you know when I said I sold your guitars…”

     “Oh. Oh! Oh! No! Oh my GOD, Ethan. You pawned my Nell? She’s gone. She’s gone.” I hyperventilated.

     “I’ll get it back. I swear to you. As soon as they open at noon. I’ll get it.”

     “I can’t believe…I mean, I know you’re mad at me but…” My voice broke off. I felt small and betrayed, like I was realizing for the first time, once again, that no one in the world loved me enough to be trusted with what mattered.

     Ethan sounded distraught. “I know. I’m sorry. What can I say? You left me for another guy after forever together, when I thought we were finally solid. You called me a coward, you called me boring, you called me a Pillsbury Dough-Boy waiting to sit life out on the back porch drinking beer. You made me look like a fool to my family and everyone I know, you made me feel like dirt. My heart is rotted and it’s like a monster is gnawing me away from inside, all the time! Have you ever had your heart broken, Chrissy? Do you even have a heart?”

     He’d gone from sorry to freakshow in twenty seconds flat. I had a hard time listening to his pain and feeling my own. I wanted to end it for both of us – for my best friend whom I loved still, and for me, weary from emotional storms. I felt guilty for causing him pain – every word he said was true. And I resented him for inflicting his pain on me, when it clearly belonged to him. I wished I could have never hurt him, but I couldn’t just sit tight until death because he didn’t want to move and I wanted to protect him from my loss. He, on the other hand, had acted deliberately to hurt me, and that just proved I’d made the right decision.

     “Ethan, look, I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never do things the right way, you know that by now. Maybe I should have left on my own, but I was too afraid so here I am with Chris, and he’s a good guy, it could work out, who knows? I suppose I could have been here with you, but you didn’t even want to try.”

     “I didn’t want to work retail renting a tiny rat-infested room in some city slum and living half my life on a bus. No, not really.”

     “Exactly. Fine. So anyway, I’m playing a show on Friday and Gretel is broken, my alternate is smashed,” I paused to let him remember that both these obstacles were his fault, “and you sold my GRANDMA’S GUITAR! Fuck, Ethan, I can’t believe you would do that when…”

     Anxiety clutched my stomach again as my voice broke off. I knew I’d start blubbering in a second. A couple of high school girls whispered and giggled behind their hands, careful not to look at me long enough to catch my eye.

     “Chrissy, Chrissy, I’ll get it back. I’m putting on my shoes. Right now. I’m going to go stand outside the door until they open, so no one can walk in ahead of me to buy it. It was still in the window yesterday. Okay? Shh, I’m so sorry.”

     “She was IN THE WINDOW? Like a piece of MEAT? Your shoes are on, like, right now? Are they done up?” I knew what I sounded like and I didn’t care.

     “Yes.”

     “Go. Go get my guitar. Wait, do you have enough money?”

     “I didn’t spend the money. I was going to send it to you with a letter.”

     “Oh, yeah? What did the letter say?”

     “You don’t want to know.”

     “Yes, I really, really do.”

     “Well, I might mail it yet. With some shards from the electric for good measure.”

     “Ouch.”

     In a way I felt relieved that he seemed comfortable enough to dig at me a little. I felt, if not quite forgiven, like we both knew he would forgive me when the wound wasn’t so fresh. Ethan was my best friend, after all. This guitar thing had evened our footing, and though I knew it, I still felt like the wronged party. Whether I would forgive him remained an open question, depending heavily on the outcome of his mission.

     “Really, Ethan, please get my guitar back. My grandma…”

     “I know. I know. I do regret it now. Even though I’m still really mad at you…that just wasn’t cool. I wanted to hurt you.”

     “You picked a good way.”

     “I know. I’ll get it back.” His voice cracked. I felt bad for how bad he felt, but also satisfied. He deserved it. I didn’t want to talk with him anymore.

     “Okay, I should actually listen to this music before I fumble and stumble through it in front of a bunch of strangers on someone else’s pet guitar. Are you at the door, ready to go?”

     “Yes. I’m at the door. Call you later?”

     “We should text. Long distance costs a fortune.”

     “I know. I just paid your phone bill.” A reminder that he was still taking care of me. It felt kind of nice to know someone was, until I realized that dates and numbers on that bill might taint his comment.

     “I guess I should change the address.”

     “No rush. I’ll send you an invoice. Hey, have fun today! I mean it.”

     “I’ll try. Get my guitar. Bye.” I hung up, fast, before he could say something else. It was a kind of game we’d always played on the phone, stretching out the goodbye and ending abruptly. We’d never defined the rules, but we both knew how to play. We’d grown up making up these kinds of games together.

Chapter 7 Scene 4 Violence

I got surprised by my stop for the transfer coming up fast. I dinged the bell at the last possible second. The driver glared at me in his mirror, then braked hard so I lost my footing and knocked into an old man’s walker. I felt suddenly irate, fed up with pettiness. I found myself screaming over my shoulder as I stepped off.

     “God, IT HAPPENS! People mess up! You don’t have to be a TOTAL DICK!” The high school girls laughed derisively as the doors slid shut. My foot came down into a puddle.

     I tried not to stew while I awaited the next bus, but my mind zinged. Ethan was so ingrained in me that he got under my skin. It didn’t help that three buses arrived and left before my transfer showed up. As I climbed the step, I realized that I hadn’t actually heard any of the songs that I’d been playing into my ears. I handed the driver my transfer, and he said something. I turned off the music.

     “Pardon?”

     “This transfer’s expired.” Flat, bored face. Denying my transfer probably offered his entertainment for the day. I understood perfectly well that if I smiled pretty and flirted, he’d let it pass. I felt so beyond doing that.

     “That’s the one he gave me. You’re the first number twelve to come along.” I started heading for my seat. The driver grabbed my arm, hard.

     “It’s expired. Pay the fare or get off the bus.” Behind me, people started shoving. I hesitated. The thing was, if I paid now, I didn’t have fare to get home. I should have asked Chris for money but I didn’t, accidentally on purpose. I didn’t want to ask him. If he’d offered, I would have taken it, but he didn’t think to and I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth, so now I found myself in a stupid position. Just like me.

     I pulled my arm free. My face hot with humiliation and absolute rage, my hand shaking, I paid the fare. Later would have to take care of itself, as usual. I plunked myself into a seat by a window and watched the world roll by. I started the music again, determined to really listen this time. I closed my eyes.

     The song I heard diverged from the rest of the album. I found myself lost in a spooky piece of wisp and shadow, darting among dense forest trees but not quite materializing as a coherent piece of music. Suddenly, harmonized voices created cohesion, many voices forming a single vibration, a messenger. That was why I heard the lyrics – they deliberately stood out in bold face. Had all the songs been this…serious? Up until now, I’d been listening for the music and where I could fit, treating Trix’s voice like one more instrument. I cut the song short to start the whole album again from the beginning, listening more carefully to the words.

     What I’d taken for tight, hard-edged dance music sounded a little different the second time through. Song by song, I realized Trix was spelling out a philosophy. Self-discipline, respect and attention. Standing up against oppression. Meeting might with creativity. Meeting power with strength of conviction. Railing against the world’s ultimate corruption and calling for humanity’s last stand.  All pretty standard revolution speak, but something about how she did it – the heavy beats and spellbinding tones, the rise and fall of her voice – made the songs feel more radical than the words alone. Like an incitement to riot. Trix never called it out, exactly, never demanded nor condoned violence. Yet, her songs stirred within me a distinct warrior’s passion to leap into the battle for what’s right.

     I rocked in my seat, to the amusement and annoyance of other passengers. I didn’t care.The songs demanded that my body move and my spirit take flight. I felt inspired to rise up and charge with her. Trix n’ Traces were not just playing, they invited us to join a world-altering movement, and made me want to say yes. My heart leaped with potential, certain this music itself could change the world. I didn’t feel afraid about learning the notes, anymore. I anticipated being part of something important.

     I stepped off the bus as the last piece began again – the haunting, slow miasma that had first alerted me to the importance of words. Bash’s bass created an underlying fog through which other instruments emerged and retreated until the voices, clear and strong:

    Mother Spirit called forth Earth

    So Earth could sing her song

    Father sowed his Life

    An experiment gone wrong

    For love of Life, once made

    Mother fed while Father led

    A brutal race of forces

    Dead eating the dead

    Mother Spirit fed Earth’s blood

    Earth’s abundance fed the Life

    but Life turned on its mother

    Exchanging teat for knife

    So many lives, compounding

    Each eating life to live

    Earth drowns in her creations

    As Life cries give give give

    Earth’s song now anguished screaming

    Mother Spirit shakes with pain

    But rises ‘midst the fire

    Begging mercy, if in vain

     The verses, harmonized hypnotics, ended abruptly as something shifted under the music, sped up like a current under apparently still water. Current rose to surface; guitar and keyboard sped with an urgent flow. Then Trix’s voice spoke over the rushed tones calmly: spoken word artist, story-teller, instigator.

    Mother Spirit calls to Father

    She’s the only one he’ll hear

    She asks, he denies

    She cajoles, he diverts

    She begs, he sneers

    She demands, he makes…

    VI-O-LE-EN-NCE!

     With the boom of a giant drum, the voices dropped back in, their harmony decidedly off-key yet somehow beautiful, chanting behind Trix’s single-word shriek:

    Violence Violence Violence Violence

     A deep male voice intoned:

    Force. Power. Assert my will.

     The voices chanted again “Violence Violence Violence Violence” behind Trix’s wail. The male voice returned, rising, vaguely distorted, stretched out and commanding:

    You will because I say you will.

     Abruptly, the building crescendo of music stopped dead in mid-air, never reaching its peak. Silence. End of album. I felt physically shaken. The chaotic, dense instrumentation, weird-sister vocals and shifting rhythms left behind a clammy, unclean feeling. I felt like I had witnessed the moment evil entered the innocent world. Goosebumps rose on my arms. How could she end the album here?

     I walked with silence in my ears for about thirty seconds before quiet piano notes began – not finished, after all. Pigeon-piano, my grandma would call it. Two fingers that knew where they were going, poking out a questioning rhythm, a just-waking-up-wondering-where-I-am innocence. The sound of newborn hope getting its feet. Fingers plucked along, gaining momentum, a little fun, a little joy, then wandered off out of my earshot to go start changing the world again. I smiled.

     I arrived at Timeless just as the album finished. I love picture-perfect timing. It feels like universal interference, just for fun.

Chapter Sunday Afternoon

Chapter 8 Scene 1 Tell us how

Stuffing my headphones into my pocket, I climbed the steps and pulled the front door, which jarred against my grip, locked. Again, locked. Not too worried, I headed down the ally, but found the side door also locked up tight. I tried banging but no one came, so I headed back to the front.

     I’d just lifted my hand to knock when the door opened in front of me. Two men in suits filed by without a second glance my way, engaged in a conversation with each other in a language I didn’t recognize. One complained, irritated, while another seemed to reassure him. A third followed behind, scanning the street intensely. I felt his eyes on me only a second before he decided I didn’t matter. I whisked myself inside before the door shut behind them, burning with curiosity to know who they were. I found no one to ask in the dark, deserted lobby. I followed light from the main theatre, where I heard Trix’s tone but not her words.

     As Trix’s voice got louder and clearer, something stopped me short of entering the theatre. I felt like I was intruding on a ceremony. Cautious, I stood just outside the door with a limited view. Trix spoke in sermon-like tones – stylized, expansive. She used length and pause deliberately, creating a groove. I felt my body wanting to sway, and saw the crowd of kids around her doing just that. She paced slowly in front of them, demanding and receiving their rapt attention. Her feet hit the ground in rhythm with her words. Her arms invited understanding.

     “They think they are the flowers, and we are the weeds. But who decides which is which? We are a field of dandelions. Beautiful, delicate petals of gold, calling, calling to the sun!” Her arms curved to take the crowd in, then rose, rose, tugging all their spirits upward.

     “See, I am you, you are me, we are love. They mow us down, but we grow and flourish, even while they struggle to bloom their precious, expensive blossoms. And when we have soaked in all the sun and earth’s goodness, felt the bumblebee’s clumsy love, we become seeds that spread far and wide, propagating. As the wind takes us, we spread.” Trix’s arms undulated, her wrists loose and hands shaking seeds to the wind. I heard murmurs of assent from the group that gathered around her.

     “We live our lives, every day, spreading love like a weed. Tell us how, Lizard?”

     “Use hands to build.”

     “Tell us how, Jez?”

     “Be clear, be bold.”

     “Tell us how, Paul?”

     “Think, ask and choose.”

     “Tell us how, Duggan?”

     “No win, no lose.”

     “Tell us how, Seth?”

     “High expectations.”

     “Tell us how, Lit?”

     “Through celebration.”

     “Tell us how, Milo?”

     “Give what we can”

     “Tell us how, Moffat?”

     “Offer our hands.”

     “Tell us how, Rails?”

     “Fight when it’s right.”

     “Tell us how, Stan?”

     “Words backed with might.”

     “Tell us how, friends?”

     “Build strength, build calm.”

     “And for how long, friends?”

     “Till love’s day comes. Respect myself, respect each other, respect this place!”

     The kids shouted these last responses en mass with determined vigour, absolutely no joking around. They took this ritual seriously. As Trix called each one’s name, I saw the others thinking about what they would reply, trying to stay in the rhythm. I watched carefully, sure I’d catch a few eye-rollers, non-participators, in-the-back whisperers. But the only one I found wasn’t in the crowd. Jamie also watched the proceedings, from the stage-side door across the theatre.

     When he caught my eye, Jamie shook his head at me, eyes wide, motioning for me to go. I pulled back around the corner just as the crowd in the theatre started breaking up.

Chapter 8 Scene 2 Latchkey

The next thing I knew, Jamie appeared out of nowhere beside me.

     “Did Trix ask you to come early?” he asked, urgently.

     “How did you get here so fast?” I asked.

     “Did she ASK you to come now?” he demanded again.

     “No, I just wanted to…”

     “Shhh, okay! Come on!” He grabbed my arm. “Trix doesn’t like the musicians hanging around during calibration,” he explained, as if that gave any explanation at all. Jamie tugged on my sleeve just as Trix appeared through the door. She stopped in front of us, scrunching up her nose.

     “Mouse. You’re early.” Her lips pursed, irritated.

     “I thought maybe I’d have a chance to check out the equipment.”

     “We can’t have you wandering. You’ll need an escort.”

     “I could show her around,” offered Jamie.

     “No, I need you. Lizard!” Two boys just inside the wide doorway turned simultaneously at her call. The smaller boy quickly looked down, then busied himself with a paint brush as Lizard stepped forward. Trix’s eyes narrowed. She continued watching the diligent worker.

     Lizard’s posture made me reassess his status. He was not a young boy. Lean and self-assured, he walked like a warrior. I admired the green sheen tattoo coating the left side of his neck, snaking into his cropped hairline and sliding down past the shirt collar. Emerald reptilian scales overlaid his smooth skin like a thin elfin fabric. I wondered how far down the decoration went.

     Trix didn’t look at Lizard as she spoke, her eyes still glued on the smaller boy, who pretended to work with his back to us. “Lizard, I want you to show Mouse around so she doesn’t get lost or in the way. Who’s that boy there with you?” Lizard’s eyes went not to the boy, but to Jamie, who met his gaze for only an instant before looking away.

     “Latchkey.”

     “Didn’t see him in Cal today. Is he days or nights?”

     “Days, but…well, he’s got nowhere.” As Lizard spoke, I caught something in Jamie’s body language from the corner of my eye. He had reacted to Lizard’s words, but I couldn’t say how exactly. I sensed he wanted to correct Lizard, or maybe he wanted to erase what had been said.

     Trix stepped toward the doorway.

     “Latchkey, come here. ”

     The boy slouched forward reluctantly, while Trix strode to meet him. His nickname suited him perfectly – Latchkey looked like a kid who couldn’t figure out what to do with himself while he waited for a mother who didn’t come home. The kind of kid Trouble finds quickly, twisting a good nature.

     “How old are you?” Trix demanded.

     “Sixteen.” High voice.

     “You are not sixteen.”

     “I am.”

     “Prove it. Where is your ID?”

     “I don’t have any.”

     “You can’t be here without ID. We all need to own who we are and how we belong in society. Go to the Social Services office downtown and they’ll help you get your ID. Don’t come back without it. Register with the office when you do come back. Now, out.”

     She turned on her heel, the matter closed.

     “Wait! Please don’t kick me out. I want to stay. I belong here.”

     From where I stood, I saw Trix’s face before she turned back. Her eyes closed, her forehead crumpled down, chin crumpled up, like a dried apple-doll face of sadness. I watched her feel it. I watched her let it go and turn back to Latchkey, mild and in control.

     “How old are you?”

     “Fourteen.”

     Trix smiled her compassion.

     “I’m sorry. You should go into foster care, Latchkey. You should try for a family. If it doesn’t work out, you can come back when you’re sixteen.”

     The boy’s desperation made my own heart pound faster. I could see him struggling for control, but what leaped from his mouth was, “I won’t be alive by then.” Holding his place but in constant motion, Latchkey turned this way and that, fighting the urge to run by sheer will. He looked from Jamie to Lizard as though one of them could help him. Jamie didn’t acknowledge him. Lizard met the boy’s eyes, and shook his head once.

     Trix got down on one knee so her face looked up from below Latchkey’s. She didn’t touch him, but opened her hands on either side as though hugging the air around him.

     “I cannot have you here. I’m sorry. I can give you this: whatever you experience in this time while you wait to be sixteen, it will shape the rest of your life. So understand. These things that test you help you grow. That they are hard testifies to your strength. Now the choice is yours – will you come out stronger? Or will you give in to despair?” Latchkey shook his head slightly, slowly. No one existed in the room but Trix and him, for any of us. We all stood transfixed by what passed between them.

     “This is your training ground, Latchkey. I see into you. Your spirit can handle whatever comes next. You already have. Can you try to know that?” The boy nodded again, just barely, eyes on his feet, while his face worked hard at not crying.

     “Foster care is your best chance right now, even if the situation sucks. Please, try. And if, when you are sixteen, you need to come here, come back stronger and more full of love than you leave today. That is your responsibility. Will you accept it?” He nodded. Trix raised her eyebrow, and we all knew she expected a vocalized response.

     “Yes,” came his shaky reply. Trix opened her arms wider, and Latchkey stepped forward, his bitter acceptance tolerating but not softened by her embrace. She appeared unaffected by his lack of response. Holding him, she said, “Perhaps when you are settled, your foster family will sign for volunteer hours. Jamie, can you take him to the office and ask Bash to make the call?”

     Trix patted Latchkey’s arms on either side, touching his forehead with hers for just a moment as she smoothly rose to standing.  Jamie stepped forward and put his arm over Latchkey’s shoulder, but the boy shook it off and walked down the hall, leaving Jamie trailing behind.

     Trix strode my direction, but it wasn’t me she was after, it was Lizard.

     “You know he shouldn’t be here. Why make things harder by showing him what he can’t have?”

     “Trix, if you knew hisstory…” he stammered.

     She raised her hand against explanation. “I know his story. It’s all the same story. Speaking of which, you’ve been in the bunkers a long time. Are you close on a new place to sleep?”

     Lizard’s face screwed up, open mouth, like he’d been sucker-punched.

     “I…ah…well, not yet. Been busy gettin’ ready for the show…”

     “No.” He stopped short at her abrupt declaration. “No, Lizard. We’ve been clear about it. The bunkers are for now, not forever. You can still eat here but someone needs your bed more than you do. It’s time you found your way out of this nest.”

     “What, ’cause of Latchkey? I’m not even the one –  ”

     “Latchkey came to my attention because of you, not the other way around. I needed someone I trust to show Mouse around, and you’re an old-timer, which reminded me you’re still in the bunkers when I know you can be more independent. So I guess you could say, Latchkey got kicked out because of you. And you could say I noticed you because of Mouse. But what I noticed…that just is.  ”

     Lizard frowned, but he didn’t argue. Trix softened. 

     “I love you, Lizard. You have a place here, but it’s time. You need your own spot to rest your head, and I know you can manage it. I’ll ask you again in two weeks. Be nice to Mouse anyway, it’s not her fault.”

     Trix turned to me, and in a moment I felt I’d been the object of her attention all along.

     “Mouse, ask the right questions and Lizard can be a font of information. I’m glad you’re here, but I’ll be gladder at one o’clock. Don’t come early again, it just…complicates things.” She winked to take the edge off her words, but that didn’t blunt them much. I felt cold, a creepy discomfort in my stomach. I suddenly wanted to leave, though I felt sure I was over-reacting. Trix didn’t stick around while I figured out how I felt. Down the hall, an office door banged loudly behind her, not quite a slam. Alone, Lizard and I sized each other up.

     “Well, that was dramatic,” I offered. A beat passed while I worried I’d hit the wrong note, but then his face broke into a grin.

     “You ain’t seen nothin’!” Lizard laughed.

Chapter 8 Scene 3 Are we in kindergarten?

I tried to guess Lizard’s age, which could have been anywhere from mature-seventeen to baby-faced-twenty-four. A foot taller than me, his solid, alert posture brought to mind a boxer, his shoulders lean but broad. His gait telegraphed that you’d better mean business if you wanted to mess with him. I caught a whiff of his self-confidence, clear as a scent, or maybe a pheromone. I wondered about his story.

          “So where’re we headed, Mouse?” he asked.

          “Christine,” I corrected. Lizard smirked.

          “Right, let’s see how that goes for ya.” His laugh mocked me in a friendly way.

          I meant to ask him to take me to the stage equipment, but I suddenly remembered Jamie’s intriguing comment about Mr. Strat – he helps keep the calm in the bunkers. On a whim I said instead,

          “How about these bunkers I’ve heard so much about?”

          Lizard’s eyes widened in surprise, then he shrugged.

          “Really? Come on, then.”

          I felt like I’d gotten away with something, accomplished a jedi mind trick. I followed him down the hallway past the closed office doors, both of us studiously ignoring Trix’s muffled agitation. Lizard said nothing, so I asked him the first thing that came into my head.

          “How did you get here, to Timeless?”

          Over his shoulder, Lizard’s glance could have been contemptuous or amused. He responded in a singsong tone, like the answer was so obvious it didn’t matter.

          “Dad left. Step dad beat me, so I beat him worse, then I was outta there. Stumbled wrong then stumbled right, I guess. You?”

          “Um, forgot my dreams…left my boyfriend…ran away to the city…met Trix at a bar?”

          He snickered.

          “Complicated, huh.”

          As we walked, I became aware that Timeless encompassed more than one of the connected buildings on this city block, extending back and sideways through a labyrinth of carelessly-hewn passageways. I had two simultaneous thoughts: one, that the place couldn’t possibly be up to code, and two, that I was starting to lose my sense of direction. We entered a dimly-lit hallway that seemed even more like a secret passage, with rough walls and uneven floorboards. Still curious, I asked,

          “Um, so, do you like it here?”

          At the exact same moment, Lizard suddenly stopped dead in front of me, so that I stumbled right into his solid back, flying backwards from the impact. I tripped on a floor board and landed hard. He turned to check on my noise, but also, I thought, to obscure my view into the next room. I thought I saw movement behind him before he blocked me.

          “Sorry, you okay?”

          “Yeah. I’m just going to sit here until I can collect my dignity, if that’s okay.”

          Lizard laughed. He seemed relieved.

          “Sure. Let’ssit. Good idea.”

          He sat down across from me, feet flat and knees up, his long fingers lazing top-pinnacle, like he’d planned to rest here all along. Still, I caught him glancing into the room beyond, waiting for whoever was there to go; I felt him stalling me.

          “So…do I like it here? Mouse, I tell you, here’s only place I breathe right.” Lizard’s velvet voice vibrated nicely in my ears.

          “What do you mean?” I asked.

          “Out there, you can’t trust no one but your mother.”

          “Sometimes you can’t even trust her.” I earned a sideways smile.

          “Here’s not perfect. Trix can be…an’ Trace…well, they’re strong personalities. The other guys – some of ’em think they get it but they don’t. The rest of us don’t always get it, but we want to, we’re trying, ya know?”

          “Not really.”

          “Look, I grew up fighting. I’ll fight if I have to. I know how to scrap, to protect what’s mine.” His expression hardened, skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. I could see his fierce fighter. Lizard turned and looked into the room again, but met my eyes before going on.

          “I’ve been there beside my brothers an’ I stood up for my sisters, I had the shit kicked outta me an’ gave twice back. But I don’t like it, I don’t wanna always watch my back. Here it’s…like…I don’t have to worry so much about guarding against other people, ‘cause I know they got better things to do than mess with me. I can pay attention, more guard…against…me. Or, against what gets in the way of…bein’ how I wanna be.”

          “Wow, you’ve really thought this through.” I felt impressed with his insight.

          “Almost two years, I sure hope I thought it through!” he half-joked. Lizard looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. I wanted to soothe that for him.

          “I think I know what you mean – you’re with people you can trust. Me, I haven’t really found any yet. ” Our eyes met and held again. Gorgeous grainy oak blinked twice at me before softening.

          “Well, welcome to Timeless, little sister.” He held out a strong hand, and we pulled each other up from the dusty planks. I brushed at the seat of my pants and a shot of pain pierced my finger.

          “Oh, shit! Ow! Shit! I have a sliver.”

          Lizard bent over me and before I could blink, his fingers zipped in, pinched and pulled. I didn’t know how he could see with so little light.

          “Got it!” He crowed, holding the tiny wood-shard up like he just caught a fly ball. His teeth flashed white, and I noticed one missing top right. He quickly pulled his lips down to cover. “But, ah, Mouse…we don’t swear here.”

          “We don’t swear? Are we in kindergarten?” I joked.

          “Respect myself, respect each other, respect this place. So no swearin’. It’s hard, but you get used to it.”

          I felt a little chastised, and I didn’t much like it.

          “Um, okay, thanks.”

          I resisted the urge to put my finger in my mouth as Lizard produced a bashed-up little bottle of hand sanitizer from his front pocket. He took my hand in his, and squeezed a drop onto the red hole in my finger. It stung, but I didn’t complain. He kept my hand until we emerged from the passageway into a wide, high-ceilinged space the size of my apartment. Not surprisingly, no one was there. At one end of the space, huge wooden double-doors beckoned. Each door sported plate-sized spiral doorknobs. I could hear and feel bass reverberate behind the doors, shaking the walls around us as we approached. Lizard stopped just outside, and turned to me seriously.

          “Listen, that stuff with Trix back there, don’ let it scare you off. I got pissed ‘cause she went an’ made a big show, which she always does, but thass just me getting pissed. She made a show so then, I know how serious she is, an’ you see how she works, or somethin’. She always has a reason, I learned ta just know that.” He smiled his grudging admiration.

          “She was really…abrupt. Telling you to go? That’s harsh.”

          “I gotta say, about me, she’s right. After this show, me an’ two other guys, we’re starting work together, contract renovations. We learned that here, from real pros who came an’ led the big projects, for free. They say they’ll feed us overflow work to start us off. Bash has a lead on maybe some government money, for guys like us trying to break out. Trace called some friends so now we got this big shot business suit saying he’ll help with advice an’ legal stuff.”

          I knew from his earnest expression that Lizard was sharing something important to him.

          “We might make it go, ya know? Three guys who were gonna end up dead or in jail, again. We might get a good life. At least, I can hope that right now, and I never had hope before. Thasss what this place does. You’ll be glad you came here, Mouse.”

          I felt embarrassed to find him treating me as a new resident when I was actually a tourist. I fumbled for clarification, but he had already turned away.

Chapter 8 Scene 4 The Bunkers

“Okay, well, here’s the bunkers.” Lizard grasped a spiral knob and pushed the heavy door in front of him.

     On first view, The Bunkers pretty much met my expectations. The space put me in mind of a barn, with high, unfinished ceilings and a platform accessed by ladder. Narrow bunk beds lined the west wall, stacked three high. A few held occupants, while other boys rested on mats on the floor, seemingly oblivious to the loud music from emanating from speakers scattered among the rafters. I saw more mats rolled and stacked in large, plywood bins by the windows. The Bunkers – a place to sleep.

     But stepping through the door, I saw a lot more. The room extended out, wrapping back around the entryway, opening into a space the size of a small gymnasium. A low but sturdy stage filled the back corner, with what looked like good sound equipment. Two boys practiced guitar and drum to the overhead dance-trance. In the rest of the space, maybe twenty kids lounged around, not interacting with each other at all. Instead, they all looked down, typing intently on various devices. Most had phones, but a few used notebooks and tablets. On the south wall, something projected what looked like a #timeless Twitter feed. I stood for a moment, reading.

        @muleheadedpig2 @cethreepeeohno are you IN for Thursday? #Timeless

        @nastydumplingang check out @tricksntraces at #GaddyFarwell’s http://bit.ly/hHHyyw #follow

        @wipsmartwarriorr that bitch can MOVE #timeless #trixntraces http://bit.ly/asREWd

        @cethreepeeohno @muleheadedpig2 IN? it’s gonna be EPIC! #timeless #rockthistown

     “You can stand there all day, still won’t make any sense” joked Lizard. “You’re seeing the power of the ‘social media hub.’” He used his fingers to make the quotes. “The longer you’re here, better your gear. Unless you’re a snatcher,” he said loudly as we passed two boys with new-looking ipads.  ”Rails, Stan,“ he acknowledged them as we walked by. Without lowering his voice he grumbled, ”They call this work? Like to see them get off their butts, come down to ground zero sometimes.“

     I couldn’t tell if Lizard felt resentful or playful, which made me uneasy. Several people took my picture before anyone had even said hello, and suddenly my stunned and glowing face appeared beside Lizard’s scowl, huge on the wall. I turned away, and almost bumped directly into the sandwich-cart girl from yesterday, her wide smile so close my head jerked back instinctively.

     “You’re pretty. You’re my new friend,” she cried with disconcerting certainty and abandon.

     “Um, hi, you’re pretty, too,” I managed to respond. Lizard pushed his hand between us, nudging the girl back a few steps.

     “Chia, I think Adelaide needs you in the kitchen.”

     Chia shook her head as though to clear it, looking troubled, then smiled her bright smile again.

     “Okay! I better go. See you later!”

     She skipped off like a six year old, though her ample body confirmed her well on the way to womanhood.

     “Don’t mind her,” Lizard assured me. “She’s not all there, ya know?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Nothing.” He looked embarrassed. I waited, and sure enough, he crumbled first. “Chia an’ Ruby, they’re Adelaide’s, they shouldn’t even be here, but Adelaide’s kitchen feeds us, so. Whatever they ran here from made Chia…sort of checked out. Or maybe she was always like that, I don’t know. She’s harmless, but’s it’s not cool, her hangin’ out alone here with the dogs. Just be nice to her, okay?”

     “Well, I wasn’t going to be mean!”

     I peeked through a doorway to a smaller room. Here I found a strange cubicle farm, like an office or a call centre. Young people sat at computer desks partitioned by flimsy, carpet-covered pressboard, many speaking quietly into headsets. They might have been playing computer games – I saw avatars battling and merchants buying goods. They were all so engrossed that only one weasel-faced guy even noticed my intrusion. That one did a double-take, then scuttled quickly toward me, not unlike a fast little rat. I found myself instinctively backing out into more open space.

     “Well look who we have here!” he exclaimed in a nasal drawl. Weasel-boy slid up right beside me, in my personal bubble. He stood only a few inches taller than me, with angular features, a big nose, and glasses that perched a little incongruently, like a disguise. I could tell the V-shaped smile he bestowed on me was the same one he gave free to anyone. I wondered what his real smile looked like. Lizard stepped in on my other side protectively.

     “Mouse, meet Static, he does internet stuff. Static, Mouse. Trix’s newest find.”

     “Oh, I know lots about Missy Mouse already.” Static’s self-assurance grated on me – the type that seemed to leech its power from others.

     “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, edgy.

     “Ah, Mouse, that’s for me to know, and you to find out…when it comes out!” he sing-songed. Static smiled again, obsequious.

     Across the room, a boy called, “Static, can you help me shut this asshole down? You wouldn’t believe what shit he’s spewing.”

     “Hey, language!” shouted Lizard. I realized he’d really meant it about the swearing. The boy ducked his head. “Sorry, Lizard!”

     “Duty calls,” sang Static. As he moved away, he called to the room at large, “There’s Trix’s new little toy Mouse, boys, don’t let the moment pass you by!”

     Suddenly eight people blocked my path, eight phones right in my face. Lizard brushed them all aside with a heavy sweep of his arm.

     “Back off. There’s time enough, she just got here. Static,” he called out, “you’re such an asshole.”

     “Better the asshole than King Shit,” retorted Static, without looking up.

     “Hey, language,” called a few of the boys, laughing. I raised my eyebrow but Lizard ignored me.

     “What was that about people not messing with you here?” I felt all bristly.

     “Static’s not people. He’s some pimped-out plug-in they flew in for social media stuff. Don’ let him rile you, he’s drunk on power.” Lizard looked thoughtful. “But he knows hissstuff. All the kids you see, thass not random. He’s tracking every move. Kids on schedule twenty-four-seven, building friendships, answering forums, playing games, staying on toppa all the chatter, feeding the website. It’s like a whole system he worked out, timing an’ stuff. It works, so what can I say?”

     “I guess. It’s too bad he has to be so off-putting.”

     Lizard put his hand on my shoulder with a smile. “Well, you don’t have to deal with him much. He’s only here days, an’ you’ll be practicing, right?”

     “That’s the idea, but I don’t really know what that’s about yet. I should probably go check out the equipment…”

     “Yeah, there’s not much more to see here. Kitchen, bathrooms, Henhouse…sorry, Girl’s Bunks through the kitchen. I’m not allowed in there. Girls can come here, but no guys in there. Bash says why that’s fair but I never remember.” He grinned, mischievous. “No cameras in there, neither. So unfair.”

     “Cameras?”

     Lizard pointed above the doors we’d come in, where a small, round camera perched. Then he pointed to the upper southwest corner of the room – another camera’s red light blinked. When I looked over at the south wall, I saw our grainy forms moving around the room for a split second before the Twitter feed returned.

     “You don’t know this, girlie? You’d best know! At Timeless, we live out loud. You never know what cameras are live. They’re all over the building, cycling live-feed to the website. Didn’t you see the sign? In the lobby? Video surveillance at all times, be warned?”

     “Of course I saw the sign, but I thought there might be a camera on the stage, maybe in the lounge. So what, there are cameras, literally, everywhere? Even in the bathrooms?”

     Lizard laughed. “No, not the bathrooms. Not everywhere. But most places. In here, bunks are off-side, cameras don’t catch them, no one’s watchin’ usssleep at least. Anyhow, even if there’s a camera, it’s not on all the time. Cameras cycle, just whatever it catches. Like life.” He grinned, happy to be the one delivering this news.

Chapter 8 Scene 5 Milo & Moffatt

We made our way back to the theatre by a new route, popping out behind a black curtain that cordoned off the back of the stage so we were invisible from the theatre. I peeked through the curtain, and caught a close-up view of Trix and Trace as they wound together, entwined in an intricate dance sequence. Their faces flat with concentration, their bodies interacting as machine parts, I sensed not passion but deliberate precision in their coming together.

     I could understand why Ethan had seen their interweaving bodies as pornographic. The movements they did together gave off a similar loveless quality to porn. Personally, I felt something akin to the satisfaction of watching clock gears turn rather than sexual titillation, but that kind of subtlety seemed like splitting hairs. Many people would find these two bodies winding and swaying very hot, though they left me cold as steel forceps.

     Trace bent, wound around Trix’s torso like a snake, one foot poised on Trix’s table-flat thigh, when something went wrong. Trix cried out with pain and almost dropped Trace from her precarious roost.

     “No!” Trix shouted.

     “Hey!” Trace yelled at the same time, leaping to the ground. She brushed herself off, a cat with dust on her fur.

     “How do you expect me to lift you from there?” Trix shot out. “We’ve done this routine a thousand times. Pay attention anyway.” Trix sounded defensive in her offence. Trace responded, surprising mild.

     “Well I need to trust you, so don’t drop me. Anyway, you’re right, we can do this in our sleep, let’s just leave it today. I have things to do.” Trace picked up a towel and jumped off the stage. Trix watched her go. Once Trace moved out of sight, Trix dropped her forehead into her hand. Her back shook a little, so lean her ribs cut through the light cloth of her tank top, rising and falling with increasingly controlled breaths. I marvelled that what I saw was actually her skeleton, what made her shape, right through the skin. Abruptly, Trix leaped from the stage and strode lobby-ward.

     “We got a Mouse in the House, spy-spying from the corners,” whispered Lizard loudly in my ear. I jumped, and he laughed so hard I thought he’d fall over. “No doubt why you’re here, huh? Watch out, keep that little heart in your pocket. She’s too tall for you.”  Still laughing he wandered over to a couple of guys on the other side of the stage. I wondered if I’d been abandoned, but he beckoned me over.

     “Mouse, you wanna know Milo and Moffat.” Two boys flashed me competitively-large smiles, exchanging a glance I had no trouble interpreting. I got the feeling I’d already been subjected to speculation. Lizard stepped between us and addressed the two seriously.

     “Play nice, boys, this is Trix’s new pet, she’s not for you. We make her sound good and look good doing it. That’s it. No messing with her. Got it?”

     “Yeah, Lizard, sure, sure. How’d you pull guard duty? You gonna give her a foot rub?” Even I got the Pulp Fiction reference.

     “I mean it. Her good health’s on you. Do not break her. I’m just down by the front there,” he pointed. “So I’m watching.” With that, he handed over my care the motley pair.

     Milo and Moffat knew their stuff, walking me slightly too quickly through the equipment and setup. I felt relieved that most of the complicated stage theatrics were accomplished without changing the fundamentals of how I played. I felt more confident already.

     “So, think ya can get round now?” Milo asked me seriously. I could see that, for all his playfulness, he wouldn’t leave me hanging when it came to the show.

     “I think so. It’s more complicated than I expected.”

     “Nah, not if us dummies can figure it out.”

     “You’re no dummy!” I cried, shocked. “Don’t say that!”

     “Right, yeah, can’t say that. Respect myself. Yeah. So, you really into pussy like they say? Because…”

     Moffat turned, outraged.

     “You can’t ASK that! Anyway, it’s not all one or the other, you know. Maybe she likes dicks too.”

     “Watch your mouth,” Milo countered. “Lizard’ll have you cleaning toilets.”

     “You watch your mouth. Sorry, pretty lady, this boy’s uncouth,” Moffat slid up beside me conspiratorially.

     “Un-what? Showin’ off like you know.”

     “I know. Hey, I bet YOU don’t know what we got under here, l’il Mouse. ” Moffat scurried over to a lumpy pile of blankets at the back of the stage as he spoke, shooting a devilish glance at Milo to gauge his reaction.

     “Shut up! Shut up! Fu…I mean…aaaagggh! You say NOTHING!”

     “She won’t tell. I see, Mouse is a quiet sort.”

     “Don’t make me kill you, Moffat, I swear…”

     “Respect each other. No threatening.” Moffat reminded him sweetly

     I thought I’d better do something, or this ping-pong could go on all day.

     “What’s under there?” I asked, suddenly dying to know. Milo moved to block me but not before Moffat lifted the edge of the curtain. I couldn’t help but cry “oooooh” at the impressive fireworks array.

     “Ta da! Pyro, for the show!” crowed Moffat, as Milo tackled him and the boys went rolling in a wrestling match. Moffat laughed while Milo fought hard, clearly livid. But Moffat had a foot more height, so he just held Milo at bay with his long arms and legs. Suddenly, Milo gave up, and they both sprang to their feet .

     “Gonna be EPIC!” insisted Moffat

     “EPIC!” agreed Milo, and they both jumped two feet in the air into a high-five. Their energy seemed like a super power – I could swear they’d had five jolt colas or put springs in their shoes. Just as suddenly as he’d relented, Milo seemed to remember his irritation.

     “I can’t believe you told her, man. Our secret! Brotherhood an’ all?”

     “Ah, ya know, when a hot chick’s breathing down your neck. Can’t blame me, nah?” Moffat looked down, sheepish.

     “Nah!” relented Mio, and they embraced like long-lost brothers.

     “Hey, I wasn’t breathing down anyone’s neck.”

     They looked up at me like they’d forgotten I was there.

     “So you tell it,” Milo drawled. “But, yeah, that makes sense, you don’t want Trix to hear you lusting after man-meat like us. Can’t risk losing your suger-mamma.”  His grin tugged past his attempts to hold it back. He was taking great pleasure in teasing me.

     “Oh my god, you are total brats! This is sexual harassment, you know. And, you’re going to blow this whole place up!”

     I’ve never seen two people look more offended in my life.

     “No way, we know our shi-stuff!” cried Moffat indignantly.

     “So just you stay away, this is dangerous stuff. Leave it to the professionals,” Milo interjected.

     “Like you’re a pro-fessional anything!”

     “You’re a professional pain in the a…butt!”

     “Okay,” I broke in. “Seriously, boys, does anyone know you have these?”

     “Of course they know! Hey, don’t we always do pyro for the show?” Milo called, addressing at least fifteen boys working around the theatre. Some of them ignored him, while others looked up, curious or non-committal. A few called out half-hearted “yeah” and “sure” answers before turning back to work. I remained unconvinced. I saw more people beginning to approach the stage, and realized it must be almost one o’clock. I wished I’d come even earlier. Milo pulled on my arm, turning me toward him, looking me in the eye like he had something earnest and important to say, his voice slow and dramatically hypnotic.

     “Yoooou will forrrrrget. You are getting sleeeeepy. When I count to three, you will forget all about everything. One…”

     Moffatt couldn’t keep quiet.

     “What are ya, stupid? You gotta be more specific. If you say ‘forget all about everything’ then maybe she forgets EVERYTHING, her name an’ shi… her name, and how to play guitar, and…”

     “Um, you do know you can’t actually hypnotize me, right? So, it doesn’t matter what words you pick?”

     “You are getting sleeeeepy…”

     “Playlists, get your playlists!” Jamie called, ballpark style, making his way down towards the stage. I felt a rush of gratitude to see him – he already felt like an old friend. Milo and Moffat took off like dogs after a softball. Actually, so did everyone in the place. I was the only person not scrambling to make a grab. It wasn’t just musicians flocking Jamie like geese – workers around the theatre clamoured for their copies as well. Everyone read with surprising eagerness. The thick “playlists” looked more like playbooks to me. Some people rapidly flipped and scanned, while others drank in full pages. Several clusters of two and three people read together, exchanging excited whispers with bent heads. Jamie sauntered over and handed me a copy.

     “Lucky I like you, so I saved you one,” he smirked. “Just wait till you see. This is gonna be interesting.”

     Something told me I didn’t share his enthusiasm for whatever was coming next

Chapter 8 Scene 6 Newbie Babydoll

A chill had descended on the room. People muttered behind the books, as though to obscure who said what. I heard “covers” whispered with disdain, the voices a hiss of restrained disapproval.

     Trace and Bash stood off to one side, uninvolved and seemingly unaffected by whatever was setting people off. Trix held centre stage, surveying the scene with interest, her expression both open and determined, maybe slightly amused. She had clearly expected this reaction, and stood ready to face it. Not reassured, I opened my playbook.

     A table of contents outlined three distinct parts to the show – First Half, Second Half, Third Quarter, and the songs for each section. Each song owned its own double-page spread. Roles and positions for each musician and dancer accompanied descriptive directions with hand-drawn stage depictions. A symbol showed each musician where to be, my own avatar a cartoon mouse, which I had to admit came out pretty cute. Something about that simple little whiskered nose did remind me of myself. I knew right away that Jamie drew her.

     I flipped through the pages. Oddly, only four or five of the songs had any sheet music. As I looked more closely, I saw what they all had in common because I’d just heard the word: covers. They were all well-known songs by other bands. They had two other things in common. One: I was lead guitar on all of them. And two: I knew every one of them cold. How did she know? And what did it mean? I caught several people giving me the evil eye. I saw what they were thinking.

     “Oh, shit,” I whispered. Jamie’s glance down contained pity, humour, and a faint disgust that, combined, felt a little like grudging admiration. He leaned in close beside me, turning his eyes casually toward Trix and the room. He sang under his breath.

     “Trix and Mouse, sitting in a tree…”

     “Shut up!” I whispered back.

     “Oooh, she likes you. This could be trouble with the troops. My advice: just roll with it. Act like a Queen and they’ll treat you like a Queen.”

     “Queen Marie Antoinette? Queen Anne Boleyn?” I whispered back.

     “Queen Chrissy Purnell, isn’t it, Mouse? We know who you are.” Jamie shot me a sly smile, the cat who caught the canary.

     Oh. They knew. My stomach bottomed out. I took in my breath and sent it to my brain. I knew this would come up, I told myself. I should have suspected it ever since the sing-along. No big deal. No big deal.

     Trix still watched the disgruntled crowd. I wished she would say something to break the tension. Overhearing my thought, she caught my eye and winked quickly, then surveyed the assembly with an exaggerated head-swing.

     “Do I hear…questions?” Amusement infused her voice; I thought she might actually laugh. The room’s murmur quieted as people looked around to see who would speak. I actually did have a question that concerned me deeply. As the silence continued, I felt tension seeping into my skin, so my question burst out before I could stop it, eager to fill the space.

     “Um, I notice you have me singing a lead? Maybe someone else would be better?”

     What I had taken for silence before I spoke had nothing on the empty space left in the wake of my question. Trix only missed one beat. Light, off-hand, she answered me.

     “I was being rhetorical, Mouse.” A general chuckle failed to break the tension. Her face became more serious. “But, since you ask, no.”

     “I’m not a singer. I mean, I’ll sing backup but…”

     I heard snickers. Trix’s face settled into a look that reminded me of my grandma when I’d pushed just a little past the line. She kept her tone encouraging…mostly.

     “We all gotta pitch in here, Mouse. I need your sweet soprano on that song.”

     “Contralto,” I corrected automatically.

     “Not on this song.” Matter-of-fact. No more smile. Trix stared at me like I was beyond fathoming, and I thought I saw her stifle a sigh. I knew I was being irritating but I couldn’t seem to stop.

     “That’s what I mean. Really, I’m just not comfortable…”

     “Enough!” Trix took three long strides to halve the distance between us, her face set. “Are we really going to do this, Mouse?” she growled.

     Trix looked pretty menacing, but something felt off and that compelled me, somehow, to push into this space, like it might make everything make sense. Or maybe I was trying to get out of the whole situation by pissing her off. I stood my ground. We waited for each other to blink while everyone watched.

     Trix cocked her head, regarding me like a puzzle in need of study. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and I thought she would break into a smile; Instead, she held herself in check, poker-faced. Trix took two more giant steps, the third ending in a lunge to one knee in front of me, like Prince Charming. She grabbed my hand firmly in her hot grip. Her voice conveyed a perfect blend of sincerity and irony, making me the butt of a joke but also, somehow, someone worth her trouble.

     “Pretty please, will you sing for me, Mouse?” Her eyes bore into mine. I felt this as a critical moment. She needed me to back down. This was something I could do for her, and I was letting her down, in front of her band. I felt my resistance falter, then fade. Why was I making this such a big deal? Why not just sing? Since she’d asked so nicely…I nodded, mute.

     “Good.”

     Trix rose like a wave and bounced back to her original position.

     “Any other questions?” she asked. Several people laughed. But not everyone was satisfied.

     “Yeah, okay then, I have a question.” This was the electronic percussionist – I almost didn’t recognize him with his shirt on. Trix smiled.

     “Okay, Duggan, you have the floor.”

     “Covers?” People snickered at his exaggerated incredulity. Encouraged, he joked, “What happened, you run out of material?”

     A few laughs responded, but Trix did not smile.

     “Say what you mean.”

     Duggan looked up, a little surprised by her serious tone. Emboldened by his success so far, he stepped forward, like he’d decided to take on a challenge for everyone.

     “Okay. Fine. I’ll say it. From here, it looks like you’ve given this newbie babydoll all the plums in the pudding.” He didn’t even look at me, just gestured with his hand. I felt it as disrespect.

     “Nice imagery. Now, why do you say that?” Trix sounded mild and curious, even as Duggan got a little hot under the collar.

     “When have we ever done a cover? Now, what? Four in one show. Did I count right? That’s gotta be for her. Then you’ve got her on a bunch of our songs she’s probably never even heard. When Robbie has the material down, and you don’t even put him on this stage.”

     “You have a lot to say. Any interest in listening?” Duggan opened his mouth, but closed it again, waiting for her to speak.

     “L’il Miz Mouse can shred Robbie into the ground, my friend. Maybe we need some new sound in here. You folks were getting tired, but I think a change will perk us right up. This one, she’s not just some little chickie off the street. She’s an accomplished musician, classically trained. Not to mention, she’s been on the stage her whole life, playing at her daddy’s knee.”

     This generated some interested muttering while my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. Lizard called from the back.

     “Come on, don’t leave us hanging! Who’s her daddy, then?”

     I didn’t mean to, but it was me who answered.

     “Jake Purnell. My dad was Jake Purnell.”

     Trix nodded, enthusiastic.

 “A legend of his own kind. You may know him or not, but a lot of greats call him mentor from their days on the stage together. And here we’ve got the fruit of his loins, talent blazing for us!” I felt my face burning. Fruit of his loins?

     Enough people recognized the name that their murmured surprise changed the mood. Not everyone would know him, especially since most were so young, but I heard the nickname “Dusty” whispered from a few corners. I felt surprised that anyone still made that association. The record company dropped “Dusty,” and so did my Dad after a few years on the road and his big style-shift. Plus, it was probably too depressing, thinking about that dusty road.

     Trix’s use of “legend” felt a bit strong, but I suppose he was, at least to some people. Dad never hit it big, so to speak, but lots of bigger stars list him among their influences when they do radio interviews. Dad just did his thing, making music coast to coast wherever they would have him, until he couldn’t any more. Then he died.

     Duggan wasn’t backing down. He smelled hypocrisy and he was the man to call it out.

     “So, you’re saying that her daddy being someone gets her special treatment?”

     “No, her talent and good looks get her special treatment. Her daddy maybe gets her some media attention, which I’ll take. Any we can get. We can’t blow this. Friday is the night. Covers earn us good will with a novice crowd, and as luck would have it, they also let our newest sub shine a little. Her success is our success, no?”

     Trix looked away from Duggan, effectively dismissing him from the conversation to address the whole room.

     “This is different than we’ve done, and maybe Mouse here seems like she’s getting princess treatment. That’s one way to look. Here’s another. She’s a low-priced ringer, an asset, a last-minute help. Do you understand where we are? Maybe I haven’t been clear. This is it. This is it! Two years, and Friday is when it all comes together. Whatever it takes. You need to decide, right now. Do you trust me? Are you with me?”

     Trix looked around slowly, deliberately. She seemed to catch and hold each person’s eye a few seconds; lastly, mine. Strangely, I did trust her, even though she’d just given me good reason not to. Low-priced ringer? What was she setting me up for?

     “Are you with me?” Trix asked the room.

     “Yes!” came the general shout. I got the impression group responses were part of the Timeless culture. I felt no temptation to join in.

     “Can we do this?” Trix demanded.

     “Yes!”

     Trix noticed my closed mouth with narrowed eyes. I turned away. The rest of the crowd, even Duggan, seemed…if not satisfied, then pacified for the moment. But not me. I churned inside. It just had to be my dad. Once again, I was little Chrissy Purnell, cute sidekick to the legendary Jake. I wanted to be recognized for myself, respected in my own right. It’s hard to earn something that’s always been given to you with the wrong idea in mind. It’s even harder living past it.

     Well, it was there in the room, now. The pressure felt just as uncomfortable as it always had, but at least not unfamiliar.

     Trix smiled big, and clapped her hands together loudly.

     “Well, alright! No time like the present. Let’s run it through!”

     Was she serious? I turned to Jamie, panicked.

     “Run it through? Like, the playlist we just got?”

     I looked around a little wildly – was I the only person with a problem, here? No, the other newcomers also showed signs of stress, but most of the band just picked up their instruments. Jamie leaned in so I could hear him.

     “Don’t worry, no one’s played a bunch of this material in a while. She always does it this way with a new set of subs. Sink or swim, she says. First time’s a mess, keep moving. That’s what matters – don’t stop playing, just find your way back and get to the end. Don’t make her stop, trust me!”

     Jamie absently flicked his hair out of his eyes, glancing over at the sound board and then at Trix.

     “Look, I gotta go make sure those guys are ready to roll – she’ll kill me if we miss a second! Just have fun, Chrissy Christine. Oh, and live up to everyone’s expectations, of course!”  Jamie’s parting snicker reminded me just how high the expectations had risen now.

     “Not helpful!” I called to his back.

Chapter 8 Scene 7 Playthrough

I picked up the guitar.

     “Okay, kiddos,” Trix called out, “this is Playthrough. We’ll play the whole show through once, just to see if we can. We PLAY THROUGH. You’re going to get lost and confused. You’re going to suck. Just play. Have fun with it! DO. NOT. STOP. Do your best.” Trix stepped to the edge of the stage.

     “Are we recording? Right. One, Two, Three, GO”

     And they started. My open playlist told me we were playing Aching Bones, possibly the third song on the album I’d listened to all of once. I tried to catch the tune to confirm, but the other players weren’t really playing together. It all sounded a bit jumbled to me. I focused on drums and Mr. Strat until I caught a melody I recognized, and picked a few notes to hear how they blended. I felt ridiculous.

     Trix moved from person to person, scrutinizing us, while Jamie followed her, taking notes and making hand signals at unseen forces behind the lighting and sound. Trix sang some lyrics here and there, in and out, in an off-handed, distracted way – a placemarker for our benefit. Her mind stayed occupied by what she saw and heard in her own head. When we drifted too far off, she came back to us at full volume and expression, show-quality, her hands clapping out the beat. 

     My notes twanged contrast as Trix and Jamie stopped in front of me. Trix grimaced with distaste. I didn’t want her scrutiny or her faces. I knew I sounded terrible, that I was failing to keep up. Shame ripped through me with every mistake, only making the next one more likely. She mumbled an instruction to Jamie through their headsets, and moved on.

     We finished the first song. Trix clicked a stopwatch, dictated an instruction and immediately counted us into the next. And the next. No matter how poorly we played, she drove us on. She never called a stop, even when songs became unrecognizable, which was most of the time to me. I floundered. I wished desperately for sheet music. The cover songs offered my only relief. As she counted us into the first of them, I flushed with new confidence, and sure enough, my guitar led the entire song. At least she wouldn’t think I was a complete wash.

     At the end of the set, Trix turned to us.

     “Okay, well that was terrible.” She seemed a little disappointed, but quickly rallied. “Yes, painful. But don’t let it be discouraging. We’re just beginning together. Let’s take ten to recalibrate. Ten, not eleven!”

     I wanted the bathroom and some air, not conversation, but Mr. Strat turned to me with something to say. He set his jaw under grey bristles, then smiled – kind of shy-friendly but also a little defensive. I felt something uncomfortable about how he held his body – I made him nervous.

     “I thought maybe it was you,” he offered. “I want to say, it wasn’t me who told them who you are, just so you know.”

     I squinted my eyes to focus in better on his features. Did I know him? I felt a little well of panic starting to bubble, a mini-whirlpool in the hollow of my stomach. I tried easing my abdominal muscles to quell it.

     “John Pratt.” He stuck out his hand, so I shook. That rough hand told the whole story of his life – days of hard labour and nights picking guitar strings. “I played with your Dad a bit, if you haven’t guessed. Just a few gigs where we crossed paths over the years. That boy could sure charm a crowd.”

     “Yeah, he was something, my dad.” John looked me in the eye, and I knew he heard more than I’d meant to let on in that statement.

     “I remember you, too, you know.  Sassing the waitresses, them thinking you were something sweet anyway. I only saw you play once, and I remember being impressed. Tiny thing like that, ripping it up. Like an angel-devil or something.”

     He looked down quickly, not sure if he’d offended me. I wasn’t sure, either. I listened warily, wondering what else he might remember. I didn’t want to talk with him any more. I wanted to go outside and catch my breath. I wanted to pee. Pratt noticed my skittishness and took a step backwards to give me space.

     “I don’t want to upset you, girl, I just thought you should know. I thought, if we’re going to play together…it’s just more respectful.” he looked down.

     “Thanks.”

     “I’m sorry about your dad.”

     “Yeah.” Death makes everyone squirm. I felt his discomfort seeping into me and decided to lighten the mood.

     “Mr. Strat Pratt? I like that.”

     We laughed together at my Seussism. As I’d hoped, John seemed reassured. But he’d given me one more set of achey feelings to stuff down, playing beside him. I did need to know, I supposed, but I wondered if he had told me for my sake, or to relieve himself.

     My mind pinged around hitting on thoughts and memories that I normally did a good job of keeping out of my distraction zone. Each one lit up as the pinball hit. The hot light on a dirty stage in some mid-west dive, playing the crowd into a frenzy with my dad. A pair of scuffed shoes my last sight as I curled up on a sweater behind the bar to sleep. The smell of grease and raw meat in the kitchen.

     Other pictures – a face, a hand, a knife, red hot haze of pain…stop.

     Stop.

     I made my way to the washroom, peed and washed my hands, then rinsed my face with cold water in the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror, clicking in on my own eyes, the skin at the corners softening with recognition.

     “You’re okay,” I whispered. For a second, I believed it.

Chapter 8 Scene 8 Improv Queen

Behind me, a toilet flushed in a stall I hadn’t noticed occupied. Trix emerged from the stall with a huge smile.

     “Better than okay!”

     As Trix washed her hands, I couldn’t look away from those long fingers, moving fast and efficiently under the water.

     “I didn’t take you for such an Improv Queen, playing the princess. ’I’m not a singer’! Maybe I didn’t give you enough credit, Mouse.”

     Normally I might have tried to fake that I knew what she was getting at until I figured it out, but I didn’t have the patience to even try. I’d had enough of feeling stupid today.

     “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

     Trix shook her hands off rather than using a towel. They blurred like a psychodelic screensaver. Shaking my head, I opened the door to leave; she was right behind me. I really needed some air and some time to myself, so I veered towards the front doors. But Trix was like glue – she passed me to open the door like a gentleman, then sprinted down the stairs two at a time. When I reached the sidewalk, she threw her arm companionably over my shoulder.

     “Let’s walk – I’ve got a little errand. So, you stood up to me. Good. You are strong. I put you in your place. Good. I am still operating with my wits and not my libido. I let them know where you stand, where I stand, so now they can decide where they stand and perhaps we can focus on the task at hand instead of bruised egos and pecking order.”

     “I really don’t want to sing that song, Trix.”

     She smiled and mussed my hair. I didn’t know if I could feel more infuriated. I growled under my breath.

     “Man, you’re a grump!” she complained. “Listen, I can’t drive you home tonight, I have somewhere to go.”

     “Where?”

     “Just a party.”

     “Really? Can I come?” Trix stopped and looked down at me regretfully. She bit her lip.

     “I don’t know. I’m working, I can’t take care of you.”

     “I need taking care of?”

     Her laugh insisted I must be joking.

     “You, Mouse, are a China Doll who goes around handing people sticks.” She laughed again and sped her pace, clearly expecting me to keep up.

     I pouted. It occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t go to a party anyway. I hadn’t seen Chris since the morning, and things felt unresolved. A late night wouldn’t help us.

     “Whatever. Never mind – I shouldn’t be out late partying anyway, with poor Chris waiting at home.”

     Trix didn’t respond, which made it pretty clear that she didn’t want me at her party. I felt petulant.

     “I really don’t want to sing lead on that song.”

     “Okay,” she agreed, already on to a new idea. “How about something different? Maybe a song written…just for you?”

     I suddenly knew where this was going. I stopped walking.

     “No. No. You can’t…you don’t…”

     My breaths came too fast and I stuttered over my words. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing into my belly and holding, holding, slow release. I opened my eyes. Trix’s face was right in front of mine, and I startled back. Without thinking, I shoved her. Trix staggered back a step before deftly catching her balance. As she straightened, her face contorted through a sequence of surprise, anger and maybe a sense of betrayal.

     “Hey! Cool off, Mouse! We don’t resort to violence.” We stared each other down for about twenty seconds, both of us slowing our breaths. When she spoke again, her voice brimmed with compassion.

     “Of course you don’t have to play it. I didn’t mean to hit a hot button, I just thought it would be cool. I wasn’t thinking about your situation, I was thinking about my show. I’m sorry.”

     We started walking again.

     “I don’t play Asleep in the Backseat, Trix. Like, ever. I just don’t play it. At all. ”

     “Right, okay. I get it. So, is all your dad’s stuff off limits? Is there any song you might want to sing for the biggest show of my life so far?”

     “Since you put it that way…” I smiled up at her. I felt relieved that she didn’t seem angry with me for losing it. We started walking again.

     “I could do The Weight of It.”

     “Really? Are you sure? You won’t do Backseat but you’ll do Weight? I don’t get it.”

     “Do you need to get it?”

     “No, but I’d like to.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you, Mouse, are revealing into intrigue, and I love intrigue.”

     “Well, then I’m sure to disappoint you. There’s no intrigue, just me, not good enough to deal with stuff. Look, do you want Chrissy Purnell to do The Weight of It on your stage, or not?”

     “I want YOU to do The Weight of It on my stage, Mouse. Acoustic? Trace on harmony.”

     No way was I singing that song with Trace. But I formed my answer carefully.

     “We’ll see how things go. Why not play it full-out?”

     “I need you to break things up and I need a song off that stage. Keep the music simple, the emotion high. We want them to sing along. You can teach the crew tomorrow.”

     “What crew?”

     “What crew? All those people, everywhere? Doing things? They own crowd experience. Mix in, have contagious fun, and get the crowd singing or stomping or whatever we need them doing. They also keep things from getting too rowdy out there.”

     “Wow, you really control everything.”

     Trix bristled.

     “I put the right things in place so that magic can happen. I can’t make it happen, I can only create the conditions. And that I will do in any way I can imagine.”

     “That’s…laudable.”

     “That’s the only reason to be here.”

     Trix herded me around a corner into an ally where four girls skipped rope, double-dutch, to the beat of pulsing music . Two turned the ropes, and inside, the others performed a complicated routine involving jumping and clapping sing-song. The smallest girl saw us and abruptly dropped her ends, surprising the skippers.

     “Trix!” The child ran full-tilt, slamming into Trix’s legs with a giant hug. Trix kissed the top of her head, then gently disengaged her.

     The tallest of the pack hung back. Combining her self-conscious aloofness with the just-emerging mounds under her tank top, I judged her age around thirteen or fourteen.

     “Hey, Echo, you tell your momma what I said?” Trix asked her.

     “Yeah, I told her. She said…” The girl glanced around at the others, and didn’t go on. Trix reached out like she would place her hand on Echo’s thin shoulder, but instead her fingers just fluttered in the air for a few seconds before falling to her side.

     “It’s okay, you won’t phase me. Spill.”

     “She said you’re a pervert and a communist and I’d better stay away from you.” Echo spoke fast, robotic, her eyes off-side.  Then she suddenly faced front, defiant. “I hate her!”

     “Hey, shh, it’s okay,” said Trix softly. “Not everyone can understand. It’s hard enough knowing our own point of view, let alone anyone else’s, right? Don’t hate your mom because she shuts off thinking about one thing that matters to you. She’s got lots to think about.”

     I noticed that one of Echo’s friends was capturing the moments with her cell. I needed to actively restrain myself from knocking the phone out of her hand. How dare she invade her friend’s privacy this way? But then I realized I was the last to notice – Echo seemed to play for the camera, while Trix just didn’t care. She was focused on the girl the way she’d focused in on Latchkey. Just the two of them. 

     “You are lucky,” Trix went on. “Right now, all you need to think about is you. Because it’s only you, in the end, that’s going to live your life however that goes. Your momma didn’t have that luxury – she’s hardly grown-up and here you are, weighing her down. Now maybe you need to make her sacrifice mean something by making your life worth giving up her’s? That’s heavy, it won’t let you just ignore it. It’s there, inside you, even if it’s not fair, even if it’s not the whole truth. But what that means for your choices…that’s a life quest. Don’t let anyone tell you that part.”

     We all stood there, in our ally-way cave, taking in her words. Echo gazed into the skyline, processing and likely trying not to cry. Trix broke the silence.

     “You have a big talent. We need you, and I know you want to be with us on Friday. Or will you rot here?” That got the girl’s attention.

     “No! Screw her, I don’t care what she says, I’m in!”

     Trix smiled sadly.

     “Now wait. That is not the way. Cheating is a maze, full of dead ends and disaster. So what is the way around this? We need a parent’s permission, and you have only one parent. I can’t convince her I’m not what she thinks, since actually, I am both a pervert and a communist – at least as she would understand. But I gotta wonder – is this about me, or is it about you? I want to help you, Echo, and I want your super-massive voice on my stage. I leave it with you. No forgery this time. This only works if she tells us okay herself, in person. It doesn’t have to be me. It can be Bash, Trace…even…Rekha, if it has to be.”

     Echo shook her head. “You’re all the same to her. She said there’s a petition, to get you out. She said they’ve asked the cops to look into whether you’re a cult.”

     Trix blinked, then sighed. “Wow. Okay, well, I hope that gets us some press. Look, I gotta get back. You’ve got a problem to solve, my Echo In the Forest. You’re already late for practice.”

     As if on a whim, Trix scooped up the skipping rope and began to skip in place, doing little criss-crosses, getting the feel. We all backed away, instinctively forming a wide circle around her. One of the girls bent to turn up the music, and Trix increased her speed to match its fast thump, then double-time it. Rope and feet moved faster while her body seemed stationary, her arms barely moving, just a flick of wrist. She played a little with the rope, never missing a beat as she lassoed above her head or ribboned it forward. She skipped impossibly fast, until she was a blur, and then suddenly, a spin, a beat, and back on centre – perfect execution. She flipped right over in the air from standing, her legs scissoring up and down again as she landed with a flourish into splits, then sprang back to standing and bowed to the still-recording cell phone. She turned to the girls with a crooked smile, panting lightly from exertion. She grabbed hands with Echo and the youngest girl. The three whirled around together; Trix let go, and they spun like tops off a whip, laughing as they lost their balance. I imagined myself in the circle, spinning off – it looked fun.

     Trix spoke to the girls, and to the camera too.

     “You can get good at anything if you practice enough. Spread love, little sisters! Rock on!”

     Trix grabbed my hand and pulled me at a run.

     “I said ten, right? I think we’re about to be tardy.”

Chapter 8 Scene 9 Don’t call me baby

We jogged the rest of the way back to our own ally, then slid in the side, emerging into the theatre in front of the stage. Of course everyone was already there. Our subtle entrance was foiled when a spotlight trained on us. Right away, people started calling out “ten, not eleven!” and laughing. I heard whistles and catcalls. I realized we faced at least some suspicion that we’d been off making out. Trix met the reaction with equanimity.

“Now, now, it was important business. I’ll take my lashes.” She dropped down and executed twenty-five efficient pushups, counting them out loud and springing to her feet with the last.

     “And now, I will do Mouse’s for her, since it’s my fault she’s late.”

     She dropped. There was no way I was going to stand there while she did my penance. I knelt beside her and assumed the position. I couldn’t do twenty-five push-ups, but I did twelve before dropping to my knees. Trix had finished and jumped up before I was halfway done. When I collapsed, she held out her hand to haul me up, gesturing and clapping along with the others. She leaned in close.

     “Good sport, Mouse. Thanks.” Her warm handprint lingered on my shoulder like a light weight. I felt a little proud to earn her praise.

     Trix leaped onto the stage, while I heaved myself up behind. And just like that, playtime was over, and every person in the place was at the ready. I’d barely picked up the guitar when Trix counted us into the first song. These quick-switches left me feeling like I was always catching up, fumbling and rushing. I was no longer in her sphere of attention, except insofar as I had a job to do. And I felt increasingly insecure about my ability to do it.

     The mess of play-through had, at least, felt fairly common to everyone. The whole stage had struggled, to some extent, and my badness had seemed to blend into the general noise. But all of a sudden the rest of them somehow snapped their acts together, leaving me the sour note. I couldn’t seem to catch their groove, and the more that I noticed, the worse it got. I couldn’t look up at anyone. I was sweating, my fingers slippery, my breath coming in uneven bursts. It didn’t help that every time I caught Trix watching me, she looked worried.

     What had I been thinking? This was a real band, with a following and a playlist that I didn’t know. I was just some kid from hicksville who stupidly thought she could even keep up, let alone be good. I wanted to throw the guitar down and leave that place forever. Was it pride that held me rooted, or its opposite? I kept playing, kept sucking, kept wishing the ordeal would end. But only three hours later did Trix call it a day. Even at that, I had only achieved marginal improvement. And again I had to pee like crazy, on top of it all.

     I came back from the bathroom to find the band and crew huddled around the theatre in small clumps of two and three, nursing bowls of stew. Everyone looked irritable and exhausted, which I found mildly comforting. Trix paced the theatre like a caged lion, deep in thought. I felt like we’d reached a lull after a battle, and we were all just recuperating. As I watched, Trix stopped at the centre of the dance floor, her body suddenly statue still. I watched a ripple of self-possession wave over her body from head to toe, toe to head, like a shimmer that enveloped her, glowing translucent rose, emanating from her in waves that dissolved into silver sparkles, shining like fairy dust in the lighting above us, gently showering the crowd with her light. In that moment, every conversation stopped and every person turned to Trix as though she’d spoken. She smiled.

     “Well, we’ve been through torture together now, so we can only come out stronger. But really, take heart. We needed that today, like the first step in a calibration. Things will sound less…stark…when Ms. Myrtle weaves her computerized wonder come Wednesday. Lots of new faces, we can’t expect to gel first time out.”

     “Some of us gel better than others,” mumbled Duggan. Trix was not putting up with attitude.

     “Try that again, Duggan.”

     “I’m just sayin’-”

     “No, you’re actually not. Just spit it out.”

     “So, you plunk a new lead guitar in here and she’s supposed to be some super-star or something, but she can’t even keep up.”

     “If you have something to say to Mouse, say it to her.”

     What? She put me in this position and now she wouldn’t even stick up for me? It was clear I would have to fight my own battles here. Duggan turned to me. He looked me in the eye, and I saw him see me as a person, which made him soften, back down a little. He looked away, then down, refusing to meet my eyes again as he spoke.

     “Look, Mouse, I’m sure you were great in your…high school band, or whatever. But you’re slowing us down.”

     I felt defensive and ashamed at the same time.

     “Hey, I never said I was anything. You guys asked me to play. I don’t have to be here.”

     Stan from the bunkers reached over and patted my arm consolingly.

     “Baby, it wasn’t your best day, you gotta admit.”

     “Don’t call me baby.”

     “Then don’t be one!” called a girl from across the room. I hadn’t realized she was a girl until she spoke – though she was beautiful, with her close-cropped hair, flattish chest and chiseled cheekbones, she could have passed either way. Lovely as she was, I scowled at her, seeing only the hostility on her curled lip. Trix intervened.

     “Whoa, whoa, let’s stop right here. Mouse needs love to feel like she’s with us. What does love say? Does love say, I blame you, this is your fault, you are wrong? Or does it say, why is this happening, how can I help, what do you need?”

     Trix looked around the room at each disgruntled face, taking a second to rest on each of us. She let silence sit. Duggan squirmed, then finally broke. He turned to me, but looked at his hands.

     “Okay, yeah. Okay. Sorry, Mouse. I bet…it’s…hard to be new, and stuff.”

     Stan was not to be outdone.

     “Yeah, sorry, Mouse. But you really -”

     Trix cut him off. “But negates an apology. Down and ten.”

     Stan made a face, but immediately dropped and did ten fast, strong pushups. Trix stood watching him, waiting until he was finished. She was making a point.

     “Mouse isn’t the only one having trouble up there, friends. Every one of us has a long way to go before Friday. We’re too spent to dissect everything tonight. Finish your food. Go to bed. Come fresh tomorrow and we’ll have some fun, I promise.”

Chapter Sunday Evening

Chapter 9 Scene 1 Luck? What’s that?

As the meeting broke up, I caught Trix watching me with that worried expression again. When she saw me see her, her face shifted to confidence. She nodded and turned away but that wasn’t enough for me. I followed her into the lobby.

     “Sorry I wasn’t…better.”

     “You were fine. We have four days left, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

     “Sure, I guess.”

     Trix caught my dejection and stopped. She looked me in the eye.

     “Duggan got a little rough. You okay.”

     “I can take care of myself.”

     “Hey, no doubt here.” She held out her hands in supplication, and I laughed.

     “Listen, um…I know  you can’t give me a ride, but…can you lend me bus fare? I didn’t manage to snag any cash this morning.”

     “Sorry, kiddo, no can do.”

     Startled, I had to hold back my incredulity.

     “It’s just a couple of bucks. I’ll get it to you tomorrow, I promise.”

     She shook her head resolutely and smiled sadly.

     “I’d like to, but I can’t. Money doesn’t change hands among us at Timeless. It’s a rule.”

     “You’re kidding me, right? You can’t lend me bus fare? Because it’s a rule?”

     “We have rules for reasons. Sorry.”

     I stood there, dumbfounded. My mind started skittering around to figure out how I was going to get home, when a voice behind me solved everything.

     “Don’t worry, Christine,” assured Rekha, appearing from nowhere to glide up behind me. “I’ll give you a ride back. Or lend you bus fare, if you prefer. Once we’re outside, of course, so we don’t violate any rules.” Her voice dripped frivolity, treating something serious as light on purpose to get under Trix’s skin. Surprisingly, it worked – Trix held herself like it was taking all her will to keep still and quiet. Rekha wrapped her arm around mine and tucked in close beside me, like we were friends, or lovers. I pulled away as gently as I could.

     “You’re here.” Trix stated it coldly, her eyes never moving from Rekha’s.

     “Just a quick visit. Christine was kind enough to bring something I forgot at her apartment.” My hand strayed to the cell phone case quickly, but now wasn’t the time to pull out the rings.

     “Didn’t know you two were besties.” Trix shot me a glance that accused me of betrayal before turning the conversation sharply around a corner. “The boys miss you, Rekha.”

     “I miss them too,” she replied, and I believed her heartfelt tone.

     “Echo could use a friend,” Trix went on. “Or, are you avoiding the whole neighbourhood?”

     “No, just you.” Rekha laughed at her own joke. I found myself smiling to keep her company, but Trix’s stern face told me this was no joke, and I wiped the smile from my face as Rekha went on. “I actually checked in with Echo before I came here. You’ve got her all wound up in knots. Why can’t you just leave that poor girl alone? She’s outside your mandate.”

     Trix shook her head, forehead wrinkled in disbelief.

     “She is my mandate. I just take the long way around. That’s what you never understood.”

     “Well, there is much I don’t understand, that’s true,” offered Rekha genially, in pure Rekha style – agreement masking passive disagreement. She turned to me, finished with Trix. “Christine, do you need a ride?”

     “Um, thanks, yeah.”

     Trix walked away without another glance at either of us. I reached for my cellphone case to give Rekha her rings.

     “Good luck this week, Trix,” called Rekha. Trix didn’t even look back as she threw her answer over her shoulder.

     “Luck? What’s that?”

     At that moment I realized there was nothing in the cellphone case but my phone and the simple, gold band. Rekha’s giant rock of an engagement ring was gone.

     “It’s gone! I mean, the band is here, but the…diamond…it’s not…I don’t know what happened!”

     “You lost my ring?” Rekha looked at me hard, like she needed to determine the veracity of what I was saying. “My ring is lost?”

     I felt panicked, my stomach a gnawing hole that threatened to eat my insides out.

     “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, what will I do? What can I do? I can look all over, up and down, everywhere I’ve been, I’ll scour this place, I’ll find it…”

     Rekha shook her head, shockingly calm and serious.

     “And if it fell out on the bus? Or while you walked along the streets? Christine, face it, it’s gone.”

     “I don’t even know what to say. I’ll pay for it. I know it was expensive, but just tell me how much and I will pay for it as fast as I can, no matter how long it takes, I promise. I’m so sorry.”

     Rekha sighed and took my hand.

     “No, no, it’s my fault. I should never have asked you to bring it. Anything can happen on a bus ride and I assumed that risk when I demanded a favour from you so rudely.”

     I wasn’t accepting this interpretation, and I couldn’t believe she was putting it forth. If it were my ring, I would have punched myself in the face by now.

     “That’s crazy! Of course it’s my fault. Of course it is.” She still held my hand and I didn’t feel right pulling it away. She led me to the doors.

     “We won’t speak of it. You will do me that courtesy?”

     What could I say?

Chapter 9 Scene 2 Life on the Edge

Her BMW was parked on the road in front of a no-parking sign, but she hadn’t gotten a ticket, so at least I didn’t have to feel guilty about that. We drove in silence that filled the car like thick gas, pressurizing the air so I could hardly breathe. I fiddled with the clicker to open the window a little; instantly, it zipped shut with a flick of her thumb. Finally, she pulled up in front of Chris’ building. I turned to her seriously.

     “I’m sorry, I can’t just say nothing. I feel like dirt.”

     “You must find a way to move through that feeling and let it go. Don’t inflict your feelings on me.”

     “If you could just give me a ballpark figure, I will pay you back. I really will.”

     “Christine, I have been trying not to say that this ring cannot be bought or replaced. There is no ballpark. It was an heirloom, passed from grandmother to new bride, generation after generation. My grandmother-in-law wore it before me, and her’s before her, and so on. I can tell you for a fact, they did not always wear it in wedded bliss. The insurance will pay for a new ring, one I choose. So, in the end, perhaps you have done me a favour, you see.” She smiled a watery smile I didn’t buy. I felt even more sorry for myself than for her at this point.

     “An heirloom. Of course, if I’m gonna loose something, it has to be an heirloom. Lance’ll want to kill me, won’t he?”

     “He will be upset, but I will tell him the truth – I lost it. I left it somewhere and couldn’t retrieve it. That is the essence of it, anyway.”

     “I don’t want to lie.” I said, thinking I meant it.

     “ ‘There is no lie where the truth is served.’ That’s a quote from your friend, Trix.”

     “Yeah, sounds like her.”

     “Speaking of Trix, may I share with you…I feel worried about Timeless, and the young people there.”

Why did I suddenly feel like she’d arrived at the whole point of this ride? She went on. “This week is highly stressful, quite volatile. May I check in with you periodically, to get a feel for Trix’s state of mind?”

I didn’t like the sound of this.

     “You want me to spy on her?”

     “That’s a harsh way to put it.” She sounded hurt. “I hope you see that I have only good intentions. I want to help.”

     “Well, I’m no psych major,” I deflected. “I’m not the best at judging someone’s state of mind.”

     “I only hope that you will answer me honestly and completely if I should ask you questions. Can you do that for me?”

     I felt the screws tightening. She wanted something from me, and after losing her ring, how could I deny her anything? But this felt like a betrayal, being shoved into the middle of something I didn’t understand, when I didn’t trust either side.

     “Um, sure…I guess. You’ve been really good about this whole ring thing, I can’t believe…anyway, I’m sorry. Thanks again for the ride – I couldn’t have gotten home without you. Literally. I didn’t even have a dime. ”

     Rekha frowned, unimpressed.

     “That’s a dangerous position to put yourself in,” she said, as if I didn’t know.

     “That’s me, living life on the edge,” I returned, slamming the car door just a little harder than I’d meant to. I waved, and she waved back, like the world was a happy 50’s sitcom. Politeness is so weird that way.

Chapter Sunday Night

Chapter 10 Scene 1 I don’t have a style!

I fumbled with my key in the door, tears already spilling over from the stress of the day. And now I would face Chris. It all seemed too much. Before he noticed me I saw watched him from behind, his arms stretched luxuriously over the back of the sofa, watching tv with his feet up. He looked like the master of his domain.

     “So, you’re finally home!” Chris called without turning. When I didn’t answer, he squirmed awkwardly in place, a little jostle-twist, so he could see the door where I just stood there, blubbering. Quickly but carefully, he muted the volume, put down the remote, and placed his food tray on the table beside him. Only then did he jump up, crossing the room to take me in his arms.

     “You’re not still upset about this morning?” he asked into my hair. It took me a few seconds to even figure out what he meant, after the day I’d had.

     “What? No…I don’t know. Maybe you were right.”

     “Things didn’t go so well? What happened?”

     “I suck, is what happened. I really, really suck. And then I had no bus fare, and I had to ride home with Rekha, and I lost her ring – oh, god!”

     “Shh, hold on, slow down. First of all, you don’t suck. You just don’t know this music. It’s not even your style…”

     I felt like arguing about anything.

     “I don’t have a style!”

     “Like hell you don’t!”  he laughed, incredulity overcoming his sympathy.

     “Yeah, so what’s my style, then?” I challenged.

     He didn’t hesitate; he’d thought about this.

     “Classical meets Hard Rock meets Girl Band.”

I wanted to argue the point, but I needed to think about it first. Was I that easy to peg? Wasn’t something missing? I might have got caught on that, but he wasn’t waiting around.

  “Look, Trix n’ Traces is basically electro-pop with everything-and-the-kitchen-sink thrown in. It’s no wonder if you find it challenging to play around all the electronics.”

     “The electronics haven’t even arrived yet, Trix says Ms. Myrtle’s computer will fix everything Wednesday. She made us play the whole playlist through! The playlist I didn’t even see till today, songs I’ve only heard once, if ever.”

     I found myself being emphatic and pouty in exactly the way I knew Chris detested, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. He handled it surprisingly well, keeping up with the encouraging sounds while leading me gently to sink into his arms on the sofa. To his credit, he didn’t unmute the TV, though he didn’t turn it off, either, and I suspected him of caption-glancing. I sat up, and shook the thick playlist in his face.

     “Look at this thing! It’s like a book, full of instructions but hardly any sheet music. I don’t know…”

     Chris took the playlist from my hand and began thumbing through it.

     “Wow, this is something, alright!” he agreed.

     “Anyway, I can take criticism. I can…really! Don’t give me that face! I just…I wanted to be better. They’re expecting Jake Purnell’s child wonder and I’m just…me.”

     Chris snapped the offending document closed, turning his full attention on me with a frown.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re amazing. Don’t let them get to you. You don’t have to play there at all, you know.”

     “I said I would…”

     “Sweetheart,” he spoke gently and with care. “You just moved here. You’ve known Trix for less than two days. You don’t owe her anything. If it didn’t go well, she’s bound to see that, too. Maybe she’ll even be relieved when you bow out.”

     He had spoken my deepest fear out loud, like it was supposed to be comforting.

     “Do you think that? That she wants me to quit?”

     “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying, this seems really stressful for you, and I don’t see why you’d put yourself through it. Tomorrow morning Tim will set you up with some paying work, and we can just settle in, you know? We’ll go to the show on Friday and have a great time in the audience.” It seemed like, to him, this perfect solution closed the issue. I felt defeated.

     “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I’m so tired right now.”

     Chris smiled, assuming I saw things his way, like a good girl.

     “Let’s get ready for bed. Wait, what were you saying about Rekha?”

     “Oh, shit, that too. Rekha left her rings here, then she said to bring them to Timeless. I did, but one of the rings must have slipped out of my case or something, I don’t know. It’s gone. I feel…awful, and stupid, and ashamed, and…”

     “Hey!” exclaimed Chris softly. “You’re so hard on yourself all the time! You know that? I’m sure she has insurance. Look, I’ll run us a bath, okay? We’ll relax, get some sleep, start fresh tomorrow.”

     “I guess,” I semi-capitulated.

     That bath was one of the only good things about the apartment, deeper and wider than expected. It almost fit us both if Chris left one leg hanging over the edge to fit me with my back tucked into his chest. My breasts felt cold, only partially covered in warm water. I tried to settle a little lower to get more coverage but only got my hair wet, while he leaned back, content.

     “See, sweetie, this is what calm feels like,” he sighed happily.

As the day flashed through my head, I felt anything but calm. My mind started spinning through all the upsetness again, but I recognized the pattern and remembered one trick: think about someone besides yourself. I always felt a little ashamed when I realized my dramas were tying me up in knots, and that all I had to do was step back and let my narcissism go. Everything had been about me since the moment I walked in the door, and I was being bitchy in my mind to a guy who was trying to be nice. Maybe Chris needed a chance to talk about his own stuff. Certainly, as his girlfriend, I should be providing that space. I wanted to let my better self lead.

     “Hey, so, maybe now’s a good time to tell me what you do all day. I admit I still don’t think I get it.”

     He seemed surprised, but dismissive.

     “Oh, well, that’s easy. I engage in interdisciplinary research – ”

     “Wait, wait,” I cut him off. “No words over ten letters.”

     “You’re so cute.” He kissed my ear. “Well, you might remember, I focus across the five fields: mathematics, computing, complex systems, behavioural science and philosophy.”

His hands waved in the air beside my face, making little winds over my eyebrows. I loved seeing him get animated.

     “Philosophy – I’ve always wanted to ask about that one. I know you like to think, but I mean, what use is philosophy, really?”

     “What use? It’s the heart of everything! Philosophy is logic. Logic is the basis of what I do.”

     “Logic. So, common sense?”

     “No, sense is not common at all, it’s subjective. Logic is objective. I mean Big L Logic, a systematic discipline to derive conclusions. Sorry, too many big words again!”

I laughed with him.

“Yeah, you’ve basically told me you’re smarter than me and I still don’t know what philosophy has to do with it.”

I looked back to check his reaction. He frowned. I could tell that he found it challenging, having to explain this to me. But how could I really get to know him if I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was thinking about most of the time? If we had any chance as a couple at all, I’d better figure out what the hell he was talking about at some point. I felt like it was important to take an interest in anything as big and important to him as his doctoral work. Plus, it was something else to think about, and I needed that.

“I’m sorry, Christine, I know I go into academic speak and there’s a lot built into some of those words. It’s not fair. I sometimes assume because you studied at University you can follow.”

“I can follow! I mean, I’m capable of it, it takes me longer sometimes but I can figure out what you’re saying. You’re speaking English and I know most of the words. It’s just harder work than my brain feels like doing lately. But I’ll do it for you, because I care.” The water was cooling off around us, but I wasn’t going to disrupt the conversation when we were being so honest. It felt important. I thought he must think so too, because he nodded and made a suggestion.

“How about we try this: I’ll say it first in Academic, but as simple as I can, then we can translate it to English together. Okay?”

“Sure, I’m game. Go.”

“Okay, so my specialty is bringing together various logic forms with propositional calculus and…other mathematical ingredients…driving algorithms fed with data, based on behavioural science and psychology, through complex computational analysis.”

“So, you…take a bunch of complicated ways of doing math…”

“And solving problems…”

“And solving problems, and you…get a bunch of data…”

“Based on ways of looking at – “

“- how people think and act?”

“Yes!”

“And then you use computers to say what it means.”

“There you go! You should be writing the funding grants. Maybe you have a career in academic marketing. But, that’s just part of it. What’s important is that I devise unique modal operators, and build systems that analyze millions of possibilities into predictive outcomes.”

     “Okay, let me try that one – I think you said blah blah I’m super smart and know lots of stuff blah blah.”

     He laughed.

     “Sure, I’m smart about some things, mostly irrelevant to everyday life, I’m afraid.” He looked down and I realized he’d shared this thought in a moment of honesty more vulnerable than his usual tolerance level. Naked bath talks inspired intimacy, just like the magazines promised they would.

     “Well, I like how smart you are,” I told him with sincerity. “So what kind of predictive outcomes are you working on? Like, what’s the application?”

     I sensed him tense, and hesitate. Were we about to retreat to his safe comfort zone again?

     “It’s…well, the specifics aren’t something I can talk about. I mean, you get it in general. There’s…non-disclosures…”

That struck me as super funny. My laugh bounced off the tile walls, it felt good to let something out.

“What’s so funny?”

     “We’re naked in a tub together and you can’t tell me about your job because of paperwork?”

     I looked back at his face and was surprised to find him skirt my eyes, his cheeks reddening. So serious. Damn. Reluctantly, I got more serious, too.

     “I see what you mean,” he conceded. “But I…I can’t…I suppose I can tell you in general. I get data from live experiments and I analyze that data through many lenses and filters to make predictions about possibilities and probabilities that get tested out in real time.” He spoke very quickly, like his words were trying to outrun my thoughts. “I devise and test theories about how elements of systems will behave and interact under a variety of conditions to predict the likelihood of certain things occurring.”

     “So, you guess what might happen next?”

     “Well, I wouldn’t say guess.” He sounded offended by my choice of words. “I apply my extensive knowledge and my unique ways of evaluating data to devise -” I cut him off.

     “Okay, not guess. But you predict the future?”

     “When I’m right, yes.”

     “And how often are you right?”

    “Last cycle, eighty-eight point two percent the time.”  I could hear the pride in his voice.

   “That’s good?”

   “Yes, that’s good. It’s better than Frieda’s eighty-six point nine, anyway. Bash and Lance are both stuck at eighty-seven point one six.”

     “So it’s a close race.”

     “What makes you say that?” he demanded, but he didn’t let me answer. “It’s not a race. And it’s not close. A tenth of a percentage point at this point in the game is hard to come by.”

     “So it’s a game?” I teased. At that, he leaped up from behind me, so I fell backwards into the water while he dripped on my head. He stumbled quickly out of the bathtub and grabbed a towel, drying himself ferociously.

     “No, it’s not a game!” he yelled, then resumed his calm face and teacher voice. “It’s real life, and there are real-life outcomes at stake. My work is important. It could change the way we engage community around the world. It could change the entire relationship between capitalism and the social good.”

     “Sorry!” I exclaimed, surprised and hurt. “I didn’t mean to say it wasn’t important. I was just trying to lighten things up. Casual conversation, you know?”

     He sat on the edge of the tub, penis dangling. He rubbed his forehead.

     “No, I’m sorry. I over-reacted, and I think I know why. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure. I was trying to…but I didn’t put enough emphasis…I got blindsided by unforeseen…then my models…anyway, we’re at a critical point in a two-year project, and some of the key assumptions I made, they aren’t quite panning out under the new scenarios. I’m overly sensitive about it right now, I think.”

I was shaken, but we had obviously strayed further past his boundaries than he’d meant. I knew from experience that sometimes holding the line of comfortable boundaries meant keeping the relationship at bay. Breaking the ice with some over-reaction, displaying some vulnerability, might be the only way he ever got around to showing me who he really was. I felt it as progress, so I was willing to take it, and let things lie here for now. I wanted to resume our peace together so I could relax and go to sleep. If I wanted to be loved at my worst, I needed to be able to offer the same. Maybe we didn’t have to talk everything to death.

     “That’s okay, if anyone knows about overly sensitive, it’s me!” I comforted him. I stood and gave him a hug over the bathtub lip, my feet in the water and his cheek on my chest, getting him all wet again.

     “You’re something quite unexpected, you know that, Christine,” he whispered.

     “That’s why you love me.”

Chapter Monday Morning

Chapter 11 Scene 1 Wakey Wakey

When I wake up in the morning, my favourite thing is to wake up s-l-o-w. I love just feeling what it feels like to come back into my body from sleep – the way the bed holds me up, solid under my stomach and thighs, my body sinking into the mattress, my face buried in sweet-smelling pillowy softness. My only state of absolute physical relaxation. Not asleep, not awake, neither here nor there, wavering in the transition with soft shore-waves, ebbing and flowing between states; free. But of course, it never lasts. Slowly, I became aware of a loud, incessant knocking, which knocked into my brain the fact that it was Monday morning. Monday, always-dreaded Monday. Blah. I heard Chris humming in the shower, so it was all up to me. My body felt reluctant and sluggish as I dragged a blanket from the bed around me, trudging over to the peep-hole. On the other side, Freida’s fishbowl face peered nose-first into mine. I’d barely opened the door when she bustled by me, dropping her laptop case, media bag and purse on the floor.

     “Wakey wakey tender flakey. Aren’t you a monster in the morning? I figured you could use a ride out to YKM and it looks like I’m right. You never would have made nine o’clock on the bus. Better get moving!”

     I looked over at the clock and saw it was already after 8am. She was absolutely right! I had set the alarm for six, and now I was really, really late!

     “Um, thanks, I set the alarm…I don’t know what happened. I’m really lucky you came by.”

     Freida made a face that told me she’d expected nothing more from me.

     “Yes, I’m a knight in shining armour. Where’s your coffee?”

     Chris had banned coffee from the apartment on the grounds that it made me hyper and irritable.

     “Chris doesn’t…we usually just get it on the way out.”

     Freida pursed her lips, irritated, and sat heavily on the sofa, phone in hand.

     “Well, I’ll settle in and do some email, assuming you get a signal here. Why aren’t you getting ready yet?”

     “Chris is in the bathroom.”

     She raised her eyes from the screen to look at me, puzzled.

     “So?”

     “I don’t think he’d… ”

     “My goodness, I’m learning a lot I didn’t need to know about you two. Just throw on some clothes and brush that mop into a ponytail. It’s going to take forever to get over there at this time of day.”

     Just then, Chis opened the bathroom door, still singing and stark naked.

     “Now I’m really learning too much!” Freida exclaimed, amused.

     “What the…” Chris started, confused and definitely not amused. He retreated quickly from whence he came, and locked the door. I knocked.

     “Hey, let me in!” He opened the door a crack, his face peeking from behind. I pushed the space wide enough to squeeze through and snuck in quick before he closed it on me.

     “How could you let me walk out there?” he hissed. “You should have told me she was here.” He whispered but really, he was yelling. I kept my voice low as well, or at least, tried to.

     “She just, like, barged in. I didn’t even have time.”

     “That’s one bitch I never thought I’d strip for. I don’t like that she has that picture of me in her head. I feel violated.” 

     “Now you know how we feel every day with men ogling us.”

     “Don’t go all femi-nazi on me!”

     This was getting us nowhere.

     “Whatever. Look, I gotta get ready for this gig you set up with Tim. I’m lucky she’s here, okay? Did you turn off the alarm?”

     “No. Maybe you didn’t set it.”

     “I set it.”

     “Well, then, magic trolls must have snuck in and turned it off.  It’s not my fault you slept in.”

     Man, he could be an irritating prick sometimes! I wanted him to go, but I didn’t want to antagonize any more argument.

     “I’m in a bad mood. We shouldn’t talk right now,” I offered as a compromise.

     “Fine with me.”

     I brushed my teeth while Chris picked up a magazine and started reading.

     “You can go” I froth-mumbled.

     “I can’t get dressed with her out there!” He sat stubbornly on the closed toilet seat, reading.

     I felt frustrated. Now was not the time to be a prude! Didn’t he live in residence as an undergrad? Had he never learned the strategic use of a towel? I realized I couldn’t say any of those things if I didn’t want to fight, so I worked on an encouraging tone. I didn’t quite pull it off.

     “Just do it. Who cares what she thinks. She can look away. She’s got her phone.”

     “Would you be comfortable doing that? If it were Tim out there?”

     “Sure, why not? I think he has enough self-control not to jump me on the spot. I bet he’d just look out the window anyway.”

     “You’re strange, Christine.”

     “I thought we weren’t going to talk.” 

     Chris stayed in the bathroom until after we left, which meant I got ready about twice as fast as I might have. I didn’t feel at all bad taking ten bucks out of his wallet on the way out.

Chapter 11 Scene 2 Hot Potato

Buckling my seatbelt in Freida’s rated-best-for-safety-and-fuel-economy GM coupe, I wondered if I was actually strapping myself into an interrogation chair. She started talking before she’d even started the car.

“So, is it true? You’re really playing with Trix and the Trixettes?”

“Um, yeah, I said I’d play. But we had our first rehearsal yesterday and –  “

“Well, watch your back, Cupcake. Beatrix Drachov is a conniving wanna-be who sucks otherwise sane people into insanity with her. I mean, look what she did to Bash, roping him in, ruining his life. Marrying a gay man, when she’s gay herself – what does it even mean? Well, I’m not one to judge, or to tell anyone how to live. I’m just saying. Who’s paying for all of it, that’s what I want to know. They’re all tight lipped about their sponsors, like it’s a big secret. But someone is paying to feed and house those boys.”

I felt tired, and the grating of Freida’s voice overpowered the words she was saying, blending into a general rhythm of noise that I didn’t really take in. Instead, I imagined Trix dancing as I’d seen her yesterday from behind the curtain, but in my mind, I was the one twining around her strong body, not Trace. Movement with Trix seemed like an experience worth having, and I wondered if I would get the chance to find out.  The image broke as Freida’s voice pounded back into language.

“…exploiting them for free labour and making them think it’s fun. Do you think that’s okay?”

I didn’t know what to say. I came up with, “Um, I don’t know. I just like to play.”

Freida sniffed disdainfully.

“You don’t have to be reduced to this. My uncle is a key sponsor at the Belath Dowry Orchestra. I can get you on the substitute roster. Between that and YKM, you’re all set. You don’t need to let Timeless erode your personal brand.”

“Um, maybe…thanks…but…I might play Friday. I haven’t decided for sure. “

“Well, it’s your funeral. Still, I’ll make some calls. When Trix drops you like a hot potato next week, you’ll thank me. Look, we’re here.”

(up to end of chapter 6)

Chapter 11 Scene 3 Your Kinda Music

Your Kinda Music felt like walking into a Disney Exec’s imagination of what a music school should look like. High School Musical, the Studio. The front lobby felt contrivedly sleek, with crayola-bright colours accentuating metal and glass, and sanitized knockoffs of rock posters featuring clean-cut kids in rock-and-roll costumes. The lobby itself resembled a fishbowl, surrounded on three sides by rounded, sound-proofed glass partitions, behind which students seemed to pantomime playing instruments in complete silence. A few tween-aged kids were scattered around the lobby, looking at their phones. Tim came bustling from a glassed-in office behind the reception desk as we entered, and started fiddling with a laptop on the counter.

     “I’ve brought your package, safe and sound. Do I know musicians or what?” bragged Freida.

     “Mouse! Glad you made it out!” called Tim, piling some papers and pushing buttons, not looking up. Mouse? So that stupid nickname had reached all the way to Tim and Your Kinda Music? I felt both confused and irritated.

     “I’m off,” stated Freida, walking over to peck Tim on the lips, efficiently but with affection. 

     “Thanks for coming to get me and everything, you really are a lifesaver,” I put in.

     “I do my best.” Freida leaned in for the double cheek-kiss again, and this time I thought I bluffed my way through okay. As Freida exited, Tim beckoned me over to the reception desk, indicating the laptop over which he still fussed.

     “Perfect timing! I’m just finishing your splash page for the website. You’re easy – those guys at Timeless don’t miss a beat, do they? I just stole a couple of their pics, linked to their feed, and it’s off to the races! You couldn’t have picked a better way to fill your client roster, by the way. Mouse! I love it!”

     “What are you talking about?” I asked, a little overwhelmed.

     “You’re the star of the show! Take a look.”

     I leaned over him to view the computer monitor. Tim pulled up the Timeless site, where a headline beamed the addition of Mouse Purnell, daughter of the legendary Jake, with a dark picture of me on stage ripping it up, my face a mask of concentration. They must have lifted the shot from someone’s retro Facebook album. Tim clicked through, scrolling over page after page of pictures, headlines from old newspapers, a video of our band at the Status Quo, even poems from my high school yearbook. Yuck! They had really outed me.

     “Oh. Oh my god. How did they…?”

     “It’s really very cool,” enthused Tim. “This guy they got from the Applied Research program, I think they’re calling him Static? He uses internet scrapers to find everything and spit them into these web pages. The kids just clean it up, retweet it and stuff. Between that and the racket he’s got going with those boys building hype online, there’s some serious data to be mined from that place. But me, I’m mostly just glad they did all my work for me. Look, here’s your YKM Bio, let me know if it’s okay.”

     “I met Static yesterday, he was a total jerk to me. I really don’t like this.”

     “You haven’t even read it!”

     “Not the bio. This whole…all this stuff I didn’t even know was out there online, stuff about me! And now, all findable in one convenient place. I feel like I’m being stalked, or something.”

     Tim looked directly at me for the first time in our conversation. 

     “Do you know how many people would kill for this kind of free promotion? It’s your fifteen minutes in this town, and we’re going to milk it into a full client roster at premium rates so you can buy pretty things. I don’t know what god you pray to, but consider yourself blessed. Don’t fret about fame like a diva, Mouse. Come on, you’ve got a boring corporate video to watch.” 

     Tim picked up the laptop and gestured for me to follow him into one of the glassed-in spaces. We caught the attention of two coiffed, blonde teenaged girls as we walked by, possibly because of the word “fame.” They looked up from their phones curiously. 

     “Wait, you’re Mouse?” asked the older of what looked like two sisters. “Like, with Trix n’ Traces?”

     “Christine,” I corrected.

     “No, you are Mouse. You can’t fool me. I see you right here.” She held up her cell phone, which exposed my fourteen-year-old self at the beach in an unflattering one-piece bathing suit with an unfortunate ruffle. I shuddered with revulsion. I noticed little sister holding up her own phone, likely videoing this interaction. 

     “I’m Delanie. You’re a teacher?” 

     “Yeah, looks like I’m teaching guitar.”

     “Cool! When do we start?”

     “You take piano, Duh-lane-eee!” bugged her little sister.

     “I take guitar now. I want her.”

     Tim stepped in smoothly.

     “Of course we can arrange that. Mouse’s schedule is currently wide open, but it won’t be for long. When works for you”

     Delanie consulted her phone, looking irritated and making small, negative noises like an executive business-woman with a crammed-tight agenda. 

     “Thursday morning at nine. But, she has to come to the house.”

     “You know we charge for travel,” Tim warned.

     “Whatever. See you Thursday, Mouse!” She turned to her sister. “Come on, Pridey, car’s here.”

     “I want guitar, too,” Pridey whined. Delanie was already passing the uniformed driver who held the door. 

     “Stick with clarinet, all that tonguing, it’s good practice for…you know,” Delanie teased. 

     “OMFG, shut UP!” squealed Pridey. “I’m telling Papa…”

     The girls voices faded out as the door closed behind them. I saw them climb into a very nice town car. Thinking about my upcoming bus trip, I felt a burn of envy for those spoiled little things.

     “See what fame does?” exclaimed Tim excitedly, right by my ear. “Delanie Brendshaw – quite the catch on your first day! Money and influence. Impress her, all her friends will be calling in no time.”

     “Money and influence?” I asked, a little put out. “She can’t even be sixteen!”

     “Family matters,” shrugged Tim. 

     “I don’t know how committed she is to learning guitar,” I mused.

     “What does it matter, as long as they pay? Just keep her happy, you’ll be fine. She’s probably a good tipper if she enjoys the lesson enough.”

     “What does that mean?” I asked, suspicious. Tips? What kind of music school was this, exactly?

     “Whatever you want it to mean, as long as it’s legal. Listen, there’s curriculum, and then there’s improvisation. Use your judgment. We live and die by the weekly evaluations. Know what you’re getting measured on, and make sure she feels like she’s getting that. Here’s a paper copy, but most of them get done online. We had a 40% return rate last week. I’m pretty proud of that. Getting students to fill in the evaluations is part of your job goals, by the way.”

     Tim handed me a slip showing a list of evaluation criteria. Unlike evaluations I’d been given along the way as I learned, this was not about practice, skill achievement or levels. It dawned on me suddenly that I was not completing the evaluation about my students – my students would be completing this evaluation about me.

     “She’s rating me, on my teaching, instead of me rating her on her playing? I’ve got that right?”

     “Yup!” he crowed, like I was a prize student with the answer. “That’s the client-centric model. We rolled it out at all locations across the country last year. It’s doubled our client retention.”

     “I’m responsible to make sure she feels an increase in her self-esteem? Has fun? Feels proud?”

     “You’ve got it.”

     “I thought I was teaching music.”

     Tim shook his head.

     “Wrong. Stop thinking that. You are inspiring youth, musically. That’s the company motto.”

     Tim pointed to the slick sign behind the reception counter, which read Your Kinda Music: Inspiring Youth Musically. He went on. 

     “It took the Leadership Team all weekend at the company retreat to come up with that. It was intense. So that’s what we’re here to do. Your job is to make sure these kids love their music lessons, and their parents see enough progress to keep paying. That’s it. Take that into your heart as your sole mission and purpose, and you’ll be great.”

     While I took that in, Tim’s phone dinged a jaunty alarm.

     “Hey, look!” He held up his phone. “You’ve already got a second pupil! Delisle Abner-Fitch, nice! Delanie’s best friend, not to be outdone. She wants you Wednesday, so she can be first.”

     “Delanie and Delisle? Cute.” 

     Tim looked me up and down.

     “Cute yourself! Don’t tell them that, they are sure they’re sophisticated. At this rate your week’ll be full before you leave the building. See!” he crowed, holding up his vibrating phone. “How’s this for cute: DeLorean Greystone! You know who her father is, right? Mike Spitfire! And she wants lessons with you!? I knew you were a good catch.”

     Tim leaned over my shoulder to indicate the computer screen on the laptop he’d placed in front of me.

     “But right now, Miss Superstar, we’ve got onboarding to do. First, watch this video, then fill in the forms on the second tab here, and then use this program and the webcam to record your intro. Don’t worry, the instructions are clear. Make sure you get your phone synched to the YKM calendar – there’s the helpdesk number if you have trouble. Okay, you should be all set. See you soon!” 

     He touched “play” and was gone, leaving me to sort out the onboarding process. On the screen, a peppy young commentator greeted me with a fakey-fake smile.

     “Welcome to Your Kinda Music! Inspiring youth, musically! As a YKM learning facilitator, you are the face of YKM, and we value you. Today you will learn the tips and techniques that you are expected to use in inspiring inspiration for the next generation of music lovers…”

     I zoned out and waited for the video to end.

Chapter 11 Scene 4 Point for You

Two hours later, YKM onboarding painfully completed, I slumped down in my seat on the bus. Ethan had disappeared since promising to bail my guitar out of pawn-shop jail, and I needed to know what was up. I texted. 

     PurC: u thr?

     No response, no indication of him on any of the social media sites. Shit. He’d gone radio-silent. That could not be good.

     I looked around at the other passengers, noticing the general boredom, apathy and magnetic-repulsion that kept us all shut down and shut off from each other. I watched a mom who couldn’t have been older than me, with a snotty knee-high boy (blue, plaid shirt) and a baby girl (pink, pink, pink) crying in the battering-ram of a stroller. Mom ignored both kids to fiddle with her phone. I wondered how she would handle the dismount from the bus with those two, and hoped she’d at least put the device down. 

     The racial diversity on this particular bus comprised about 80% in various shades of brown; I noticed that it felt weird to be in the minority. I checked my privilege, but since there was no action to take, I shrugged off my sense that there was something inherently racist in noticing the racial diversity in the first place. It dawned on me that I was a minority at Timeless, too, but hadn’t noticed in the same way. 

     The ages on the bus ranged from baby-girl-battering-ram up to Grandpa Moses, who perched on the seat right behind the driver looking fragile and nervous. Several teens lounged in the back, caught up in their own world of giggles and show-me’s, girls displaying a little too much cleavage and boys laughing a little too loud. The center of the bus comprised primarily working-class people of various descriptions, some in uniforms to announce their jobs – kitty-cat scrubs, dirty painter-pants, Drive Thru Associate name-tag (MALVA – trainee), heavy work boots and overalls. A couple of men looked too rough for a job, and I wondered where they were headed looking like that. Two guys my age sat primly, side-by-side, in full suit and tie, clipboards on their laps. Door-to-door salesmen? Mormons? 

     I read the ads that ran along the entire length and width of the bus, subsidizing our transit system and giving us something to look at besides each other or the city driving by. Hooray, capitalism! Ad by ad, I began to notice a pattern. Debt consolidation. Cheque cashing. Education Savings Plans with Tax Bonuses. Help Lines for kids, for women, for new immigrants, for victims of various social maladies. $2,000 a month working from home, guaranteed! Every message directed to The Poor to exploit, help or educate them. I guessed it made sense. 

     Sigh. This bus was not interesting enough for how long the ride took. My phone dinged a text and my heart leaped with joy for a distraction.

     Ethanalogy: here now

     PurC: got Nell?

     My phone range. Uh oh. 

     “You’d better be calling with good news,” I answered.

     “You don’t know how much I wish that.” Ethan sounded so beaten-down that I almost couldn’t feel angry. Almost.

     “No! Say you’re playing with me! You didn’t get her back?”

     “Look, I tried, okay? Some guy got it at closing on Saturday night. They wouldn’t tell me who, but then the guy behind the counter followed me and offered up a name, Buzz, and an address for twenty bucks. I had to borrow my mom’s car and drive three towns away and it took me all day on my only day off, you know. But I get there and there’s no one there, so I wait and wait and then finally someone comes home but they don’t know what I’m talking about and I figured the guy ripped me off twenty bucks is what happened. But then the wife says I must mean her brother Buster, who just uses her address, I’m not sure where he went she says, but check down at this dive bar he likes to play at, in another town, of course. But then it was already late and my mom was expecting me back with the car… ” He trailed off.

     “So you gave up?”

     “For yesterday! I promise, I’ll be right back on it today. Or tomorrow. When I’m not in class or work…” I’d heard this kind of promise from him before. He was always saying he would, but then it turned out, he might, if it worked out, and then again, he might not. That’s why we were in this situation in the first place – or at least, partly why. 

     “Sure. Of course,” I shot back. “And if you find this Buzz-ter, then what? What if he won’t give her back?”

     “I don’t know. That won’t happen. I can’t think about that. I just have to follow through.”

     Follow-through. At least he recognized that was the need. I breathed in, and imagined picking up my grief at losing Nell, placing it gently in a “for later” box in my mind. The grief was dark blue and purple, lumpy and soft like playdough, and I didn’t have time to sink myself into it right then. I closed the lid, and came back to the situation. Ethan was just being Ethan at every step. My own careless and abrupt handling of things had led to all this bad behaviour, and I could have predicted it if I’d been smarter and better. This was really my fault. Like everything always was when I thought out to logical conclusions. 

     “I guess I can’t really use her right now, anyway,” I conceded.

     “You’re not freaking out at me?”

     “What’s the point?”

     “Okay, Chrissy, what’s wrong. I know you’re upset about the guitar, but it’s not just that. What’s sent you hiding inside?”

     No way. He was not going to know me so well and put his fingers right into my pain. I couldn’t allow it, not now, not him. But somehow, it came spilling out anyway, in spite of myself.

     “Shut up. I don’t know. Yes I do. I sucked at practice yesterday. Everyone said so.”

     “Everyone?”

     “Well, one guy, and another guy agreed with him. And no one said I didn’t. Because I did. Suck. I felt it. Only, now maybe my new teaching job depends on doing it, but if I can’t pull it off it won’t help anyway. I’m on my way to Timeless, I think I’m gonna say I’m done. It’s too much too fast, you know?”

     “So, let me get this straight. Your very first practice, two nameless guys thought you sucked, and you agree. So now you’re quitting.”

     “You make it sound…”

     “Whiney and premature?”

     “Did you just call me immature?”

     “Premature. But same difference.” I felt a wave of despair as we started falling into one of our communication patterns. It seemed inevitable with us. That was another Why.

     “We’re fighting again. How does it happen?” I wailed. He waited before answering.

     “Look, Chrissy, you went there to try your luck and now you’re giving up, first push-back. Frankly, I’m disappointed. You left me for this, so do it already. Make it worth breaking my heart.” 

     And there was the pull that made me confide in him even though we were broken up. He loved me, he really did, and he wanted for me what I wanted for me, even when I thought I didn’t want it. This was why he was always going to be my best friend. But we weren’t there yet, and I wasn’t about to give him more of my inner soul today. Instead, I unconsciously picked a fight. 

     “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you failed to get my guitar back. You know, even though I’m not freaking out, I am upset, and hurt. Like, really. I can’t pretend my trust in you isn’t shaken.”

     “That’s rich! Fine one to talk. Listen to her, I’ve shaken her trust! What did you do to me, then? Blew away my foundation!”

     “Babe, I can’t keep going in circles with you. Please get my guitar back, and if you can’t, you’d better send me the money because I need a new one. If I’m going to try my luck and make it worth breaking your heart.”

     “That’s my girl.” I could hear him smiling over the phone, and I couldn’t let that go. 

     “No, I’m not.”

     “Right, you’re your own girl.” And he hung up. 

     I looked at my phone in annoyance, then smiled. I muttered under my breath: Point for you.

Chapter Monday Afternoon

Chapter 12 Scene 1 That’s so Cold!

I caught the transfer, got off at the right stop, and was feeling like a pro as I made my way up the stairs at Timeless. Locked, of course. What was I expecting? No prob, I knew what to do. I headed down the ally, confident, but this time found no Jamie, just a locked-tight door. I banged a few times.  Nothing. I was heading back to the front when I heard a commotion around the corner, and a little girl burst through a catwalk at the far end, running for her life. That was the only way to describe it – I had never seen anyone move with such purpose and urgency. As she got closer I realized she wasn’t a little girl but a teenager, so gaunt she appeared shrunken. When she got close enough to call out, she gestured to the door.

     “In!” she demanded, urgently, slowing but not stopping. 

     “Hey, are you okay?”

     “In! In!” she insisted but she was already bouncing away. She was practically naked, except for a curtain that she’d tied at her shoulder, forming a Flinstone-esque dress. Her feet were bare. She was not okay.

     “I’m really sorry, I don’t know how to get in. It’s always just dumb luck. Here.” I started banging heavily on the door, hoping someone would hear.

     “No! Shhh! Shhh!” She seemed totally freaked out. Seeing she was about to run, I held her arm to slow her.  It felt fragile, like a bird’s wing – I let go in surprise, afraid I’d hurt her or maybe snap her bone. Close up, I saw bruises all over her arms, legs and neck, as if every touch she’d ever felt had left a mark. This girl had been horribly abused. I felt sick and protective. I wanted to be big and strong. 

     “Did someone hurt you? Do you need help? I’m going to call the police.” I reached for my phone. The girl shook her head, made a grab for the phone, then changed her mind. 

     “Police, no, no, I go, sorry, sorry, I go.” She bolted. And she was gone. 

     “No, wait, let me help you?” I called, helplessly. I stood there for a second, stunned. What just happened? I felt dizzy, I could feel my blood pumping from my heart, coursing through my muscles. I wanted to slam something with the adrenaline. A red veil formed over my eyes and I knew red was danger so I stopped, still, closed my eyes and contracted into the moment with my breath, my entire being as small as a bean, as small as a grain of salt, so tight and still that nothing could penetrate. I breathed in light. I breathed out red. I breathed in light, and felt myself beginning to expand when suddenly, I got jolted by a strong, angry hand.

     “Who owns you?” menaced a big, mean-looking dude, his grip a vise. “You with these music fags? You let that girl in here?”

     I managed to pull myself together enough to use my disorientation to my advantage.

     “What girl?”

     “Naked-ass bitch just run through here, I think you let her in that door.”

     “I wish. But I can’t open it.”

     I looked up to see that Meanie was not alone. He and another henchman were clearly with Mr.Somebody, the guy in charge, the guy who’s wrist-flick released Meanie’s grip and sent him to check the door. Which was, of course, locked. This felt completely unreal, like I’d stepped into a movie shoot when I rounded the corner. I thought I should feel threatened, but the adrenaline made this all more interesting than scary. Not that scary didn’t hold its own in the emotional mix, just that it didn’t seem to be in charge right then. I felt so out of my depth that I didn’t even know where to start feeling, so I didn’t feel much of anything. I even noticed that this is what it must be like to live in the moment, as much as any perfect meditation. 

     “I think she’s in there, Flank, just ’cause it’s locked now…” 

     The other sidekick moved in close to me, his breath like the smell of tar in my face. 

     “Just standin’ here, all lonesome? Feelin’ safe in broad daylight?” he asked in playful threat. 

     “Leave her,” stated Flank, and both men moved back quickly. Flank turned to me politely. “Did you see where our friend went? We’re concerned for her health. She has a condition.”

     “Looks like maybe her condition is you,” I mouthed off. The adrenaline-infused blood coursing through me made me feel invincible, or maybe I just wasn’t thinking at all. Meanie turned on me like a pitbull, hand raised to strike. 

     “Mouthy little bitch!”

     Even the adrenaline didn’t keep me from flinching as his fist came hurtling towards my face. Flank moved in fast with a hard block that sent Meanie stumbling backwards. At the same time, Flank turned back to me, still polite but firm.

     “Where did she go?” My eyes strayed involuntarily to the edge of the ally, and I pulled them back quickly. He noticed. 

     “I don’t know,” I bluffed. As I spoke, the door suddenly opened behind me. Lizard poked his head out, saw what was happening, and stood tall, but I could tell it was at least half bravado. I hoped they couldn’t tell. 

     “Mouse, you okay?” he asked me, holding Flank’s eye,

     “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. 

     “Get in here.” Lizard reached forward to grab my arm and pull me inside. 

     “Not so fast!” yelled Meanie, grabbing my other arm. I worried they would rip me in half. Flank shook his head impatiently.

     “Let her go. This is taking too long. She’s not here, these people know better, right, boy? Get after her.” He gestured down the ally in the direction she had run, and I knew it was my fault for looking. The two men took off at speed. Flank continued holding Lizard’s eye through the entire exchange, never wavering, not blinking. 

     “You tell Trix, I find out my girl’s hiding here, this place burns. You tell her I promise. She knows what that means” He walked casually after his crew. Lizard grabbed me and forcibly pushed me inside, slamming the door behind us and locking it. I turned and squirmed, making it hard for him. I felt wild with the need to do something and not knowing what to do. 

     “No, wait, they’re after her, she looked bad off. She wanted in, I couldn’t open the door and she took off. We have to…”

     “No way, no how. Timeless takes in boys, and only legal anyhow. We can’t help her. Her best chance is running down a cop.”

     “What do you mean? How can you say that?” 

     Lizard shook his head. 

     “I don’t wanna shock you, but there’s bad people in the world. From what I hear, Flank’s girls, they get shipped here in crates, an’ they don’t get out – not alive, anyways. No one’s looking for them. You think I like that? But what am I supposed to do? She bangs on our door, there’s trouble an’ Timeless gets shut, then all the people here get nothing. I can’t be the one to call that. What can we do for her?”

     “So we leave her to them?” 

     Lizard gently peeled my fingers from the door handle and led me down the stairs, towards Jamie’s studio. I followed like a robot, intent on the conversation.

     “We hope we distracted ’em enough she made it somewhere. That’s all we can do for anyone – hope the best.”

     “So, if I’d gotten her in here, you’d shove her back out to the wolves?”

     He looked uncomfortable. We stood just outside the workshop door; by unspoken agreement we were finishing this conversation privately.

     “I never said that! But it ain’t mine to decide, an’ anyhow, she’s gone.” I felt a sharp judgement against his attitude.

     “That’s so cold.” 

     He picked up my judgement and gave it right back to me. 

     “Not half near as cold as the world, little sister!”

Chapter 12 Scene 2 Not a Fucking Kitten

He rounded the corner of the workshop, done with schooling me on the way things are. I followed him into the space, where Jamie worked with several boys on a wooden set-piece. 

     “I found this one outside chatting up Flank an’ his crew,” Lizard half-joked. Jamie stood quickly, knocking over his chair,  and hurried to us, alarmed.

     “Flank? Why?”

     “Women, who knows? Look, I’m handin’ ’er over to you for safe keeping. Later.” Lizard was gone before I could object to his dismissal, while Jamie moved in protectively beside me. 

     “Okay, I got her.”

     Lizard didn’t look back, probably off to deliver Flank’s message to Trix like a good soldier. 

     “Mouse, I thought Trix told you not to come early! Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Jamie peered into my soul and hit the nail on the head, alright.

     “I did see a ghost, just, pre-death.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “This girl, this little girl in the ally, with three guys after her. Lizard says we can’t do anything and she took off anyway…”

     “Lots of stuff happens out there. Maybe she’s okay.” I shook my head. 

     “I don’t think so. Lizard says the guy has them in crates and they never get out, she was wearing a dishrag or something…all bruised…oh, I hate even thinking about this. What kind of world do we live in? She was right there, I could have…and now she’s out there, or they got her and…”

     Jamie patted my shoulder reassuringly. “You’ve got a big heart. I bet you took in lost kittens all the time.” Enraged, I threw off his arm.

     “A big heart? A big goddamn heart? Oh my god, there’s a girl being held and raped by three big men, she had a chance to get away and I couldn’t help her. She’s not a fucking kitten!”  Jamie looked shocked, and I felt glad, glad, glad to finally break through the apathy this place had for what was happening to that girl.

     “Language!” he cried, then softened. “I’m sorry, I know. Hey, I hear you. I do. Look, Mouse, I know more than you do about this, first hand, and it’s worse than you’ve even imagined. But you think she’s the only one in trouble out there? Why exactly do you think we’re all here? We’re all from out there. We’re lucky. She’s not. Okay, she’s no kitten, but she’s one of a million strays. I…I don’t think it’s right, either. You’ve got to trust me that…I do what I can. It’s not enough. It’s never gonna be enough. But you – there’s nothing at all you can do. You’ve got to know it’s not your stuff.”  

     Nothing was as simple as that. 

     “I’m the one who failed her, today. If it’s not my stuff, who’s is it?”

     “Just hers.” 

     “Well, I don’t accept that.”

     “You want to go looking for her, don’t you?” 

     Of course I wanted to go looking for her. But was he making fun of me?

     “Yeah. So now I’m stupid and naive, right?”

     “You won’t find her. But you’re not stupid. You’re completely right.” I almost sobbed with relief, to hear him say that out loud. He looked upset. “Listen, it’s just, I just…I need to be here if Trix…”

     “Look, you don’t have to come, but I’m going outside to look around, just in case. How can I get back in?”

     “I’ll come with you.” He stated it firmly, but I didn’t want to get him in trouble. 

     “You don’t have to.” 

     He smiled to cover his tension. “Without me you might wander the city, lost and alone.”

     “I get here by myself every day!” I retorted, mock-indignant. 

     “Seriously, if bad guys are looking for the girl you’re looking for, you shouldn’t be out there, ’specially not by yourself. This isn’t the best neighbourhood, if you hadn’t noticed.”

     “I hadn’t, thanks for the novel insight. Okay, I admit I’d feel better with you along. Let’s go.” I headed for the door, impatient, but Jamie hung back, talking quietly with one of the boys at the table while I tapped my foot. The boy seemed disapproving.

     “Text if there’s even a HINT she’s looking for me, got it, Seth?”

     “I won’t lie for you, man,” Seth stated.

     “Just don’t rat me out on purpose.” 

     “You’re gonna get pushups,” warned Seth. “And toilet duty! Or worse.”

     Jamie joined me in the hallway. “It’ll be fine,” he called back.

     “Hope she’s worth it!” were the last words to follow us down the hall.

     Out on the street, looking carefully at my surroundings for what felt like the first time, I realized just how run-down the neighbourhood was. Where before I’d felt the streets as benign, now they seemed actively unfriendly. Was I just imagining that the two guys in the doorframe were watching me like panthers? Did the old lady scowl at me, or was that just her face? I felt like I’d been skipping blithely through a minefield and now my eyes were open. The city had shifted into a menacing place.

     “It’s funny,” I mused aloud, “I wasn’t scared on this street before, and now…”

     “It’s the same street. Try not to be scared. Bad guys can smell fear, you know.”

     “You’re so supportive.”

     “Here,” Jamie said, taking my hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, old-fashioned, like we were the cover art for Mary Poppins. “This is how my dad and mom walked when we were going up the path to church. When we were little, my twin, Jessie, would take my hand like that, to make fun of them. But I found it…comforting. To see them so…comfortable. You know?”

     “You’re an actual twin? For real?”

     “No. Forget I said that.” Something seemed up. I should have remembered that the past might be off-limits with these kids.

     “Hey, sorry, I was just curious. I’ve always been fascinated with twins.”

     “Nothing fascinating, we’re people, brothers, like anyone else. Just born the same day, is all. Fraternal, anyway, we didn’t look alike?”

     “Didn’t? So you do now?” I joked, playing on his use of past tense. I immediately regretted it. I could see I’d upset him. 

     “What? No. Why…?”  I wished I could take it back, but I stammered an explanation for what I’d said. 

     “You said you ‘didn’t’ look alike…”

     “Oh, never  mind, okay? I don’t want to talk about my brother.” 

     “You brought it up!”

     “Well I’m sorry I did. Can we just leave it?” 

     What was wrong with me? I should have left it long before now.

“Yeah, of course.  Sorry.”

     “Jamie!” called an excited voice, and Echo bounded up. Everything about her body language and tone conveyed clearly that this girl had a serious crush on my boy, Jamie. When she tore her eyes from his face, her expression for me was anything but welcoming. Something shifted in Jamie, too, but in a different way. He seemed a little older, calmer, an affectionate big brother or young uncle. He didn’t see her the way she saw him. This could be interesting. 

     “Hey, Lady-Hoo, missed you at practice yesterday.” Jamie’s voice sounded tender; Echo lapped it up, but it made her shy. She looked down, scuffing one toe against the heel of her other foot like a parody of schoolgirl crush. 

     “Yeah, well, you know…”

     “We’re out here looking for a girl. Wearing…a dishrag, or something? Running. You see her?”

     Echo shook her head. “Nah. What d’you want her for?”

     Jamie looked at me for an answer, but I didn’t have one ready. 

     “Just to make sure she’s okay,” he said.

     “Ha!” laughed Echo sarcastically. “How okay’s she’s gonna be in a dishrag? Why’s she running?” 

     “Flank,” Jamie stated.

     At the sound of the name, Echo’s entire bearing changed. She became small and nervous, holding her arms crossed tight over her chest, hunched, turning her head left and right nervously. 

     “You go home, Jamie!” she practically shouted. Noticing this, she quieted down. “An’ tell Trix…tell her no. And I’m sorry. Wait. Just tell her no.” Echo ran off. 

     Jamie shook his head. “Funny girl. Amazing voice, though. Too bad her mom banned her from Timeless.”

     “Why?” I asked.

     “Maybe because we’re all street mutts and she doesn’t want her little girl hooking up with trash? Makes sense.” I didn’t like to hear him talk about himself or anyone else with such disdain. 

     “I just don’t see you that way,” I told him. He smiled, shaking his head, like I was a cute kid who just didn’t get it.

     “You’re not a good example of what people think.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” It came out too strident. I saw Jamie pull back to being the nervous kid I’d first met. Stupid tone! Why couldn’t I ever get it right?

     “Sorry, nothing, it’s…” he stammered.

     “It’s okay, I’m not going to get mad. Why am I a bad example of what people think?”

     “You have, like, X-Ray vision. You look right through, but most people are seeing what’s in front of their eyes. You see a good guy who likes to make stuff, but they know I’m junkie trash, and they want to protect their kids from that. They should.”

     “You are a good guy who makes awesome stuff!” I exclaimed. “Respect yourself, right? Echo would be lucky to have a boyfriend like you.”

     He guffawed. “Echo? That one just needs to keep away from the dogs ’til she’s grown, and get her ass to college, far away from these streets.”

     “Thinking about her ass, are you?” I teased, in an ill-fated attempt to lighten the mood. Jamie’s face showed disbelief.

     “No way! She’s a kid!” he cried, outraged.

     “You’re a kid,” I reminded him. I felt it was important that Jamie realize he could have a normal life, if he wanted. I found myself wanting him to suddenly discover Echo, like those teen romance books where the crush turns into true love. I wanted that for him, and for Echo – I wanted a happy ending.  

     “I haven’t been a kid in a long time. And not like her. Echo’s special, she doesn’t have to end up where she’s starting.”

     “You care a lot about her.”

     “We all look out for each other.”

     “Sure,” I teased, then stopped. Enough seed-planting for one day, I didn’t want to piss him off.

Chapter 12 Scene 3 Emperor of the World

 After a few more blocks of ally-walking in concentrated silence, I started to feel ridiculous. 

     “I guess it was dumb to think we’d find that girl out here. We don’t even know what way she went, could be any back ally or garbage can if she’s hiding. I just couldn’t leave it. Without trying to do, I don’t know, something. Thanks for humouring me.”

     “It’s not. I’m not…humouring you. Look, when Luca was here, she told me a story. She said there’s this beach where, like, hundreds of starfish wash up on the shore and get stuck so they die, when the tide goes out? So, a woman walks up and down this beach, every day, just throwing starfish back in the ocean. One day, some traveler says, ‘You can’t save them all. Hundreds’ll die no matter how many you throw back. What difference does it make?’ And the woman says, she says, ‘it makes all the difference in the world to the ones I throw.’” 

     I’d heard a story like that before, but his telling felt true, less preachy and more real. I felt grateful that he had put this story together with my need to save the girl, and my failure to do so. I felt honoured.

     “Wow. Thanks. I mean it.” I took some deep, deliberate breaths to calm my emotions. After a minute I said, “I wish I could be emperor of the world and make all the people be nice to each other.”

     “You’d be a great emperor of the world!” He enthused. “I’d vote for you.”

     “I don’t think you get to vote for emperors,” I corrected regretfully, as if it mattered. “They just get crowned or something.”

     “Okay, I’d crown you!” He jokingly pretended to bonk me on the head. Just at that moment, as we passed Mel’s Music, I froze, arrested by the sight of the most gorgeous guitar I’d ever seen. If she’d had my name inscribed she couldn’t have been more for me. 

     “Can that be my scepter?” I breathed. I stood, transfixed, unable to tear my eyes from the window display, until they rested on the price tag. It declared this a Parker DragonFly Tobacco Sunburst worth $4,300!

     Jamie whistled. “Wow, that is totally your guitar! In some alternate universe where I have a fortune to impress you with.”

     “I know! Can’t you just see me… ” Excited by the idea, I found myself air-guitaring right there on the street, as though that guitar had jumped out of the window behind me to land in my hands. Jamie snapped a picture with his phone, and I even posed. Then I stood there drooling, until I noticed him still fiddling with the phone. 

     “Hey, don’t post that!”

     “Too late!” he laughed.  

     “You asshole!”

     “Language! Anyway, suck it up, buttercup. That’s what Trix says. Better get used to it if you’re planning on hanging with us.”

     “I guess,” I shrugged, knowing it was true but not liking it. I felt such longing for that guitar that it seemed wrong to walk away, like it was my magic wand and it had picked me. But I couldn’t pick it back, not at that price, not ever. 

     “Dragonfly Sunburst, I so covet thee. Man, I almost wish I’d never seen this guitar. You know? The unattainable is always so… ”

     “Frustrating,” finished Jamie, looking me up and down seriously. It dawned on me that I’d better be a little more careful with him. He shook his head once, hard, and shoved his hair out of his eyes. “So, are we still looking for this girl, or what?” he asked.

     “You have any ideas?”

     Jamie’s phone buzzed and he looked at it quickly.

     “Yeah, my idea is, let’s get back.” I suddenly remembered that Jamie was not supposed to be here, and also, that I might be getting close to practice time.

     “I hope I’m not getting you in trouble.”

     “Maybe the other way. Trix is looking for you.” 

     I had a sinking feeling. “Uh oh! Alright, I admit this is a fool’s errand. We can go home, now.”

     “Wait, I do have an idea. Just one place, it’s on the way back, sorta.”

     “Lead on!”

     We turned down a side street, and then another, until I wasn’t sure exactly which direction we’d come, anymore. The buildings here looked more industrial, run-down. I couldn’t tell which ones were running some form of business and which sat empty. As we approached the side of one building, Jamie motioned for me to hold still and quiet. He peeked around the corner at the side of a two-story across the street, where a man stood at the bottom of a set of wire stairs, like a guard dog. As we watched, a young man exited the building and hurried down the stairs. The two exchanged words, and the guy headed down the street. 

     “Wait here. Don’t move, ’K?” whispered Jamie, sliding from my side like a ghost. I waited nervously, feeling very uneasy. I watched Guard Dog, but Jamie didn’t approach him. In fact, I couldn’t see my friend anywhere. Time ticked on, probably only a minute or two, but I felt alone, vulnerable and lost in a strange place, no idea where Jamie was, and late for Trix. I felt my heart rate speeding faster, a muffled thump in my skull. I finally caught sight of Jamie around another corner, talking with the boy out of sight from Guard Dog. The boy was not a willing participant. He pushed Jamie away and motioned for him to leave, then shuffled through whatever he did have to say. Jamie disappeared again, and soon came jogging up beside me. He took my arm and rushed me back the way we came, to more familiar section of town, before speaking. 

     “Well, they didn’t find her yet, so we know that at least.” My heart surged, and my hopes must have looked high enough to need dashing. “They will, though,” he warned me. “They’ll smoke her out. Unless we find her first.”

     “Are you saying you’ll help?” I could hardly believe it. Maybe if Jamie helped, we might actually be able to do something. At least, I knew I couldn’t do anything alone. 

     “If she got past the first search, there’s still a chance. But we have to be careful. And Trix won’t like it. ”

     “I knew you’d understand!” I threw my arms around him in a spontaneous hug. He seemed embarrassed, uncomfortable and stiff. He patted my back a few times like he was burping me, and pulled away, but I could tell he was pleased anyway. We kept walking. 

     “So who was that guy?”

     “Just a guy I used to know.”

     “And that place?”

     “A den of evil. You’re really nosey, you know that?”

     “Yeah, I know.”

     He glanced over at me, then seemed to decide something.

     “That place is Hell. I come back and look at it sometimes. To…remember what matters to me?”

     I couldn’t let him stay so vague. When there was something to know, I needed to know it. 

     “What happened there?”

     “Nothing. I don’t…just, not right now, okay? Maybe…later.”

     “Sure. We should probably hurry.”

     We walked in awkward silence, a good foot between us. Then, at the same moment, we each stole a glance at the other. In his eyes I saw a flash of the essence that is the same in all of us, as he saw it in me. I laughed with relief while Jamie smiled uncertainly. I had to go up on my tippy-toes, but I threw my arm over his shoulder like a kid brother, forcing him to bend down to walk that way. He finally laughed with me, and ducked out from under my arm, crooking his own for me to hold. He tucked my hand in close and we walked together just like his parents used to walk the path to church, all the way back to Timeless. 

Chapter 12 Scene 4 Don’t Poke the Balloons

 As we ran up the front steps, Trix opened the door. 

     “Here you are. Jamie, they need you on sound. Get out there now.” She barked it as an order.

     “Yes Trix!” he responded, running off without another look at me. 

     “You keep coming early, Mouse.”

      “I wasn’t very early…”

      “Only, now you’re late. And Jamie’s late. And I’m late.”

      “I’m sorry. It’s just, there was this girl – ” I started to explain. She interrupted impatiently.

     “Yes, Flank’s girl, Lizard told me.” I felt shocked that she would call her that, use those words.

      “She’s not “Flank’s girl” just because he cages her. God, you should know better!” I stormed.

     “Yes, yes.” She dismissed my reaction as yesterday’s news. “Look, I know those girls are bad off. I hate that he exists, but that’s not our fight. You need to stay out of it.”

      “Stay out of what?” I asked, eyes narrowed, looking at her in a new way.

     “Exactly,” she replied. “Things you don’t understand. We survive down here in a carefully balanced ecosystem. Don’t go poking the balloons, Mouse. You’re here to play guitar.”

     “Well, I don’t seem to be very good at that, either.”

     “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself,” she told me. “Look, we’ll work out the kinks in the show, but you need to focus on the music. I can’t worry about you making enemies. I don’t need this right now.”

     I noticed myself start shaking with the stress of the confrontation, but I felt absolutely livid. 

     “Me either! But I saw that girl and you didn’t. She needed my help and I let her down. I don’t give a shit about fucking Flank or your fucking…ecosystem of balloons or whatever.”

     Trix stepped back, regarding me like you might a dog that seemed friendly till it growled. 

     “There’s no need to swear,” she stated blandly. “Look, you’re all riled up. I get it. The streets aren’t pretty. All I’m saying is, you aren’t from here, you don’t belong here, and the only reason you’re here is to play. So just…play. Let the streets be what they are.”

     I breathed in and out as I stared at her, not sure what to make of my jumbled thoughts and feelings. She sounded so reasonable, but there was no reason that could talk away the peril I’d witnessed. I didn’t want to show her anything about myself, I wanted to be closed and cool. But I wasn’t going to let her think I agreed with her, just because I couldn’t explain myself as eloquently as she could.

     “If I see her again, I’m going to help her.”

     “How?” she asked. “Not by bringing her here.”

     “Fine. But somehow. I will.”

     “That is our truce, then. You will not bring her here. Look, Kiddo, you really need to know this. It’s not just you. We will all be very sorry if you bring Flank down on Timeless. He’s not kidding about burning us. That one’s likely to lock us all in first. You don’t want to be the cause of that.”

     I imagined how I would feel and I knew I didn’t want that. If the threat really loomed as large as she said, I was out of my depth. But my encounter had implicated me, and now what happened to that girl was, at least partly, on me. I didn’t know how to just put that down.

     “I get it. I really don’t want to put this place at risk. But you have to understand — ” Again, she cut me off.

     “I think we understand each other. Right now we need to get to practice.” She turned on her heel and expected me to follow. I knew I’d blown my one chance to talk with her about quitting, but at least it was for a good reason.

      “Um…right.”

     I followed.

Chapter 12 Scene 5 Again!

Practice started in hell and got worse from there.

     “Stop!” Trix bellowed. “Again, from the end of the chorus.”

     Stifled groans held the tension of the room. Trix counted us in for the millionth time to the exact same bars of the exact same song. Same ten bars, then: “Stop. Again.”   I felt like her “again” was a delayed beat in a dance track on repeat, the same snip of song, stop, again, snip of song, stop, again. What did she want? What was this about? The rest of the band looked warped to me; for a moment I fell into an acid trip moment and they were lava-lamp material, gooey. By this point it was almost funny, but I didn’t dare think that or I might laugh. And, I really had to pee. As she said the word “again” again, Trix looked me right in the eye, and I couldn’t disguise my state of mind. She raised an eyebrow like she’d reached the boiling point.  

     “Enough!” she shouted.  Trix paced the room.  “Work with me here, people! We are not leaving this song until we have it down. Just dig in. Stop waiting for this to end and get it right. This is a technical practice. The details matter. I’m sorry if you don’t love this. I don’t love this. But we’re gonna do it, so let’s stay together and actually try.” She looked around at us all, and the spark suddenly faded from her eye. Barely perceptibly, I noticed her shoulders and chin droop. I thought I knew exactly what she felt – she felt totally alone. She sighed like she’d lost the point of anything, and gave up grumpily. “Fine. Go refresh yourselves. Come back ready. Twelve minutes, not thirteen.”

     I ran for the bathroom, but I was too slow to escape. 

     “Mouse!” Trix called behind me. I couldn’t ignore it.

     “Be right back!” I threw evasively over my shoulder.

     I barely made it. I struggled against my stupid pants, fumbling with the button, holding like crazy to keep those first drops from soaking my underwear. Finally, I shoved the whole mess of clothing out of the way and fell on the toilet seat without even checking for drips. My pee flooded out of me for so long I started to wonder if it wasn’t the sound of the toilet running. It wasn’t. I just really, really had to pee. I’m sure I must have groaned my relief out loud, because outside the stall, I heard Trix laugh. I couldn’t believe she’d followed me in here, and to acknowledge what she’d heard of my personal hygiene moment, well, that went beyond rude. I felt embarrassed and affronted.    

     “You pee like a racehorse!” she chortled. I couldn’t help but respond, even though I hate talking from a toilet stall. It’s supposed to be private. 

     “Only when I’ve had to hold through two hours of practice,” I retorted.

     “I didn’t say you couldn’t pee,” she responded mildly, but I knew she knew she was bullshitting. I flushed, buttoned and exited the stall in time to give her an eye roll of sarcastic disbelief as I moved to wash my hands. I looked at her in the mirror, elongated. She leaned against the wall casually, hands extended like she was giving me a point.

     “Okay, I admit, culturally, it might not fly to disrupt practice. But you’re responsible for yourself. You might piss me off, sure, but better than pissing yourself.”

     I didn’t buy it for a minute. 

     “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said sarcastically. 

     “Do,” she replied simply. Then, a quick-switch. “You’re having a hard time today. You wanna talk?”

     So there it was. I decided to hit things head-on. 

     “I didn’t want you to notice. I kind of hoped I was being hard on myself.”

     “You probably are. And I noticed.” She smiled but I could tell this was a serious conversation. “You gotta take your cue from the other guys. Be with us, you know? Yes, it’s a lot of percussion, but hold with Noodle on the kit, keep Bash in sight, work with John to round each other out. You’re too focused on your fingers and the notes, not enough on playing music with the group.”

     I couldn’t listen any more to what I already knew.

“Okay, already! I suck. I know! Do you think I don’t know? I should just go home.” I made for the door, but Trix grabbed my arm, hard, pulling me close to her with a little shake. I stumbled, then stood straight and looked her in the eye. She didn’t let go.

     “No you don’t,” she growled. “You stay. This is your test, Christine, and your chance. Sucking is no excuse at all to leave us hanging here.”

     “Let go of me!” I cried in indignation, and she immediately released my arm. We each took a step back. “It’s humiliating!” burst out of me. “How can I look any of you in the eyes? How can I be with you?”  I looked up at her in angry despair, laid bare at last.

     “You just will. And when you do, you will get stronger, and you will know yourself better. You’re not here to be perfect, little darling. You’re here to play with us. Let’s play!”

     I felt something let go inside, something nameless but dense that had been tying me up tight. I felt understood, but that didn’t make me judge myself any less harshly.

     “I don’t know how. An orchestra just isn’t anything like this. And my band, the only band I really played with, I knew those guys better than I know myself. This is too much.”

     Trix smiled her gentlest smile, the one reserved for when people reminded her of herself. The one she smiled just before demanding you step up like she would.

     “Good reflection. So figure out what that means, how this is different, and how you must be different with the circumstances as they are. We have a few minutes, get a breath of air and some water. I have an idea. Chin up, Mouse!” She tweaked my chin like I was a four-year-old and exited the bathroom, leaving me to digest the situation and conversation as best I could.  

     “Fuck.” Alone, I said it out loud. Immediately my mind corrected me with a cry of “Language!” How quickly we humans adapt.

Chapter 12 Scene 6 Good Girl

  I snagged an apple from a fruit bowl out front, then slunk back into the theatre, sitting unobtrusively in one of the back-row seats. No one approached me or even seemed to notice I was there, which was fine with me. I looked around. I saw Lizard working on a section of damaged wall near the stage, but I didn’t want to go over and talk with him there. No sign of Milo or Moffat. Jamie and Trix were also nowhere to be seen. Trace and Bash stood talking with a suited-up man near the lobby doors. I tried not to be hyper aware of them, but I couldn’t help noticing that he was the guy who had looked me over twice yesterday when I snuck in the front doors. I felt paranoid about being paranoid, but I could have sworn they were discussing me. 

     As Trace, Bash and Mr. Suit moved out of view, my phone vibrated. Rekha. A big, angry gong went off in my belly, echoing through all my nerve endings with the guilt and embarrassment of having lost her ring. I did not want to answer, but this was actually a pretty good time, since no one was paying attention to me anyway. I owed her.

     “Hi, Rekha,” I started, to avoid the whole introductions part.

     “Christine.” It sounded like a verification of facts.

     “Yes,” I answered. “It’s me.”

     “How are you?” she asked. The most mundane question in the world, and the hardest to answer. How am I? Like, what how? Am I breathing? Am I cancer-free? Am I happy? Am I tired? Suicidal? In love? Introspective? What is the measure, what is the criteria, for “how” I am? I just am! But, I had learned the hard way that there was no point in saying any of that to people. I knew the safest bet was always, “Fine.” So that’s what I said.

     “I caught the end of that practice in my stream, a little brutal. I hope you are not daunted?”

     “I’m doing my best,” I replied cautiously

     “Yes, I can see. Very good. You mustn’t read any of the comments, of course.”

     My stomach dropped out. 

     “What comments?”

     “Surely you of all people know, the constant stream of trolls who comment on everything and everyone. You must promise me you won’t read any press.”

     “I won’t promise. But I also might not read it – why screw myself up?”

     “Good girl,” she approved. That got my back up. Where did she get off? I wanted to go reading comments just to spite her, but I also recognized that I did not have thick enough skin, if what she was intimating awaited me on the web. I honestly didn’t know if I would look, now that she’d alerted me, and I wondered about her intentions in bringing it up. 

     “Listen,” she continued, “has Trix said anything about your stunt for the show?”

     “A stunt?” I asked. I noticed that people were straggling in, making for the stage. Time was almost up to get in or get out. 

     “Yes, I think she may be planning something for you. She grew up an acrobat, after all, and she usually incorporates some showmanship in that vein. I must caution you against participating yourself, however.”

     “Why?”

     “Safety standards simply cannot be met in the Timeless facility. I did the research myself, pro bono, and I concluded that the venue is not high enough nor secure enough for what she is planning. Not to mention that it would certainly take anyone several weeks of practice to learn. ”

     “Well, I doubt anyone would want me to do anything dangerous. Besides, I’m all left feet and thumbs, so…”

     “And Trix? Is she…have you noticed any odd behaviour?”

     “Odd, like not giving a shit if a girl gets raped?”

     “Pardon? What do you mean?”

     “I ran into a girl in the ally, running away from this guy, Flank. Trix says it’s none of my business.”

     “And for once, she is correct. You shouldn’t be there, Christine, not at all. Please, reconsider participating. This is not a good time or place.”

     “I think you’re right. I’m not adding to the music, that’s for sure. I just…I don’t know. I feel like…”

     “It’s okay, Christine, it’s good to feel like you are part of a big idea, but this is just poor timing. Many, many months of hopes, dreams, aspirations and hard work, all are coming to fruition this week, but tensions are high all around. It may not be safe for you to continue. Shall I come and pick – ”

     At that moment, my phone went dead. Shit. Stupid battery. I stood up. Maybe she would come anyway. I could sneak out and wait out front for awhile. But before I made the door, I found myself flanked by Milo and Moffatt. 

     “Come on, pretty lady, show’s ’bout to start!” cried Milo triumphantly, as they shepherded me bodily towards the stage. 

     “Jamie says Trix flipped her switch, could be fun ya know,” confided Moffatt. That told me that Jamie had sent them to make sure I didn’t escape. The thought warmed me up and made me feel like maybe things could be okay, after all. Trix hadn’t wanted me to go, so maybe I could still pull it off. I just needed to relax, stop caring so much. Easier said than done, of course. Trix’s stance about Flank and the girl from the ally had knocked her down a notch in my estimation, which in a way made me feel like maybe I could care a little less about her opinion. Maybe.

Chapter 12 Scene 7 20 Minute Miracle

Trix stood before us, not the General, all of a sudden, but more like Camp Director. With a big smile, she clapped her hands together. 

     “Alright, brothers and sisters, that last set sucked, so, we’re about to change things up. Everyone get yourselves up here,” she called to the theatre-at-large. “We’re playing twenty minute miracle!”

     I could tell from the general excited approval noises that this was a popular game. Jamie held an upside-down blue velvet top hat, which he presented in turn to Pratt, Bash and Trace. Each took slips of paper and passed them to Trix, who called the groupings out. 

     “Pratt, you have Mouse, Paul and…Stan. Bash, you’ve got Noodle, Duggan and Ruby, and take Trumpet with you.  Mr. Al Roy, you will join Trace and Miser over there. You too, Seth. All the rest of you out there, you wanna play? Find a home with those groups or make your own. The clock starts in 10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1…NOW!”

     I felt relieved to be with Pratt, and not Bash or Trace. It felt like less pressure. Chia, Milo and Moffatt attached themselves to our little group as Pratt headed with purpose to a door near the back of the stage. “Grab what you need, let’s move, time’s a wasting!” he called back.  I snatched up the Gibson and followed behind through the door, which led to a hallway. We packed into a small practice room. 

     “I’m gonna sing. I always sing. Are you gonna sing?” Chia asked, turning suddenly to me. 

     “I hope not!” I cried without thinking.  “What is this game?” 

     “Twenty minute miracle! We got 20 minutes to mix up whatever song they gave us an’ make it double cool. Winners get the cake,” explained Moffat.

     “You mean, take the cake?” I jokingly corrected.

     “Yeah, they take it all an’ eat it is what they do! Adelaide’s chocolate cake, you know we want to win that!” 

     “What song? What’s the song?” Milo bounced around like a six-year-old. Stan turned a glare on him, annoyed. Milo and Moffat were probably only sixteen, but Stan was a bit older, bigger, more weather-worn and world-weary. He looked at the rest of us through eyes already narrowed. Milo’s puppy-jumping got on his nerves. 

     “I didn’t hear you two called in this group,” Stan stated bluntly. If he wasn’t very welcoming, it didn’t bother Milo. 

     “Trix said! She said attach if we want, so you gotta let us come! Ha!” he crowed. 

     “Yeah!” agreed Moffat, and the two high-fived to-the-side. Paul shot Stan a look that told him to leave it alone. Paul was about Stan’s age but with softer eyes and a lighter touch – he seemed like a peacemaker. 

     “You guys are cool,” Paul assured the boys. “You playing skins?”

     They answered in unison. “Duh, yeah!” 

     Pratt looked up seriously. “Pay attention! Look, we got (songname)”

     Milo stopped bouncing and deflated. Moffat made a face. “Too slow!” he complained. “I wanna beat the drum!”

     “At least I know it, basically,” I mused. 

     “Well,” Paul started carefully, “I’m not sure you should even be on guitar. We’ve got Pratt, and anyway, it’s just what she’s expecting. You play something else?”

     “No.”

     “So maybe you sing?” he tried. 

     “No.” So far, this wasn’t as fun as I’d been promised.

     Stan took a step towards me, joining the conversation with an impatient sigh. “You don’t get it. We’ve got to change it up. Make it interesting, different, something to surprise her. The bigger the surprise, the more likely we win…if we pull it off.”

     “I don’t see how my singing is going to surprise her. Why can’t we play with the music, maybe the tempo, or register or something?”

     “It’s gotta blow them away,” Paul almost pleaded. “I NEVER win this!”

     Moffat laughed. “Well, don’t worry. Me ’n Milo, we ALWAYS win! We’re gonna kick a…butt. But we gotta speed it up or I’m defecting.”

     “What about just down and dirty, punk style, triple time, the boys banging hard and fast. You think you can keep up with that?” Paul asked me. 

     “Yeah, I’m with you!” I tossed off a quick little punky-sounding riff. Chia crowded in close behind me, making it hard to play. 

     “Your fingers go fast!” she breathed in my ear. 

     “So who’s singing?” asked Pratt. 

     “Do we need to sing it at all?” I asked.

     “I always sing!” Chia cried. She shot me a look, insulted and hurt that I’d forget.

     Stan snorted. “Chia singing punk? Now that could be surprising.”

     “Lay off her, man,” warned Paul quietly.

     “You know what she sings,” countered Stan. “It’s always the same thing. Either we play to that, or we don’t.”

     “I think it’ll be cool,” decided Pratt, settling the matter. “We’ve got 15 minutes, let’s run it through 3 times. Chia, you and Stan’ll both sing, okay?” 

     “I like Stan,” she replied with a smile at the man himself. To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes, and he pulled away gently when she pawed at his arm. 

     We played, and not too badly, I thought. We went hard and fast. Chia intoned a wordless, haunting melody behind the music, out of time but somehow weaving in and out of our playing in a way that created a slow pull for the ear. She vocalized with incredible subtlety and depth. She wasn’t singing – her voice was another instrument, and Pratt was right, it worked. But then, Stan started singing the main lyrics of the song, sounding more like a Jonas Brother than a punk singer. I stopped us to see if I could help him. 

     “Stan, what if you try it like this?” With my inexpert voice, I sang the first two lines with an edgy, Joan Jett bite, then stopped, a little embarrassed at my key. Stan frowned. 

     “You know better, you do it.” 

     Aaak! I hadn’t meant to piss him off, and I certainly didn’t want to sing. Humans are so hard to help, sometimes.

     “Sorry! I wasn’t trying to…I mean, I just thought you could really blow it away if you put an edge on it. Like, way better than me. You know?”

     “No, I don’t know,” he grumbled. This was probably a sign I should back off, but just like me, I pressed on. 

     “Cut off the last word with a little…I don’t know…spit. Or something. Like you’re just SO over it you can hardly sing it out fast enough. Or…something. Kind of..sneering at your own need to express? ” I saw this last hit him; his resentment face broke into revelation. 

     “Like this?” he asked, and gave it a shot. So much better, I could hardly believe it. He’d really changed his mind! I played a happy little riff in congratulations, and we all smiled, tension eased. 

     “Okay,” he admitted half-grudgingly. “Maybe that’s better.”

     “You can really get into it!” I enthused. “See, you can be another person, like nothing to do with Stan, but just this punk-rock glowery dude who’s totally had it with everything. That’s how we win with Trix – be totally what we’re doing, like her. If we’re going to go hard and fast, we get to be hard and fast guys. Or…girls.”

     “So, if we’re giving unasked for advice,” he returned, “how about you play with Pratt instead of overtop of him? ” Ouch! I hadn’t thought that was what I was doing. I felt like he was returning a punch. 

     “I… ”

     “Tick tock,” Pratt interrupted, annoyed. “Can we try it again?”

     “What about me? Did I sing okay?” Chia asked me, and only me.  

     “You sing like an angel,” I told her honestly. She smile big, then shyly, then looked down, twirled around, and laughed with glee. So cute. I saw Milo and Moffat exchange a glance and wondered if they made fun of her when they were alone. 

     We tried the song a few more times, but really, we had it down. I couldn’t believe how quickly it had come together, despite my faux pas of giving Stan advice. I was glad I did, because he was a thousand times better on the vocals, which made all the difference. I loved how Chia’s sounds blended in complementary contrast, transforming the rendition something really unique. 

     “Time’s up!” called Jamie from the doorway. “Two minutes, be ready!”

     As we entered the theatre, I saw that Trace’s group was dressed in gorgeous, shiny costumes and full make-up. They looked awesome. I nudged Paul.

     “Those guys have COSTUMES!” I stage whispered. He shrugged helplessly – it was too late to think about stuff like that now. I wondered if I should rip off my shirt sleeves or something, but really, what good would that do? I only had so many shirts, after all. 

     “Who’s up?” asked Trix. Jamie pulled a slip from the top hat.

     “Lucky us, it’s the Dream Team: Pratt, Purnell and company.”

     Paul leaned over to me. “Maybe first is good! No one to compete with yet. But last would have been better. Last usually wins.”

     Trix clapped her hands together once, impatient. 

     “Well, get up there, quick like bunnies, you only have two minutes to get us rocking with you.” 

     We were already at our places by the time she finished speaking, and Trix nodded her approval. Chia leaned into the mic, her voice distorted-loud. “We’re gonna go hard and fast!” she cried, completely innocent that anyone might find that suggestive. I heard a muffled snicker snake through the crowd. 

     “Right now!” agreed Pratt, and we dropped into the song. Right away I saw some smiles of recognition and appreciation for our take on the music. The crowd was with us by the second verse, and people started joining in on their own instruments, mixing with us and expanding our little band through the song. This felt so much closer to the sing-along that first charmed me than anything I’d experienced since, that I almost felt reassured. The applause at the end seemed enthusiastic. 

     Jamie stepped up to the mic.

     “And now, Bash the Noodle, featuring Ruby Q!” 

     Ruby, the girl of the close-cropped hair who had told me not to be a baby. I found the comment still stung. Looking at her face more closely, I did a double-take, wondering for a moment if I was being racist by thinking that Ruby was basically a skinny version of Chia. No, I was right. Just hearing her voice sing told me they were unmistakably sisters. Unlike Chia, however, Ruby belted out her lyrics with confidence and bravado. The set was good, but I smugly felt that we were better. 

     “And finally, Traceroy – our final act…” Jamie gestured to the costumed bunch, who efficiently took centre stage. When they crashed into their version of (songname) I knew they had us beat. They didn’t just look better – they sounded better, with more variety and surprise, and a whole different take. They came off less serious, more tongue in cheek, and way, way bouncier. The crowd laughed and played along. I’d never yet seen Trace look so relaxed and happy, so into what she was doing. If I hadn’t known better, I might have mistaken her for the star of the place. If I’d been more open minded, I might have admitted to a glimpse of what Trix saw in her. By the time they crashed their finish, everyone was rocking out with them, even me. After all the stress, I felt almost surprised to find myself having fun. 

Chapter 12 Scene 8 Take the Cake

“Well, I’m pretty sure that you guys take the cake!” cried Trix herself. Adelaide stepped forward with the prize – a gorgeous chocolate cake dripping with icing – they kind that makes your mouth water just looking at it. Trix ceremoniously presented the cake to the beaming Trace and smirking Miser. All around the room people reacted, either cheering in agreement or grumbling in disappointment – sometimes, both. Adelaide smiled big. 

     “Lucky I made enough for everyone!” she called out, whisking away a cover to reveal two more cakes on the bottom shelves of the the trolly. A cheer went up around the room. Right away, people lined up in a disorderly fashion. 

     “Hey,” called Milo near from the back of the line, “if everyone gets cake, what’s the point of a contest?”

     Moffat elbowed him in the ribs. “You complaining?”

     “Well, I, you know…winning’s gotta mean something.” 

     “That’s really interesting, Milo.” Trix joined the conversation from across the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “Thanks for that. But let’s step back from some arbitrary idea of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ and think about the facts. The facts are: we had a contest, and Trace and her bunch kicked your little butts. Why should you partaking in cake in any way diminish what winning means for them?”

     “It just…well…” Milo stammered. 

     Stan jumped in. “The market value goes down when supply increases. So it does make the prize less valuable, objectively.” Trix focused her laser-beams Stan’s direction.

     “And so you would not have cake? On the principle that it devalues the prize of winning? Well, I admire your strength of conviction. No cake for Stan and Milo. The rest must choose their conscience.”

     This statement met with silence, and the shuffling of general discomfort. You know how they say, “you could have heard a pin drop”? Well, you could have. Jamie settled back on the wall, arms folded. Every eye stayed glued on Trix, and she knew it. Bash began making his way towards her, slowly. 

     “When we set value by the market rather than the common good, we let ourselves down and we let each other down. What did this competition really do? It got musicians creating together in different ways. It got us grooving to each other’s grooves. It gave us an excuse to have cake together! Prizes are secondary, irrelevant. Value isn’t just economic. The value of the prize is the respect of our peers, the knowledge that our best is as good as we think it is. The value is how much better we are all going to play together when we get back to the set. Tell me what that’s worth! And you’re here, thinking the cake is the prize? I obviously failed to make things clear somewhere along the way. But I hope you understand now. The good will from equitable rewards can only help our goal of being AMAZING on Friday! Eat your cake and quit being a baby about losing.”

     As she spoke, Bash approached unobtrusively. Noticing him by her side, Trix shut her mouth and her eyes for a moment’s breath. Opening her eyes, she held his, nodded to him, and turned her back on us all, striding into the lobby. I got the feeling she needed to be alone with her impatience for a minute. Bash returned to his usual, watchful post beside Trace. As everyone else slowly resumed quiet conversations, I turned to Jamie.

     “Wow, she really knows how to put a damper on things.” 

     He looked down and away, not comfortable meeting my eyes as he shook his head. “I don’t know, I think she’s right to call it when she sees it, and not put up with anything.”

     “But she didn’t have to call them out like that. Look at Stan, he’s not even having any cake. He looks pissed but I bet he’s embarrassed and hurt. And Milo? I didn’t think anything could crush his spirits, but getting raked over the coals by Trix, that did it. Look at his face.”

     “How’s she supposed to teach all of us what things mean if she takes those guys aside and talks to them quietly? I know I didn’t get it before, I never knew that 20 minute Miracle was about all that stuff she said, and I’ve been here ages. I needed to hear it, too. I’m learning, too.”

     He wasn’t wrong, but somehow I felt like it wasn’t right, either, to give people shit in front of a crowd. 

     “Well, you did hear it. And so did everyone else,” I stated to end the conversation. As I spoke, Trix made a low-key re-entry to the theatre. Skipping the line, she took two plates of cake, and brought one over to Stan, speaking with him quietly. He held his shoulders and jaw hard and cold, but slowly his face softened and he even nodded once. To my surprise, he took the cake. I noticed he didn’t eat it, though, as Trix moved on to Milo. 

     “If she’s going to do the correcting part in public, she should do the apology part in public, too,” I mumbled quietly to Jamie.  He shrugged, eyes on his lap so hair framed his face like blinders. 

     “Who says she apologized?” he mumbled. “Listen, I’m not saying she’s perfect. I’m just saying, out loud is how we do things, and those guys know it. They speak up, they gotta take a correction if it comes. That’s how we learn.” To me, he sounded pained, like challenging me hurt physically. Even as I noticed that, I found myself continuing to push my point. 

     “Doesn’t that just discourage people from speaking up?” I countered.

     “Well, it makes us make sure we can back it up before we speak.” He flicked his hair so he could see me sideways. “That seems like a good thing?”  

     “Hmm. Maybe. Well, at least she made up with them, she didn’t leave them hanging.”

     “Look, sorry, Mouse, I gotta go.” Again with the abrupt pull-back, even after the time we’d spent together this afternoon. I was starting to wonder if my differences would leave me feeling outside with him for good. I couldn’t keep it out of my voice. 

     “Oh, okay.” 

     He turned back with the softest face I’ve ever seen on anyone but a child. He reached out and touched my cheek briefly, trying on a grown man’s gesture. I felt tender towards him. 

     “Hey, I really do have to go,” he said quietly, trying on grown man’s tone, then dropping back to kid by kidding, “I’m critical around here, you know!”  

     “Yeah, I know,” I replied seriously to his already-departing back. But I knew he heard me.

Chapter 12 Scene 9 Hostile Much?

Now that the line had thinned, I grabbed one of the last slices of cake, and looked around for where to sit. When I saw Stan still brooding alone, I felt repelled and interested at the same time. The guy rubbed me the wrong way, and my first instinct was to avoid him, but since I don’t entirely trust my first instincts, I often try fighting them to see what will happen, purposely choosing curiosity over reticence.

     “Can I sit here?” I asked, approaching the empty seat beside him.

     “Well, it’s empty.” 

     Not the most encouraging response, but now walking away wasn’t in the social contract. I sat beside him. I decided to ask what I really wanted to know about everyone at Timeless. 

     “So, Stan, how did you get here?”

     “My own two feet.”

I couldn’t blame him for his mood, so I pressed on.

     “I mean, how did you come to live at Timeless? What’s your story?”

     “I don’t owe you my story just because you ask.” 

     God! Why did he have to be so unfriendly? I’d had enough of being talked to this way. 

     “Hostile, much?” I asked. That got his attention, and even a little corner-of-the-mouth smile. 

     “Sorry. I’m still a bit jammed. She doesn’t even give you a chance to have a conversation, just one swipe and you’re done and she’s the queen. 

     Where a minute ago I’d been on his side, now I found myself defending Trix.

     “I don’t know if she’s trying to be queen,” I mused. “She has a particular way of looking at things, and she’s asserting it.” 

     Stan turned to actually look at me, now completely engaged, determined to convince me of his point.

     “I wasn’t wrong. I’m not stupid, I read. Human nature makes us compete, and everyone getting cake means I might not work so hard next time. That’s just the truth.” 

     “For you,” I pointed out gently. “Anyway, it’s done now. It was nice of you to stick up for Milo like that.” Stan looked confused.

     “What? Oh, Milo. Yeah, well, I was sticking  up for his point because he was right, he just can’t find the words for why.”

     “Maybe he needed more time to think about what to say.” 

     Stan laughed a bit meanly. 

     “Yeah, right! Well, I’m going to the can.” He hefted himself up and abruptly departed. One moment later, Moffat plunked himself down in the vacant seat.

     “Oooh, still warm!” he crowed. His plate teetered precariously on his knee, piled high with three pieces of cake. Each bite he took completely filled his mouth, which didn’t prevent him from talking with cake-muffled enthusiasm, oblivious to the crumbs escaping down his shirt.

     “Can’t believe we didn’t win! We rocked it! At least we get cake. Milo’s just pissing in the koolaid, complaining about prizes and sh-stuff.”

     I laughed out loud at that. “Pissing in the koolaid? I have to remember that one!”

     “You like that? I got a thousand more!”

     “I’m sure I’ll hear them all!”

     “You bet!  Gotta stick around long enough, right?”

     “I guess we’ll see! Hey, Moffat, how come you’re here? At Timeless?” 

     Moffat’s eyes bugged out and he almost spit out the cake.

     “You’re goin’ around asking people that? Sheesh! No wonder your popularity’s dropping! Look, you can just be expecting it’s bad and we don’t wanna talk about it. Don’t ask!”

     “But…I mean, it’s their own story, right, so maybe they want to tell it? I really am interested. I know I’m totally ignorant about the people here, but how can that change if I can’t ask them where they come from? ”  He scratched his head and his bottom lip pouted out while he thought about what I was saying.

     “Huh. Well, I don’t mind, sure? So, me, I skittered off track stealing, ended up in juvie, but after, then what? Back to school? No way, man, fuc..forget that! And my Ma’s too busy to make me, you know? I didn’t make it easy. Nothing to do but play skins on the street for spare change and try staying outta trouble? Me ‘n Milo, we drummed up big crowds on a good day. Pyro an’ everything, sometimes friends to jam with. We just wanna bang on de drum all day! But not enough coin for a roof and good food. Then Bash threw us a twenty and his card. The rest is history.”

     “Sounds like you got lucky.” 

     He’d been smiling a dreamy, wistful smile, remembering drumming up the crowds, but that dropped away at my words, and he again looked thoughtful. 

     “Yeah,” he answered slowly, “sure, yeah, but you know. Gets hard, no swearing, watching every little word coming outta my mouth. Trix, just there, to Milo, making him out a fool. Just for expressing himself!”

     “So why do you stay?”

     “‘It’s not so easy, not knowing where to sleep at night. Got beat up a couple times. See, lost a tooth,” he said, pointing to a hole where his upper incisor should have been. “That never happened here. We’re tight, here, we take care of each other and this place. Feels safer. I do miss drummin’ up the crowds, just the mix-a people, seeing who threw coin and who didn’t, who got the beat with us and who just stood, and who looked away like we was bugs on the road. Gotta know the species we’re up against, right? Try being a street playa! Winnin’ over the hold-outs, gettin’ ‘em drummin’ or dancin’, amazing!  A-maze-ing! Can’t remember the last time I played the street. Been forever!”

     “You’re talking like you’re in jail again. Can’t you just go play and come back after?”

     “In or out! Two nights out past curfew, and I’m out, that’s it. We got ‘sponsibilities here most days, I guess I just lost the habit of going. Anyhow, here’s better than the street, all’s considering. Here’s the opposite of prison, here’s paradise, you know – I’m just a li’l devil so I whine!” 

     I laughed with him as I took in his words. Not prisoners, but not really free, either, if they wanted the protection on offer. That put the labour I saw around me in a new light. 

     “Thanks for telling me your story.”

     “Trix says we all got the same story. Listen, how come you’re so stiff today? You ain’t feelin’ the beat. You gotta get it or we all sink. I could rub your shoulders, loosen you up?”  At this moment Milo appeared, leaning against the back of my seat just in time for the last bit of conversation. 

     “No way!” he cried. “I am the king for backrubs, don’t let this Neanderthal touch you!”

     “I’m fine. Thanks.” The boys didn’t move.  “Um, looks like we’re getting back to work,” I tried. 

     “What? Then we’re late!” Both boys scampered off like squirrels.

     “Oh, wait,” I called. Milo turned back, eager.

     “Knew it! You want that backrub after all?”

     “I’m just wondering if there’s a charger where I can plug this in?”  

     Milo’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, definitely, no problem, giver here!”  He dashed forward, grabbed my device right out of my hand, and sprinted off in the opposite direction. My phone was gone. I felt untethered and vulnerable without it.

Chapter Monday Evening

Chapter 13 Scene 1 Hot and Cold

I made my way back to the stage. I smiled to see Miser and Seth still in costume. Trix entered from the stage door with Trace and Bash, in deep conversation. Trace threw her hands up in plain disbelief and frustration, then turned and stomped backstage. Bash shook his head and picked up the Bass. Trix, meanwhile, strode to centre stage, having shed all traces of the General and Camp Director in favor of some new persona. As she opened her mouth, I wondered who we were about to meet next. 

     “Okay, brothers and sisters, let’s take it from the top,” she said simply. Huh – just Trix, after all. What a relief.

     We began again. The 20 Minute Miracle had, it seemed, brought some level of improvement. Maybe not quite miraculous, but I found myself pleasantly surprised. I had more ease with this group, more sense of where I fit in the songs, and I’d become more capable of sloughing off the self-consciousness that kept me tight. I felt like I’d had a hit of pot. It wasn’t just the chocolate cake, though a sugar rush never hurts. Playing a game made the whole endeavor feel more playful in general. I wasn’t the only one who’d improved, either. The increased interaction I felt from Pratt, Noodle, Seth and others reminded me that I loved to play. I had to admit, Trix really knew what she was doing. By the time she asked me to teach The Weight of It to the crowd, I felt confident enough to do so, well. 

     I wasn’t exactly transformed, but I knew I had improved a lot, and every single person got noticeably better in the space of one very long afternoon. Or possibly evening – I had no idea what time it was. If someone had tried to convince me we’d been practicing for 48 hours straight, I probably would have believed them, I felt so disoriented in time. Where was my phone? I headed for the lobby, quelling panic, only to spot my precious device in the hands of Milo, surrounded by a gaggle of boys. They all looked up as I approached, elbowing each other and quieting down. 

     “Um, is that my phone you’ve got there, Milo?” 

     Unabashed, Milo smiled a giant wolf’s grin. “You bet, Mouse!” he enthused. “You seen this? I bet you never saw this yet!”

     I approached warily as most of the boys scattered, less certain than Milo of my reaction. He turned the phone so I could see the screen, but I held out my hand in demand. He made a face, reluctant to return my property, then handed it over with an air of performing the feat through sheer will. A video was already playing – I felt a little jarred to see Ethan with our old band on stage at our old bar, The Status Quo. What was he wearing? I clicked the back button to start the video over, while Milo, Moffat and three boys I didn’t know by name leaned and draped all over each other trying to see over my shoulder. On screen, I saw Ethan dressed in what looked like a prison costume, giant black and white stripes, grinning, holding that sexy black Gibson like it was part of his body. I jolted with recognition, remembering when I thought he was amazing. 

     “What are all you guys doing out here?” cried Jamie from the doorway to the theatre. “We’re trying to start calibration! Get in here. You too, Mouse,” he added seriously, stepping up to take me by the elbow.

     “Hold on, let me stop this at least,” I protested irritably, shaking loose and stopping the video before following. Everyone else was already sitting, ready to talk, and Trix raised her eyebrow at us, annoyed, as we slid into the back row. She waited until she had everyone’s attention. 

     “Still not very good, but so, so much better, thank you,” she announced. “Amazing what a little competitive play can do for camaraderie. We’re running over, so we’ll just take five minutes for what’s really important. Who’s got something important?”

     Trace did – my heart sank as she turned those lightening-blues on me.

“It’s coming together, but Mouse, really, it’s a big band. You don’t have to try to carry the show, and frankly, you’re not ready anyway.”

     My main man, Stan, decided to chime in. “Yeah, it was the same problem in the practice room for Miracle,” he agreed with her. I shot him the look a traitor deserves, and he shrugged, turning his eyes away. Then, my biggest fan, Duggan, of course had to jump in.  

     “I was actually going to say the opposite. Sometimes she goes so background I don’t even know if she’s with us.”

     “Guys, speak directly to Mouse, please,” Trix directed, like that was even slightly helpful. 

     “Sorry, Mouse,” conceded Duggan, actually sounding a little sorry. “I mean, I guess you’re a little – hot and cold. Like, when you know it, you want to run the whole stage, and when you don’t, you just hide.”

     At least he wasn’t gloating like Trace or grumpy like Stan. But still, though, I’d thought I was better. I did my best to respond in my most conciliatory tone. 

     “I, um, well I guess I’m more confident on some songs than others. I…I don’t mean to do that. I’m…sorry.”

     Duggan smiled, relieved. 

     “Hey, that’s why we talk out loud, so you can think about it at least. How can you think on it if we don’t say it?”

     I’d almost pulled it off, but as usual, I had to make an attempt at humour, and accidentally revealed myself. 

     “So do I have to do pushups, like punishment and atonement, to make up for how bad I suck? Is that how things work around here?” I found myself speaking against my own advice to me. Trix sighed her disappointment.

     “Whoa, little sister, hold that defensiveness in check, you were almost there, humble acceptance of a gift from people who want to play music with you. Keep with it. The only punishment is your own misplaced shame and fear. Let it go.”

     “Okay, I get it already, I’m not with you’”  I literally felt hot under my collar. “I’m trying, okay? I’m doing my best!”

     “Are you?” came Trix’s mild reply. “You know, that’s often a tricky question. Listen, you’re quite good. These are points of process, ideas to watch for. Just say thank you and we’ll move on, alright?”

     Of course she was right. What else was new? I turned to the others.

     “Thank you for the feedback.”

     Trix lead a brief, smiley applause for me, which only fused my discomfort to my already-stiffened spine. She turned to the group.

     “Anything else so pressing it can’t wait for tomorrow?”

     She looked around, waiting, but no one responded. 

     “Okay then, dismissed!”

Chapter 13 Scene 2 Stay With Us, Okay?

 I made for the lobby, fast, and smashed right into Rekha in the archway. Seeing it was me, she changed her angry face to friendly. 

     “Ah, Christine! I was downtown, and I thought from our conversation you might need a ride?” Again with her hand on my arm, her breath in my face, all up in my personal space. There was no going sideways in the archway, so I stepped back, only to bump into Trix behind me. I found myself trapped between them like the meat in a sandwich as they stared each other down from either side of the arch. 

     “I will give her a ride,” Trix stated possessively. Rude with impatience, I elbowed Rekha out of my way and power walked away from them both, calling over my shoulder, 

     “Hey, no, it’s okay, I’m taking the bus.”

     “There’s no need, Christine, I’m parked right outside,” Rekha asserted, hurrying in her high heels to catch up. I could tell she felt annoyed despite her smile.

     “No, really, look, I need the time alone to clear my head. That’s all. I just…”

     “You heard her,” Trix shot at Rekha. “Mouse is taking the bus. So you can go.”

     The two women no longer even pretended friendliness. I hated the energy between them, feeling like it was related to me and knowing it went way beyond me. It felt too familiar. 

     “Fine. I’m sure you’ll let me know if I can help you in any way, Christine.” Rekha pushed by me and through the doors, trying unsuccessfully to hide her huff. Trix watched until the big double-doors closed behind her, then addressed me.

     “I can still give you a ride, if you just weren’t into a trip with the Queen of Sheba.”

     “No, really, I want to take the bus,” I insisted. 

     “You okay?” Trix asked me seriously, stepping forward with concern. Her hand on my arm felt warm and a little electric.

     “I’m fine. Just peachy.”

     “Well, let me walk you to the bus stop. It’s getting dark, and you got the attention of some shady characters today.” 

     She was right; I knew it in spite of myself. Part of me just wanted to escape her as fast as I could, while the saner side knew that I should have company on the streets after dark. I’d almost lost track of the events of the afternoon until she reminded me, and I felt a twinge of guilt for having let that little girl out of my thoughts. But what was I supposed to do, anyway? I let myself off the hook.

     “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. 

     We walked in companionable silence, Trix thinking her own thoughts and me thinking mine – mostly about how stupid I’d been. I had imagined myself improved, only to discover the band still found me wanting. I brooded all the way to the bus stop. When we arrived, Trix turned to me as though she’d been listening to my thoughts the whole walk. Her eyes held mine in place so I didn’t dare flinch. 

     “I know it’s hard, when people seem to be criticizing you, but you have to know that we do this all the time, it’s not personal. We all want the best show, and we all have our own special ways of sucking, not just you. You’re new, so you stand out right now, but you were really coming along today. I saw it, and so did everyone else. Don’t be discouraged because Stan gets in a mood and Trace decides to be a brat. It’s got nothing to do with you, really. Stay with that feeling you had after Miracle, when you were teaching your dad’s song to a willing crowd, that feeling you had the first time we played together. Stay with us, okay?” Her charm was not lost on me. 

     “I do my best,” I sighed, still bummed.

     “Well, okay then!” she agreed with a smile, case closed.  I felt very relieved to see the bus headlights approaching. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

     “So, there’s my bus. Thanks for…walking me here. And everything.”

     “No problem,” she smiled, leaning down to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Without meeting her eyes, I climbed the steps, paid my fare, and found a seat facing the sidewalk. Outside my window, a streetlight flickered off, cutting a sudden shadow across half of Trix’s body and face, giving the illusion that she was only half there. I lifted my arm to wave to her lit half, but in that same moment, she turned away.

Chapter 13 Scene 3 Lucky Ball and Chain

Sitting, I found myself finally alone with my phone, and I remembered the video I’d had to abandon. It seemed like a perfect time. Clicking my phone on, I found myself face to face with a Timeless feed, obviously installed by Milo during his brief possession of my device. The feed ticker told me “Mouse sucks it up” with a screen capture from the after-practice feedback session, fronted by a giant “play” button. Uh, no, I really didn’t need to see how stupid I looked – bad enough to have lived it! The feed shifted to read “Lovestruck ex serenades Mouse.” Were there any headlines that weren’t about me? But this was actually the one I’d been looking for. 

     I popped in my ear buds and started the video. The general noises of home filled my ears, as our entire crowd of friends shuffled into place on stage at the Status Quo. Pat perched on a stool with a banjo I’d never seen before, while Cindy shook the tambourine she only took out at parties. Charlie sat, as always, at his drum kit. Jude held a large jug and Reg had two blocks of wood; Jude blew into the jug, making a loud, hollow noise into his lowered mic, while Reg held up those blocks of wood like an invitation and threat all rolled into one. Then, Ethan strode out, dressed completely in a prison costume, black stripes from heels to prison-capped head. He dragged a ball and chain behind him and cradled his Gibson in his arms. Whoever was manning the camera zoomed in quickly and unsteadily on his face as he spoke into the mic. 

     “Okay, so I guess everyone here knows I’m in love with Chrissy Purnell, lately known as Mouse with the band Trix n’ Traces. And I guess everyone knows by now she left me for the big City!”

     The crowd booed and hissed. I could only imagine how much more ugly things would have gotten if he’d told them that I left him for another guy. Maybe he was just saving his pride, or maybe he was protecting me, even now, from the label of skanky whore.The role of big-B Bitch seemed at least somewhat more palatable a story. I left him for the City. It was mostly true, really.

     In his best Elvis impersonation, Ethan breathed into the mic, “Chrissy, this one’s for you.”

     His nod sparked two quick drumbeats from Charlie and the band kicked into a cover of They Might Be Giants, Lucky Ball and Chain. Brilliant choice, of course. Ethan used to sing that around the apartment back when he thought it was a joke to imagine I could leave him, so it double-digeged for just the two of us. His taffy voice crooned the lyrics, while Reg slammed his blocks together in the silence between, to make the point.

          I lost my lucky ball and chain  

          Now she’s one week gone  

          Just five feet tall and sick of me  

          And all my rattling on   

          She walked away from a happy man  

          I thought I was so cool  

          I just stood there whistling  

          “There goes the bride” as she walked out the door  

          “There goes the bride” as she walked out the door   

     At this point, Ethan broke into an impressive guitar solo, the kind that used to hold me mesmerized and jealous, believing he could do anything with those hands. He was still really good – better than me. He crashed back into the lyrics right to the final “there goes the bride.” The band stopped abruptly, Ethan’s voice cracking on the last line as the camera zoomed in on his devastated face. This was no acting job, all of a sudden, in spite of all the hoopla. He looked so stripped bare and drawn that I wanted to reach through the phone to stroke his face to ease his pain. His cheeks shone wet with tears he neither hid nor acknowledged, like a true man, while the crowd cheered. When they quieted a bit, he leaned back in to the mic, addressing the camera directly. 

     “Chrissy, I’m not giving up on you. Come home.” His eyes searched a few more seconds before he broke into a wide grin. In his worst Schwartzeneger impression, he growled, “I’ll be back.” The video went black. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d already dialed his number. 

     “You saw it?” He answered with a question, ready for me.

     “I saw it. You know I can’t come home. Why are you torturing us?”

     “Because it’s fun! You’ll come home eventually, I just need to be patient.” The bravado of his certainty told me that he was still refusing to acknowledge how much it mattered that we wanted different things from life. He was still ignoring that his love wasn’t the only factor. 

     “You have to stop thinking I’m coming back.” 

     “No I don’t. You’re not the boss of me. And since you’re attaching yourself to a bit of fame this week, I’ve got over 8,000 hits so far! This thing might go viral. But what did you think? Everyone helped, we all miss you.” 

     He was hitting me where it hurt, or at least trying to. But the truth was, I knew where people’s loyalty lay. Ethan was the wronged party in all this, after all. I was the bad one. Everyone would be on his side, quite rightly. 

     “They’re your friends, they just want to help you. But I bet they’re glad I left, so you can find a proper girlfriend.”

     “Cindy and Jude would feel very hurt to hear you say that. And Pat, and even Charlie,” he admonished. 

     “So don’t tell them! Anyway, yes, it was cool, I have to admit it. You and your sexy black Gibson, I almost remember why I thought you were a rock star!” 

     “Ouch!”

     “You know what I mean!” I cried, sorry for how it had come across but irritated he would take it that way. 

     “Unfortunately, I do. Anyway, glad you liked it. Watch this space!”

     He hung up abruptly, thus winning this round of telephone hang-up. I couldn’t help but grin. 

     “Point for you,” I whispered. 

     All in all, I’d had it with Monday. I felt like I’d been pelted with rocks all day. I’d thrown myself into a fray, gotten knocked this way and that. I felt bruised from my skin through to my soul. The blue-lit bus, where I sat ignored and unmolested by its few silent inhabitants, felt like an oasis.  My stop showed up sooner than expected, making me shake my head. Time to get back in the game. Was I ready to be the person I needed to be for Chris, now?

I stood in front of our building, my feet planted on the ground, savoring how solid and sure the soil felt under my shoes. The Earth could really hold me up, even if nothing else was clear. I breathed in and out, watching the window to Chris’ apartment. His silhouette moved purposefully behind the curtain – what was he doing? Tidying? He seemed to be moving a chair, and something bulky. I preferred this feeling of curiosity to the caution I’d been holding tight. Suddenly, he appeared between the curtains, looking out for me. He spotted me on the grass and waved, gesturing for me to come. He looked happy. I headed up the stairs, interested instead of dread-filled. After the day I’d had, mustering up that kind of open readiness felt like a feat of strength. I took a little pride in my forced zen-ness.

Chapter Monday Night

Chapter 14 Scene 1 Gretel

I opened the door to see Chris sitting in a chair directly in front of me, blocking my way. As the door clicked shut, he started strumming, slowly and carefully, on an electric guitar; almost immediately I recognized it. Was he was playing…my broken Gretel? It looked like my blue Gretsch Streamliner, but it sounded different, somehow. Had he gotten me a new one? Or gotten mine fixed? Chris strummed out the chords for “Love Song” by the Cure. As I stood there, he actually started singing. I wanted to run at him, hug him and thank him with appropriate exuberance, but I could tell he’d practiced, that he wanted to sing to me. Almost reflexively, I hit record and unobtrusively held my phone in front of me. If he was going to perform, I was going to capture it.

     Chris had a sweet voice, untrained but shower-practiced. If he fell a little flat sometimes, I blamed the song. Somehow I hadn’t realized what a long song it was. I continued standing at the door, since he’d left no way to get past without bumping into the guitar or the amp. The smile on my face started feeling a little frozen, while still the song continued. Was he going to do every verse? I appreciated the gesture, for sure, but I didn’t need another serenade. 

     “You make me feel like I am clean again. However far away, I will always love you…” 

     Yes, yes, yes, very nice, I thought impatiently, then immediately hated myself for being such a mean spirit. As he wound down, I reached for the excitement I’d felt when I walked in. Definitely dampened, but that was probably for the best. At least I could restrain myself from knocking him down. I smiled big and genuine.

     “Wow, thanks. I mean, thanks! Is that my Gretel? How…you got her fixed? I didn’t know…I mean…she was smashed – I didn’t think…”

     His face softened with shy pride, excited to tell the story now that he’d had his surprise. 

     “I grabbed it once you were safe in the car. I thought, just in case. I asked at three places, the first two said it would be cheaper to get you a new one, but I knew…about your dad…so I kept trying, and the third guy said he’d see what he could do, and here’s what he could do! It’s not perfect, just a bit of…it wasn’t as bad as it looked, the breaks were mostly clean, some new parts…well, you’ll see…” 

     He stumbled, stupidly shy. I felt tender seeing this side of him. All this time, I thought he was being grumpy with me about little things, but at the same time, he was thinking about me, taking care of what was important, getting me the guitar I needed to play the show he didn’t even want me to play. He was a good man.

     “You are such a good man,” I spoke my thought aloud. I saved us both the embarrassment of each others’ eyes by throwing my arms around him. Unfortunately, he still held the guitar, making our embrace more awkward than heartfelt. I took her from him, meaning to put her aside so I could hug him properly, but once I had my hands on that guitar, I felt glued – I couldn’t put her down without playing, I just physically couldn’t.  I felt something close to peace, something bordering on ecstasy, wave over me. For the first time, I felt more solid than just a leaf blowing on the wind, like I had a purpose and my purpose was right here, in the music. I couldn’t believe what a difference I felt, holding my own guitar, so familiar, so mine. 

     Chris, the room, all life receded as my fingers found their holds. Strangely, no old standbys came to mind, my hands choosing to strum the opening bars of Aching Bones by Trix n’ Traces. But something was off. The guitar didn’t sound quite right. She didn’t feel quite right. I didn’t let on, but keen disappointment cut through my solar plexis. Maybe there was no fixing her, after all. I told myself that I was imagining any difference, and I needed to be grateful for what Chris had done, not picky. I reached for the feeling of peace and wonder again, but found it tainted by doubt. If Gretel wasn’t right, maybe nothing could be made right, truly right, ever again. I found tears streaming down my face. Chris’ face fell in disappointment and confusion.

     “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

     I blubbered and blundered my way through an explanation that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“I’m just…so…happy to have her back! You have no idea, nothing’s been right, I’m just no good with that stupid Gibson…or maybe I’m just no good! But you did this, and I didn’t know…and you tried to get her fixed…”

     Relief spread across his features. 

     “You’re crying because you’re happy? You’re so strange, Christine.”

     “That’s why you love me,” I joked, our standing joke.

Chapter 14 Scene 2 Panic…sorry

“I made some supper if you want it – goulash and pitas – let me get you a plate.”

     I noticed my famished hunger as he spoke, the same moment the delicious goulash smell hit my nostrils. Thank god for a man who can cook, even if it’s with a crockpot.

     “Yes, please,” I cried. Expecting him to head kitchenward, I unhooked my bra and stripped off my top. While the shirt still blocked my vision, Chris snuck up behind me and snaked his arms around so his hands cupped my breasts from out of nowhere. I jumped and almost elbowed him, but stopped myself and hid my startle as fast as I could. I didn’t want to make him self conscious when he was finally being playful. I leaned back against him and let him massage my pretties for a while, but as I felt him get hard behind me, I had more interest in food than sex.

     “I thought you were getting goulash?” I half-teased. He pulled back. I could feel his disappointment wave into my psychic space, but I had to ignore it or I’d never get fed. I smacked his bum affectionately to get him on his way.

     “Yes, dear,” he returned sarcastically, but he went to the kitchen and dished out the food. As far as I was concerned, we had plenty of time for sex, but If I didn’t eat, that soon wouldn’t be good news for anyone. 

     He turned on the tv before handing me my bowl. His own food already waited, cooling, on the coffee table. He sat on the sofa so I followed, though I’d have preferred to sit at the kitchen table and talk. I knew he needed his down time. I just wished his downtime didn’t mean tv police dramas with rape, murder and grim-faced detectives chasing psychological mysteries. I never knew when I might suddenly find my eyes assaulted by blood and mutilated women hanging from meat hooks, right in the middle of a bite of food. 

     “Isn’t there a sitcom or something?” I asked hopefully.

     “The worst kind of pap. Don’t you prefer something with a story, a mystery?”

     “Yeah, okay.”  I supposed it was better than Ethan with his action and comic-book movies, but then again, at least they were visually fun, colourful and fast. These detective shows always created such dark, drab tableaux. After a few minutes, I took my food over to the computer. 

     Getting my guitar back, even in uncertain condition, helped my mood. Still, the weight of the day felt heavy, anxiety hanging on the edges. Maybe I’d be better with my refurbished Gretsch, and maybe I wouldn’t. But did I even want to keep going with Timeless? I would have talked it over with Chris, but I didn’t want to interrupt his show, and anyway, I pretty much knew what he’d say. He’d been saying it since I first started: if it’s hard, quit. I knew that was what he hoped for, anyway. I needed a more neutral sounding board, and I knew it couldn’t be Ethan, though he was the one who knew me best. 

     I logged Chris out of social media and logged myself in, since I didn’t want a repeat of the restrained scolding I’d gotten my first day there. I had to try my password twice – I wasn’t used to needing it. Sharing a computer kind of sucked. 

     I figured there must be some mistake when my notifications showed 9,863, but clicking on the icon revealed that, in fact, there were that many postings about or aimed at me. Words flashed by, images and impressions, too much to take in. My stomach clenched, my throat hurt, a solid wave of roaring sound rose up through me; I got hot, I got cold, and the sound grew until it threatened to fill my brain, until there was no more room for consciousness. Through black spots and light flashes I remembered my breath and tried to breathe through the closed-off pipes. I could only wheeze. I tried to remember…I focused on my throat and asked it gently to open, I pulled air slowly and evenly, even though I felt desperate for breath. I finally felt the passageways start to open; raggedly, I sucked in a deep breath that made me cough uncontrollably. At some point during this display Chris took notice and came running over, standing with his hands open, not knowing what to do. I could hear a woman screaming on the tv. Thanks to me, he was missing the best part. 

     “Are you choking? Christine? Say your name. Say your name. That’s what they taught in first aid – if you’re choking you can’t talk. So ask you to say your name. Are you choking? Talk! Say your name.”

     “I’m…” wheeze, cough…“not…”…“choking…”…ragged breath, throat clear…“Christine.” I smiled through my shaking, trying to reassure him. He just looked so freaked out. “Panic…sorry…” I stopped to catch my breath while he patted my back ineffectually, but with real concern. I could tell by his face I had him worried that maybe I was more crazy-chick than he’d expected. Well, he was bound to find out sooner or later. I’d figured out by this point in my life that sooner was usually easier. It wasted less of my time. 

     “Panic? Out of nowhere? What happened?” he demanded, more freaked out than me. I gestured to the computer, still focused on catching my breath and releasing all the seized muscles along my breathing apparatus. Let him figure it out for himself. It would give him something to do with his big brain while I saved myself. 

     “Sorry,” I said as soon as I felt able to talk again. “It’s been a long time…I…didn’t expect…it just hit me…”

     “Shhhh, don’t talk. Just breathe. Do you need a paper bag or something? 

     “No, I’ll be alright. I used to have meds for it, after…anyway, but it’s been years…”

     “Hey, Christine, it’s okay, I don’t need to know specifics, not right now. But I do need to know if you’re stressing to the point where you can’t keep it together. Can you get more medication?”

     “Well, probably, but I don’t want to.”

     “That’s kind of stupid.”

     “Wow, that’s really…don’t call me stupid!”

     “Jesus, Christine, don’t BE stupid! Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should never have said…I don’t mean it. Please. I’m sorry. You just really scared me, there. Okay? You’re not stupid. I know you’re smart. I just wonder, is all. I can’t help but wonder why you don’t want medicine that can help you deal with your illness?”

     “It’s not an illness. It’s…an occasional side-effect of my life experiences. The drugs fuck with me. They made it harder to care about life. They were messing with my…chi.”

     “That’s not a real thing. And panic disorder is a real illness. You deserve all the support that science can give you.”

     “It’s not that simple. Look, I made a decision to learn how to manage my emotions. I have a practice. It’s been going well…until…”

     I had to stop again. I closed my eyes. Focused on my breath. Envisioned a stream of light from the top of my head moving down and through my body, like a thick laser beam releasing muscles as it went. Chris started typing on the computer, his face still tight with concern and maybe a hint of disappointment. I was more human than he’d bargained for. I saw him google panic attacks. 

     “Look, I didn’t warn you it could happen, I’m sorry, I thought I had it under control. I haven’t had an episode like that in years.”

     “It’s the kind of thing you might want to disclose before moving in with someone, but we did move fast, I can understand how it happened. And it’s not insurmountable. We’ll keep you healthy together.”

     I didn’t like the sound of that. Not insurmountable? That was like a teacher saying, Janey hasn’t failed math, yet. 

     “Keeping me healthy is my responsibility.”

     “Not anymore. I’m an investor, now, I have a stake in your well-being.”

My feminist alarm bells clanged. This was the talk of male-protector-controller, not someone who loved me for what I was and wanted to support me to make my own decisions. I suddenly didn’t trust him enough to say that out loud. He went on, oblivious to my resistance. 

     “Well, first off, I think we must agree that you can’t play this show on Friday.” He stated it with such smug certainty that I bristled.

     “You can’t tell me what to do.”

     “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m pointing out the only logical option, given what I just saw. Christine, people are talking shit about you or raving about you or otherwise dragging your name and image all over the place online. I don’t want to trigger your panic thing, but I do want you to pay attention and understand that this is just the beginning. I tried to warn you, but I didn’t understand just how successful their experiments are proving. There’s a lot of attention on Timeless. Does it seem like a good idea to keep doing this, if you’re prone to panic attacks? Frankly, I can’t believe you took this on in the first place. ”

     “I’m not prone, not for years. This just took me by surprise. It was a shock. I never really thought about what it would feel like to be…well…”

     “Famous?”

     “That word sounds so exaggerated for what I am! But still, I guess I just didn’t think about how many people were watching. It’s a bit of a shock.”

     “My suggestion is, you bow out quietly, stay off media for the next few weeks, and try to let it pass. We’ll get you into a specialist as soon as we can, but in the meantime, let’s book you with the clinic doctor. What’s your work schedule? When can we book?”

     “Hold on! I’m not ready to…just stop. I’m tired, I’m upset, I’m confused, and this is all for me to deal with, okay? I need to figure this shit out myself. You, just be quiet. You don’t need to chime in. This is not up to you, it’s up to me. I will come to you when I am ready to take in your point of view, and until then, just keep it to yourself. Okay?”

     The whole speech, I kept my tone as even as I could, not quite friendly but not whiny or mean that I could tell. I can’t say for sure how it came out; maybe I over-emphasized the “you’s”. But however I said it, the words hit Chris like a slap. His face reminded me of Trix’s face after I shoved her on the street – I kicked myself for not recognizing my over-reaction with her as a sign that I was losing my grip. Maybe I could have avoided this confrontation if I’d noticed then. Unlike Trix, Chris didn’t back down with compassion – he held his real feelings close tight, and only let me see his exterior. That’s how I knew how scared he was of what he’d seen in me. 

     “You are upset and you’re not making sense. You’ll see things more rationally in the morning. Until then, I’ll keep my counsel as you request,” he stated formally, like a lawyer. Or a psychologist. He went to the bathroom, and locked the door.

Chapter 14 Scene 3 Waiting Me Out

I was thoroughly embarrassed that he’d caught me out, but Chris didn’t know what he was talking about. I was the expert on my own anxiety. I knew from experience that panic triggers only got stronger when I avoided them altogether. My best strategy had always been to build my immunity spoonful by spoonful, wherever possible, avoiding overwhelm but not shying away from life’s challenges. Don’t let stage fright keep you off the stage, as my dad would say. I felt like my early experiences with anxiety and panic had made me stronger, because I built up my muscles and I had a paddle for my canoe. Lots of people my age were used to coasting on other people’s rafts; they didn’t know how to row, so they toppled over at the first big wave. No matter how confused or disheartened I got, I had a toolkit, a set of practices, and I had the experiences of bringing myself through without ever letting on. I’m sure people realized I had some issues, but after my one experience with therapy, I did the research and built my practice myself, in secret, letting everyone think I was fine. I believed I had successfully hidden the extent of my anxiety from everyone in my life, all my life, through sheer discipline, and I saw no reason to stop now with Chris. I needed to get it together.

Even though all I wanted was to crawl into bed, I knew I had to face my fear first, or I would toss and turn and waste the night without rest. I took myself in hand and said under my breath, “just look at one thing. one step.”

Tentatively, I started scrolling through the Timeless feed on my phone. Everything on the official channel was geared to interest fans, so besides the gossipy pieces I already knew about, all the main feed content was sanitized for love and compliments. It felt like a good place to start. I didn’t feel ready to hit the “real world” internet. I’d meant what I said to Rekha, why mess myself up looking at the opinions of trolls who didn’t matter? But I did want to start thickening up my skin. It didn’t do to be caught unawares like I was today. I was a performer, and I was performing with a popular band. I should be expecting this kind of attention, and as Tim said, I should be happy to have it. 

     Like costumes, I tried those two ideas on. Quietly, so Chris wouldn’t hear from the bathroom, I said out loud, “I am a performer. I expect attention, and I’m happy to be known.” I shivered. The ideas felt like too-tight pants with an oversized, shoulder-padded jacket. Not quite a fit for me. But I jotted them down in my little notebook, anyway. I’d try them out over the next few days, and see if they helped. 

     I absently read the hype around Friday’s show as I waited for Chris to come out from the washroom. I couldn’t tell if I felt more anxious about doing the show, or the backlash if I didn’t do the show. It was possible that my panic had more to do with the pressure to see it through than any fear of what people were thinking of me out there. It was also possible that I was terrified of my own reaction to personal attacks, threats, and comments coming at me. I didn’t want to be afraid taking the bus. I didn’t want to feel self-conscious when I played.  But at this point, from what I could see, it didn’t matter if I did the show or not. I would face a barrage either way. In that case, didn’t it make more sense to stay with it, be part of a team all standing together and being loved or hated as a unit, than to break from that and face public wrath alone? 

     I suddenly realized I’d better check my YKM calendar. Sure enough, Tim had booked a client for me first thing the next the morning, 9:30am at the client’s house. I looked up the address on the bus map system, my spirits falling into pure dejection as I calculated.  The bus was going to require two transfers, and total two point two five hours. Reluctantly, I set the alarm for 5:30am. 

     I felt so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but I didn’t want to knock on the bathroom door. Maybe Chris wasn’t planning to come out, or maybe he was taking the biggest dump in history. Either way, I guessed he wouldn’t appreciate me knocking after the way I’d talked to him. I washed my face with dish soap in the kitchen sink, resorting to a dishcloth and baking soda for my teeth (yuck!). I had to pee. I thought about climbing up and peeing in the sink, but then I imagined Chris choosing that moment to come out and catch me mid-stream, squatted over his kitchen sink. No way was I going to chance that. I turned off the lights and went to bed with the discomfort keeping me in a half-awake state. 

     Eventually, Chris came out, having turned off the light first so that he wouldn’t wake me by opening the door. He’d obviously been waiting me out. Using his phone flashlight he made his way to the bed, but not before picking up my clothes from the floor and putting them in the hamper. He climbed into bed so carefully that I knew he was trying not to wake me. I waited until he settled, then got up and went to the bathroom to pee. When I came back, he was sleeping or pretending. I did the same.

Chapter Tuesday Morning

Chapter 15 Scene 1 A Fish Out of Water

The five-thirty a.m. alarm clanged like hell’s bells in my ear. Chris groaned and moaned while I flailed for the “snooze” button. I’d gotten maybe four, five hours of sleep, and none of it good. I hated the day, hated Tim for hiring me, hated my very life for requiring me to wake up right this minute. But, I reminded myself, to get to the client by the promised 9:30am, I had to catch the third bus by 8:37am, which meant I had to be at the second bus by 7:58am, and that meant I had to be on the first bus by 6:45am. But the first bus only came at 6:27 or 7:12am. So I had to catch the 6:27am. With an 8 minute walk time to the bus stop, that gave me one hour and nineteen minutes to wake up, stretch, shower, get ready, eat, and get my ass out the door. Not that much time, really. Still, another 10 minutes…it felt like a blink of time before the alarm sounded again. I hauled myself out of bed. 

     Chris had another hour or more to sleep, which meant I had to make my way without the lights, and try to be quiet. I did my best, but I could hear him groaning and rolling over in a huff. His irritable-bearness was almost as bad as mine, when it came to interrupted sleep. I checked my phone and saw thousands of updates from overnight. Now I completely understood Trix’s stance on texts. I realized I needed to turn off the notifications, but not now. I had a timeline to keep, and I worked hard to stay focused and steady in my actions.

     As I made for the door, Gretsch encased on my back and two minutes to spare, Chris sat up in bed.

     “Are you going?” he asked in a groggy voice.

     “Well, yeah, I have a client,” I responded, a bit gruff.

     “And..?”

     “And then I’m going to Timeless for practice.”

     He collapsed back on the bed.

     “Fine,” he mumbled, then a little louder, “Fine. If you want to go, just go.”’

     “Fine,” I replied, “That’s exactly what I was planning to do.”

     As I reached for the door, he sat up again. His crackly voice sounded forlorn. 

     “But, you’re coming back. Tonight? You’re coming back.”

     I couldn’t hold fast against this openness. I ran over, and gave him a huge hug and kiss.

     “I’ll see you tonight,” I assured him.

     “Okay,” he sighed, “I love you…” I didn’t reply – he’d already drifted back to sleep before the last vowel.  

     I made it out the door with four minutes to spare. Gretel on my back felt like an old friend tagging along. I used the waiting time to listen to Trix n’ Traces again. I heard the music fresh from my practice sessions, from knowing many of the musicians personally. I could feel my way in. With Gretel and my newfound sense of tentative solidarity, I realized that, somewhere in the night, I had decided: I was in. I was doing this show, whether I sucked or not. I would work hard. I would get better. I would show Chris that I wasn’t some sick person to be pitied. I was a performer, and I appreciated the attention. 

     My phone buzzed with a call – an actual call, at 7am? I looked to see who could possibly be so rude – surprise! My mom. I felt tempted not to answer, but I knew she’d just call back all day, so I should probably get it over with.

     “Hello, Mom.”

     She stuttered, like I’d messed up her line by acknowledging I knew it was her.

     “Uh, Chrissy, so, happy birthday!”

     “My birthday’s not ‘til Friday, Mom.” I felt a little triumphant that she got it wrong – it confirmed my existing position on things.

     “Of course, I know that. I mean, happy pre-birthday, then. You’re always so literal.”

     “Sorry.”

     “Yeah, so, I have a surprise for you. We’re here! In the city! So I can take you out for dinner…for your birthday!” Her strained-cheery words didn’t mask her fear I would refuse. It was well-founded fear. 

     “No.”

     She didn’t answer. I felt a little bad. But only a little. I hadn’t heard enough to tell if this call was even sober, so I couldn’t really take it seriously. I needed to make sure I had her attention before she got any more of mine.

     “I’m playing a show this week, Mom, and I don’t want any distractions.”

     “I know! Ethan sent me the link on Facebook. I watched you practice yesterday – your style’s changed a lot since those shows after high school. You’re less like a little Jake, more like…”

     I felt a bit creeped out thinking of my mother watching me practice, let alone friending my ex-boyfriend. On the other hand, this might have been the first interesting thing she’d said to me in years, so I wasn’t going to let her just trail off, unfinished. 

     “Like who?”

     “Not who. More like, I don’t know, more like…well, like you, all grown up.”

     “What does that mean, Mom?”

     She laughed nervously.

     “Nothing. I don’t know. Are you happy, Chrissy?”

     Happy? Did she really want to know? I doubted it. 

     “I’m thrashing around like a fish out of water.”

     “That’s always been when you’re happiest.”

     I hated when she asked me questions but really just wanted an easy answer. I wasn’t surprised, so why did I get disappointed every time? We didn’t say anything for awhile. She broke the silence first.

     “Can I come to your show? Maybe…”

     “No, Mom.”

     “I haven’t had a drink in eight months.”

     “Congratulations. Again.”

     “Come on, Chrissy, don’t be like that.”

     “I’m a little short on energy to be handing it out willy nilly, Mom. I’ve got a lot of balls in the air right now. I can’t take care of all your emotional needs.”

     “Harsh.”

     “Yeah, well, be the grown up.”

     “You, too, Christine. You’re twenty-five now. Be a grown-up. Come meet me, as a grown up. Maybe we might find something in common.”

     This approach felt familiar. 

     “You’re in therapy.”

     “Yes.”

     “But you’re on the road. With…?”

     “With Bill and the band. Yes.”

     “So, what good is it, Mom? You change everything but the thing that makes it hardest, and for what?”

     “For love, Chrissy.”

     “Yes, I know that’s your answer. But you’re choosy about where your love goes. Maybe more of it goes into yourself than anyone else.”

     I cursed myself for saying that, when I had been so determined that I wouldn’t inflame anything in this conversation. I just couldn’t seem to let her off the hook. She sobbed on the other end.

     “You’re very hard on me. I did my best. I do my best.” I could hear the snot in her throat. I pictured her splotchy wet cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, thick mucus hanging from her nose, and it kind of turned my stomach. I had some compassion, small and weak against the crowding disdain. We’d had this conversation so many times that I felt like I was trapped in a bad play.

     Her bright voice bordered on shrill – she was forcing herself to be nice with me.

     “We all have to make the choices in front of us, when they are in front of us, with what we have. Maybe I should have had more, I mean, I wish I had. Would I do the same things now? No, but now you’re all grown up and I don’t get to try again. So all I can do is ask you to…meet me as someone you…don’t already hate.” She choked on the last words.

     “I don’t hate you, Mom.” My automatic response, with a sigh of impatience. How many times had she needed me to tell her that?

     “Are you sure?”

     Something about her inflection stopped me short. Did I hate her? This time, I paused to really check in. I found it hard to pick out any particular colour from the dense tangle of my emotions. From a distance, my feelings could be mistaken for a black yarn-ball of hate, though close-up scrutiny revealed multi-faceted threadwork in all the colours of the rainbow. I rarely chose to look close up – it was too hard. I sighed. I didn’t need a magnifying glass to know that what I felt wasn’t hate.

     “I love you, Mom. So that means it’s really hard for me to ride your roller-coaster with you. It makes me hurt. If I didn’t love you, it wouldn’t hurt, right? So the next best thing is to just make distance, you know? Ask you to keep your craziness away from me. Please.”

     She hiccupped, and I heard her softly crying.

     “Shhhh. Shhhh, Mom, take a deep breath, okay? Breathe with me.”

     We breathed together for a minute. Finally, she seemed to rally.

     “All I can do is just keep going, Chrissy, and take the days as they come. We are each other’s family. I want to see you for your birthday. Bill’s band pulls out Sunday so you don’t have to worry about me hanging around and bugging you. The coincidence is too perfect. Let me come.”

     “I’ll leave your name at the door. I don’t want to see you there. Don’t come backstage. You can wait and I’ll come out when I’m ready, after things die down.”

     “Thanks, Sweetie. Thank you.”

     “Um, you’re welcome. I’m going to go now.”

     I pushed the red button and held it down, so the phone hung up and turned off at the same time. I shook my head and paid attention so I wouldn’t miss the transfer.

Chapter 15 Scene 2 Overshare Much?

I arrived at the closest bus stop to 60204 Roslings Terrace Way at 8:57am. I thought maybe I was too early, but I should have been worried about being too late – I hadn’t accounted for the half hour walk from the bus stop at the edge of Terrace Gardens to the actual address I sought. Each property spanned at least an acre frontage, so walking from one number to the next took more time than I might have expected by urban standards. By the time I arrived at #60204, I was actually 2 minutes late, and sweating like a pig.

     I rang the doorbell, angelic chimes answered by a woman in her fifties, wearing a bargain-grey jogging suit out of keeping with her surroundings. 

     “Yes?”

     “Um, I’m here for…DeLorean? From…Your Kinda Music?”

     “Huh? Miss DeeDee? You wait here.”

     She closed the door in my face. I heard her voice shout, and a younger voice respond. The woman re-opened the door and held it while I entered, shutting it firmly behind me. She turned and walked away, leaving me standing in a lobby three times the size of my apartment in every direction, including up. Marble and other expensive materials I couldn’t even name surrounded me on all sides. This entrance sent an unmistakably clear message of wealth and top-of-the-linedness, a decorator’s determination to always BE the Joneses. 

     The woman reappeared to beckon me down a wide, long hallway. She showed me into a gorgeous music room. State-of-the-art soundproofing, a grand piano, full drum set, five electric guitars, mics, a full set of sound equipment – they were ready to record! This decked-out space deserved to be used, but I felt something sad and lonely about it, as though all this equipment sat, unloved, day after day. 

I was still taking inventory when DeLorean entered the room. She had cultivated a look that combined Marilyn Manson with Cindy Lauper, as imagined by Ralph Loren. Her black hair rivalled Robert Smith’s at its height, her make-up highlighting every feature to extreme. I’d never seen such an arresting style on a young girl in real life. The contrast from Delanie, whom I’d met at YKM, was striking, despite both girls growing up spoiled-rich. Where Delanie looked like a picture-perfect teen vogue cheerleader, DeLorean embraced the nightmare side of high style. Nothing about her look was cheap or worn – she exuded exotic and fresh, as only money and a perfect eye could buy. To me, she embodied ideal gothic style for her age and position. I could never have pulled off her look, but I admired it all the same. She earned every speck of attention that came her way. 

     “DeLorean? I’m Christine.”

     “It’s Loren. Dad named me after his car so I’ll always remember what he gave up for me. Not that he doesn’t have three of them, now, but he’ll never have HER. He knocked up my mom after prom, in the backseat, so he had to sell his car, and now, he’s got me. Well, on weekends and for two weeks in the summer, anyway. Daddy doesn’t live here anymore. Then it got to be this whole copycat thing, all the De’s. That’s not me. So, just Loren.”

     I couldn’t help it – Loren just wasn’t enough for this over-the-top teen. She would always be DeLorean to me. She sat down on a guitar stool, legs spread in a provocative manner. Clearly she’d been reading the speculation on my sexual orientation, but she was off base. It didn’t matter how pretty she made herself, she was only a kid, and that placed her outside my erogenous zones. Still, her attempt to control the situation was cute in its way. If I’d had a little sister, maybe I’d have wanted her to be like DeLorean.

     “Over-share, much?” I asked, to take control back. It worked – she looked flumoxed for all of twelve seconds. Then she picked up a plugged guitar and launched into a riveting solo that could have made Nancy Wilson proud.  

     “Whoa, you’re awesome!” I enthused. “What are you hoping to learn from lessons?” 

     The question came naturally, but I realized it was the best thing I could have asked. She smiled for the first time since I met her.

     “I want to be great!” she cried with passion. 

     “And you can be,” I replied honestly. “You’re already really good.”

     I couldn’t believe my first student was serious. I’d been so afraid I’d get nothing but irritating socialite brats. We spent some time strategizing what she wanted to accomplish over the next ten lessons, and I promised to research a few pieces and get sheet music for different arrangements. About ten minutes before our end-time, the door opened to admit a pencil-sketch perfectly coiffed-and-styled middle-aged woman – Alana Greystone, DeLorean’s mom. I had seen her before in magazines years ago, but I wouldn’t have recognized her on the street. She looked like a caricature of what she was – a rocker’s rich, washed out, ex-trophy-wife, plumped skin where her wrinkles should be on a face that barely moved. 

     “DeeDee, who’s this?” Alana asked in fakey-bright cheer.

     “Mo..o..o…m! Don’t call me that. This is the teacher from Your Kinda Music. You know! Delanie and Delisle’s moms mentioned her at the salon and you just went ahead and booked her? This was your idea, remember?”  The exaggerated way she pronounced the Del names, with a scrinch in her nose, told me Loren didn’t hold those girls in much esteem. 

     “Oh, yes, thank you, those ladies do know their music, happy for their recommendations…” her mother trailed off, confused for a moment. Then she looked at me with bright eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! As you can tell, DeLorean is a talented player. I’d like her to expand her classical repertoire, I understand that’s a background you bring?”

     “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, then wondered where that came from. I’d never called anyone ma’am on purpose in my life, at least not seriously. I must really be affected by the affluence around me, more than I’d realized.

     “That’s very good. Yes. Well, DeeDee, I’m heading downtown in a quarter hour. Will you join me?”

     “No, but Christine could use a ride,” she shared, winking at me. I scrutinized her face, wondering how she could have known about the three hour bus ride ahead of me, the one I knew would make me late for practice. A ride with anyone, even her mom, was actually just the ticket. I’d been considering hitch hiking, but I was pretty sure no one would drive by, and if they did, they’d never stop for me.

     “Oh, well, certainly…I am happy to give you a ride, um…”

“Mouse!” chimed DeLorean

     “Christine,” I corrected.

     “Christine. I’ll have the car brought around side in fifteen minutes.”

     Turning a little awkwardly, bumping into a music stand, Loren’s mother made her way out of the room.

     “Don’t worry, she’s not driving, the car comes with a driver,” the girl assured me. “She has chronic something or other, they basically just prescribe whatever she wants. She floats around here in a haze. Doesn’t stop her from chairing a bunch of committees, though, trying to get on the good side of the right people. I figured you could use a ride?”

     ’Well. thanks! But how did you know?“

     “You walked up the driveway all the way from the road, so you don’t have a car. And we’re a bajillion miles from any bus stop. Plus you’re all sweaty. You wanna borrow a shirt?”

     “No, no, I wouldn’t feel…comfortable taking your shirt.”

     “It’s not like I’ll never see you again, we’re on every week. Just bring it back next time. You don’t want to go to practice all gross.”

     “Sorry to be so gross.”

     “No, you’re okay for me, but sitting beside my mom in a car…just borrow a shirt. Come on.”

Chapter 15 Scene 3 At Least it’s a Grundahl

DeLorean led me along a corridor, then another, down a set of steps, around a corner, up a smaller set of steps, and into the most amazing bedroom I’d ever imagined. Shaped by the turret portion of the house, the curved windows lining her round walls overlooked acres of stunning grounds like a luxury box overlooks the stadium. 

     “Damn it, Ada, she’s always opening those!” complained DeLorean, pulling thick, burgundy curtains along the length of windows to block the view. “I hate feeling like I’m on display at a zoo,” she explained. I could understand, but if this room had been mine, I’d have taken the curtains down altogether. For one thing, the windows overlooked fields and woods, not neighbours or the road. Someone would have to be hiding in the trees with a telescope to see anything in here. But once the heavy, velvet curtains were drawn, I saw that they added to the attraction of the room. It felt, suddenly, like a sacred space. DeLorean had decorated in dark red-tones, black, and rich teals, with gold accents and a vaguely Asian sensibility. Gothic meets chic. 

     The round bed, covered in a shiny, silver blanket like the moon, took up only a small section of the room, which stretched out to encompass a painting corner, a music corner, a bookshelves-and-comfy-pillows reading area, and a computer station with three wide monitors. Even the utilitarian aspects were carefully arranged, the items specifically chosen for uniqueness and fit with the overall theme. 

     I didn’t have long to take in all the details before DeLorean swept me into a closet the size of a normal person’s bedroom. 

     “You know it’s funny,” she mused, picking through hangers of clothing, “I didn’t even ask for guitar lessons. I can play! She never approved because it was how I connected with dad, she always fought with him about having me around the bad influences.” This sounded spookily familiar to me. She went on. “But then Mom hears how Delanie and Delisle are your students and suddenly me playing guitar is a way she can one-up those bitches she call friends, because this is the one thing her weirdo daughter is good at. So I should really resent you, but I kind of like you. Here.”

     She pulled a see-thru black lace blouse and a boustier for my inspection.

     “Um, not quite my style,” I shared, gesturing to my casual t-shirt and jeans. 

     “Aw, show it off a little, you’re not that old yet, you still have a cute little body.” I wasn’t sure if she was insulting me, but I ignored it. She put the pieces back, and pulled out a black dress with a lacy, shaped bodice highlighted in pink accents, and a full, wide, crinkly skirt about mid-thigh length.

     “How about this, it’ll be super-cute on you!” she gushed, and for a moment she reminded me of Delanie – they were from the same world, after all. 

     “I don’t think I could pull that off in a million years,” I replied honestly. She made a face.

     “You know, you could be very fashionable if you just tried a little. Here, how about this, then.”

Unenthusiastically, she pulled out a long, white shirt, not unlike a man’s but cut in panels, each a different length, the longest past my knee and the shortest mid-thigh. On one side, bunched-up extra material created a bit of a flounce. Weird, but the closest thing to normal she’d offered yet. I turned away before pulling off my t-shirt, then slid the white monstrosity over my head, glad I’d worn a white bra. I stared in the mirror, startled. For a second it flashed through my mind that I looked…fashionable. Like I’d deliberately chosen this look after reading a magazine about how to dress. The material felt soft and solid in a way that department-store shirts never do. The shoulders sat perfectly on my shoulders, the arms were exactly the right length and looseness, the buttons could have been made of pearls. The quality of the garment raised my overall score. I liked it, after all.

     DeLorean sighed. “Well, at least it’s a Grundahl, even if it’s the most boring thing in my closet. Now how about some boots, or let me do your makeup…?” She deftly undid the top two buttons on the shirt to show more of my chest.

     “I’m good with this, thanks,” I assured her, stepping back and rebuttoning one. “I’d better get down there, your mom might not wait.”

     “Oh, her ‘quarter hours’ can be long. She’ll send someone to find you. We can just stay here and…talk. Maybe get to know each other better?” she asked with a smile. She stood blocking the door to the room, trapping me in the closet. Now, I really felt like she wanted something from me. Great, I had nine more weeks of this? I thought I’d better nip it now. 

     “I can’t wait to show this fancy shirt to my boyfriend,” I said, the first plausible “boyfriend” mention that I could think of, but it fell like a brick into the closet. I have no pizazz.  DeLorean made a face, then stepped towards me until we were standing almost nose to nose. 

     “I thought you left your boyfriend for Trix?” she asked playfully. Fucking website, I thought. 

     “No…I…left my boyfriend for another guy. I’m just playing in the band, there’s nothing more to it.”

     “Sure, right,” she winked. 

     “The car’s waiting,” spoke Ada from the bedroom door. She eyed up our proximity in the closet, and glared at me as the perpetrator. 

     “Great, thanks!” I enthused, moving for the door. “Thanks again, De…Loren, and I’ll see you next week, okay?” I asked. Then I remembered the stupid evaluations. Everything in me struggled against asking, but it was in my job description.

     “Listen, uh, there’s the student evaluations…will you go online and complete one? It would really help me out…”

     DeLorean smirked at me. I felt like I was grovelling, losing face. “No problem, I’ll do it,” she assured me in a patronizing tone.

Chapter 15 Scene 4 Downtown Girl

The car turned out to be a fancy black mini-limo, decked out with a full liquor bar. Alana fixed herself a drink, then seemed to notice my presence and waved distractedly at the array.

“Help yourself,” she offered vaguely. I snagged a tiny bottle of water. 

     “Well, I’m surprised DeeDee agreed to let you teach her, she went through three teachers last year, she’s refused anyone ever since. But you’re something special, I’m told?”

     I felt flustered. What was so special about me?

     “How so?”

     “Wasn’t your father a little famous? And you’re in a band the girls are following, right? That’s what Cassaundra Abner-Fitch said, anyway.” 

     “Yeah, I guess both those things are true,” I admitted hesitantly, finding the descriptions overblown. I’d heard her voice slip on the last question, a vulnerability in her brusque certainty, a defensive twang that invaded her tone when she’d named her source. With a flash, I suddenly saw through her perfect uptown facade. She was the girlfriend-turned-wife-turned-ex, a downtown girl without distinction, along-for-the-ride rich, trying to play among the sophisticated ladies who were born to it. Even as I caught this momentary glimpse, I saw her face harden into a shield once more. 

     “Well, I’ll expect you to get our girl focused on serious music. You may be in some band, but it’s your classical background I’m paying for.”

     This, from a woman who’s entire life had been built on Mike Spitfire’s brand of rock? Here was where she’d ended up, the ex-wife of a still-relevant rocker who’d traded her in for a younger model, wandering around her giant house in a stupor and driven around town in limos. For her to define serious music as classical, when her whole life had been built on rock, seemed unmistakably hypocritical. Yet she didn’t seem to see it, at all. She wanted to mold and push Loren away from what mattered to her, away from what she shared with her father. They were like a parallel universe of me and my mom, if my dad had hit it really big. I could have been as spoiled and determined as my fashionable young client, my mom could have been as drugged-out and self-important as this past-prime socialite, and my dad could have been…dead. Always, in every scenario, dead. Because that’s what happened, either way. 

     “I’ll do my best,” I assured her. I looked out the window absently as we approached downtown. The car moved at a crawl in the mid-day traffic, slower than I could even walk. My lazy eyes caught on something; I did a double-take. The girl. The girl from the ally with the curtain, only now she had on a floppy, faded house dress. Our eyes met through the glass, and she sprinted away.

     “Wait, stop! stop!” I cried.

     “Excuse me?” asked Alana, confused. I banged on the driver’s window. 

     “I’ll get out here! But thanks, really, thank you! Okay, bye,” I called back, leaping from the car before it had even fully stopped.

     It took everything in me not to shout out to my Ally Girl, but I didn’t know who was around, looking for her. The edge of my eye caught a movement and I went with it, rounding a corner and following my instinct. I stood looking around, when I heard a small sound from above. I looked up and saw Ally perched on the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder six feet above me. How could she have gotten up there? No way she’d jumped, she must have somehow climbed. But I couldn’t stand there contemplating. She gestured urgently toward me, asking me to give her something. What? I looked down. All I had was my phone and my grungy t-shirt. I pointed to the phone, but she shook her head vigorously, gesturing to the shirt. I tossed it up to her. In an instant, she grabbed it, threw it over her ill-fitting dress, and scooted up the ladder, two flights. Hand-over-hand, she used a laundry line to cross the allyway above my head and swung herself through a broken window on the other side. Like a monkey, I thought, but chastised myself – that wasn’t a fair comparison for a real person who’d already been objectified and abused. She’s an amazing human being, not a monkey, I corrected myself. Her skills were super-powers. Maybe I didn’t need to worry so much about her, after all. I knew, even as I thought it, that my self-soothing was self-serving – she could take care of herself for a while, but her situation remained perilous, her safety in constant jeopardy. 

     Considering safety, I realized I was pretty far from home, and I wasn’t entirely sure which direction to take next. I pulled out my phone and fiddled with the GPS, but it kept getting confused. Finally, I found my current location on a map. It looked like a half hour’s walk, if google had it right, but the streets felt seedy, the locals’ looks tinged with suspicious unfamiliarity. I wished I had the money for a cab. I walked.

Chapter Tuesday Afternoon

Chapter 16 Scene 1 Sickening Déjà Vu

Hoping to avoid a lounging group of smokers ahead, I crossed the street and only managed to attract their noisy, lewd attention. Focused there, I almost didn’t notice as I passed a homeless man sprawled across a doorway, until he reached out suddenly, making a grab for my ankle. I dashed away, and the men across the street laughed. One of them detached himself from the group, and then another. They stayed on their side of the street, walking casually, but they were following me and made no attempt to hide it. I didn’t want to show fear but I couldn’t help but speed my pace. Surely they weren’t going to try anything in broad daylight, I told myself. As he approached parallel to me, the man in front started chanting in my direction. 

     “Hey baby, pretty baby, come here, huh, why not come here? Something wrong with me, huh? Come on over here, pretty baby, baby baby…”

     Shit. I’d hoped they would lose interest, but instead they were both crossing to my side of the road. Quickly, I ducked into the first shop door that opened, a dusty bookstore. I hid myself in the maze of narrow aisles. Would they follow me in? I heard the bell tinkle as someone entered. Footsteps. I looked around for other patrons, the proprietor, someone, but I was trapped in a tight, dead-end aisle, no one in sight, as the feet brought whoever it was closer. I grabbed a fat book from the shelf, to hit or throw or whatever you do with a book as a weapon, ready to stand my ground. Step, step, step, and, as he rounded the corner, I flew towards the man, arms raised, crying “aaaaaaaargh!!” like I was trying to scare a bear. He tripped backwards and I stopped dead, overcome by a sickening deja vu. I dropped the book and fell to my knees, dizzy, bent double. I thought I might vomit. 

     “Christine? Christine, it is you, isn’t it? What is happening? Are you alright?”

     I looked up slowly, inch by inch, from slender feet to stylishly-attired torso to tidy-scrag beard: Bash. For a moment I couldn’t reconcile his presence. Where was the man who’d been following me? Had I hit someone? Hurt someone? No, vaguely it came back to me, the man who’d rounded the corner had been Bash, after all, out of time, out of place, too late for my fear-infused response to hold back the book-brandishing crazy. And then that flash, that memory – nausea rose again. My neck burned where it couldn’t be burning, where scar tissue held no nerves. My hands flew to my neck like they could contain the pain of it. Finally, I caught my breath and slowed it, eyes closed. The pain subsided. 

     “Sorry, I’m sorry, I got…scared…” Bash helped me to my unsteady feet and held my arm while I gained my balance. 

     “I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you come in here, and thought I would check on you. You’re far from anywhere I’d expect to see you.” It was a statement, but also a question waiting for my response. Why was I here? None of his business, I thought belligerently, even though I felt giddily relieved to see his familiar face in this unfamiliar situation. Maybe that’s why it didn’t occur to me that the question could be flipped his direction. 

     “I got off at the wrong stop,” I simplified. He appraised me a moment, but decided against pursuing the issue. 

     “Shall we walk back to Timeless together?” he asked, simply. 

     “Um, yes, thanks. I was having trouble finding my way, then some guys were following me…”

     “Ah, that explains the attack of the book warrior princess,” he chuckled, putting two and two together. “If men around here were following you, they probably just thought it was fun to make you afraid. Humans are like any animal, they love to chase. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. It must have been frightening.”

     “Yeah, so I thought you were one of the guys coming in after me, that’s why I attacked you. Did you see them?”

     “No, I thought I saw you out of the corner of my eye, so I followed you into the store. No one else followed me in. And now, you don’t need to fear, you are no longer alone.” He smiled the most reassuring smile I’d ever seen, backed up by the warmest eyes. Why hadn’t I noticed how nice Bash was, before? He stood there, like a revelation that there are good people after all. I gave my head a shake. He was no angel, just a man. I was all shook up. 

     “Are you going to buy this book?” he asked, picking up my discarded weapon from the floor. It was a fat volume titled, The Systems View of Life: A Unifying Vision. It sounded boring. 

     “Yeah, no, I think I’ll leave it,” I smiled. Bash slid the book back onto the shelf, exactly where it belonged. 

     I felt disconcerted by my strong reaction to Bash’s charms. He had a way about him, alright. His compact composure and easy stride told of a self-discipline both totally natural and completely controlled. Zen to the max and cool as a cucumber, every scruffy hair in place. His near-perfection felt like an indictment of my untogetherness.

Chapter 16 Scene 2 Follow the Leader

At this point, I’d become so confused I didn’t know which way was right, so I just followed the leader. Bash set a comfortable pace. It was going to be a long walk, and I realized we would have to find something to talk about. So far, I’d experienced Bash as a quiet watcher, almost like wallpaper for rooms where Trix took up all the space. Now that I’d noticed him, walking solid and real beside me, I wondered what he had in store. 

     “I see you have a guitar with you today,” he observed.

     “Yeah, Chris got my Gretsch fixed. It seems…okay…but maybe…” I trailed off. 

     “Maybe…?” he asked.

     “It’s nothing,” I covered, not wanting him to tell Chris anything was wrong. “She was broken, and now she’s fixed and I have her for today’s practice. So, I won’t have to borrow.” 

     “Smart girl,” he approved. “You can’t always be borrowing what isn’t yours.” He spoke lightly, but I felt weight in his words. “It’s encouraging that Chris supports you. I admit, I was concerned he wouldn’t approve of your involvement with us.”

     “Uh, well honestly, I think he thinks I’d be better not to. I guess he wants me all to himself,” I joked. Bash sighed, the corners of his mouth pulling his moustache downward. 

     “I hope this show isn’t putting strain on your relationship?” he asked, point blank.

     “Our relationship is fine,” I brushed him off. I didn’t see how it was any of his business, how things were with me and Chris. They were friends, weren’t they? He could ask Chris himself if he wanted to know.

     “Chris…is a special guy,” he said, as though he’d meant to say something else. That was the same thing Rekha had said, in the kitchen. What made Chris so “special”, I wondered, to warrant two warnings. I glanced at Bash but his expression remained unreadable under those thick eyebrows and cultivated facial hair. I was 90% sure Bash was at least 80% gay, despite his marriage to Trix. Maybe he saw me as competition on more than one front.

     “Yes, Chris is special,” I repeated back. “Our relationship is still new, but I’m glad I came to the city to be with him. He’s a good guy. We’re good together.”

     “Hmmm,” Bash murmured, which could mean anything, but I took it that my answer fell short of allaying his concerns. We walked awhile without talking.

     “Each person is a series of choices and circumstances coming together into moments,” said Bash.

     “Well, yes,” I agreed, a bit uncertainly. This seemed like simple math out of the blue sky. 

     “Where are these moments taking us? Nearer to Timeless. Further from the men who were bothering you. So circumstances, choices, moments, and now we apply direction, time, distance, and that allows us to aim towards where we will end up.”

     “Okay…” I thought I was following his esoterica, but what was his point? He continued as though thinking out loud about something he’d thought about many times before. 

     “Some of this we cannot control, and some of it we choose. Like us, for example. Not so long ago, we did not know each other, but now, it seems our lives are entwined in several ways. It’s lucky I came upon you today, we are probably overdue to get to know one another.”

     “Well, what do you want to know?” I asked, off-hand. 

     “That’s very open of you. I can ask you whatever I want to know?” The serious way he asked made me rethink my automated response. 

     “I don’t know,” I backtracked. “It depends what it is, I guess.”

     “Good answer. Well, there is something I’ve been wondering.”

     “Which is?”

     He waited until I looked over quizzically, catching and holding my eyes before he asked. 

     “Why are you here?” 

     “Like, globally? On the planet? Or specifically, walking with you right now?” I hedged.

     “Any of those. But to be clear, why are you joining our motley crew for Friday’s show?”

     “Why? I mean, why not? I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m here in the city, and Trix asked…”

     “Yes, my wife can be very persuasive,” he smiled. Did I imagine the slight emphasis on the possessive pronoun? 

     “I mean, do you think I shouldn’t be? Playing with you?” 

     The words jumped out my mouth before I stopped them from betraying my fear. I hadn’t had the best start, I hadn’t shown my best yet. If he thought the band was better off without me, I might as well go home. But Bash crinkled his eyes with affection.

     “You are so welcome, you know. Of course you should be playing with us, or you wouldn’t be playing with us! I just wonder why you think you’re making that choice.”

     “Um…well…for the experience, I guess. Isn’t that a reason?”

     “Oh, yes, it’s a reason. I’m a little surprised it’s yours. You do know how experience is built, don’t you?”

     He looked at me like he expected an answer. I looked back, waiting for it. 

     “One choice at a time,” he smiled. “If experience is your motivation, I won’t worry about you at all. You’re sure to gain it.” 

     “Okay, so then, what’s your motivation?” I not-quite-challenged, really wanting to know. He steered his answer down the easy road. 

     “Right this second, I am primarily motivated to make sure you can jive with the band so Friday’s show is amazing.”

     “Um…ok, and is there something in the way of that? In your opinion?” 

     I couldn’t help but ask, even if I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer. But Bash dodged. 

     “Earlier, when those men were following you, what do you think was their motivation?” he asked, as though that were a natural response to my going out on a limb.

     “I don’t know, to bug me?” I crabbed.

     “Maybe. Or, maybe they were motivated by a deep need for connection, a terrible loneliness, a devastating sense of unworthiness, to reach out for affection in the only way they could grasp at the moment, from the first attractive person they saw.”

     Bash, a rape culture apologist? Now, that was a surprise. 

     “Are you expecting me to feel sorry for them?” I demanded. 

     “No, not at all, just to understand we are all living in ape bodies. How well that works depends on many circumstances, many choices. At the root, we all feel the need for connection, inclusion, love, and relevance. The need can be so strong it makes us afraid, too afraid to do what’s best for us, too afraid to reach out for help.”

     I tried to decipher his hieroglyphic speak. 

     “Are you saying I need help?”

     “I’m saying, when help is offered, I hope you’ll accept it.”

     “Of course I will! I know I need all the help I can get,” I insisted. 

     “And yet, last night at calibration, you didn’t get the help you needed, though it was offered.” 

     What was he talking about?

     “What help was offered?” I countered. “I only heard criticism.”

     “Yes, I realize that’s what you heard. You don’t like to be criticized.” 

     His bluntness took me by surprise. I’d thought him more subtle. 

     “That’s a bold assertion,” I returned, hackles up.

     “Hmm,” he assented. “And yet, it’s still true. And that is what holds you back.”

     “I don’t mind helpful criticism,” I countered.

     “And what makes criticism helpful?” he asked, curious. I had to think about it. I’d always assumed I was open to feedback, as long as it was helpful. But when did I find criticism helpful?

     “Well, I guess, first, it’s more helpful if I actually ask for it,” I managed. 

     “And do you often ask for criticism?” His tone held a playful knowing that invited me to laugh along with him if I wanted. But I wasn’t quite ready for that.

     “Okay, I guess…I prefer feedback. Not criticism, but feedback. Like, suggestions instead of complaints. Specific things I can try, not general statements about what’s wrong.”

     “Good. That’s fair. In that case, I have another question for you.”

     “Which is?”

     “Last night, at calibration, why didn’t you ask for the kind of feedback that would help you?”

     “Hey, I didn’t ask for any of it. Those guys just came out with what they had to say.”

     “Yes, although by now you realize, participating at Timeless means engaging in calibrations, and you did stay, you do keep coming back.”

     I couldn’t deny it. I might not have known what to expect the first time out, but after that, I’d made a choice. Bash went on. 

     “But, where I was going is, when Trace or Duggan or Stan made complaints, why didn’t you ask for suggestions? When they used general language, why not ask them for specifics?” 

     He sounded genuinely interested, like I was the only person who could help him puzzle through this important mystery. I wanted to answer him well, but I didn’t have a good answer. 

     “I guess I was feeling…defensive. After hearing their complaints, I didn’t want to hear their suggestions. It didn’t even occur to me. I just wanted to go.”

     “Christine! That’s wonderful!” he cried. Wonderful? Was he kidding me? 

     “What exactly is wonderful about getting defensive?”

     “Not getting defensive itself, but recognizing what happened to you. Next time, you might see it sooner. You said that you weren’t interested in their suggestions. You understand that you weren’t interested. Now you know where your thinking stopped serving you. You see that you decided their suggestions weren’t interesting because you were upset to be criticized, not because you were thinking about how to learn and grow. It’s a moment you might recognize next time. It’s a chance to move your thinking from defense to curiosity. Well done. Well done.”

     “Um…yeah. Okay. Thanks,” I mumbled, humbled and annoyed to be in the presence of a guru.

     “You’re feeling defensive again, right now. And so, not very interested in my suggestion. Don’t worry, I don’t need anything here. The suggestion is for you. I think it will be useful, all the same.” Bash exuded a jovial compassion. I squirmed with the irony of feelings I couldn’t help feeling. 

     “I’m sure you’re right,” I finally conceded. “Thanks. I know I need to jibe better with the band.” I might have stressed the b a little bit.

     “Excuse me, did you say, jibe?” he asked.

     “Yeah…”

     “Not jive?”

     “No, it’s jibe.”

     “You’re saying, you need to jibe with the band, with a b, not jive with the band, with a v?”

     “Well, I might need to jive with the band, I guess, like literally if we play…like, jazz or something. But the term is jibe. I think it’s some kind of nautical reference, but maybe not.”

     “And to think, all this time, I thought it was jive. Which, as a musician, made perfect sense to me. Jiving together, I mean. But jibe, I have never heard the word.  I will have to look this up. Thank you!”

     “No problem,” I laughed, feeling lighter.

     We walked in silence for awhile.

     “Jibe,” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head with a smile. 

     I put off asking as long as I could but eventually my impatience escaped. 

     “Is it much farther?”

     “Not far now,” he assured me. “Though, you did end up a long way from where you intended.” There it was again, the statement that was a question. I decided that answering was easier than having it hang in the air. 

     “Well, actually, I was getting a ride and I thought I saw someone I knew, so I got out. I didn’t really think about where I was until it was too late.”

     “And did you?”

     “What?”

     “Did you see someone you knew?” 

     Without thinking about it at all, I kept my counsel.

     “No. It was just a trick of the light.”

     “Ah.” Once again, a small sound that left a big impression. Did he know about the girl? About me throwing her the shirt? How long had he been aware of my presence in that part of town? I felt stupid, letting all this suspicion run wild. What would be the point in Bash following me, and how could he possibly have known I’d be near there, anyway? It was a fluke that I’d found myself in that seedy part of town at all. Just because he was the kind of guy who seemed like he was always one step ahead, that didn’t mean he was all-knowing. The whole “hmm, ahhh” schtick was just social worker tricks he picked up in college. Anyway, I couldn’t tell him about the girl without opening a whole can of worms with Trix. Why involve him when he couldn’t do anything?

     “Can I carry your burden for a little while?” asked Bash. I looked up at him, flustered. Was he really a mind reader? He gestured to my guitar. Of course. I was definitely feeling the weight after all these blocks, when I was used to a lighter, freer pace. But, I wasn’t comfortable letting Bash carry her, either. She might be a heavy shell, but she was attached to my back, she was part of my balance as I put one foot in front of the other. Something familiar, something my own, damaged but found.

     “No, thanks, I’ve got it,” I stated firmly. 

     “Ask if you need help,” he replied with emphasis.

     “Got it,” I affirmed. 

     My phone rang, Chris. I thought I’d better take it. I shrugged at Bash apologetically, tipping the phone so he could see who it was before I answered. 

     “Where are you?” Chris demanded right away.

     “I told you I was going to Timeless after my client,” I retorted irritably.

     “But you’re not at Timeless, are you?” he stated bluntly.

     “Um, no, not yet, I’m on my way. How do you know? And so what?”

     “So, it’s not safe to be wandering around by yourself in the city. If you were at Timeless you’d be on the feeds, and you’re not. I have a right to worry about you.”

     That seemed pretty flimsy to me. Now that he’d seen my weakness, did he think I could never do anything alone again? Was he going to stalk my every move? I thought I’d better ease his mind. 

     “I’m walking there now. With Bash. So I’m perfectly safe, okay?” I assured him, ulike a parent to a child. Or like a child to a parent. 

     “You’re with Bash? Now?” He sounded confused, flustered. “Okay, well, that’s…I would have thought…okay, then, if you’re okay, then, okay, then…”

     “Yeah, okay, then. Gotta go! Um, bye!” I hung up fast, feeling rude walking beside Bash while talking on the phone, and a bit flummoxed by Chris’s vehemence and his confusion. Plus, we were arriving on the doorstep.

Chapter 16 Scene 3 A Lot of Fuss for Nothing

Despite the detour, Bash and I arrived at Timeless a good hour before practice. Bash opened the front door with a key, ushering me into the darkened lobby. He studied me a moment, then looked around like he was expecting to see someone. 

     “What’s up?” I asked. 

     “We’re early. I have some obligations. I’m trying to decide what to do with you.”

     This was my chance to escape his psychoanalysis and catch Jamie up on having seen Ally. 

     “I could maybe…hang out with Jamie?” I edged my way towards the hall to the stairs. 

     “Oh, I doubt it. He’s very busy,” Bash refused lightly. “Oh, yes, I know. Duggan!” he finished loudly, or at least, loudly for him. Duggan looked up from his percussion kit on stage, jumped down, and headed our way. I cringed. That guy had it in for me.

     “Um, I’m not sure he’s gonna want – ” I started, but it was too late.

     “Yeah, Bash, what’s up?”

     “Christine needs someone to keep her out of trouble until practice,” Bash said to him, third-personning me, but at least with the right name.  

     “Yeah, I can see this one’s trouble, all right,” scoffed Duggan, using his voice as an eye-roll. What was I supposed to take from that? That I was trouble and he didn’t like it, or that I wasn’t trouble and he didn’t respect it? I couldn’t tell, but either way I didn’t feel loved.

     “Okay, then, you have her?” confirmed Bash, ready to go. Though he held his body still, I could see from his eyes that his mind was already on his next task. 

     “Of course! Come on, Mouse.” Duggan threw an arm over my shoulder and ushered me forward, a gesture too familiar for our relationship. His arm and body controlled my movements uncomfortably, pulling me at a fast pace towards the stage. I felt his fingers graze the side of my breast, maybe by accident but maybe not. I shrugged my way out of his grip with a controlled violence. He turned back with a swarmy smile, holding his hands up like surrender.

     “Okay, okay, didn’t think you were so touchy.” We both looked back at Bash in the archway. He raised an eyebrow.

     “Duggan,” Bash sighed without moving from the arch frame, “how am I supposed to leave her with you if you can’t keep your hands to yourself?” 

     “You can leave her,” barked Stan from the stage. Duggan looked up quickly, a worried expression shadowing his eyes. “He’s not going to touch her again,” stated Stan with authority. 

     “It’s true,” Duggan assured Bash, slouching himself small and bouncing like a little boy promising never to steal another cookie. As an afterthought, he turned to me. “I won’t! My hands won’t go near any part of you.”

     “Four parts,” stated Bash cryptically. What did he mean? Four parts of what? Me?

     “I’m sorry, really, really soorrrry,” Duggan assured me, nodding, eye to eye, walking the line between sincerity and sarcasm so well that no one could confidently fault him. “I bet you felt…violated?” he asked. He seemed to expect a response.

     “Well, more surprised,” I corrected. “I don’t like being pushed and pulled.”

     “Yeah, so, I’m sorry, because I pulled you and…one, two- you felt surprised, three…and four, oh, yeah, I…know I shouldn’t have and I won’t do it again!” he finished with a huge smile of triumph. “All four parts!” Duggan assured Bash with a wink.

     “Hey, I’m okay, I’m sure he thought he was being friendly,” I apologized to Bash, just wanting the drama to end, and for him to go deal with his obligations already. “I had a shake-up this afternoon, I’m…touchy, like he said.”

     “Hmm. Alright, if you’re fine, then, good,” Bash stated with finality. “But we’re not good, Duggan. Whatever that was, it wasn’t cool. You’re on toilet duty for two weeks.”

     “Ah, man!” Duggan whined, then clapped his hands over his mouth. 

     “Ten,” signed Bash mildly. Duggan dropped and did ten pushups, then jumped back up. 

     “Whining limits winning,” Bash stated like a motivational poster, his signature raised eyebrow appreciating his own capture of corny aptness in three short words. “Stan, you look out for Mouse, okay?” 

     “Yeah, sure,” mumbled Stan, hardly looking up from the adjustments he was making to the drum kit. Bash accepted that as sufficient, backing into the darkened lobby like a shadow fading out, leaving me in the dubious care of my two least favourite Timelessites. 

     I followed Duggan to the stage, but he totally ignored me, settling in at the electronic percussion kit without a glance my way. I’d gotten him in trouble and he was clearly done with me for now. He fiddled with the computer, made faces and futzed, then burst suddenly into an angry, intricate beat that stopped abruptly. He repeated this pattern several times, while around the theatre, hammering and banging accompanied his intermittent drumming, carrying one energetic burst to the next like a stumbling piece of industrial punk. Stan started booming and banging the traditional kit to a whole other beat, until my senses couldn’t tell where my heartbeat ended and this manic parade of sound began. I held my head in my hands. Immediately, Stan stopped playing and called over to me.

     “Hey, you okay? Come here.”

     Grateful that he’d cut the noise in half, I followed his instruction. Stan headed behind the backstage curtain, and led me to the practice room where we’d met for Miracle the day before. I plopped down on the lumpy sofa. Even though he left the door open, I found I could hear myself think again.

     “Better?” He asked. I nodded. He opened a drawer and produced a set of orange foam earplugs in a tiny ziploc, holding them out to me on his big, flat hand like you might hold out feed to a horse. “Here.”

     “Actually, I have my own, thanks,” I replied, realizing it at the same moment I said it. I’ve always had custom plugs made for when I play. They were in my pocket. “I just didn’t think to put them in when I wasn’t playing.” His hand closed into a fist, squeezing the foam plugs into a ball

     “Oh, well, a lot of fuss for nothing, then,” he huffed, tossing the small package back in the drawer. I felt bad. After all, he’d made an effort, and I had been careless in my refusal.

     “It’s nice of you, though,” I consoled him. He folded his big frame onto a guitar stool, and we looked around at the walls for an awkward, non-talking minute. 

     “So, why did you want to know, anyway?” he burst out suddenly, a total non sequitur. 

     “Know…?” I prompted.

     “How I got here? You asked yesterday, it bugged me, and yeah, I wasn’t so good about it, but you know, no one’s asked me that. No one wants your story here, we aren’t defined by our stories, it’s all the same story. So why’d you ask me that?”

     “Just because…I feel like an alien here. I don’t really get this place or what it’s like to live here, and I never even knew something like this would exist in the world. But you guys all get it, you’re here, you’re part of something and I just wonder how it happened. I’m curious that way.”

     “Too much curiosity won’t make you a popular cat.”

     “So I’ve been told. But if I only go where I’m popular, I’m not sure where I could be most of the time!”

     “Heheh,” he laughed. “I guess that’s true for me, too. I’m only here because of Bash. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be in jail, maybe for my whole life.”

     “Wow, what for?”

     He looked me in the eye, long and hard. 

     “For a girl like you.”

     “What does that mean?”

     He looked down at his hands, playing with his fingers as he spoke. 

     “In my high school, there was a girl like you, always full of questions, little, strong, a white girl. We made friends. We hung out. We…maybe did more than hang out. Her three brothers didn’t like it, when people started talking. They cornered me one night, guys I played football with, guys I thought were cool, came to beat the sh…life out of me. They almost did. I’ll never see colour from this eye again, and I got a bad a concussion, I’m still not quite right. But I got a few punches in before I blacked out, and one of the guys hit the ground, cracked his head on a rock. He died. I woke up in cuffs. ”

     “But it was self defense!”

     “Unreasonable force causing death. And everyone said I started it. I went from the hospital to jail and I was there a long time just waiting for a trial. My family was ashamed, they didn’t visit and they couldn’t afford my bail. You better be ready to stand your ground in jail. I thought I was a big guy but in there, I…I didn’t know I could be that man. I didn’t know what I could be until I ended up in that place. Now I know. But my sister, she wouldn’t leave it, you know? She went to school with Rekha. Rekha called Bash. Somehow he convinced the prosecutor to drop the charges, and I got released to here. Who knows how? So I came here with him. That’s it, that’s my big story.”

     “Wow, you really dodged a bullet.”

     “Yeah, well, I only get to stay another few months, so who knows what’s next.”

     “Why?”

     “Two year limit. They figure if you can’t tackle life by then, there’s not much more they can do for you. They’re probably right. I’ll still drum the shows, I’ll be around, but I’ll have to find my own place, so that means a job, and I don’t know…I’m not good at much.”

     “Don’t you learn stuff here? Like…construction? Or…social media?”

     “Some guys, sure, but that’s not really my thing. I just do my hours, you know? I can’t make a career out of those things. I’m a good drummer, I’ve got some production, I just did the GED so I have a diploma now. But I’ll probably end up working at a gas station. My memory’s still for shit…I mean, not good. I can only do so much. So, see, a girl like you messed my life up.”

     Did he hear the same story he just told me? On what planet was any of this the girl’s fault? And what did it have to do with me? I was beginning to understand the hostility that I’d felt bristling from this guy from the first. He was putting a whole history on me that wasn’t mine, one that held a bunch of assumptions that seemed pretty flawed in the first place. It wasn’t in me to hold my tongue.

     “No way, man. Not a girl like me, just a girl who was her own girl, not me. And she didn’t fuck your life up, anyway. Her brothers fucked your life up. Hatred and racism fucked your life up. But that girl didn’t do anything but love you.”

     “Love? I didn’t see her at the hospital, or jail. Or now. Where did she go, if she loved me? They never would have come after me if it wasn’t for her!”

     “You can’t hold her responsible when you both knew you were taking a risk, going against the social conventions.”

     “Are you kidding? Social conventions? What year is this? It’s not like we’re in the deep south. I didn’t know. Everyone at my school always acted like they were colorblind, like I was one of them. Those guys, we were on a team together! We trusted each other. They turned on me, because of her.”

     “Because of racism, not because of her,” I insisted.

     “But she must have known. She must have realized they were racists, she knew the risk but I didn’t know. I thought they were my friends.”

     “Maybe she knew they were racists, but maybe it just never came up. Maybe she thought what you thought, that they accepted you, that you were just like anyone else. Maybe things took her by surprise, too. You don’t know.”

     He looked defeated. 

     “I do know she disappeared,” he said, with the hurt so raw I didn’t like to look at it. 

     “Look, it’s your story, not mine. I don’t know these people, I can hardly even imagine your situation. If you think it’s her fault, I can’t change it. I’m just saying, don’t put that on me. She’s not a girl like me. I’m not a girl like her. I’m my own girl, and that’s it. Can you take me at face value?”

     He looked at me like it was the first time he’d really taken in my features. I saw him notice my scar and look away before he answered. 

     “I don’t know, but I’ll try.“

     “Thanks. Listen, I really wanted to touch base with Jamie. Can you help me find him?”

     “Maybe. He’s usually on Trix’s leash, but he won’t be right now, ’cause she’s in with the suits.”

     “The suits?”

     “Guys come around, ties and shiny shoes, they all go in the dark office, then they leave. I’m guessing they pay our meals.”

     “The dark office?”

     “The one with no cameras. You and the questions! No more. Come on, let’s find your little boyfriend.”

Chapter 16 Scene 4 Like a Sleuth or Something

We headed back to the theatre proper, where Jamie was helping Duggan with sound check.

     “There he is, easy enough.” Stan rocked back and forth on his heels. “So I’m leaving you here. I’ve got some thinking to do,” he threw out, walking away abruptly. I decided it wasn’t my stuff, and let him go. I was glad to be free of glowering Stan and his half-baked associations. Jamie’s face lit up at the sight of me, and that lit me up, too. I hurried down to the sound boards. 

     “You’re brave to come early again,” he said. “Hey, you’ve got a guitar!”

     “My Gretsch,” I replied, opening the case to show him. “Chris got her refurbished, she was…damaged. Anyway, better than nothing, right?”

     “Better than a guitar that’s not yours, for sure. No wonder you haven’t felt at home, playing Trix’s Gibson. It’s like a stallion that only lets her ride it.”

     Jamie’s words stung, but he hadn’t meant them to. I brushed it off, snapping the guitar case closed. I had more important fish to fry. 

     “Hey, Jamie, I saw that girl again,” I shared quietly. 

     “No way! Where?” he whispered back to me.

     “I don’t even know. Like, far. There was a seedy bar, and a bookstore…”

     “Sure, okay, that could be anywhere, you know. How about a street name?”

     “Sorry. But, Bash was there, which was weird.” Jamie looked worried. 

     “Did he see her? What did he say?” He scratched his head anxiously. 

     “No, he showed up after I saw her, and I wasn’t telling him! Anyway, she took my shirt, ran up a fire escape and practically flew across the ally on laundry lines. She was totally like an acrobat.”

     “What do you mean, she took your shirt? You’re wearing a shirt. And it’s really nice, by the way!”

     “My other shirt. The dirty one. That doesn’t matter. What matters is, she’s still out there. They haven’t got her yet.”

     “Wow, you’re like a sleuth or something. I can’t believe you found her.” Jamie leaned back so our faces were level, looking at me with new respect. 

     “It was a total fluke. But maybe it’s the Universe’s way of telling me we’re connected, somehow. We have to find a way to help her, now that we have a lead.” 

      He shook his head.

     “Not much of a lead if you don’t even know where you were.”

     “Wait, on my phone!” I remembered my failed attempts at mapping my way to Timeless. Surely the history would have some record of where I’d been.

     “Look, here!” I cried, excited. Jamie looked. 

     “Okay, leave it with me,” he told me seriously. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

     I heard a commotion from out front. Jamie and I craned our necks to see a group of laughing, chattering, beautiful people make their way through the lobby and right past us to the stage. Trix followed at the end of the line, deep in animated conversation with a tall man even more angular than herself. The gaggle made their way right up to the stage. Trix clapped her hands.

     “Okay, folks, most of you know the drill. It’s the same set of routines from the last show, just a different order. Anyone here who’s never done all eight routines through for an audience? You? But you have done them all? Well, we’ll see what you know. Places!”

     Ah, the dancers! That explained their attire and attitudes. Trix turned and pointed at Jamie, looking at us for the first time. She lowered her hand and pulled her shoulders back in surprise at the sight of me there, her eyebrows pursed and eyes widened in irritable disbelief for just an instant before she shrugged and moved on.

     “Jamie, run the tracks, we’re gonna see where we’re at.”

     Jamie motioned for me to sit, and I took the nearest seat to his station. 

     “Got it!” he called, and started up a track of us, sucking, from yesterday. I made a face. So did several of the dancers. 

     “I know, pretty bad, but don’t worry, this is the worst it could be. Work with this, and you can work with anything,” Trix insisted to the stage at large. Everyone laughed. “They’ll take control up here,” she called. 

     She handed a remote to Angular Guy, then leaped from the stage. He fiddled a bit to start the music over, directing the dancers as they got the feel for the space. Trix arrived at the sound station, where she bumped Jamie out of his chair playfully, while he pretended to flail and fall like a clown. They laughed together comfortably as she took over his spot, flicking on all five monitors for different angled views of the stage. He stood close-in behind her, leaning over her shoulder. Their intimacy bespoke natural affection. 

     ’EVERYBODY REEAAAADDDDYYYY?“ Trix intoned deeply into a mic that projected through the theatre. Seemingly from nowhere, people emerged and jumped in, knowing exactly where they were needed, communicating in a quick-barked shorthand language they all seemed to speak. I watched Jamie, Stan, Duggan, Milo, Moffatt, Paul, and others I didn’t know by name become an intense production machine in action.  In the space of half an hour, they had overcome more technical challenges than I could count, until they had the lights programmed, projections woven in, effects positioned, sound checked, and dancers comfortable in the space. The precision and understanding among them felt like a choreographed dance in itself, even as they experimented or dismissed something that wasn’t working. I felt really impressed. No road crew could be more efficient, and I’d seen my share for comparison. 

     There was nothing for me to do but watch, and check my phone. Which I did, of course. Thousands of notifications obscured anything I might care about. Trying to sift through it all was pointless. I looked specifically for Chris, who had sent me an emojii of a shamefaced monkey holding a heart, which may or may not have been an apology of sorts. I sent him a rainbow with a pot of gold – it seemed a fitting response. Ethan had sent me a montage of pics from five places he’d been, looking for Buzzter and my Nell, which I took to mean he hadn’t found her yet. I couldn’t think about that. I had my Gretsch, and that would have to do, for now. I sent him a sad face. Quickly, I created a few lists of people I wanted to keep track of or thought I should – Ethan, Chris, all Chris’s friends from school, the Timeless folks I knew, YKM, a few friends from home, and after a moment’s hesitation, my mom. I turned off all other notifications and hoped for the best.

Chapter 16 Scene 5 Grinding Gears

 Jamie plunked himself down beside me.

     “So, that’s pre-practice run-through. Pretty tight, eh?” he fished, proud to be part of such a smooth operation.

     “Best I’ve ever seen,” I acknowledged honestly. 

     “We usually get it done sooner, but today’s special, the dancers are here!” he practically gushed. “That means we’re close. I can’t believe it’s this Friday!” 

     “What’s so special about this show?”

     “We’ve been working up to this for so long…”

     “But, don’t you play all the time?”

     “Sure, but…”

     “So what makes this different?”

     “Maybe it won’t be. But the work they do on the social media side, and the…Static’s plans…anyway, they all say Friday is supposed to be like, the…what’s the word? Not cumulation…?”

     “Culmination?”

     “Yeah, like the culmination. Weird word, it means, like when you do a bunch of work and then it all comes together, right? So all the work is supposed to come together. This show is supposed to hit, like, critical mass? Launch Trix n’ Traces into the…like, into fame, you know? And bring the rest of us along with them.”

     “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. I didn’t want him to think I was questioning the premise, but, maybe I was. It was hard to gauge from where I stood. Clearly Static and all those boys online were building hype and a following. Maybe they were poised for rocket fire and Friday would be the match. But from what I could see, I wasn’t sure exactly what fuel would get us there. What was the hook? Where was the meme, the je-ne-sais-quoi, shock-emotion-stirring surprise element to light the fire? Even if we were very good, even with Trix’s charisma, where was the trending factor? Then again, what did I know? Surely Static and his educated systems were more on point than my observations from the outside. Everyone here seemed to believe Friday was the night. I should feel lucky to be along for the ride.

     Trix was busy and in demand, so I wasn’t too surprised when I didn’t get any of her attention. Still, when she called the musicians to the stage for practice, I thought she could have at least noticed I had my own guitar. Everyone else did. 

     Practice with the dancers proved more spirited than I’d expected. Each one brought a personality and sense of fun to the very serious work of movement. The choreography played with time and space, highlighting the fluidity and angularity of the human body in surprising and satisfying rhythms that didn’t just complement the music, but spurred us forward into new realms. Trix swam with them like a fish in her favourite pond, while we made the currents. Suddenly the songs made more sense in light of these dancers’ participation and the patterns they weaved. I still struggled with every song that wasn’t a cover, but I also felt more like I was part of things. Knowing that Bash saw me as part of the band, clearing the air with Stan, solidarity with Jamie around the Ally girl: all supported me to stand up and bring my best in the moment. I felt inspired by their well-oiled-machineness to bring more of my own into play. The self-consciousness that everyone kept so-kindly pointing out still hung around my neck like a heavy cowbell, just waiting to make me into a fool. I couldn’t quite let go with this band. I knew I was all thinking and doing, tight and clunky. But I gritted my teeth and refused to give in, pushing on the throttle even if I was grinding my gears. I was going to get better. I was going to be part of something big. This was the chance I came here for, and I was going to make it work. Trix seemed much happier than I’d seen her in awhile. Her distraction made me feel less under the microscope, which certainly didn’t hurt my efforts. She called us to a close much sooner than I expected. I felt a little disappointed to stop short. 

     “Good practice. Really coming along. Stage is getting busy! Tomorrow Ms. Myrtle’s crew arrive, and that’s it, the full complement. Are we ready to merge the new with the established? The live with the recorded?” Her tepid reward came in the form of a few hoots and yeah!s but not the kind of solidarity chant her calls usually inspired. Her brow wrinkled. I think she’d expected that everyone was with her. 

     “Well, that’s a bit half-hearted for halfway there. Where’s the trepidation coming from?” she asked with gravity. 

      Don’t pick on me, don’t pick on me, I incanted to myself. Noodle explained some technical concerns that seemed within scope. So far, so good. 

     “Jamie, make sure that gets looked at,” Trix instructed. “But there’s something else going on here. What?”

     Of course, Duggan was ready to crow about whatever was stuck in his craw.

     “It’s the same as yesterday. She’s still disappearing or taking over,” he complained. 

     “Talk directly to whoever she is, please.” As usual, Trix’s facilitation did nothing to help. 

     “Mouse, I just don’t feel you with the music. You’re in and out, you’re not consistent.”

     I sighed, tired of the same old, same old. 

     “I’m doing my best. It’s a big stage, lots of distraction and I don’t know the music that well. Say something new, already.”

     Bash gave me a meaningful look, with just a brief gesture of his hand to encourage me.

     “Um, so, can you give me…an example of what I could have done differently? So I can work on it?” I asked reluctantly. Bash smiled and formed a subtle thumbs-up on his knee for only me. Trix, on the other hand, was more impatient than I was. She cut Duggan off before any specific advice crossed his lips. 

     “Don’t worry about it, Mouse, you’re much better. We’ll do a little remedial after class. And guys! Mouse is fresh, get off her back! She needs love and cuddles to feel like she’s with us. Come on!”

     Bash shrugged, apologetic that she’d aborted my efforts at getting the feedback I needed. Trix led the entire crew to gather around me in a kind of group hug that felt more like a football huddle. At the centre, held tight, protected and trapped, I felt a sob rise in my chest and threaten to spill over like the tears already running down my face. I breathed in the scents of so many people, this community, a single beast around me, swaying and sweating and breathing together, giving me their support and acceptance in my imperfection because they’d been told to. I felt both a part and apart, separate in the very way I was being included. I’d never felt anything like this before. I didn’t know how to be with it. The moment ended naturally and people moved slowly back to where they’d been. I stood, blinking in the lights. 

     “Does that feel a little better?” Trix asked, leaning her chin on my left shoulder from behind so our cheeks touched. I knew I was supposed to say yes.

     “Um, yeah, basically. I really am trying,” I told her, pulling away and turning to look up into her eyes. I wanted a moment with her, alone, as if we weren’t the main attraction on the stage. “I’m trying not to let you down.” 

     The slightest smile on her lips and in her eyes told me she knew it.  

     “We all appreciate that you’re here with us. Right?” She turned expectantly to the group, and received believable assent from the crowd. Chia held my right arm protectively and Jamie stepped behind me so I could feel his strong presence. I was not alone here. 

     “Well, I have some notes for all of you – the team will email over the next few hours with anything specific to you. Overall, we sound pretty good, our timing is getting better, and you dancers look amazing! Clearly you’ve been practicing. Don’t you all agree?”

     Now, that was applause! Each dancer exhibited his or her personality in accepting with bows, curtsies, and little dancing thank-you’s. 

     “We’ll fill in the music so it won’t be as stark if you make mistakes or get off the timing. In the meantime, watch your inbox for notes, keep practicing, see you back here tomorrow.”

     The crowd started breaking up, the earliest we’d ever finished. I might even make it home for supper! But of course, it wasn’t quitting time for me. I had to stay after class. 

     “Mouse, come on over here,” called Trix. 

     “I was just gonna…” I gestured in the general direction of the washrooms.

     “I keep forgetting you’re human,” she joked. “Come right back, okay?”

Chapter 16 Scene 6 Let the Wonder Be

Trix beckoned me to centre stage. As I came up the stairs, the curtains closed to encase us in a cave, our footsteps hollow echoes. Trix fiddled with the computer at Trace’s synth station while she spoke.

     “I want to try something with you, Mouse. Do you trust me?”

     Did I? 

     “Um…well…” I stammered, not wanting to say no and unable to give an unequivocal yes. I looked down, but she lifted my chin so our eyes met. 

     “Just so. Exactly. You find yourself transplanted to an existing community, where we already trust each other, and you can’t be expected to just flow into that without some help.”

     I felt somewhat relieved to hear her say that, but also anxious – what did she want from me in terms of “trust”? I wasn’t the most trusting person, by experience. Maybe I wouldn’t be up to it. Playing music was one thing, but was she going to expect me to turn over my autonomy somehow? How much trust was I capable of? How much did I want to give, here?

     Trix held up a long strip of blue velvet, running her fingers down the length from top to bottom. She moved behind me. I twisted my neck to see what she was up to.

     “What is that?” 

     She brought the strip down from above, in front of my face, and held it suspended in mid-air, ready to cover my eyes. 

     “Trust me,” she suggested firmly.

     “Um, I don’t…I’m not comfortable.” 

     Still holding the velvet strip out in front of my face, she leaned her face in sideways from behind, so I could turn my head and see her eyes. 

     “I know,” she acknowledged. “Discomfort precedes the best learning. Can you handle it? Will you suspend your mistrust, for ten minutes?”

     “You’re asking a lot,” I told her honestly, our noses an inch apart.

     “Do you consent?” she asked seriously.

     “Uh, provisionally. Okay?” I stood still while she tied the fabric to blindfold my eyes. I did not like it. Not at all. 

     “Trix…” my voice wavered. She took my hands in hers. 

     “Let me be your eyes,” she offered. Music spilled from the speakers to fill the space. Trix led me slowly, swaying my hands and gradually speeding our steps until we were keeping pace with the music in a careful dance around the stage. I felt vulnerable, but when I stumbled, she had my elbow and I didn’t fall.

     “I’ve got you,” she told me, right in my ear. “It’s okay. Stay with it. A little faster now, okay? A little bounce? Have some fun!”

     It felt more like an invitation than a command, and I certainly saw the funny side of me, prancing blind around the stage like a sack of potatoes. Whether I liked it or not, the world would have access to this little lesson. This was Timeless, after all. I let my laughter make me more sprightly, and suddenly, I did trust Trix to lead my steps, enough to loosen my terrified grip on her fingers, enough to feel the beat of the music join our feet, and enough to let her pass my hand to the hand of another person I somehow knew was there, even though I hadn’t known anyone else was there. This new person led me in a light skip around a figure eight, then passed me gently to another person again. I found myself turned, twirled and led around a circle of hands. Once I felt the boundaries of the circle and realized they would pass me along inside it, I felt safer to dance freely. My confidence increased and I sped my rhythm, moving from person to person, knowing that I wouldn’t bump or fall within the space they created. I didn’t feel blind. In front of my eyes I saw not just black. Dazzling colours danced like lights lighting the way, guiding my movements, highlighting the boundaries of the circle and the individual energies that created it. Their sure, gentle hands exuded confidence that transferred from them to me, lubricating my joints and muscles with a fluidity that possessed my dance. I felt my face melt into a goofy smile. I loved the moment of feeling free from the distractions of seeing or knowing anything but the music and the energy of the space. After another minute, my hand found Trix’s in the circle. She twirled me once, and stopped me with the end of the music. I stood, blindfolded, facing her, her hands gently holding my forearms. I was breathing heavily but still smiling like a fool. 

     “How do you feel?” she asked me.

     “Amazing! Light-headed. Surprised.”

     “Surprised?” she asked. 

     “I wouldn’t have thought I could go so fast, trust all those different people not knowing who they are – I’m just…”

     Trix whisked off the blindfold in a sudden move that left me blinking. We were the only people there.     

     “There were other people here, right?” I asked, a bit dazed. 

     “Let the wonder be. You’ve got the freedom in you, you just need to get over yourself and let it flow. You can be with people without even knowing them. You can trust them in the music whether you trust them in real life or not. Take that into your body, Mouse. Feel what that felt like, and call it up every time you step on this stage. Okay?”

     “I’ll try,” I promised. 

     “I know you will. That’s why I’m not worried. Yet.” I heard the yet in capital letters, whether she meant it or not. Just saying it was enough to warn me how much rested on my ability to rise above myself, to find for myself what she’d just helped me find for a minute and keep it alive through the whole performance.  

     “Maybe I’m just not very good,” I admitted glumly. Trix’s mouth crunched in on itself with disapproval and disappointment, her eyebrows like looming thunderclouds over stormy eyes. She shook her head. 

     “Look, Mouse, I don’t care. If you’re not very good, be not very good, very well. Just do what you do, bring it to my stage, share it out for whoever needs what you do, right in front of their faces. That’s our privilege and our responsibility. Not to claim we’re great, or perfect, or doing it right. Not to brag or show off or admit or feel shame. Not to compare to what someone else brings, which is irrelevant, or to an ideal, which is ignorance. The power to shake off those veils and stand naked and dance anyway – that is something to aspire to! Even if it takes a lifetime. We owe what we bring to the world, we owe it as payment for the privilege of being alive, here, now.”

     I could see she thought this point-of-view was bullet-proof, but I found it riddled with assumptions.

     “Who do I owe? I don’t owe anyone. I didn’t ask to be alive,” I spat out. 

     She shrugged smugly. “You must have,” she smiled. 

     “You’re getting arcane. If I decide to hide my light under a bushel, isn’t that my own business?” I challenged. 

     “If you believe it is, it is. I only offer you an opportunity to live more fully. I wonder if you’ve asked yourself why that upsets you?” She squinted, watching me closely. I didn’t like meeting her eyes, they pulled the truth out of me like a magnet. Before I knew it, I said what I was thinking. 

     “Because I care what other people think. I care what I think. I care about being good, and looking good, and winning, and having people who want to see me play, and people who want to play with me, just because I rock! I care, and if I can’t pull it off I feel like a fool, and that hurts me, physically. It hurts my bones. It hurts my veins. It hurts my skin. It hurts the roots of my teeth in my gums. It makes the light too bright and the noise too loud and I would do almost anything to avoid that feeling.”

     “So don’t have it,” she said dismissively. 

     “How’s that different from what I’m saying?” I demanded. 

     “I’m saying, just put yourself out there and skip over the feeling. Don’t have it. You’re saying that you avoid that terrible sinking feeling by not bringing your all, so when people judge you wanting, you can always console yourself that they didn’t see your best.”

     In what world was that what I’d said? She was twisting my words. 

     “That is not what I said!” I managed to sputter. 

     “That’s what I heard. That’s what I see,” Trix stated bluntly. We stared at each other for what felt like a long time. I had no words and nothing in me knew how to move, either. She snapped out of it first. 

     “Okay, chickie-poo, we’re going for a ride. One stop, then I’ll take you home. We need to talk.” 

Chapter Tuesday Evening

Chapter 17 Scene 1 Typical Shelter

We rode her motorcycle only a few blocks before she pulled over behind a nondescript building. She knocked at the unmarked back door. A small, older man appeared, seeming to expect us. He let us in, then followed a few feet behind us into a tight, dark lobby. Bulletin Boards overflowed with flyers, strips ripped away or dangling below offers of peer support, rooms for rent, items for sale, offers and requests. Carelessly pinned over top were a battered set of House Rules and a notice that the water would be off for five hours tomorrow night. 

     “Where are we?” I asked quietly, feeling I shouldn’t disturb the empty space. We stepped into the larger room, and someone threw on the overhead light.

     “This is a typical shelter,” Trix stated, arms sweeping wide to take it in. “Look.” 

     I looked. The concrete room was filled with low cots, so close together that a person could easily walk from one to the next across the room without touching the floor. I thought I saw a mouse tail slip under a bed. At least, I hoped it was a mouse. At Trix’s gesture, I peeked into the bathroom to see a single stall, door on one hinge, and four urinals, everything covered in years of filth that no surface clean would ever touch. A cockroach searched for its reflection on the faucet. There were three makeshift shower stalls with grimy curtains half falling off. I worked hard not to show my disgust on my face. 

     “Where are they?” I asked. “The people who stay here?”

     “They’re out on the streets,” answered the man from behind. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “We only open at sunset. It’s just for sleeping. There’s usually a meal from the church for the ones who get here early enough.”

     “Interesting,” I said, not knowing what else to say. 

     “Good enough?” the man asked Trix. She nodded. 

     “We’ll go up to the roof, okay?” she assumed. 

     We headed up a set of wire stairs at the back of the building, climbing out a large window onto the fire escape lining the outside of the crumbling brick facade. I looked up the ladder’s ascension to the roof, reluctant to trust my hand-eye coordination to get me there. Trix motioned for me to climb first, not realizing what a big deal this was for me. Her casual approach softened my sense of the risk, and I decided to go. I physically had to arrest my eyes on their way to looking down, and force myself to focus on the rungs in front of me. Gripping tightly with my hands, one tentative foot at a time, I made my way to the top. It was only a short distance, I told myself, and the fall wouldn’t kill me. Would it? I guessed it depended how I fell. I realized these were macabre thoughts as I stepped off the ladder onto the rooftop. Only then did Trix scoot up behind me, like a squirrel climbing a tree. 

     A few old plastic chairs and tables stood up to the weather with flaking faces, while the remains of many cigarettes floated limply in old coffee cans. I breathed the cool air, appreciating how it didn’t smell like dirty armpits and Lysol. Trix sat, legs dangling, on the edge of the roof. I did not want to sit where she patted the concrete beside her, until I saw that the lower floor’s roof jutted out below us, an easy jump.  Legs dangling side by side, we watched an orange and purple sky highlight the dirtiest part of the city. Even here was beautiful, in its way. I lifted my phone to take a shot, and remembered I’d turned it off to save the battery. I turned it on and put it away. The moment to capture had passed.

Chapter 17 Scene 2 In or Out

Trix decided to speak at last. 

“There’s bedbugs in those cots,” she told me, looking straight ahead. “People get robbed, assaulted. Lots of people sleep on the street before they’d come here.”

     “I can see why. But why did we come here? What are we doing on the rooftop watching the sunset?”

She tipped her face to regard me over her sunglasses, eyes burning sunset reflection. She took off the glasses, using those burning eyes to keep me from looking away. 

     “I need you to understand. I need you to step back and see some of the bigger picture so you know this is more than just some high school musical. We are at the midpoint of the toughest week of my life. You have to decide, once and for all. Are you in or are you out?”

     “Okay, well, can you please explain for me, once and for all, what Timeless is supposed to be? Is it a nightclub? Or a social media hub? Or some kind of group home for homeless kids, or, like, a…cul…community? Or…?”

     “I can see why you might be confused. Listen, we are conducting a grand experiment in community building, by starting with a small group of older kids who can legally choose to join up. We’re testing ideas that can make the kind of work we’re doing self-sustaining, something to spread to other neighbourhoods, other cities. That’s why Bash got involved, it’s his idea to start with. Trace wants to map out the operations and processes so we can duplicate them and franchise. And I’ve got some ideas of my own, now, working with Static and…” She stopped abruptly. “We want to do better than what you see downstairs. Do you get that?”

     “It feels…weird to me. Like, when people say they’re going to get toilet duty if they piss you off. Isn’t that…kind of…like…”

     “Look, I can answer you, but it’s a long answer, Mouse, and you don’t like to pay attention when things get complicated.”

     I was about to protest but she placed a finger on my mouth dramatically.

     “Don’t get insulted, you know it’s true.” She removed her finger but held me in place with her tractor-beam gaze. “You want straight-forward, yeah, so do I, but nothing is as simple as we want. You’ve asked a question, you asked about toilet duty and how that works. Do you really want to understand the answer? Even if it’s a long one?”

     After the conversation I’d endured with Bash, having given him permission to ask what he wanted to know, I should have known better. I should have, but I didn’t. 

     “Well, sure, I asked the question,” I stated blithely. 

     She scrunched eyebrows but smiled generously, willing to give me the benefit of the doubt since I was insisting. She leaned in towards me, earnest and clear. 

     “Fine. Now listen. Living together, there is just general, collective, work that no one owns. Dirty dishes, dirty laundry; no one wants to be the one to clean the toilets. Once we establish that each of us is responsible for the messes we make, there’s still a lot of messy space where everyone thinks they do more than their share, and everyone does less.”

     “Sure, makes sense. Go on.” I modeled studious attention. 

     “Big gaps in collective responsibility usually get handled in one of three ways. One is to let them go undone, but we see what that looks like downstairs. So, we can make everyone equally responsible, or we can assign responsibility to certain people on behalf of everyone. When we’re talking about running a city, the collective messes become too big to democratize labour efficiently, and money is the substitute. Even in a mid-sized workspace, there is usually someone paid to take care of the spillover between personal responsibility and stewardship, even though there is a sign over the sink that reminds everyone “I am not your mother. Do your own dishes.” 

     She stopped to see if I was still with her. 

     “Okay, so you’re saying, there’s dirty jobs and someone’s gotta do them, but no one wants to,” I provided in active-listening mode. 

     “Right. Great! Now, here’s something you might not think of. Paying someone to take care of the community messes seems like a simple and clean solution. It lets the rest of us do what we’re good at. But that implies that people doing our dirty work are maybe particularly good at it. Even more, it implies a false assumption that it’s all they could be good at. When some people clean the messes of others, our pack mindset organizes the thinking patterns of our brains, and it doesn’t matter if we know better. One group is of lower status. There are those of us who can be careless of our messes, and those of us who must clean them up. Do you see what I mean?”

     “People think they’re better than the janitor.”

     “Yes, precisely, at a visceral level. Now, remember, cleaning the collective mess is not simply a job, either. It’s service. Service to others, who are spared the trouble of dealing with mess. Service they take as their due and without particular appreciation or gratitude. Until the robots take over, there will always be more work than people who want to do it. The economic solution of paying someone to clean our messes is not really clean, but the problems it causes affect a minority of powerless people, while lifting weight from the rest. So it feels cleaner to anyone who isn’t dealing with the mess directly, and it feels dirtier to the people who are, especially when they are paid very little. It’s inherently unfair, so at Timeless, we reject this approach for our purposes. That leaves us with toilet duty.”

     Deliberately focusing my eyes to prevent them from glazing over, I realized Trix was right about me – already I was drifting off her esoteric discussion about inequality, shitty jobs and who did them. That would teach me, ask a simple question…but at the same time, I wanted to show her that I could stay with it, that I was capable of this level of discourse. 

     “When people have to clean up after other people, it feels better to the people who make the messes, but it sucks for the ones who clean it up,” I managed.

     “Close enough.”

     “So you don’t pay people to do the work. Money doesn’t change hands, I remember that, anyway. Then it’s what, a punishment?”

     “No, a punishment is not the same thing as a discipline. A discipline may feel punitive but it is instructive, it creates muscle memory in the brain and body to help build right thinking and doing. Toilet duty is a teaching tool.” She paused. “I see you rolling your eyes, you know.”

     “I’m not!” I cried. Was I? She smirked, and went on. 

     “In a closed environment like Timeless, we can still democratize the work, but this is not an easy solution. Schedules, processes, keeping boys in line, getting good work out of young men? Well, that’s hard. So we make it a game. Breed a little competition, use the duty roster as a behaviour guide. If you got toilet duty this week, you’d better do a good job at it, figure out why, and do better if you don’t want it again next week, you see? Clear projects, short goals, prizes and food for coming through, consequences for not trying hard enough, a little peer pressure. So guess what? It goes better, and it’s way more fun. I’m proving it out. It’s possible to run anything this way. If we can do it, so can they.”

     “So can who?” seemed the natural next question. 

     “The big boys, the ones with the money to take Timeless to the next level. Imagine us, launching talent from the bowels of the city, from the leftovers and left behinds, from the trash everyone else threw away.” She was really warming to her topic. “We’re finding the diamonds all roughed up, and showing them how to shine! Giving them the space, time, support, and tools they need to make themselves ready for the world the way it is. But more than that, we’re helping them see what’s possible, to wake up to their responsibility as players in this game of Life on Earth. We are making sure they have a foundation of understanding, that they care to be virtuous and seek their purpose. Sure, we’re in this seedy part of town, and there’s only a couple dozen kids, but with Bash’s analysis and Trace’s processes, we could reproduce it. We could be changing lives for millions of kids before they turn into adults with a grudge to pay against everyone. Teaching them to be men before they grow up into abusers and victims of toxic masculinity.”

     As she described it, I saw what she saw, as clear as day. Bash, developing theories about community and how to shepherd these kids’ understanding; Trace, making sure that the place was running and the kids were learning useful skills; and Trix, standing as spiritual parent, using music and charisma to keep the heart of the community beating. 

     “But, who’s paying right now? It can’t be cheap, keeping that big old place, let alone feeding all those people!”

     Trix looked up and to the right, directly into the setting sun. Behind her eyes I saw her processing what she’d already said before replying, her face perfectly still for the space of three blinks. Then, her pupils focused in and she brushed my question away with her hand.

     “Yeah, of course, we’re fine, not your worry. But think bigger, Mouse! If Friday blows up like it’s set to, money will not be the problem. Those guys will be lining up to want to know how we did it, get in on riding the wave that’s rising to pull the throw-away kids up to the stars!” 

     It sounded like an inspiring dream, but was she being honest with herself and me? I thought about Stan, about to be kicked out and seeing no prospects. The track for stardom didn’t stretch out equally for everyone. 

     “Well, not all of them, right? The ones that have some talent, maybe…”

     “Hey, I’m not just talking about producing musical talent, every kid has a chance to learn skills and trades, build character, think about his place in the world and how he wants to live as a man. That’s more than they’re getting in a place like this. We could buy up the whole block, we could have boys working for themselves for years. ”

     “Just boys?”

     “For now, men are the weakest link, and mixing up the sexes just makes for more trouble, too many variables. You’re missing the point. It’s all our dreams come true in one, it’s perfect! Trace gets to test out her ideas, Bash gets to rescue all the street kids he wants.”

     “What do you get?”

     Trix smiled like the cat who caught the canary. 

     “The thing that excites me most – I get the special ones. I get to clean up the real diamonds and shine a light on them for the world to see.”

     I could see her genuine excitement, but this didn’t match the whole everyone’s-a-special-snowflake talk she was spouting earlier. 

     “So the others, the ones you don’t pick, they aren’t real diamonds?” I challenged. 

     “There are lots of kinds of gems, Mouse. It just happens that I’m most attracted to diamonds.”

     Such a pat answer! I couldn’t let it sit. 

     “Rekha says what you get is to be a star yourself.” I delivered the words as a strike, which she deftly sidestepped.

     “Well I hope so! I should be a star already, don’t you think, little sister? If I’m a star, I can use my own light to shine on them. ”

     Wow, not the response I expected. She owned her selfish intentions. 

     “But how isn’t that just exploitation? You’re only using them to get what you want.”

     Trix nodded, throwing her hands out to emphasize how much we were in agreement.

     “Why do one thing when you can do three? I am never just, or only, doing anything. There’s always many facets, assume that. In any case, every transaction involves some level of exploitation, or it wouldn’t take place. Each party hopes to exploit something the other can offer in trade. But can you really look around Timeless and use words like that?” 

     “Well, okay, yeah, I know the kids get something out of it, too, and everyone seems happy. It’s just hard to explain when people start…”

     “When people start saying we’re a cult?” She tried to hold my eyes but I looked down, not willing to acknowledge that word. 

     “Or whatever they say. You know.”

     “You can only answer with what you believe. So I ask you: which holds the greater part, in your experience of all these people coming together around a dream? Is it the exploitation, as you call it, or the chance to understand what community feels like? Where does the balance fall? What would the people involved tell you?”

     “I guess they choose to be there,” I conceded.

     “McDonalds is exploitation. They’ll have robots do it, once it’s cheaper, but while humans have to work cheap out of desperation, they use people. What do you think those people would tell you, if you asked them about their jobs?”

     Now, this was something I could engage with. It didn’t take long behind the counter at Mickey D’s to teach me the kind of life I didn’t want. 

     “I worked there, so I can tell you. It sucked, and it didn’t. Like, everything was in order. You knew exactly what you needed to do. If you did what you were supposed to, and everyone else did too, you could basically run on autopilot. But I hated smelling like grease, smiling when I didn’t want to. I hated being on my feet all the time, and some of the people I worked with were…hard to take. Then the supervisor’d mess with my hours, or not let me off a shift when I had a gig, or…anyway, I quit after six months.”

     “You were being used. As a cog in a machine.”

     “Yes, I guess, it did feel that way. But I didn’t, like, notice or anything. I just figured…that’s what work is, right? A job? Forcing yourself to do the same, stupid things over and over, pretend to be friendly, behave like they tell you, just like school. That’s what it felt like, it felt like grade school. Familiar. Safe.”

     “Would you have gone if you hadn’t been paid?”

     “Hell, no!” I laughed. She didn’t. 

     “Well, then, who is being exploited? We don’t use people. No one comes to Timeless who doesn’t want in on what we’re up to, work and play, without a paycheque to force them. Just because money doesn’t change hands doesn’t mean value isn’t created. Coercion through payment is far more exploitative than fair trade of labour for membership and belonging.”

     Try as I did, I knew I wasn’t much longer for this conversation. I had reached my capacity for deep thought. 

     “You’re making my head hurt. No wonder people think you’re a communist. You totally are.”

     “I’m not an anything. I take what makes sense and I piece it together, just like anyone who’s paying attention.”

     After how hard I’d worked at staying with this conversation, I resented her implication. 

     “So now I’m not paying attention?”

     “Did I say that? But, are you?” she challenged. I looked out over the city, feeling defensive again. I wanted to be understood, not just analyzed. 

     “I just pay attention to different things,” I insisted. 

     “Like?”

     What did I think about, after all? I limped through my list. 

     “Like, how to get from one place to another, who I’m talking to or what I’m doing, what I should do next…”

     “And that takes all your attention?” She dripped with incredulity. It made me defiant.

     “Pretty much. Like, most of it.”

     “What fills the rest?”

     What did she think?

     “Music!” I threw it out with a headshake. I couldn’t believe she’d even ask. 

     “And that’s it?”

     This had been a really tumultuous period in my life, and I was barely holding on. I found myself tired of feeling ashamed that I wasn’t doing better. I was doing what I could. 

     “Well…that’s all I have room for. It’s not all I would think about, you know, if I had time and things were easy. If I didn’t have to use up all my…synapses or whatever…just keeping up with expectations.”

     Trix kept her eyes on my face, like she was honestly interested in hearing more from me. Having her hang on my words felt demanding. I wasn’t used to being listened to with this kind of intensity. Usually, I tried to talk in sound bites so people wouldn’t get bored and stop listening. I wasn’t used to someone wanting my expression. 

     “So, what would you think about if you had time and things were easy?” she asked with a gentle, curious voice. I felt shy to answer. No one had ever asked me that question. 

     “I don’t know. Well, like, maybe I’d do more digging on questions I have left over from school, things I didn’t have time to learn or figure out before the paper was due or the exam was done and it was time to think about something else.”

     “Tell me one of the questions,” she probed. I felt surprised, and awkward. Did she really want to know? I thought that she did, and that made me want to tell her. But I had to scrape my memory, it was a stretch. I hadn’t really thought about things to think about in a long time, if I was honest. Finally, I hit on one that sounded promising. 

     “Okay, well, like, here’s one. I took this feminist history course, and I did a paper on Alexandra David-Néel, this amazing adventurer at the turn of the last century. She had a professional career, traveled, learned Tibetan, met the Dalai Lama. But what I could cover was pretty basic, two thousand words on what she did, why she was important in her time, how she contributed to the world. I got an A minus. But, what interested me to do the paper, I never got to answer.” 

     “And so we circle closer. Tell me, what was that question? The one you didn’t get to answer?”

     “I guess…how. How she was possible. So, you know, she was a woman out of time. But how did she come to be? What like, combination, of luck and choice allowed her to become this full-fledged person who ventured forth, survived and made her way in a world designed to make that impossible for women? I want to know what decisions she made, when in her life, and what stuff happened that built her character, like, her will to live fully, in spite of the world around her. What made it possible for her to be such an outlier? Then I want to bottle it and put it in the tap water. Maybe. Or in another world.”

     “You want to ‘get’ her. That’s awesome! But it always comes down to money, you know. Any woman who got educated then, any woman who moved around safely in the world on ships at the turn of the century, those women had money and family to back them. Don’t you think they were able to be outliers simply because of privilege?”

     “Yeah, exactly! So, having money is, maybe, critical to self-fulfillment in this world. That’s one of the factors. Then there are others, like curiosity, or stubbornness, a father of a certain disposition, a strong mother or lack thereof, early access to certain influences – that’s why I took history courses at all, but, it’s hard to get details like that. It’s mostly big theories and sweeping trends and stuff they can prove that happened on dates to remember.”

     “See!” she cried, slapping me on the back. “You think about things! How things are, how they could be.”

     She didn’t get it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to think about things, it was that I didn’t trust myself to.

     “Well, when you ask I do, but mostly, I don’t. I can get lost, and then I’m not reliable. Everyone always tells me I have to pick something, commit to it, and stop drifting off in every direction. I work hard at doing that. If I open the doors to thinking or wondering about what interests me, it’ll flood right over all the stuff I have to do to be alive every day. I think I’m, like, broken that way. I can only do one or the other – stay focused and be reliable, or think and care and wonder and get lost in thought and music and…like…being. I need to choose between being…in the world or, um, like, with the world.”

     It had been a struggle, but I felt pretty happy with that tidy summation. In the world versus with the world. Good lyric fodder. 

     “Well, then, you need to marry a rich man,” stated Trix decisively. I drew back, miffed to find myself dismissed after working so hard to express, and also really offended on behalf of all women, everywhere. 

     “Oh my god, how can you say that!?”

     She laughed. 

     “By not really meaning it, but knowing it’s probably true anyway.”

     “There goes a hundred years of feminism,” I grumbled. She smiled. 

     “White woman feminism, maybe,” she poked, then wedged us back into her conversation. “Look, I won’t push you to buy into the bigger picture here, but either way, you get it. At Timeless, we’re working on character, setting the stage for people to choose to be fully actualized despite the world around them. We’re building outliers, and if what we’re trying works, we’ll bring in the money that makes it all possible. You’re already part of it, ever since you asked yourself how Alex Whatshername became who she was. You’re just like us, asking, what does it take to build a person who perseveres and makes something great of their life? We’re answering those questions you left unanswered.”

     I felt a little dizzy. This conversation spun like a spiral, twirling my thoughts around Trix’s baby finger. When she said “you’re just like us” I felt the yearning pull and tentative relief of kinship and acceptance, the primal comfort of belonging. She had tied my ramblings into a neat bow on top of her nicely-wrapped gift of understanding, and wrote my name on the card. She was so, so, good. All my instincts wanted her approval. 

     Strangely, it didn’t bother me that I couldn’t tell how genuine our interactions were. Things with her always felt a bit choreographed, but I could rarely pinpoint the exact moments why. I didn’t quite trust her, but I felt myself falling into her compelling way of being. Nothing in me wanted to fight that feeling. I wanted to see things her way, be on her team, bask in her comradeship. Her attention felt important. 

     “Look, Christine, you’ve got to get a handle on yourself. You can’t feel everything, all the time, or you’ll never get anything important done. There is no right path to find, there’s just picking a path and really going all in. This is it. This is the moment when you choose. Yes or no. In or out. I can’t mess around with you anymore. If you’re in, find a way to be in. If you’re out, go home and stay there.”

     A sharp jab cut across my chest with the seriousness of her face, how quickly this moment had gone from conversation to ultimatum. But she was right. It was already Tuesday. If I wasn’t going to make it, I was holding everyone up already. I had to decide. Still, I sat rigid, my throat constricted. I focused on my breath, my eyes on her eyes, no words coming. I felt an energy pass back and forth between us. In that moment, I wanted to be all in for her, with her all the way, but I also wasn’t confident that I could do it. I didn’t know if I could step in that far. As my silence continued, her face softened through disappointment into compassion. 

     “Look, I see your potential, I see how you’re tripping yourself up, I know you have it in you to get past it. If you come back to Timeless, come all in. That’s it. Time to get you home. I have places to go.”

Chapter 17 Scene 3 Bike’s a No-Go

We headed down the stairs and back through the now-crowded building. Down was actually harder than up, and I took a very long time feeling one foot and then the other onto every rung. To her credit, Trix waited patiently and didn’t say a word as I trembled rung by rung to safe ground. Going back through the building I felt a little nervous, but not one person even looked up as we passed through their tight lineup for whatever was being dished out from the large, black pots on folding tables near the door. The emanating smell wasn’t unlike Chris’ goulash, but the soggy soup I saw gracing one man’s bowl seemed a poor substitute for real food. I compared that to Adelaide’s delicious fare. She was feeding at least this many people at a time, but she did it with style. Everyone here looked dirty and resigned, eyes cast down. I compared that to the banter and energy of the boys at Timeless; I thought of the clean washrooms wrought by toilet duty, and the careful attention to repairs that no one seemed to need to direct. It seemed clear that whatever they were doing at Timeless, it was better than this alternative. A lot better. 

     I put on my helmet and stood by the curb, waiting while Trix worked on getting the bike started. My phone rang – the screen flashed Freida’s big-toothed smile above her name and number. I let it go to voice mail. Thirty seconds later, it rang again, and I swiped Decline. The bike sputtered and failed. Freida texted “answer your damn phone” and then called again.

     “You should answer that,” observed Trix, giving up and coming to stand by me.

     “It’s Freida,” I shared, stretching her name to explain my decision not to answer.

     “It would be, wouldn’t it? Well, answer. Bike’s a no-go. We need a ride.” 

     “Are you kidding?” 

     “Why would I kid about that?” 

     I took off the helmet and shook out my hair. When Freida’s smile flashed on screen again, I answered.

     “Hey, Freida!”

     “Where are you?” she cried, as if I’d been missing for days. 

     “Um, I don’t know. Downtown. Why?”

     “We’ve been trying to reach you. Practice ended a while ago, Chris said you weren’t back, and you’re not answering texts or your phone. We didn’t know where you were. Even if you took the bus, you should have been back by now.”

     “Um, okay…” 

     She huffed on the other end of the line. “You could have had a client tonight, but it’s too late, now. Well, tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

     “Yeah, okay, I’m with Trix, we’re at…?” I looked at Trix for the answer. 

     “St. Benedict’s,” she called in the direction of my phone. 

     “Did she just say St. Benedicts?” demanded Freida. “Like, the flop house? What the hell are you doing there? What is going on? Are you alright, Christine, are they…is anyone making you…uncomfortable?”

     “Trix wanted to show me how the other half live,” I replied when I could get a word in edgewise. 

     “Well that’s just stupid. She had no right. No right at all to take you off the grid and to subject you to that. You tell her I’m coming. Don’t move.”

     And she hung up. 

     “She’s coming,” I assured Trix. We stood, waiting, as the last light slipped from the sky and darkness softened the details around us. Street lights turned on intermittently. I searched every shadow for Ally, expecting to see her shimmering from a doorway or dancing across the rooftops, but the street remained surprisingly quiet. It felt like everyone had gone inside and locked their doors. The gritty wind blew refuse around the streets, and my hair into my mouth and eyes. After all the verbosity on the roof, Trix now stood in stoic silence. I found it a relief, so I held my tongue, too. It didn’t take five minutes before Freida pulled up, stopping abruptly in front of us. I heard the doors unlock. I jumped in the back as Trix opened the front passenger side to receive a blast from the driver.

     “Who the hell do you think you are?” fumed Freida. “You brought her here? What are you trying to do?”

     “Hey, chill out, Freida-lay,” Trix drawled obnoxiously. Freida held her features tight and shaking, like it took all her willpower to stay silent, while Trix smiled confidently in her face. “Christine’s not just a tourist, anymore. She’s in. She needs to know what she’s in on. As a bystander, I don’t see what concern that is of yours. Besides, you have her now.” 

     They stared at each other another thirty seconds. 

     “Well, get in,” demanded Freida, shortly. 

     “I’m gonna try the bike one more time. I hate to leave her here, and sometimes she just needs a break.”

     Trix ran to the bike, jumped on, and gave it a kick. Sure enough, it started with spirit, like it had been waiting for her all along. Or like nothing had been wrong in the first place.

     “Well, get in the front, then,” Freida grumped at me. “She’s got her own ride.” 

     Sure enough, Trix already had her helmet on. She waved, and took off. I looked down at her other helmet in my hand, then got out and transferred myself to the front.

Chapter 17 Scene 4 Not the Boss of Me

Freida seemed calmer once we got on the road. Even so, I felt cautious. Did being a Your-Kinda-Music teacher somehow mean I had to be on-call with these people every minute of the day? Where did she get off, anyway? Tim was my boss, not her. I didn’t want to piss her off, but I was getting to the end of my patience. Still, a ride is a ride, and I needed it. So I wasn’t sure what to say. Of course, with Freida, that was no problem – she would always talk first. 

“Now, really, don’t you think this has gone far enough? These are not your people, Christine, this is not a productive way to be spending your time. What exactly did she tell you you’re ‘in’ on, anyway?” 

She turned her head to look at me, a move that always leads to a head-on collision in every dramatic tv show ever. 

“I don’t know! Look at the road! She said they aren’t exploiting anyone, they’re being fair, teaching the kids stuff, everyone wants to be there. She said maybe they can take it wider, save all the street kids or something.”

“Sure.” Freida looked unimpressed. “And solve world hunger and cure cancer all in one. They’re just playing around and wasting time. It’s dangerous, the neighbourhood, the people – you put yourself in danger, and for what? Do you even know what’s happening out there? They are poking a bear. They don’t even know what they’re in for. Did you hear about the protest? No? Look it up! Maybe you need to be a bit more widely informed before you jump into bed with her.”

“Whoa, I’m not jumping into bed with anyone!” I cried. She looked me up and down before returning her eyes to the road, and I knew she saw right through my hetero-normative façade. 

“Look, I’m not following you,” I admitted reluctantly. “What exactly is your problem, here?”

“Just, forget it, Christine. Stop going there, stop it. It’s not helping and it’s just going to make things more complicated. I was against it from the start.”

I’d had it! She was not the boss of me, even if she was the one driving the car. 

“Um, I’m not sure how it’s up to you? I mean, sure, I work for Tim, but as long as I do my job I don’t see why I can’t play wherever I want. You can’t tell me not to go to Timeless.”

“So, that’s how it’s going to be, then?” she huffed. “That’s your final word?”

“Uh, I guess so?”

“I wash my hands of it!” she declared, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Luckily, we pulled up at Chris’ place. I undid my belt and reached for my guitar before she’d even stopped the car.

“Thanks for the ride! I really do appreciate it,” I conceded. 

“Well, don’t expect me to rescue you every time you get stranded downtown. And keep your phone on.”

She was so bossy! But at least I was home.

Chapter Tuesday Night

Chapter 18 Scene 1 Whoa! Married?

I could smell curry from the hallway. I slipped through the door, and in the moment before he noticed me, I watched Chris concentrating on the workings of his own mind. He seemed at home in a way he never did with me. I briefly wished he found me as fascinating as his theories, then immediately knew that to be unfair.

     I worried Chris was still mad at me, but he looked up with an open, welcoming smile, as though I’d woken him from a daze. Beside him, several papers were strewn about, bearing scrawled notes and computations. I was already learning to tread carefully when I came upon him in this fragile state between the theoretical and real worlds. I walked across the room quietly to stand behind him. I rubbed my hands together, then held them above his head before gently laying my palms above his left and right hemispheres churning in his skull. He leaned back into me with a sigh. In that moment I finally felt comfortable that whatever tension we had, he at least still wanted to be with me. 

     Humming softly to myself, I slowly massaged his temples, adding slight pressure behind his cranium with my thumbs. I loosened the muscles between his skull and neck, behind his ears, and lightly held the pressure points at the base of his skull. I circled my fingers around his forehead, stroking down his nose, then lightly cupped his eyeballs and cheekbones with the palms of my hands. His breath slowed and deepened. I felt him further release his weight back into the chair, into me.

     I softly rubbed the skin of his face and jaw before leaning my chin atop his head. He reached down to squeeze my leg, and shook himself a little to come back into the world.

     “That was nice. I’m sorry things have been so tense. I’m glad you’re home.”

     “Me, too. It’s been a long day.”

     “Were they hard on you again?”

     “A little, but the worst is knowing I deserve it.”

     “It’s not about deserving, you know.”

     “I know.”

     I sunk into my chair. The food had been sitting awhile – Chris was already finished.

     “I can heat that up for you.”

     “Nah, I don’t mind.” I started eating mechanically. The tepid food tasted good, but I didn’t pay much attention. Shovel, chew, swallow. Shovel, chew, swallow.

     “So, I got some news today. A field opening. In New Zealand, still in the first world, even.”

     I jumped up and threw myself into his arms, knocking my chair over. He wasn’t quite expecting it, and we both fell off-balance. Ethan had often observed that I tended to throw myself like a grenade, and Chris wasn’t used to this exuberance. I resolved to tone it down a bit.

     “That’s wonderful! When?”

     “’It’ll take eleven or twelve months for all the arrangements, assuming we get the grant. Which seems pretty likely now.”

     “A year?” I felt disappointment wave over me. “A year is a million miles away.” 

     “It’s not very long. It gives us time to plan and save, get married…”

     “Whoa! Married?” 

     Where did that come from? 

     “Well, what did you think? That’s the only way for you to get a visa, and health insurance for that matter,” he stated, annoyed to have to explain it. I tried to make a joke. 

     “Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee, tell me how I light up your life, give me a ring with a big fat diamond in front of a room full of people? Isn’t it supposed to be romantic?”

     “I guess I thought it was understood. I think THAT’s romantic – to be so in synch that we don’t have to put up pretences of shallow ritual.”

     “Well, when you put it like that…but you’re so certain. Like you know I’ll say yes.”

     “Why wouldn’t you? You came here. We’re not kids anymore, Christine. We need to decide and get on with it. I think we want the same thing, to partner up on life as an adventure together. Don’t you want that?”

     “Well, yes, but I can’t get married! Married? Unless it’s like a practical joke, co-opting the norm for sport, like Trix and Bash.”

     “You are not pointing to Trix and Bash as an example of a good marriage?”

     “No, just one that shows marriage up for what it is – a social convention that limits and excludes.”

     “Or a personal commitment that welcomes and includes, one special person, for life?”

     It sounded like a Hallmark card. How could I answer that?

     “Is that how you feel about me?”

     He smiled a tight smile. 

     “You know how I feel about you.”

     I shook my head. He was confusing me. I just felt so surprised by the direction of this conversation. I hadn’t expected it. I tried again for levity.

     “But Chris, married? That’s what parents do.”

     “Don’t you want to be a parent?”

     Stunned silent, I stared at him. I had honestly never thought about it. I mean, I guess I’d always assumed that, one day, I’d have children like everyone does. But I’d never given it any actual thought. I certainly did not want to be a parent right then.

     “Um, I don’t know. Maybe…someday. Sure.” Did he assume I spent all my free time dreaming of white weddings and cooing babies? For me, right now, it was more about sex and the city. “I’m not like, thinking about it all the time or anything. I mean, I want a life, not picket fences.”

     “Is that what you think marrying me means?”

     “I don’t know. I haven’t ever thought about it.”

     “You’ve never thought about it. Really. Fine. Well, that makes sense.” 

     I could see he was hurt that I hadn’t thought about marrying him, having his babies. I felt a little bad, but before I could say anything, I saw his face harden. He was nursing a grudge or suspicion, and it didn’t take long to join the conversation.

     “You’re sleeping with her?” he shot at me, right out of left field.

     “What?”

     “Well, you tell me. Practice ended hours ago, where have you been? You come home in a shirt that’s not even yours, reeking of her. And now you’re all…stammering ambivalence when I talk about marriage.”

     “What?” I felt like there was sludge in my brain while he sprinted three steps ahead. Had he really gone from quasi-proposing to accusing me of cheating in the space of a minute? I couldn’t muster a response.

     “You came here to be with me. With me! And you’re not here a week before you’re spending every waking moment with her. She may remind you of your dad, but she’s not offering anything that looks like a future.”

     “What?” I had to find something else to say.

     His voice shook. I felt as though he’d been thinking these thoughts a lot longer than he’d been speaking them, and somehow they’d become jumbled along the way. He didn’t seem able to stop himself, now he’d started. He laughed meanly.

     “Don’t fool yourself. Bi-curious does not a lesbian make, Christine. You like dick too much to be satisfied with her.”

     “Oh my god, just stop, already!”

     “So deny it! But then, how could I believe you, anyway? I saw you lie to Ethan so sweetly, that first night, when he called. You played us both to make sure you had what you wanted.”

     “You’re an asshole.” My voice barely croaked it out ahead of the torrent of emotion.

     I felt shattered. Is that how he saw me? Did our romantic encounter and subsequent story boil down to me being a manipulative slut? I couldn’t even be in the room. His stricken face told me he knew he’d gone too far. He reached for my arm, and I shook him off angrily. 

     “No. Fuck you.”

     I started throwing my things in a duffle bag without looking at them too closely. 

     “That’s my bag.”

     I totally ignored him. I didn’t give a shit whose bag it was, or even what I was putting into it. When it was full, I zipped it, felt for my phone, ripped the charger from the wall, and started towards the door.

     “Christine.”

     “I can’t talk with you right now. Maybe tomorrow or…another day. Maybe never. I need to be away from you.”

     “Where are you going?”

     “Timeless. I’ll stay at Timeless.”

     “That’s not a good idea.”

     “You don’t get to tell me what’s a good idea right now. You don’t get to be in this conversation anymore.”

     I picked up my guitar case, tucked Trix’s helmet under my arm, and left. It was all I could do not to slam the door with my full force of energy – I felt that if I did, I would shake the whole house to rubble.

Chapter 18 Scene 2 Sit Tight

I stood on the front step and hoped he wouldn’t follow. I called Trix. She didn’t pick up. I called again immediately, and she picked up on the first ring.

     “What?”

     “Trix? It’s Christine.” I could hear loud music on her end, and she kept cutting out.

     “Mouse? I can barely hear you.”

     “Can I stay at Timeless tonight?”

     “What? Hold on, I gotta go someplace quiet.” I heard a lot of shuffling, indecipherable bits of other people’s conversations, a scratch as the phone brushed against material. Finally, a door closing. The sound of the music cut in half.

     “Mouse? You need a place to sleep? What happened?”

     “I had a fight with Chris.”

     “Oh, sweetheart, go and patch it up like a good girl. Unless he hit you. Did he hit you?”

     “No.”

     “Okay, then, breathe for a while and go back and talk about what it’s really about.”

     “I don’t think I can do that. He called me a slut. He doesn’t trust me. I can’t be with him.”

     Trix didn’t respond. I wondered if we’d cut out, but I could still hear the music and some shuffling.

     “Mouse, are you sure? Really? Like, if I trek out there, are you going to be standing in the doorway all lovey with him and say, sorry, never mind, we made up? 

     “No way, Trix.”

     She sighed.

     “Go talk to him.”

     “Not tonight. No.” 

   She said nothing for so long I almost panicked. What if she didn’t come? What would I do? Go back up there? I didn’t have money for a cab and it was too late for the bus. It would be so humiliating to have to face Chris, now. I didn’t want him to convince me I was crazy, show me how it was fine what he said and thought, that it was all in my head. I didn’t want to see his face. Finally, Trix sighed loudly. 

     “You get what this means. If I come for you now?”

     I did. I shivered into an icicle of frozen clarity, outside of my thinking, ahead of my feeling, circumventing my fear. I knew exactly what it meant that I was standing on this porch, calling her for a ride. I had always known it, at my core. 

     “I’m in.”

     “Fine. Sit tight.” She hung up.

     Trix needn’t have worried about a sudden make-up, since Chris didn’t come down the stairs to try to talk with me. That, more than anything yet, shook my trust in him. How could he leave things the way they were, if he loved me? He’d probably say that he was respecting what I said I wanted, but I was afraid that was really just a mask for not wanting to deal with me. Maybe he even thought it was a good lesson to let me suffer. I didn’t care how unfair that line of thinking might be.

     The first night really was just a drink, for all his calling me a liar. How dare he? Maybe a deliberate omission when Ethan called, but technically I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Technically, I didn’t sleep with Chris until after I’d left Ethan. Until then, it was relationship by a thousand coffees.

     At a time when Ethan was talking about settling in for the long haul, Chris talked about another world of living, participating in humanity, life as an adventure. From the first time he traced my inner arm, just lightly, like a whimsy, his touch woke my body up. I wanted to touch him back. I caught myself admiring things about him I rarely admired on a man – the shape of his bicep as he stretched, his solid legs and torso, the shadow on his jaw. I felt like a school girl again, my heart fluttering in response to his scent on my clothes after we parted. Sometimes he took my hand as we walked together on campus, and I pretended that was just what friends did.

     The attraction was not only physical. I felt enamoured with his passionate intelligence and willingness to argue any side of a topic into the ground just for the challenge. He wasn’t afraid to put his thoughts out there for people to trample and laugh at. He knew they were solid, no matter what anyone else thought, because he was willing to change them when properly convinced with evidence or excellent reason. I wanted some of that for myself, and oddly, it felt a little contagious.

     Over the weeks as we met more frequently, I experienced a kind of manic infatuation that seemed to take over more of my thinking than I would have liked. I completely disengaged from my home life, and spent most of my time on campus, where he was subletting a dorm room. We talked about music, a lot. We talked about Ethan, a little, so Chris would know how it was with us.

     We talked about fantasy futures, and I could almost see the life – living in a village in Africa one year, on a European university campus the next, working to somehow better humanity. My role in all of this was a little unclear, but the thought of that freedom felt exciting. A lot of his talk about the actual work he did felt over my head, and he seemed to find my willful ignorance adorable. In any case, all of that was sometime in the future. In the meantime, there would be the city to explore. He stayed on my mind by engaging my imagination. But he was always proper, even when we were alone. He never even tried to kiss me. Without any physical outlet, my desire for him felt overwhelming. I began thinking seriously about whether I might be falling in love. I did know I didn’t want to stay where I was, so at the end of term, when Chris asked me to come back to the City with him, I decided to say yes. And now I was on his front porch, alone, completely alienated from any good feelings about him.

Chapter 18 Scene 3 Way to Self-Implode!

I was getting tired of waiting. Even though I knew it would be pushing boundaries, I decided to pull Ethan into the loop on what had just happened. I texted:

purC: Chris went crazy. (running away emoji)

   Ethanalogy: !

My cell vibrated. 

“My phone’s almost dead, it might hang up.”

“Are you alright? Where are you? 

He sounded too panicked – I should have chosen my pictoral representation more carefully. I filled him in fast.

“Chris asked me to marry him. Sort of.”

“Wow. I thought you meant he got violent or something. So, he didn’t hurt you? You’re okay?” He took a deep, gulping breath. “Okay, I’m caught up. Um…wow. Marriage, eh? I had no idea you two were so serious.” 

His obvious raised-eyebrow-eyeroll made me feel safe to continue.

“Well, then he accused me of sleeping with Trix and called me a manipulative slut. So, clearly we’re not.”

“Ha! Way to self-implode, Chris! I really didn’t expect him to take himself out of the running so cleanly, and so soon! Lame! I barely broke a sweat. Come home now. 

“I’m going to Timeless. Trix is coming for me.”

“So you are sleeping with her!”

“I am not!”

“But you want to. I guess the race isn’t over, then. It’s just a new course.”

“This isn’t varsity track.”

“I’m not worried. I’m confident. In the end, you’re my hetero girl.” He sang the last part to the tune of “Brown-Eyed Girl,” which only made it more offensive.

“Don’t’ tell me what I am! That’s what he was doing. You’re all alike. Assholes.”

“Dicks, actually.”

“You’re a – “

I didn’t bother finishing. The hollow sound in my ear told me before I looked that the battery was dead. I’d wasted my last minute on Ethan. Perfect. 

I had time to stew while I waited, since it took over an hour before Trix pulled up. She eyed my duffle and guitar – the bag was a little bulky for the space she had available. In the end, she tied it tightly so it only spilled nominally over the edges. I strapped the guitar on my back.

 “Okay, Mouse, I’m on a tight schedule to begin with, tonight. I’ll have to take you with me to the next stop, then I’ll drop you home. You’re turning into a bit of trouble.”

“Sorry. Thanks for coming.” 

“I never can resist a damsel in distress!” she laughed. “Let’s go.”

I looked up at the building where I’d been living. Chris was not silhouetted in the window. Dark windows with no sign of him at all.

“Just get me away from here.” 

Chapter 18 Scene 4 Unsweetened Lemonade

We shot into the night. After a while, I felt like we were riding upwards, into a section of town I’d never been to. The city transformed before me – the streets a little cleaner, then cleaner still, the buildings growing taller and better kept, until suddenly the world seemed ornate and polished, all posh buildings and bright lights. Trix pulled up in front of a massive apartment tower, throwing her keys to the valet.

“Anything valuable in that bag?” she asked me.

“Just clothes.”

“You may be short some panties when we get back,” she laughed.

“Where are we going?” 

“Tasha Lefoyt’s birthday party.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. Just don’t ask for any autographs.”

“As if!”

A uniformed doorman found Trix’s name on a list, pushing a special button to allow ascension to Tasha Lefoyt’s penthouse. I felt both uncomfortable and excited to see this other side of city life. An intruder.

On the elevator, Trix stripped off her outer gear, ripping it cleanly along seams designed for just that purpose. Underneath, she wore a skin-tight leotard of swirling colours, like some kind of new-age hippy Star Trek uniform. A sparkly cloak billowed out as she removed her jacket.  Her big motorcycle boots completed the ensemble – only she could off pull this look.

We stepped off the elevator into a large foyer overlooking a great room filled with people. A quartet played unobtrusively from the corner. Trix passed her gear to the coat check girl, and made me give up my guitar. I kept my leather jacket hoping to hide behind it. I was definitely under-dressed.

“Be good, I’ll be back,” Trix whispered down at me.

“Trix! You came,” called none other than Tasha Lefoyt herself.

“Miss your birthday, sweet Tasha? I could never!” Trix strode across the room, hands outstretched, leaving me on my own. No one noticed me at all, after an initial glance to see if I was someone, which I clearly was not. I hung back to watch.

Trix worked the room full-force. People followed her like metal filings to a magnet. Her laugh, her stories and her boisterous flirting thoroughly enchanted the crowd. She held our full attention. I stood enthralled when BOOM, I got body-checked into the food table. The lout didn’t even interrupt his rollicking story to acknowledge me, or the red punchbowl slosh spreading across the satiny white tablecloth. His companion shot me an amused expression that might have been apologetic. Without turning directly to me, Linebacker asked,

“Is there seafood in this?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he directed an impatient head-jerk my way. At that angle, I recognized him as an actor I couldn’t name, from a recent indie film breakout. Two months ago, nobody. Now, Mr. Important.

“I asked you if there’s seafood in this.” 

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

His eyes focused on me for the first time.

“You don’t work here, I guess?” He clearly couldn’t imagine any other reason for my presence in the room – this new information did not compute. I shook my head from side to side to confirm his understanding.

“Bitch could have just said that,” he smirked for anyone watching, and sauntered off. I felt my cheeks redden. His friend shrugged, palms upward to disassociate himself, then smiled at me. This guy looked familiar too, but if he was famous I couldn’t say why. Comfortable in his expensive suit, hair that took a lot of product to look natural, a smile that got regular whitening. Maybe he’d been on the front of GQ? Whoever he was, he didn’t follow his friend, nor did he help himself to food. I entertained the possibility that he actually wanted to talk with me.

“He’s been drinking,” he offered. “He’s not usually such an asshole.” I doubted that, and let my raised my eyebrow say so.

“Okay,” he conceded with a chuckle. “But usually he’s just…oblivious and overbearing. I don’t think he was trying to be mean. I can see why he thought you work here.”

“You’re a flatterer, too, I see.” I didn’t really care if he thought I was The Help, but I thought it might invoke some rich-guy guilt if I did. My sarcasm didn’t phase him at all.

“You’re standing alone, by the food table, clearly…”

“Out of place?”

“Well, not frolicking, anyway. Dressed…simply. And your expression…”

He trailed off. I waited, not willing to let him off the hook when he’d already insulted me once. I smiled as though encouraging, my sweet tone a promised reprimand in cheap disguise.

“Yes? My expression…?”

He wrinkled his professionally-shaped brow, searching for the words or at least seeming to.

“Like, we’re all just here for your entertainment, and we are SO boring you can’t stand it.”

I laughed, loud and quickly, tickled that he’d said his honest, honest thought out loud. But that didn’t mean that I liked what he was saying.

“So, you think I look contemptuous?”

He didn’t deny it. 

“Well, not right now. Right now, you look kinda angry-cute.”

Unbelievable. I felt incredulous.

“That sounds like you’re hitting on me.”

“Would that effective?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not.”

But he didn’t leave. I realized that, another night, I might have enjoyed bantering with him, maybe flirted a little to enjoy the party. In another life, I might have tried to seduce him – he was cute and probably rich, after all. But that night, engaging this man’s conversation felt taxing.

“So are you someone I should know?” he asked. I didn’t feel like saying no.

“I’m supposed to be someone?”

“At this party, you’re either someone or you’re with someone. So, if you’re not someone, who’re you with?”

I flashed my thumb towards the gaggle surrounding Trix.

“Which?”

“Trix.”

He stiffened, like I’d surprised him. I watched him trying to place my features. Then he smiled big, his eyes sparkling with recognition.

“Mouse! See, you’re somebody! I knew I knew you. You’re smaller than I thought you would be.”

“Gee, thanks. And I tend to go by Christine. Why do you know me when I don’t know you?”

He reached down and took my hand in a shake.

“Tyler Brendshaw. I tend to go by Bren.”

He didn’t let go of my hand. I pulled a little harder than I should have needed to free myself. This guy couldn’t stop playing if his life depended on it.

The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Like everyone in this room, he must have some degree of celebrity, or money. I wondered when he’d lose interest in me and move on to more interesting prey. I felt like he was waiting for a reaction to his name, but I wasn’t sure what reaction he expected.

“I’m supposed to believe you’ve never heard my name before?” he asked, slowly. He sounded like saying this out loud tested an unlikely theory, and he remained a skeptic.

“Now you’re supposed to be someone?” I responded, keeping it light. 

He shook his head. A discovering-the-first-tulip-of-spring smile spread across his face.

“No, not at all. Marry me.”

“Fuck off.” 

Even though he couldn’t possibly have guessed he’d hit a soft spot, I felt like I meant it. As he’d spoken, first Ethan’s and then Chris’s face had flashed up in front of me like apparitions. My reaction felt appropriate even though I knew it was extreme. I didn’t feel like taking it back, I felt like letting this man represent all men. 

“Wow, that’s some reaction.” 

I’d ticked him off. 

“That’s some stupid thing to say.” I fumed. He took a step back, confused and embarrassed. I’d finally flustered him.

“I didn’t mean to…I just meant…you’re refreshing.” He patted his suit like he’d just rolled in sawdust, then seemed to recover his swagger. “A bit hostile, but refreshing.”

“Like unsweetened lemonade?” I offered. He laughed appreciatively, then leaned in, sly. 

“Come on, there must be a little sugar in there. I think maybe you just need a stir.”

That did it. I had no barriers left. What I thought came running right out my mouth. 

“God, you men are all the same. You think your dicks can penetrate our depths. When all we ever want is your hearts.”

Even though I was acting like a freak, he didn’t run away – he met me head on. 

“You want my heart, take it. But some hearts are made of fire, you know.”   

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

His eyes held mine like steel rods. 

“I think you know exactly what we’re talking about.”

I’d gotten myself into this parallel-universe conversation, but I didn’t have the strength. I tore my eyes away. 

“Look, guy, I don’t have any bandwidth for your weird intensity right now. I’m in the middle of some personal shit, okay? You should leave me be.”  

“I never do know what’s good for me.”

I couldn’t believe I’d made such a snit-fit with a complete stranger. Hungry, tired, and at my emotional wits’ end, I’d let this rich guy bait me, when for him I was just a funny party story. Before any more words passed between us, I noticed him look up and over my shoulder – I turned to see Trix striding up behind me, with purpose. She put her hand on my shoulder and leaned her body up against me from behind.

“Now, now, Bren, you can’t have all the pretty girls,” she purred at him. “Ms. Mouse is spoken for and a lineup besides. Mouse, we’re off.”

Bren didn’t respond. He was busy watching me with her, assessing our relationship and the meaning behind her words. He was wondering whether Trix and I were together. I didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of an answer, or maybe I wanted him to think about it. We left him gaping after us. Trix propelled me to the entryway, passed me our things from coat check, and pushed me ahead of her into the elevator. She turned and waved to the room at large, calling, “Goodnight, farewell, until we meet again!” She and the hostess blew kisses at each other. A little sickening.

Chapter 18 Scene 5 No Offense

In the elevator, Trix turned to me, excited but trying for deadpan.

“What did he say?”

“Who?” She crunched up her mouth into a little ball of irriation with my dissembling. I had to admit I’d just replied on autopilot – of course I knew who she meant.

“Brendshaw. What did he say to you?”

“That I look contemptuous.” She jerked her head, startled. 

“What? He said that?”

“What he said was that I look bored with the crowd for my entertainment.”

“Oh, okay.” Her shoulders relaxed. “That sounds more like him. Is that it?”

“He said I’m smaller than he expected. That, he really did say. He knew who I was. Why did he know who I was?”

“Website, gossip blogs, who knows? If he recognized you, that means he’s paying attention.”

“He called me Mouse. That’s your fault. From the website? 

She smiled wide, satisfied.

“Yes! Very good. Very good. It’s all uphill until the end, but now, we’d better hang on tight!”

We walked past the honorary bellman through automated glass doors. She slid into her gear while we waited for the bike.

“What are you talking about, with the uphill and the hang on tight?”

“I’m talking about success. Can you smell it?” She took an exaggerated breath of the cool, moist night air.

“I don’t even know what it means. Who is this guy, that he make your nostrils tweak?”

“Let’s just say, if Brendshaw takes an interest, we won’t have a problem getting where we want to go. And I wonder if maybe he hasn’t taken an interest in you?” 

Trix tweaked me under the chin, teasing. I slumped forward, hanging my head. I knew I was pouting. I felt tears rise in my eyes. I felt way too tired, and probably hungry, too. I thought fleetingly of all that food back there, untouched.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“Just what I need, another man who wants what he wants from me and nothing else.”

Trix picked up my hand and squeezed.

“Oh, little girl. I wondered if it might be like that. Men don’t love like we do, you know. And you don’t give anyone much slack. It’s all or nothing with you, which is cool and all, it just might be hard for a man to take. They aren’t very strong.”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Okay. Hey, don’t worry about Bren, I’ll sic Trace on him and he’ll be blinded. Oh, no offense.” 

As though I could compete with Trace.

“I hadn’t taken any until you said that.” 

I noticed Trix still held my hand. She leaned in like a gentle Labrador, smelling around my hair in a slow, exaggerated way, letting her nose brush my cheek and neck, until her lips sat right beside my ear. My skin tingled under her breath as she murmured, 

“Are you in heat or something, Mouse? All the dogs are sniffing around you.”

“Does it seem that way to you?” I looked up quickly, breaking the spell. She stayed at my height and found my eyes.

“Maybe I’m just projecting.” 

In the end, her eyes scooted away first. I felt heat behind my ribcage and became aware of my breath and heartbeat in the same moment: shallow and fast. My hand felt hot in her hand.

The valet roared up with the bike.

“Sweet ride! Had a hard time getting her started,” he shared.

“Well you’re here now.” Trix tipped him – I didn’t see how much though I was curious. I heard her muttering into her earpiece. I hadn’t even noticed her phone ring.

“Okay, that’s done. I’ll drop you home on my way to the next stop,” she informed me, suddenly all business. I panicked a little.

“I told you, I can’t go home tonight!”

“No,” she shook her head impatiently. “My home. Timeless. Hold on.” She was still on the phone. I caught the end of her words, “…probably better this way. Grow up.”

We rode right into the ally beside Timeless. Trix didn’t get off the bike. Jamie stood at the door.

“Mouse is sleeping home tonight,” she called to him over the roar. “Tell them to make her comfortable in the girls’ bunkers, okay?”

“No problem,” replied Jamie, as though I had no say about anything.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Mouse. Don’t worry, It’ll all work out.” The words were barely out before she sped off.

Chapter Tuesday Late Night

Chapter 19 Scene 1 Ally Cat

The instant the bike’s parting growl rounded the corner, something brushed against my back with a whoosh of air and the sound of kicked-up gravel. Someone had my duffle bag and they were already well on their way to climbing the fire escape on the opposite building.

“Hey!” I yelled, instinctively starting to give chase. A hand yanked me back against my own momentum with a strength Jamie didn’t possess, demanding, “Wait.”

 I spun around, ready to fight, but the person skipped back out of my reach so quickly I barely saw them move. Jamie stepped towards them tentatively.

“Luca?” 

My attention was still locked on my bag. The thief had stopped to watch us, too high to catch fast. As the light caught her face I realized that of course, it was Ally. Who else would it be? 

“That’s all I’ve got!” I cried up at her. “Leave me something!” 

Even as I yelled I realized how unfair I was. I thought I had nothing? What did she have, then, running for her life, collecting dishrags and cast-offs? I had a place to be, people to call. How dare I? She cocked her head to the side, as if all those thoughts were a conversation between us and she was glad to see me finally understand. She tossed a shirt and a pair of jeans into the street below, and disappeared. I picked them up – they were all I had, now. I smiled to see a pair of panties stuck with static, feeling inexplicably lucky to have them. I was glad I didn’t have my period.

Brushing dust off my only change of clothes, I turned back to my assailant, only to find Jamie embracing them with the hug of an old friend found. So, this was Luca? The spotty lighting messed with my view. I saw a mid-tall person, maybe 5’8”, muscular and pretty, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and even baggier cargo pants. The flat, mid-length, brown hair gave no indication of gender, while the body and features flip-flopped pleasingly between them. I felt immediately inclined to like this person who stood so solidly on the tightrope of the gender line, highlighting both, not dampening either. But, I didn’t like being personhandled.  

“Why did you grab me?” I demanded.

“You would have set off the lights and cameras over there. I’ve been protecting that ally cat ever since you almost got her caught.”

“You saw that?”

“You’re lucky the world didn’t see. It’s only ‘cause I broke that camera awhile back. You’re pretty cavalier about having your whole life on air.”

“Well, it’s not my whole life.”

They shook their head like I’d lost their interest. 

“Whatever you say! She wanted your clothes, and she got them. Just forget it and move on.”

“Why did she want my clothes? 

“Yes, why? Can you think of a reason?”

Jamie stepped forward. 

“So, you’ve been here the whole time?” He sounded angry. “Just, what, hanging out behind the garbage cans?”

“Jamie, come on, you know I had to go.”

“You’re wrong! You didn’t have to go, you were wrong and I can prove it. And anyway, you didn’t have to let me think you…I didn’t even know if you were alive. I thought maybe they…I don’t know. I didn’t know what to think. It’s all fucked up.”

“Shh, Jamie, you’re fine. It’s all fine. You’re right. I wasn’t right, okay? I don’t know what to think either. But you can’t tell them you’ve seen me. Either of you. If you want that girl to live, you will shut up and get on.”

Jamie looked at Luca like a dog that’s been kicked.  

“Oh, Luca, please, come back. Come back.”

“There’s no back, kid. I’m here. I don’t have to be in there to be in here.” They poked Jamie in the chest to make the point. Jamie grabbed their finger and held it a moment before letting go. Luca sprinted away the instant he released his hold. 

“Look. I was not here. Go make some noise!” they called back, swiftly disappearing into the corridors and shadows. Jamie stood looking after them, then turned to me with a huge smile. He grabbed my arms and spun me around in an off-kilter little dance of joy that made me stumble.  

“That was Luca! Luca’s back! Not dead!”

“I saw that.”

Jamie stopped suddenly, looking around. 

“We’d better get in.” He punched in a code and we crowded onto the landing in a déjà vu of our first meeting. He slammed the door shut and shook it, still grinning ear to ear.

“Luca’s alive, and you’re here and a bunch of guys’re jamming upstairs! This is the best night!”

“I mean, I’m a bit tired…” I tried.

“Too bad, that! Don’t be such a princess!”

Chapter 19 Scene 2 What the Cat Dragged In

I followed him fast through the labyrinth, up the stairs, and into the great room leading to the Bunkers. Jamie went through the door first, shielding me for a few seconds. The place was hopping!  With the overhead lights off, shifting spotlights, colours, and strobes gave the sense of a nightclub. The social media projection wall stood out much more clearly in the dark. All sofas and chairs were pushed around the edges of the room, filled with boys I was starting to recognize, doing what they always seemed to be doing – interacting with devices. Everywhere else, revelers of all genders moved around like slow bees buzzing around a hive together. There had to be sixty or eighty people, and I might have been the oldest. People weren’t high or drunk, and there was no haze of smoke.  The vibe felt friendly, affectionate, not rowdy. There were no strangers, here.

            “Here, give me your phone!” Jamie called into my ear. I shook my head. “These guys’ll charge it for you! What good is it dead?” 

            Reluctantly I handed it over, and saw it passed, hand to hand, to a boy in the corner, who took it and disappeared into the cubicle room. It was gone. I had to just trust. 

Jamie pulled me through the crowd and around the corner so we could see the band on stage, surrounded by people dancing like seaweed in the current of sound. The music reverberated deep and full, but the entire “band” consisted of one guy on a complex computer setup, and my new friend Chia at the mic. Together, they were producing music unlike anything I’d ever heard. The sounds offered swift rhythm and pull, but none of the demanding synthetic drumming that most dance music relied on. Chia’s voice rose and fell as an instrument, while the guy on the rig captured and played with her vocalization. I started realizing that all the music was her voice – every layer, every sound, every beat, was a capture of Chia, caught in real time, treated, and woven back into itself with different pitches, keys, tempos, filters. It was gorgeous genius in motion. 

“Seth and Chia, friends!” called Lizard, striding onto stage as they wound up. The crowd’s enthusiasm exceeded even mine, with hoots and whistles from all over. Guys started shifting up the stage for more instruments when Lizard caught sight of me. 

“Hey, look what the cat dragged in!” he shouted into the mic, pointing up and over the crowd at me. “Miss Mouse is in the house!”

A few people called out greeting or caught my eye, waved. I felt tepidly welcome, like they weren’t quite sure what to make of my presence. That was fine with me. I didn’t need anything from them. 

“What’re you gonna play for us, Mouse?” Lizard demanded, like we were in a living room together instead of conversing across a crowd of people over microphone.

            With sickening clarity I recognized this moment. 

I resisted. I told myself, no, this isn’t my time, this isn’t for me. I don’t have to stand up now. It’s too soon, I’m not ready, I’m too hungry, I’m too tired. I couldn’t face the curiosity, I couldn’t stand the eyes, the judgments, and the thoughts I would overhear by accident. I felt overwhelmed by needing to stay in my shell, stay small in myself, and protect myself from all those prying eyes. I didn’t want to give up my privacy. I clung tight to the same resistance that had held me back at every turn, the one I’d side-stepped by coming to the city in the first place. I wanted to protect myself.

I cringed, I refused, as I was gently, but literally, bumped, turned and personhandled through the crowd, towards the stage, like an unresistible curl of a wave. Somehow this crowd knew that I would never step onto that stage willingly, that I would have to be forced. I thought, as they dragged me along, they know why this is hard, they get how hard this is, and they are setting me to the test, they are making me say yes or no. Everything in me wanted to say, no. All the ways I never belonged, not with my parents, not with my grandmother, not with my friends, or Ethan, or my peers, or Chris, or my ideas for myself; my unbelonging coursed through me like an energy of resistance. Not this pain again, I cried to myself, not now. It burned too much. I didn’t trust these people to see me.

Maybe I’d gotten addicted to staying under the radar. 

Any spotlight felt like a searing microwave x-ray of my fatal flaw.

I felt nothing like anticipation, or joy, or excitement. I felt hands and arms, legs and elbows, neutral, insistent, passing me along, and I was terrified. I didn’t suddenly plug into some collective consciousness or feel like they loved me. I didn’t have the existential experience that might have anesthetized me to the fear of judgment. I didn’t suddenly feel inspired to sing my heart out, and no light clicked on. It wasn’t like the movies, at all. It was gritty, and real. I got propelled, bodily, towards a stage I didn’t want to take, by people I’d barely met, in a place I knew nothing about. It suddenly hit me, how alone and unprotected I was – no phone, no clothes, no money, and no one looking for me. I felt myself bumped along. I tried to stop resisting, but I held myself close and tight, gasping for air. I found myself thrust clumsily towards the stage, Jamie behind me to give me a leg up and Lizard reaching a hand I accepted robotically, pulling me up and on. No one seemed the least aware of my inner struggle, or my futile resistance. 

My guitar was off my back, plugged and in my arms like magic. 

My magic wand. Only, not quite right. Not quite mine, scarred by the messy way I’d torn my life apart. I laughed, almost like hiccups, deep but tensely tinny. A crazy-person laugh. That laugh was like someone physically tickling me, startling a cascade of muscle release all around my stomach and ribcage, forcing my lungs to take deep breaths and release them fast. That laugh trembled my temples, roared my skull, riddIed my body. Through that laugh I didn’t care about any of the people, or the place I was, or even if I was on a stage. I was alone in the world. No one was looking out for me. I could die here and it might take days before anyone even noticed. I was completely vulnerable, I had nothing, I had nowhere, nothing mattered at all except this moment, and I had a guitar in my hands.

I didn’t plan to start, or think what to play. I didn’t notice when the others joined. I didn’t think of the crowd or notice them. I didn’t see anything but white, I didn’t feel anything but desperate, and I played like my life depended on it. I played to unleash all the nasty bits of myself that I’d smushed down behind pent-up being-goodness ever since I got to this stupid city. I played into how much I hated myself for breaking under the strain. I played to give the finger to the universe for putting me in such a fucked up position. My body and spirit grabbed each other and pushed through me into the world using my hands, like I was possessing myself. 

I played, not caring what it sounded like, only what it felt like, because it felt like I was constructing the sounds, directly, from my pissed off soul. Nothing but orgasm had ever felt so ecstatic. 

Until it didn’t. Right in the midst of all this brilliant, one-with-the-universe-orgasmic-connectionism, the adrenaline must have peaked, or my sleep-deprived high suddenly crashed. The crowd shifted into stark focus in front of my eyes, and while they were mostly with me, I noticed every reaction and non-reaction in the room, as a whoosh of a wave, in an instant. I stumbled on the guitar, stopped singing mid-sentence, covered briefly by the full band that had developed behind me and the dancing crowd in front. I tripped backwards a step and regained my balance. The lights hurt my eyes. The sound hurt my ears. 

I saw the projection behind the crowd, blaring online one-liners on the live-feeds in response to my performance. People cheering, people jeering. 

Everything that had opened in me slammed shut. I jumped off the stage and pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring any curiosity or concern anyone might have for me. Jamie was hot on my heels. I let him pull me aside into a person-sized hole in the wall behind a pillar, and we found ourselves inside the woodwork, literally. My guitar poked painfully into my leg as Chia poked her head in.

“Mouse hole!” she cried, delighted. I started to feel claustrophobic with her blocking the limited light. “Don’t hide! It’s okay!” she soothed. 

“I know, don’t worry, I’m okay, Chia, thanks. Jamie’s going to take me somewhere quiet to rest. Okay?”

“I’m coming!” she cried, pushing herself sideways through the crack.

“No!” Jamie stated firmly, with a command I wouldn’t have guessed he had in him. Chia’s face crumpled with hurt and insult as she pulled out of the opening and away. 

“That was mean!” I chastised, even though I was glad he’d chased her off. I really didn’t want to take care of anyone but myself. Even having to rely on Jamie felt onerous. I wanted to sleep, but I was so wired and triggered, I might not even stop shaking for an hour.  

Chapter Wednesday Very Early Morning

Chapter 20 Scene 1 Hot and Cold

“Jamie, I really need sleep. Where am I going?”

            “Okay, grandma. Come on, you’re with me tonight!”

            “I thought I was supposed to sleep in the girls’ bunkers.”

            He laughed out loud.

            “Like I’m gonna lock you up in the chicken coop when I could have you all to myself? Right! Come on, don’t worry. You can have the cot.”

            “Where’s my phone? I need my phone.”

            He brushed off my concern. “Don’t worry, it was out of juice, they’ll charge it upstairs and hook you up with a few cool apps. It’s all good.”

            “I guess. I feel naked without it.”  

            I could still hear music from the bunkers, a heavy bass-line vibrating the ceiling and walls, dissipating as we made our way back into the building proper and down the stairs. Jamie closed the door to the workshop behind us. I felt bone-weary and wide-awake alert at the same time. I sank onto the cot as he rolled a foam mat out on the floor beside it. He threw a folded blanket at the top for a pillow.

            As I lay back, Jamie walked over and turned off the overhead lights, plunging us into the kind of dark that my brain can’t accept, so it keeps sending my eyes back to try again to make sense of the forever blackness. It’s the same feeling I get when I try to imagine infinity, being in dark so dark. I heard Jamie shuffle over and lie down on his mat.

            It took several silent minutes before the pencil-line of light around the door revealed a few details – paint cans, the table saw, Jamie’s restless form on the floor beside me. He sighed. He turned one way, then another on his flat foam mat. I felt very bad for taking his bed.

            “I can’t sleep. Why don’t you come up here with me for awhile.”

            “Really?”

            “Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

            “I guess we’ll have to see.”

            He climbed up and over me, so his back was to the wall, and I scooted to the front. But instead of lying down beside me, he sat like the cot was a sofa, and bent his knees to bridge over my legs with his. I adjusted myself to sit up and plumped the pillow behind me, throwing the blanket over us both. Kitty-corner felt very cozy. I could just make out the basic features of his face.

            Jamie reached over and switched on a small reading lamp bolted to the wall, simultaneously twisting its neck so the light shone up to the ceiling. Just sufficient to start showing colour without making my eyes object; we were under a private moon. We sat in our little cocoon of light for about thirty seconds before I couldn’t contain myself from asking what I’d wanted to know since I met him.

            “Why don’t you tell me how you got here, Jamie?”

            “I fell asleep one night, and was magically transported to the workshop. Trix wished me here.”

            “You’re cute. But really, what’s your story?”

            I waited. I thought he was about to make another joke, but then, he didn’t. He sighed.

            “Ah, Chrissy Christine, why do you want my sad story? We’ve all got a sad story.”

            “I’m interested in you. ” This answer gave him pause. His eyes caught mine for a split second, then scooted away into the darkness of the room.

            “Okay, well, then prepare to be sad, right away. Because my story starts with ”after my brother died.“

            I waited.

            “After my brother died, my dad started drinking. He just wasn’t nice anymore. My mom could hardly look at me and she’d start crying.

            It went on like that for a long time.

            It was like, whatever I did, she was sad because Jessie would never do it. Or maybe she thought he’d do it better? I thought that.

            I used to talk to Jessie about it, you know, in my head? But after awhile, he started telling me he would have done better than me if he’d been alive. He started saying I…I should have died instead of him. I had some fantasies about…killing myself.

HIs eyes scooted over, trying to see if he’d shocked or upset me. I gave him a little sympathetic smile so he would know that it took a lot more to shock me, but I was sorry he’d gone through it. He barely saw it before looking away, but he decided to continue.

            “So I tried pot with some friends from school, and it helped me feel more relaxed. Like, fake happy? It let me think – there’s stuff that’s not fun, but I don’t have to pay attention to that right now, I can just be. My dad found out. He was mad. He hit me. I hit him back, so he told me to get out. My mom was just standing there, crying? She didn’t say anything.“

            “What did you do?”

            “I left.”

            “How old were you?”

            He seemed to have to think about it.

            “Twelve?”

            “Well, I know you didn’t come here when you were twelve! Where did you go?”

            “My friend Pat’s house. He snuck me in a window but he didn’t want his parents to know so I left really early. I actually went to school, and then after, I hung around and I slept in a doorway. After a few days, I went back home, while my dad was at work. My mom said she’d talk to him.

            For a couple of years it went like that, where sometimes he’d get mad and we’d fight and he’d tell me to go? I’d come back after a few days. Mostly I stayed around our neighbourhood, but my mom started looking for me, to bring me blankets and stuff, like it was a camping trip. So I started going further. One night, I’d been sleeping in a park when I saw these guys. They asked me for money and said they’d help me get high. I thought maybe they had pot, but they were shooting up. So I did, too.“

            “What were you thinking?”

            He laughed.

            “I was thinking, whatever.”

I tried to hold back my dismay that he had thought so little of his life that he didn’t just walk away. I didn’t want him to be afraid to go on.

            “When I tried it, I felt happy. It was so weird. It was like déjà vu – like I’d felt this once before, but it had been so long that it was unfamiliar? Everything was beautiful. I could understand my dad, how disappointed and sad he was, why he drank, how hard it must be to have to deal with me, with everything. I could love him.”

I squeezed his hand so he’d know I was with him.

            “After that, I found other people to spend time with. I stopped going to school. I took money from my mom’s wallet. One day I was desperate and my dad left his credit card on the computer table. I took it and made a cash withdrawal. He called the police.“

            We sat with that for a moment.

            “Maybe he was just trying to scare me, but I spent nine weeks in juvey. That’s not nothing.”

            He was no longer in the room. His quiet voice shook.

            “Nine weeks is a lot of nights.”

            Time passed, and I wondered if he was finished. He spoke again, barely-contained bitterness spiking his words.

            “When they let me out, he was waiting. Like showing up could make up for what I just… I walked right by him. I hitched to the city, called a guy who’d helped me survive inside for the first month, got out before me. He hooked me up, but there were…expectations?”

            He ruminated, then offered, “Once you’ve done something, it’s easier the next time.”

            “So, you lived with this guy?”

            “With him? No. I lived in the ally, or sometimes in a warehouse if the weather was bad. He just gave me a dealer, ways to make money.”

            “How long were you on the streets?”

            “Too long.” He gathered more thoughts. “But really, after awhile, you hardly notice anything that’s not getting high.”

            He looked down and away from me.

            “Anyway, Bash started coming around and talking with some of us. He didn’t tell me what I should do, he asked me questions. I didn’t like it. His questions would stay with me, gnaw at me for days.

            He told me about Timeless. He asked me to help build a set, but he said I had to be clean to walk through the doors. It took a long time before I was willing to think about that.

            Bash helped me get on a waiting list, for treatment? When I came up, I deferred. Twice. They threatened to take me off the list.

            Detox hurts.

            I was pretty proud to be clean, after it was all done – that I got through it, physically, that I could walk into Timeless and know I had a place to be for awhile. I moved into the bunkers. It was safer than juvey, but I was always nervous. One day Trix saw what I was painting, and got a friend of hers to come and teach me more. Luca was here then, and I followed her around, saw how the lights and set go together, how the sound and lights need to mesh. She really took me on. She showed me the boards and some keyboard. John helped me learn guitar. After awhile, I asked if I could sleep in the workshop, and Trix said okay. “

            I sensed that this was not the end of the story.

            “It went like that for, maybe, a year? Then Luca…left. I should have stepped up, I should have been here for them. It was a lot of pressure. I missed her. I was tired of everything sucking, of not being good enough.”

Again, I squeezed his hand in solidarity.

“Hey, I can relate totally to that.” I felt relieved when he chuckled once to acknowledge my week.

            “When Trix found out I was using again, she kicked me out. I can still hear her: ‘You pollute your body, you pollute my music and this place. Come back when you’re clean.’“

            He did a pretty good impression of Trix on her high horse.

            “That’s harsh.”

            Surprised, he shook his head as though I’d missed a rudimentary concept.

            “Trix is straight-edge. Better learn that quick.”

            “Still…”

            “She was right. I was stupid. I fell right back into it, and I hid from Bash so I wouldn’t have to face him. Do you know what she said to me, when I finally came crying at the door, begging for money, for love, for a place to sleep? She knew I was still using. I was too desperate. She stood blocking the door. She leaned right into my ear and whispered, ‘The sooner you hit bottom, the sooner you can try again. You’re almost there.’ She poked my chest and pushed me, closed the door in my face and bolted the locks. Loud, so I could hear.” He sounded almost admiring.

            I was shocked. So callous! How could anyone look at those hurt chocolate lab eyes, knowing what he’d been through, and turn him away?

            He faced me then, for the first time in the story. He lifted my hand, and leaned in to look into my eyes.

            “She changed my life when she said that. I’ve been home for awhile now. I don’t want to have to try again. I’m done with it. I have this place and what I make here with my own hands. I feel…lucky. Luca told me so many times: yesterday’s for learning, today’s for doing, tomorrow’s for dreaming.’

            We sat looking at each other. I felt the intimacy between us as a tangible field, surrounding and connecting us. I trusted him completely. He leaned toward me, and whispered in my ear, “What do you dream about, Chrissy Christine?” I shivered.

            Abruptly, he turned away from me, hunched over.

            “Jamie, why do you do that? Hot and cold? It kind of freaks me out.”

            He held his head in his hands.

            “I know. I don’t know. Any way I explain it you’ll think I’m fucked up.”

            That made me laugh a little. “I know you’re fucked up. I’d feel better if I understood HOW you’re fucked up so I wouldn’t keep being surprised by it.”

            He didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time. Then, he started talking into his hands, so I had to lean in and listen carefully.

            “For a long time I was angry with Jessie for dying, and when I got mad at him, that’s when he got mad at me. But when I was sad, he tried to comfort me, and sometimes, I imagined that he missed us and I needed to comfort him. Eventually, I couldn’t tell us apart anymore. Like I’m…both of us, living both of our lives at the same time.

            Everything about me is like that – split up. Like, I feel angry a lot, but right away I start thinking about reasons why I’m wrong, and then I don’t know what to do with my anger because there’s nowhere to throw it. So, you.“ He heaved a sigh. He turned to me, but then looked down at his lap while he spoke.

            “I look at you and I want to take you to my bed and worship you head to toe, protect you from the big bad wolves. So I feel that, but right away I start thinking I’m nothing, I’m no one yet, and I have no where to put my feelings so I don’t know how to be around you. But then, you sit there, like it’s just what you expect and you’re waiting for me to get past it. Like I’m perfectly normal. So I forget to be careful with you.”

            He seemed so earnest that I longed to reach out and kiss him with the tender first kiss of young teens, the one that feels like an end to loneliness. I so wanted to give him that heart’s yearning. But I knew in my core that there was no kindness in that gift. I didn’t move.

            “You’re right, Jamie. There’s no bullshit between us. We know where we stand. We’re okay. It feels safe.”

            A beat passed before he spoke.

            “And you’re hot.” He devilish-grinned.

      I whacked him with the pillow. He seemed okay with it.

Chapter 20 Scene 2 The Secret Part

“Will you tell me a story, now? I’m interested in you.” I saw that he was joking to cover a serious request, so I treated it seriously.

            “What do you want to know?”

            He pondered.

            “There’s a million things I want to know. But if I have to pick, because we’re twins…”

            “Mirrors. Oh, Jamie, don’t ask me how I got my scar.”

            He looked downcast. And out of nowhere I thought, why not? I checked in with myself again. Something in me wanted to tell him this story.

            I took a deep breath.

            “Okay, fine.”

            I could tell he was surprised, but he settled in like a kid for story time.

            “I was nine. Actually, it was a week before my tenth birthday. I was sleeping on the floor in the kitchen at a bar where my dad was playing. I did that all the time. I’ve always been a really heavy sleeper. I opened my eyes and this guy’s face was right in my face, and his hand…was somewhere it shouldn’t have been. I started to scream but he clamped his other hand over my mouth and tried to keep me quiet. I writhed and kicked like a fury, he couldn’t hold me – he lost his grip and I spun away from him. I saw a kitchen knife on the counter and before he’d even stood up straight, I had it. I ran at him like a banshee, holding it over my head, screaming.“

            “Oh my god, I wish I could have seen that!”

            I gave him a dark look

            “Sorry, but wow! What did he do?”

            “He ran away, backwards, probably scared out of his wits. He stumbled, his arm hit the deep fryer and the hot grease flew. Or maybe he threw it at me – I’ve wondered about that. It was all so fast.

            Anyway, that hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt, and then, everything went red and black and I didn’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital. No one wanted to tell me what happened after I got hurt. We were all content to let me stay ignorant. The doctor said it wasn’t uncommon, after a trauma, and that I might never remember. But now comes the secret part, Jamie, so pay attention.“

            He sat enthralled. I looked away. Could I say this out loud? What words could do it justice? I turned back to him, and his chocolate eyes held mine like they were ready to hold me up. I sensed no morbid curiosity – I felt he really wanted to know me through this story.

            “I actually started remembering even before I left the hospital. I didn’t tell anyone. No one knows I know. And I don’t even know who knows what happened and who doesn’t, or how much they know. No one ever talks to me about it. Like, ever. But I know what I did.”

            “What did you do?”

            “I’ve never told anyone this.”

            “You don’t have to tell me.”

            “Don’t be stupid. I’m telling you this story. I want to tell you. I’m just afraid.”

            “What are you afraid of?”

            “Um…that you’ll get all weird, scared of me? That you’ll tell people, like I’m a freak show, and I won’t be able to play with this band?”

            “You think I’ll tell people?”

            “No. I’m just afraid you will. It’s not the same. It’s an irrational fear. Wait. No. It’s not. People suck, Jamie. People suck, and they let you down, and not one of us can be trusted in the end. Not one! So how can I trust you? I should be afraid.”

            “Don’t be afraid, Christine.”

            “Okay.” Like it was that simple. We laughed together and I knew, then, that if I could share this with anyone, it was him. We sat looking at each other. I didn’t speak. He seemed to sense that I needed a specific kind of invitation.

            “I’ll keep your secret safe, Christine. Will you tell me what you did?”

            This was not a boy asking. This was a fully-emerged young man who had learned compassion the hard way and was ready to hold space with me. I sucked in my breath, closed my eyes, and launched into a memory that I never willingly recall. I tried to keep my voice even, my tone matter-of-fact.

            “I didn’t stop at all when I got burned. The adrenaline rush…I was stronger than any other human. I was an avenging angel. I felt like power. The pain became like a gift, a reserve for me draw on to make him hurt. It fuelled me. Do you know what I’m saying to you, Jamie?”

            He didn’t hesitate in his response.

            “You wanted to hurt him and you felt like you could.”

            I nodded. We were clear.

            “He had stumbled backwards – he was trying to get up. I landed on his chest with my full weight, so he was on the ground and I went at him – I sliced and stabbed at him with that big knife wherever I could hit. It must have only been a few seconds before someone pulled me off, but there was blood everywhere. When he tried to protect his face, I slammed the knife right through that goddamn fucking hand.”

            “Oh my god.” Jamie looked stricken. I wondered how frightening my face was. I felt my cheeks get hot. I had only said this aloud once before, and I didn’t mean to get so caught up. It was like I was the avenging angel all over again. I looked down at my hands.

            “He was very alive when they carried me out, in case you’re wondering. He was…screaming, but strong. I didn’t kill him, you know.” I sounded defensive.

            “Oh, Christine, no wonder you blanked it out. But if you didn’t tell anyone you remembered, you had to deal with that all alone? ” He sounded more sympathetic than afraid. I wanted to trust it.

            “I didn’t really think about it that way. I didn’t want to tell anyone the whole story. I thought I’d exacted my punishment. I thought, maybe he won’t think little girls are ripe for the picking now. But I wonder sometimes, lately. Maybe he just figured I’m an exception and took it out on the next one. How can I know?”

            “You could have him followed.”

            “I don’t even know who he is. Just some guy in the kitchen at a bar. Was he the cook? A customer? A drifter? Maybe my mom knows, but I’m not asking her.”

            We sat in silence for a few minutes.

            “When I remembered, I didn’t feel ashamed, you know. Or scared, or traumatized. I felt strong, maybe a little proud. I thought about it, and I felt…satisfied. With the outcome. A satisfactory outcome for everyone.”

            “Really? That’s all you feel about it?”

            “No. Not now. But for a long time. Now…I don’t even know what I feel about it. It’s like it happened to someone else I saw in a film. But I have to watch out or she might get me, too. Oh, I don’t know why I said that.”

            “Christine, if anyone understands what it’s like to be afraid of what’s inside you, it’s me.”

            We sat quietly. I leaned back, then turned so that my head rested on his chest. He tucked me comfortably into the crook of his arm. I closed my eyes.

            “You know, I hate that man. Not because of what he did, exactly, but because he took my life away. I had months of…well, agony, those treatments for the burns…you know, but even after, my mom wouldn’t let me go on the road anymore. I only got to go to a few gigs here and there, when there would be a hotel and someone could watch me. But I ended up at my grandma’s most of the time. I had to go to school. I never got to see my dad, or my mom, really – she didn’t trust him on the road alone. That random freak took my family away from me, even before my dad got sick. I was already alone by the time they came home, and then…I didn’t feel like I knew him anymore.”

            “You and me, we both got exiled.”

            “Yeah.” I felt exhausted. My mind settled on a random revelation.

            “We’re on the island of misfit toys, aren’t we, Jamie?”

            He laughed. 

            “Maybe Santa will come this year.”

            And I was out.

Chapter Wednesday Morning

Chapter 21 Scene 1 Rise and Shine!

I dreamed. I was on stage but it was clear that no one could see me as I walked among the band members. Their music sounded muted, distorted. In the crowd, I kept seeing faces that looked familiar – girls from junior high, boys from the high school football team, my tenth grade science teacher. At the back of the crowd, my father saluted me. Then, in a flash of light he had another face – distorted with scarring, one eye sewn shut, more zombie than human. His gash of a mouth smiled at the instant I felt a blade hit my throat, right in the soft indentation. I felt with my hands – blood, hot and black covered them as though it were a living organism. I held my hands up in front of my face, coated in that strange, phosphorescent goo, already congealing onto my fingers like gloves. A spotlight swung around and latched onto my hands, pulling them up for everyone to see.

     My hands were no longer attached to my upstretched arms, they were floating above me in the spotlight. From the darkness I heard Jamie yell, “Wow, cool!” as they shone with amazing colours, turning this way and that in the light. My extended arms tugged with their movement, as though an unseen tether held me to them.

     I tried to yell for help as blood continued to spill from my throat in torrents, but my voice box fell out of the gash in my neck. I felt it hit my foot, and heard it fall open on the floor, a wooden music box. A haunting, familiar tune rose around me.

     I couldn’t move my head or my body. I was stretched and helpless, held by my hands shining above me, pulling me upward so I was forced onto my toes. I felt I was the ballerina, trapped and turning in place. I desperately scanned my eyes downward, trying to see the box, as though it could somehow save me. It taunted the edge of my vision. With great effort, I managed to kick at it with my foot. It slid just into view, and I caught a glimpse of something inside: white, small, vulnerable and alive. It was glowing and I couldn’t look right at it. I heard a voice start to speak; instantly, the box caught fire. The fire rose as a white light that suddenly darted, a two-headed snake, right into both of my eyes, blinding me. I woke with a start.

     “Rise and shine naughty children,” sang out Trix. She had flicked on the overhead lights as she ducked through the doorway to the workshop. “I thought I said the bunkers for this one. What’s the matter, Mouse, afraid those girls might ruffle your feathers?”

     “It was Jamie’s idea.” I grumbled, my arm over my eyes.

     “Sell out,” he muttered beside me.

     “I’m sure it was. He’s not one to pass up an opportunity, our boy.”

     Trix seemed so smug that I realized she had never expected me to sleep in general housing. She knew Jamie would take care of me when she passed me off, and that I’d be safe with him. She bent over us and stage-whispered,

“I hope you kept your virtues intact.”

She obviously didn’t doubt it for a second. She mussed Jamie’s bedhead and leaned over me to kiss his forehead with sturdy affection. I felt a surge of intense love for them both. Never did a boy need a mother more than Jamie. I could almost forgive her for locking him out, because she loved him so well now. Before I had even processed those thoughts, Trix was all business.

     “Jamie, I need you. Changes and ideas – we can take about an hour before I have to go. Then Mouse, you’re with me.”

     “I am?”

     “Unless you have something more interesting planned?”

     “More interesting than what?”

     “Acrobat school.”

     I stared at her dumbly. Her eyebrows compressed with a questioning smile at the emotions playing over my face. She might have invited me to the land of Oz – I hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation since I was a kid. But I couldn’t go.

     “I have a client this morning. I have to hike out to the burbs to teach a teeneybopper how to strum a guitar.”

     Trix was unperturbed.

     “Cancel.”

     So simple. It never would have occurred to me. I couldn’t just cancel it, could I?

     “What do I say?”

     She pursed her lips as though my naivety personally offended her.

     “How about you say you’re busier than expected getting ready for the Trix n’ Traces show where you are PLAYING on Friday, and would she and her friends like to be listed at the door?” Trix was almost bouncing in place, so anxious to move the day forward.

     “Just take care of it. Now, out, out, bathroom down the hall, shower in the bunkers. Back here, one hour, not before. Dress comfortably.”

     She picked up my guitar case and ushered me to the door, using the handoff to essentially push me over the threshold. I had been dismissed.

Chapter 21 Scene 2 Timeless, Wandering

Still a little shaken from my dream, I reached unsteadily for my phone, and realized it was long gone. Finding it became my first mission, though a shower would also be helpful. I only had the one change of clothes, stuffed into the front pocket of my guitar case, but I definitely needed to replace DeLorean’s shirt, now a wrinkled, stained, and droopy-flounced remnant of what it once was. White and I don’t go together. I felt bad about returning it to her in this condition and wondered if there was any laundry on site. As I made my way to the lobby, I heard a tinkling music that slowed my steps. I emerged to find Chia dancing in the very centre of the lobby, by herself in the dark, vocalizing her signature vocals but very quietly, like a small child. Also like a child, her unselfconscious, innocently-provocative dance felt slightly awkward, like a 12 year old playing make-believe seductress on a stripper pole. I stood there a bit stunned, watching her, until she noticed me and stopped suddenly, drooping like a rag doll, ashamed. She swayed in place, mouth open. I felt like I’d come upon a character in a game that was waiting for instruction.

“Um, hi, Chia? Can you help me? I need to find a place to wash up. I’m lost here.”

Her head jerked up and she came to life, over-bright, over-friendly, a manic smile taking up half her face.

“I’ll take you! I’ll take you! I know a fast way. You wanna go the fast way?”

“Yeah, okay, let’s do fast.”

Chia grabbed my hand, and pulled me into a closet, where we ducked through a rough-hewn hole at the back into a low tunnel with rough boards. I realized we were inside the hallway wall. I could hear music dully thump from somewhere nearby, which luckily muffled our scuffling. I stooped to look through. I had the same view as the camera sticking out of the grate – the dark lobby we just left, looking up from floor-level. I followed Chia a bit further, but couldn’t stop myself from checking out another grate, its slats lit by light from one of the offices. Beside the grate, a broken, deliberately disabled camera lay lost and forgotten. I bent double and saw Trace’s office, upside down, from floor-height. I could see her right arm and half her head, but not her eyes or mouth. Across from her, I saw compact feet I knew well – Bash was sitting with one leg crossed over the other. If the camera had been working, the scene was hardly one to capture. But their conversation, on the other hand, caught my ear immediately.

“So you’re not worried, you think we’re still on track?” asked Bash, mild, as though he referred to the weather.

“We just need to stay on our game, don’t let her get all sidetracked with distractions.” Trace sounded brash with false confidence. She didn’t fool Bash.

“Ah, yes, I hear we have a mouse in the house. I knew that would get under your skin. Has someone been nibbling at our cheese?” he teased. Me. He was talking about me. Blood rushed to my head so I knelt down to listen more comfortably. There was nothing to see, anyway.

“You think that bothers me? That doesn’t matter, we both know what she’s like. But she doesn’t need the distraction. That’s why Luca had to go, if you remember.” I heard Bash suck in a breath at her words.

“You did not just say that! This is no Luca situation, in any case. The girl is teflon. She won’t stick. And she can play.”

“On and off. You really think she’s worth the trouble?”

“Maybe distraction isn’t such a bad thing right now. Having Trix focused somewhere does means she pays less attention to other things. That may be best, in these final days, don’t you think?

Chia scuttled back towards me, her finger on her lips, her expression wild with worry.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered anxiously. “Not allowed to sneak sneak, don’t let them see! Don’t let them hear!”

I realized that getting caught spying from the walls would not be a good look for me. Reluctantly, I gave up my prime eavesdropping post and followed her. We emerged quickly into the foyer before the bunkers – it really was quite a shortcut across the space! Now it made more sense, how quickly Jamie had made it to my side the day before. I wished I knew all the tunnels in the place. It would be so cool.

“You know, you didn’t say we weren’t allowed before we went in.”

She regarded me more shrewdly than I would have given her credit for.

“You didn’t ask. I win!”

She turned and ran ahead, using a pass key on her belt to unlock a small, red door beside the door to the bunkers.

“Through secret doors down corridors,” she intoned, disappearing through it. I rushed to follow, just grabbing the edge of the door before it clicked closed.

I found myself in a warm, yellow space, smelling good smells of cooking. The industrial kitchen felt very homey despite the stainless steel countertops. The ample, older woman who’d produced the cake reward for 20 Minute Miracle moved efficiently from counter to stove, tending to several piles of ingredients and steaming pots. Chia’s thin doppleganger, her sister Ruby, zestily chopped potatoes with her face screwed up in a knot of concentration that broke as we entered the room. Chia ran ahead, grabbing her sister, knife and all, into a hug as she spun by.

“Brought her! Brought her! I went out and got her! Now she’s here, give a cheer, every day happy new year!”

“Thought we’d see you last night,” Ruby threw out without looking my way.

“I got sidetracked. Sorry.”

“It’s nothing to me what you do,” she stated with finality. I was obviously not on her list of favourite people. I felt like I should move along.

“Um, okay, is there somewhere I can clean up?”

“Timeless ain’t for girls.” Her challenge sounded irritable, like I was messing with her sense of reality.

“You’re a girl,” I pointed out gently. She jutted out her chin defiantly.

“I’m family. How long you supposta be stayin’?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Well that’s just great. Look, nothin’ personal against you, but we don’t know you. It’s tight quarters for three who’s family. We’ve got no room for strays.”

  Still dancing softly about the room, Chia chimed in.

“Mouse can sleep in my bed!”

“No, she can’t,” dismissed Ruby quickly and angrily.

  “Look, I don’t have to…stay here or anything. I just need a shower for fifteen minutes.”

“So here’s not good enough for you?” snapped the infuriating girl. Chia giggled.

“Mouse floats. If she lands she might go POP!” Chia clapped her hands in front of her nose. Adelaide turned with a welcoming smile, wiping her hands on her apron.

“If she needs room, we have room. We haven’t officially met, I’m Adelaide. My kitchen feeds this army. You know my nieces, Ruby and Chia? You look like a lost puppy. May actually be your talent she’s after.” She laughed deeply at my discomfort. “Well, there’s towels, bathroom’s through there. We’ll chat when you’re fresh.”

          (Chia follows Mouse. Adelaide gently guides Chia away and gets her started with a cooking chore.)

          [INT. SHOWER]

          (Christine rubs her arms, hair, neck with loving gestures, almost like cuddling with herself as the water beats down. She smiles with private happiness.)

          [INT. ADELAIDE’S KITCHEN]

          (Christine enters with a towel around her head. Ruby, Adelaide, Chia and two boys work at the chopping tables. Huge pots bubble and steam on the stove. Christine breathes deeply, smelling good smells. Adelaide puts a steaming bowl in front of her.)

          CHRISTINE: Wow, thanks, I’m super hungry! Thanks for letting me use the shower. I feel way better!

          ADELAIDE: Good. Oh, Seth left this for you.

          (Adelaide passes her phone across.)

          CHRISTINE: Thanks! I feel naked without it.

          RUBY: Why are you here?

          ADELAIDE: Now, that’s hardly fair.

          RUBY: She ain’t homeless an’ she ain’t a boy and I want to know what she’s playin’ at, hangin’ around, snoopin’ around. She made Chia show her the back passage, you know that? Spyin’ on Trace n’ Bash. That’s right, Chia’s not dumb, she tells me everything. So don’t you mess with her.

          CHRISTINE: I wouldn’t…mess with anyone. I’m just here to play guitar. I…got in a fight with my boyfriend. I asked if I could stay here since I’m practicing every day anyway, so here I am and I don’t know what’s happening but Trix wants me downstairs soon and I’m sorry to intrude on your space.

          ADELAIDE: Not at all. We’re glad you’re here. Going to be good for the show. My Ruby-girl here just isn’t so trusting, now, after the life she’s had. That’s what happens when you can’t rely on the people who are responsible for your care to take care of you.

          RUBY: How can you air my personal business to this person I don’t know?

          ADELAIDE: We may not have cameras, but live out loud applies here just like the rest of Timeless. Own your story, girl!

          RUBY: Own it? Own that my uncle made me do disgusting things on the internet so he and his buddies could get off? That he hurt me for fun? Own that my sister is permanently fucked up after being gang raped on camera? Is that what you want me to own, Auntie?

          ADELAIDE: Well, it’s you who’s telling it that way. I see a brave girl who did her best to protect her sister and finally found me, after trying everything she could think of. I see a resourceful, strong young woman who got herself and her sister out.

          RUBY: Too late. Years too late.

          ADELAIDE: As soon as she could.

          RUBY: So, you happy now, Mouse? You know all our personal laundry. Think what you want, I don’t even care.

          CHRISTINE: For what it’s worth, I agree with Adelaide.

          RUBY: You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. Better you don’t say anythin’ at all.

          CHRISTINE: Fair enough. Listen, I’ve got a phone call to make and I need to catch up with Trix. Thanks for being so…open with me, guys. I hope I’ll see you later.

          ADELAIDE: Are you sleeping here tonight?

          CHRISTINE: I think so, but I don’t really seem to know what’s going to happen a minute from now, let alone hours.

          ADELAIDE: Well, that’s living in the moment! We’ll be ready for you either way.

          CHRISTINE: Thanks.

          [INT. TIMELESS FRONT LOBBY]

          (Christine enters the lobby from the hallway. Trix and Trace stand at the counter going over paperwork, heads close together, and don’t notice her enter. She backs into a dark corner and dials her phone.)

          DELISLE: Delisle Abener-Fitch here.

          CHRISTINE: Delisle? This is…Christine Purnell?

          DELISLE: I’m sorry, who?

          CHRISTINE: Mouse? From Trix n’ Traces? I’m teaching with Your Kinda Music…

          DELISLE: Oh, Mouse! I’m so excited! Ten thirty, right?

          CHRISTINE: Well, that’s why I’m calling, actually. Trix…she, um, needs me this morning.

          DELISLE: You are not cancelling on me. Do you know who I am? Who my mother is?

          CHRISTINE: Oh, um, I mean, if it’s a big inconvenience for you…

          (Trix looks up at Christine, and makes her way over to where Christine stands)

          DELISLE: If you don’t come today, that means you’ll teach Delanie first, because she’s tomorrow, right? Unless you cancel her too?

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know if…

          DELISLE: Well, if you cancel me, I think you’d be too busy for her.

          CHRISTINE: Maybe, but, well…

          TRIX: Here, give her to me. Trix here. Your name? Well Delisle, I hate to cause you a problem and of course Mouse can come out today if you really need her, but I was hoping to get her help with an important routine for the show…maybe you want tickets? Thursday? And the after party, of course, I can’t believe we missed inviting you already. So, you understand? Great. Thanks, Delisle.

          (Trix hands the phone back to Christine)

          CHRISTINE: So, thanks for understanding. Do you want to rebook through the office for next week?

          DELISLE: I guess. Well, I’m disappointed, but tickets for Thursday almost makes up for it. They’re, like, impossible to get. I already have tickets for Friday, but Thursday’s where it’s at!

          CHRISTINE: Great. Um, okay, well, bye.

          TRIX: That, Mouse, is how you get things done. Just tell her how it is and make sure she’s getting something she values in return. An equal exchange that she feels is in her favour.

Chapter 21 Scene 3 Just more captivating

“Oh, there they are. I was wondering if he was going to come through,” I heard Trace remark. Looking up, we saw a delivery woman push through the doors, darkly silhouetted against the bright, her face hidden behind the largest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen in real life. Like something from the movies – giant tiger lillies, gorgeous peach roses and wild flowers, offset by greenery that spilled from a gold foil triangle almost too big for one set of arms. Someone had sent Trace a bouquet worth a few hundred dollars. She bustled by me to collect.

     Trace seemed business-like, not starry-eyed at the romantic gesture. She took the bouquet and plucked the card. Her smile quickly transformed to scowl.

     “Trix!”

     There was no mistaking trouble. Trix looked up, surprised, as Trace closed the distance between them, her feet hitting floor in time to emphasize her words.

     “What.Did.You.DO?”

     Trace’s cheeks and lips blazed red with raised blood pressure – stunning. Not that I’d want to be on the other side of that, even to behold her glory. I shrank from her awesome wrath even on the sidelines. Trix, on the other hand, raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, alertly curious but not visibly bothered.

     “What do you mean?” Her puzzlement seemed genuine. In good faith, she stepped closer, into the line of fire.

     “I mean this.”

     Trace flicked the card at Trix’s head and let the flowers drop unceremoniously to the floor. Trix’s hand flew up and caught the card between her thumb and index finger while her eyes stayed locked on Trace. She froze in that position, card plucked from mid-air, while they stared each other down in silence. Slowly, she lowered the card, her eyes slitted and jaw clenched. Trace smirked. I felt they’d had a conversation in those moments, that somehow Trace thought she’d gotten the better of Trix and Trix refused to acknowledge it.

     Trix scrutinized the writing carefully, taking her time as though deciphering code. Eventually, a slow smile spread across her face, and she raised her eyes to find me.

     “Mouse, I believe this is for you. ”

     She held out the now well-traveled card, and I stepped in to pinch it fast, intensely curious. A scrawled note:

     Mouse, who goes generally by Christine: Hoping for more refreshment soon. In the meantime, some sugar to stir things up – Bren

     Trix scooped up the bouquet with a flourish.

     “And these,” she offered from a formal bow. I accepted the flowers awkwardly, with a half-hearted curtsey, then quickly placed them on the counter. I felt a giddy grin spreading over my face, which could only inflame Trace’s ire. I fought for poker face but a single laugh escaped first – I caught Trix smile with me. I felt a blush rising and covered my mouth with my hand.These flowers were for me. And Trace had thought they were for her. I felt like the universe was sending me a personal sitcom moment of underdog glory. I straightened my features, biting the inside of my lip to keep from laughing again. I looked up to Trace’s hostile scowl and quickly averted my gaze. Never look a predator in the eye. .

     Trace retook the scene with a scowl and fast-tapping foot.

     “So, now, tell me you didn’t do anything.” Her eyes darted their hexing glare between between Trix and me, unsure where to place the greater portion.

     “I didn’t! I don’t think…” But Trix looked sheepish, and her guilt filled in the blanks fast.

     “I mean, sure, I took her to Tasha’s for like, ten minutes, hoping you were still there. I spun around the room and we left.”

     “And?”

     Trix looked down, then up again, playfully sorry.

     “Okay…maybe I brushed up on her a little, let him wonder. What’s the harm? You were gone, he was paying attention to her, it was so natural…” Her voice held some remorse, but mostly amusement. Trace did not share either sentiment.

     “This was your idea. Maybe he needs a challenger, you said. You were supposed to be there, on time, to interrupt us. I was there. I flirted. You didn’t show.”

     Trix sighed audibly. She bent her head and rubbed her left eye with her middle and index fingers. She looked up suddenly, no longer amused or remorseful.

     “Give me a break, Trace. He’s not going to pick who he likes just because I lay a claim. Maybe you need to try a little harder with this one.”

     “Maybe you need to stick with the plan! Where were you? Oh, I remember. Chasing tail when you were supposed to be catching money. Which you flaunted around town to let everyone ‘wonder’ about more than just you, don’t forget. Then you purposely dangle her as bait on my mark?”

     Something shifted perceptibly in Trix’s body and bearing. I sensed her close her energy into herself, pull in any slack she’d been ready to give. I felt like I’d walked in at the climax of a movie, too late to piece it all together. I listened so hard my ears burned. Trix did not disappoint.

     “You had your chance, first up by my calculations. I guess Mouse was just more captivating. It is what it is – deal with it, Trace. You’re a big girl.”

     “Fuck you.”

     “Language.”

     Trace’s lips pursed and her nostrils flared with deep inhalation like she would speak, but she clamped herself off. She breathed deeply, almost violently, then slower and more in control. Her words came slow and measured, her special combination of resignation and indignation striking me as nauseatingly familiar.

     “I hope you’re happy. Now we’ve got a dependency, and we don’t even know her. We’re too far into this game and you’ve gone and changed the rules. Again. She followed you home and now you want to keep her – well, Trix, you better keep her leashed and get her paper trained. If she goes wandering, your pet mouse might just find her little neck snapped in a trap.”

     Trace turned on her heel and stomped down the hallway. Trix shook her head, a smile playing at the corner of her lips, clearly not concerned about the immanent threat to my personal security.

     “Ah, my Trace, Queen of the mixed metaphor,” she sighed, eyes glued to that perfect, departing back. Only when Trace disappeared into an office did Trix turn to me.

     “Don’t worry, she’ll cool off. It just stings, and he knew it would. You’re caught in the middle. They’ve been playing cat and mouse for months, and Trace doesn’t like to be the mouse. Now she’s seeing what that’s like.”

     “I don’t want Tyler Brendshaw. She can have him.”

     “Oh, she will. Trace doesn’t take second after someone like you. Um, no offense.”

     “Of course not.” My voice dripped umbrage. Trix laughed.

     “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t scrunch your eyebrows at me like I hurt your feelings. That only works on the boys, little sister. I’ve got enough drama in my world without you putting it on for show.”

     I laughed. She made it so easy. Laughing with her about this situation felt like throwing off a heavy, wet wool blanket. Never in a million years would a guy like Bren want a girl like me if he could have a woman like Trace. It was a given, a fact of life, like physics and apple pie. But here was a big bouquet that said otherwise, at least for today, and I decided to love that for just what it was. I let my smile grow to my whole face. Trix’s eyes caught mine like they’d been holding space in wait. Her face looked naked, sleeping-soft wide awake, her real self. I knew she saw me, too. It was too much; in the same moment we both looked down. She shook her head.

     “You’re something, all right, Mouse. You’re never quite what I’m expecting. I can’t wait to show you acrobat school – you’ll be like a kid at Christmas! Let’s go!”

     “What about these? I don’t exactly have anywhere to put them.” I found myself surprisingly reluctant to let the bouquet go.

     “Don’t worry about those. They’ll show up somewhere. Nothing sits still for long around here, and everything beautiful finds a home.” Trix had no more time for sentiment, so neither did I.

     I thought maybe this time we might actually escape, but as we stepped toward the door, Bash walked in. He was finishing a phone conversation, and lifted his finger to pause our progress. We waited. He signed off, and beckoned Trix with a single finger-flick.

     “Trix, a word?” She attached herself to his side without a glance at me. They moved down the hall into an office, and I stood alone again. My phone buzzed with yet another Timeless update. I realized I needed to change my settings – the phone was practically becoming a vibrator since >>>> set up direct Timeless feeds. No wonder Trix stopped reading her texts. I pulled out the phone and read the display.

     I couldn’t breathe. My scar story on the internet.

     Jamie.

     He had told my secret. No one could be trusted, after all. My legs felt like water and I almost fell. My heart cracked and I hurried to fill the fissures with cement before the pain could spread.

     Jamie had let me down.

     As though I’d called him forth, Jamie wandered through the doorway from the theatre, headphones still draped around his neck and a cord dangling. I felt like I might hit him and I fought for control. He’s just a kid. He’s just a kid. He’s just a kid. Still, I found myself rushing him and drew up just short of a body-check.

     “Take it down.” I hissed through clenched teeth to keep from yelling. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to my temper.

     “What?”

     “My story. Get it off the site.”

     He looked genuinely confused for a moment, and I almost faltered. But then his eyes widened with understanding.

     “Oh no, Christine! No, it wasn’t me!”

     I wasn’t in the mood to argue semantics. “Look, if it wasn’t you it was whoever you told or whoever they told. I don’t care how. Get it down. It’s the least you can do.”

     Trix was emerging from the office, and I didn’t want to share this conversation. She called me over. “Okay Mouse, let’s roll.”

     Jamie still stood silently staring at me, and I wanted to smack the sorry off his face. He should have thought of sorry before he ran his mouth off. I leaned in close and chose my tone to wound.

     “Whatever, Jamie. Right? Whatever.” I walked away.

     “What’s up with Jamie?” asked Trix as we finally exited the building.

     “Nothing, he’s just feeling the pressure.” Trix glanced over, alert.

     “Do you think he needs some help?” She watched me carefully. I thought about Jamie and whether he needed help. I expected to have a hard time with objectivity, but I found myself able to think of him as if he were any kid.

     “Yeah, I think so, Trix. He’s a little fragile, you know? And you have him on a lot of stuff.”

     “Okay, thanks for telling me.”

Chapter THE REST OF WHAT NEEDS TO BE WRITTEN

Chapter 19 Wednesday Morning

If I eliminate her trip to Drachev Body Arts, she will wander more here, possibly learn more stories, can do the trick at Timeless (lose the mom, nice little character, lose Emilie but she was gone anyway, lose the Drachev Body Arts as a location and potential feeder for future, lose, the whole conversation

     so for Wed, need to have her unhappy to put on same clothes, then delanie and delisle show up with clothes, stay against her wishes, Trix does the intros trick and then pushes over the line with “I cover for your weakness”, Bash loses it, they take off fighting, Dels offer to take her shopping, trace invites herself, go in Dels town car, they go to expensive places, girls dress her, then trace takes to thrift and they find her outfits. when get back, pelted with tomatoes, guitar is there waiting,

Scene 1 Rise and Shine

I dreamed. I was on stage but it was clear that no one could see me as I walked among the band members. Their music sounded muted, distorted. In the crowd, I kept seeing faces that looked familiar – girls from junior high, boys from the high school football team, my tenth grade science teacher. At the back of the crowd, my father saluted me. Then, in a flash of light he had another face – distorted with scarring, one eye sewn shut, more zombie than human. His gash of a mouth smiled at the instant I felt a blade hit my throat, right in the soft indentation. I felt with my hands – blood, hot and black covered them as though it were a living organism. I held my hands up in front of my face, coated in that strange, phosphorescent goo, already congealing onto my fingers like gloves. A spotlight swung around and latched onto my hands, pulling them up for everyone to see.

     My hands were no longer attached to my upstretched arms, they were floating above me in the spotlight. From the darkness I heard Jamie yell, “Wow, cool!” as they shone with amazing colours, turning this way and that in the light. My extended arms tugged with their movement, as though an unseen tether held me to them.

     I tried to yell for help as blood continued to spill from my throat in torrents, but my voice box fell out of the gash in my neck. I felt it hit my foot, and heard it fall open on the floor, a wooden music box. A haunting, familiar tune rose around me.

     I couldn’t move my head or my body. I was stretched and helpless, held by my hands shining above me, pulling me upward so I was forced onto my toes. I felt I was the ballerina, trapped and turning in place. I desperately scanned my eyes downward, trying to see the box, as though it could somehow save me. It taunted the edge of my vision. With great effort, I managed to kick at it with my foot. It slid just into view, and I caught a glimpse of something inside: white, small, vulnerable and alive. It was glowing and I couldn’t look right at it. I heard a voice start to speak; instantly, the box caught fire. The fire rose as a white light that suddenly darted, a two-headed snake, right into both of my eyes, blinding me. I woke with a start.

     “Rise and shine naughty children,” sang out Trix. She had flicked on the overhead lights as she ducked through the doorway to the workshop.

     “I thought I said the bunkers for this one. What’s the matter, Mouse, afraid those girls might ruffle your feathers?”

     “It was Jamie’s idea.” I grumbled, my arm over my eyes.

     “Sell out,” he muttered beside me.

     “I’m sure it was. He’s not one to pass up an opportunity, our boy.”

     Trix seemed so smug that I realized she had never expected me to sleep in general housing. She knew Jamie would take care of me when she passed me off, and that I’d be safe with him.

     Trix bent over us and stage-whispered, “I hope you kept your virtues intact.” She obviously didn’t doubt it for a second. She mussed Jamie’s bedhead and leaned over me to kiss his forehead with sturdy affection. I felt a surge of intense love for them both. Never did a boy need a mother more than Jamie. I could almost forgive her for locking him out, because she loved him so well now.

     Before I had even processed those thoughts, Trix was all business.

     “Jamie, I need you. Changes and ideas – we can take about an hour before I have to go. Then Mouse, you’re with me.”

     “I am?”

     “Unless you have something more interesting planned?”

     “More interesting than what?”

     “Acrobat school.”

     I stared at her dumbly. Her eyebrows compressed with a questioning smile at the emotions playing over my face. She might have invited me to the land of Oz – I hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation since I was a kid. But I couldn’t go.

     “I have a client this morning. I have to hike out to the burbs to teach a teeneybopper how to strum a guitar.”

     Trix was unperturbed.

     “Cancel.”

     So simple. It never would have occurred to me. I couldn’t just cancel it, could I?

     “What do I say?”

     She pursed her lips as though my naivety personally offended her.

     “How about you say you’re busier than expected getting ready for the Trix n’ Traces show where you are PLAYING on Friday, and would she and her friends like to be listed at the door?” Trix was almost bouncing in place, so anxious to move the day forward.

     “Just take care of it. Now, out, out, bathroom down the hall, shower in the bunkers. Back here, one hour, not before. Dress comfortably.”

     She picked up my bag and ushered me to the door, handing it to me just as I crossed the threshold. She closed the door behind me. I had been dismissed.

Scene 2 Timeless, wandering

[INT. TIMELESS, BASEMENT LABYRINTH]

          (Christine stands looking at the closed door, then looks around, a little lost. Christine reaches for her phone and finds it not there. Agitated, Christine rushes off.)

          [INT. TIMELESS, FRONT LOBBY]

          (Christine emerges from a doorway into the lobby, looking disoriented. Christine sees Chia dancing by herself in the dark, singing without words. Chia’s dancing is innocently provocative and slightly awkward, like a child doing stripper moves for make-believe. Christine watches, mesmerized. Chia notices Christine and stops suddenly, drooping like a rag doll, ashamed. Chia sways in place, mouth open.)

          CHRISTINE: Um, hi, Chia? Can you help me? I need to find a place to wash up.

          (Chia comes to life, over-bright, over-friendly)

          CHIA: I’ll take you! I’ll take you! I know a fast way. You wanna go the fast way?

          CHRISTINE: Yeah, let’s do fast.

          (Chia takes Christine’s hand and leads her to a closet)

          [INT. TIMELESS, LABYRINTH TUNNELS]

          (Chia and Christine duck to move through very low tunnels with very rough boards, scenery indicating they are inside the walls. Music plays from somewhere, masking their sounds. Christine stops and looks through a grate, where there is a camera into the front lobby. Christine stops at another grate with a broken, disabled camera on the ground beside it. She looks through and sees Bash and Trace in the office.)

          [INT. TIMELESS, OFFICE, FROM ABOVE THROUGH HEATING GRATE]

          BASH: So we’re on track?

          TRACE: We just need to stay on our game, don’t let her get all sidetracked with distractions.

          BASH: Ah, yes, I hear we have a mouse in the house. I knew that would get under your skin. Has someone been nibbling at our cheese?

          TRACE: You think that bothers me? That doesn’t matter, we both know what she’s like. But she doesn’t need the distraction. That’s why Luca had to go, if you remember.

          BASH: You did not just say that! This is no Luca situation, in any case. The girl is teflon. She won’t stick. And she can play.

          TRACE: On and off. You really think she’s worth the trouble?

          BASH: Maybe distraction isn’t such a bad thing right now. Having Trix focused somewhere does means she pays less attention to other things. That may be best, in these final days, don’t you think?

          (Chia turns with her finger on her lips)

          CHIA: (whispers) Come on, come on, not allowed to sneak sneak, don’t let them see! Don’t let them hear!

          [INT. TIMELESS, BUNKERS GRAND FOYER]

          (Cut to Chia and Christine emerging into the Grand Foyer outside the Bunkers. Christine brushes herself off.)

          CHRISTINE: You didn’t say we weren’t allowed.

          CHIA: You didn’t ask. I win!

          (Chia runs ahead, using a pass key on her belt to unlock a red door beside the door to the bunkers.)

          CHIA: Through secret doors down corridors.

          [INT. ADELAIDE’S KITCHEN]

          (Cut to Chia running ahead through the kitchen and Christine entering slowly behind. Ruby is zestily and efficiently preparing food. Ruby and Chia are identical twins.)

          CHIA: Brought her! Brought her! I went out and got her! Now she’s here, give a cheer, every day happy new year!

          RUBY: Thought you was comin’ last night.

          CHRISTINE: I got sidetracked. Sorry.

          RUBY: It’s nothin’ to me what you do.

          CHRISTINE: Um, okay, is there somewhere I can clean up?

          RUBY: Timeless ain’t for girls.

          CHRISTINE: You’re a girl.

          RUBY: I’m family. How long you supposta be stayin’?

          CHRISTINE: I…I don’t know…

          RUBY: Well that’s just great. Look, nothin’ personal against you, but we don’t know you. It’s tight quarters for three who’s family. No room for strays.

          CHIA: Mouse can sleep in my bed.

          RUBY: No, she can’t.

          CHRISTINE: Look, I don’t have to…stay here or anything. I just need a shower for fifteen minutes.

          RUBY: So here’s not good enough for you?

          CHIA: Mouse floats. If she lands she might go POP!

          (Adelaide enters)

          ADELAIDE: If she needs room, we have room. Hello, I’m Adelaide. My kitchen feeds this army. You met my nieces, Ruby and Chia. You look lost as a wet puppy, child. May actually be your talent she’s after. Well, there’s towels, bathroom’s through there. We’ll chat when you’re fresh.

          (Chia follows Mouse. Adelaide gently guides Chia away and gets her started with a cooking chore.)

          [INT. SHOWER]

          (Christine rubs her arms, hair, neck with loving gestures, almost like cuddling with herself as the water beats down. She smiles with private happiness.)

          [INT. ADELAIDE’S KITCHEN]

          (Christine enters with a towel around her head. Ruby, Adelaide, Chia and two boys work at the chopping tables. Huge pots bubble and steam on the stove. Christine breathes deeply, smelling good smells. Adelaide puts a steaming bowl in front of her.)

          CHRISTINE: Wow, thanks, I’m super hungry! Thanks for letting me use the shower. I feel way better!

          ADELAIDE: Good. Oh, Seth left this for you.

          (Adelaide passes her phone across.)

          CHRISTINE: Thanks! I feel naked without it.

          RUBY: Why are you here?

          ADELAIDE: Now, that’s hardly fair.

          RUBY: She ain’t homeless an’ she ain’t a boy and I want to know what she’s playin’ at, hangin’ around, snoopin’ around. She made Chia show her the back passage, you know that? Spyin’ on Trace n’ Bash. That’s right, Chia’s not dumb, she tells me everything. So don’t you mess with her.

          CHRISTINE: I wouldn’t…mess with anyone. I’m just here to play guitar. I…got in a fight with my boyfriend. I asked if I could stay here since I’m practicing every day anyway, so here I am and I don’t know what’s happening but Trix wants me downstairs soon and I’m sorry to intrude on your space.

          ADELAIDE: Not at all. We’re glad you’re here. Going to be good for the show. My Ruby-girl here just isn’t so trusting, now, after the life she’s had. That’s what happens when you can’t rely on the people who are responsible for your care to take care of you.

          RUBY: How can you air my personal business to this person I don’t know?

          ADELAIDE: We may not have cameras, but live out loud applies here just like the rest of Timeless. Own your story, girl!

          RUBY: Own it? Own that my uncle made me do disgusting things on the internet so he and his buddies could get off? That he hurt me for fun? Own that my sister is permanently fucked up after being gang raped on camera? Is that what you want me to own, Auntie?

          ADELAIDE: Well, it’s you who’s telling it that way. I see a brave girl who did her best to protect her sister and finally found me, after trying everything she could think of. I see a resourceful, strong young woman who got herself and her sister out.

          RUBY: Too late. Years too late.

          ADELAIDE: As soon as she could.

          RUBY: So, you happy now, Mouse? You know all our personal laundry. Think what you want, I don’t even care.

          CHRISTINE: For what it’s worth, I agree with Adelaide.

          RUBY: You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. Better you don’t say anythin’ at all.

          CHRISTINE: Fair enough. Listen, I’ve got a phone call to make and I need to catch up with Trix. Thanks for being so…open with me, guys. I hope I’ll see you later.

          ADELAIDE: Are you sleeping here tonight?

          CHRISTINE: I think so, but I don’t really seem to know what’s going to happen a minute from now, let alone hours.

          ADELAIDE: Well, that’s living in the moment! We’ll be ready for you either way.

          CHRISTINE: Thanks.

          [INT. TIMELESS FRONT LOBBY]

          (Christine enters the lobby from the hallway. Trix and Trace stand at the counter going over paperwork, heads close together, and don’t notice her enter. She backs into a dark corner and dials her phone.)

          DELISLE: Delisle Abener-Fitch here.

          CHRISTINE: Delisle? This is…Christine Purnell?

          DELISLE: I’m sorry, who?

          CHRISTINE: Mouse? From Trix n’ Traces? I’m teaching with Your Kinda Music…

          DELISLE: Oh, Mouse! I’m so excited! Ten thirty, right?

          CHRISTINE: Well, that’s why I’m calling, actually. Trix…she, um, needs me this morning.

          DELISLE: You are not cancelling on me. Do you know who I am? Who my mother is?

          CHRISTINE: Oh, um, I mean, if it’s a big inconvenience for you…

          (Trix looks up at Christine, and makes her way over to where Christine stands)

          DELISLE: If you don’t come today, that means you’ll teach Delanie first, because she’s tomorrow, right? Unless you cancel her too?

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know if…

          DELISLE: Well, if you cancel me, I think you’d be too busy for her.

          CHRISTINE: Maybe, but, well…

          TRIX: Here, give her to me. Trix here. Your name? Well Delisle, I hate to cause you a problem and of course Mouse can come out today if you really need her, but I was hoping to get her help with an important routine for the show…maybe you want tickets? Thursday? And the after party, of course, I can’t believe we missed inviting you already. So, you understand? Great. Thanks, Delisle.

          (Trix hands the phone back to Christine)

          CHRISTINE: So, thanks for understanding. Do you want to rebook through the office for next week?

          DELISLE: I guess. Well, I’m disappointed, but tickets for Thursday almost makes up for it. They’re, like, impossible to get. I already have tickets for Friday, but Thursday’s where it’s at!

          CHRISTINE: Great. Um, okay, well, bye.

          TRIX: That, Mouse, is how you get things done. Just tell her how it is and make sure she’s getting something she values in return. An equal exchange that she feels is in her favour.

Scene 3 Just More Captivating

“Oh, there they are. I was wondering if he was going to come through,” I heard Trace remark. Looking up, we saw a delivery woman push through the doors, darkly silhouetted against the bright, her face hidden behind the largest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen in real life. Like something from the movies – giant tiger lillies, gorgeous peach roses and wild flowers, offset by greenery that spilled from a gold foil triangle almost too big for one set of arms. Someone had sent Trace a bouquet worth a few hundred dollars. She bustled by me to collect.

     Trace seemed business-like, not starry-eyed at the romantic gesture. She took the bouquet and plucked the card. Her smile quickly transformed to scowl.

     “Trix!”

     There was no mistaking trouble. Trix looked up, surprised, as Trace closed the distance between them, her feet hitting floor in time to emphasize her words.

     “What.Did.You.DO?”

     Trace’s cheeks and lips blazed red with raised blood pressure – stunning. Not that I’d want to be on the other side of that, even to behold her glory. I shrank from her awesome wrath even on the sidelines. Trix, on the other hand, raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, alertly curious but not visibly bothered.

     “What do you mean?” Her puzzlement seemed genuine. In good faith, she stepped closer, into the line of fire.

     “I mean this.”

     Trace flicked the card at Trix’s head and let the flowers drop unceremoniously to the floor. Trix’s hand flew up and caught the card between her thumb and index finger while her eyes stayed locked on Trace. She froze in that position, card plucked from mid-air, while they stared each other down in silence. Slowly, she lowered the card, her eyes slitted and jaw clenched. Trace smirked. I felt they’d had a conversation in those moments, that somehow Trace thought she’d gotten the better of Trix and Trix refused to acknowledge it.

     Trix scrutinized the writing carefully, taking her time as though deciphering code. Eventually, a slow smile spread across her face, and she raised her eyes to find me.

     “Mouse, I believe this is for you. ”

     She held out the now well-traveled card, and I stepped in to pinch it fast, intensely curious. A scrawled note:

     Mouse, who goes generally by Christine: Hoping for more refreshment soon. In the meantime, some sugar to stir things up – Bren

     Trix scooped up the bouquet with a flourish.

     “And these,” she offered from a formal bow. I accepted the flowers awkwardly, with a half-hearted curtsey, then quickly placed them on the counter. I felt a giddy grin spreading over my face, which could only inflame Trace’s ire. I fought for poker face but a single laugh escaped first – I caught Trix smile with me. I felt a blush rising and covered my mouth with my hand.These flowers were for me. And Trace had thought they were for her. I felt like the universe was sending me a personal sitcom moment of underdog glory. I straightened my features, biting the inside of my lip to keep from laughing again. I looked up to Trace’s hostile scowl and quickly averted my gaze. Never look a predator in the eye. .

     Trace retook the scene with a scowl and fast-tapping foot.

     “So, now, tell me you didn’t do anything.” Her eyes darted their hexing glare between between Trix and me, unsure where to place the greater portion.

     “I didn’t! I don’t think…” But Trix looked sheepish, and her guilt filled in the blanks fast.

     “I mean, sure, I took her to Tasha’s for like, ten minutes, hoping you were still there. I spun around the room and we left.”

     “And?”

     Trix looked down, then up again, playfully sorry.

     “Okay…maybe I brushed up on her a little, let him wonder. What’s the harm? You were gone, he was paying attention to her, it was so natural…” Her voice held some remorse, but mostly amusement. Trace did not share either sentiment.

     “This was your idea. Maybe he needs a challenger, you said. You were supposed to be there, on time, to interrupt us. I was there. I flirted. You didn’t show.”

     Trix sighed audibly. She bent her head and rubbed her left eye with her middle and index fingers. She looked up suddenly, no longer amused or remorseful.

     “Give me a break, Trace. He’s not going to pick who he likes just because I lay a claim. Maybe you need to try a little harder with this one.”

     “Maybe you need to stick with the plan! Where were you? Oh, I remember. Chasing tail when you were supposed to be catching money. Which you flaunted around town to let everyone ‘wonder’ about more than just you, don’t forget. Then you purposely dangle her as bait on my mark?”

     Something shifted perceptibly in Trix’s body and bearing. I sensed her close her energy into herself, pull in any slack she’d been ready to give. I felt like I’d walked in at the climax of a movie, too late to piece it all together. I listened so hard my ears burned. Trix did not disappoint.

     “You had your chance, first up by my calculations. I guess Mouse was just more captivating. It is what it is – deal with it, Trace. You’re a big girl.”

     “Fuck you.”

     “Language.”

     Trace’s lips pursed and her nostrils flared with deep inhalation like she would speak, but she clamped herself off. She breathed deeply, almost violently, then slower and more in control. Her words came slow and measured, her special combination of resignation and indignation striking me as nauseatingly familiar.

     “I hope you’re happy. Now we’ve got a dependency, and we don’t even know her. We’re too far into this game and you’ve gone and changed the rules. Again. She followed you home and now you want to keep her – well, Trix, you better keep her leashed and get her paper trained. If she goes wandering, your pet mouse might just find her little neck snapped in a trap.”

     Trace turned on her heel and stomped down the hallway. Trix shook her head, a smile playing at the corner of her lips, clearly not concerned about the immanent threat to my personal security.

     “Ah, my Trace, Queen of the mixed metaphor,” she sighed, eyes glued to that perfect, departing back. Only when Trace disappeared into an office did Trix turn to me.

     “Don’t worry, she’ll cool off. It just stings, and he knew it would. You’re caught in the middle. They’ve been playing cat and mouse for months, and Trace doesn’t like to be the mouse. Now she’s seeing what that’s like.”

     “I don’t want Tyler Brendshaw. She can have him.”

     “Oh, she will. Trace doesn’t take second after someone like you. Um, no offense.”

     “Of course not.” My voice dripped umbrage. Trix laughed.

     “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t scrunch your eyebrows at me like I hurt your feelings. That only works on the boys, little sister. I’ve got enough drama in my world without you putting it on for show.”

     I laughed. She made it so easy. Laughing with her about this situation felt like throwing off a heavy, wet wool blanket. Never in a million years would a guy like Bren want a girl like me if he could have a woman like Trace. It was a given, a fact of life, like physics and apple pie. But here was a big bouquet that said otherwise, at least for today, and I decided to love that for just what it was. I let my smile grow to my whole face. Trix’s eyes caught mine like they’d been holding space in wait. Her face looked naked, sleeping-soft wide awake, her real self. I knew she saw me, too. It was too much; in the same moment we both looked down. She shook her head.

     “You’re something, all right, Mouse. You’re never quite what I’m expecting. I can’t wait to show you acrobat school – you’ll be like a kid at Christmas! Let’s go!”

     “What about these? I don’t exactly have anywhere to put them.” I found myself surprisingly reluctant to let the bouquet go.

     “Don’t worry about those. They’ll show up somewhere. Nothing sits still for long around here, and everything beautiful finds a home.” Trix had no more time for sentiment, so neither did I.

     I thought maybe this time we might actually escape, but as we stepped toward the door, Bash walked in. He was finishing a phone conversation, and lifted his finger to pause our progress. We waited. He signed off, and beckoned Trix with a single finger-flick.

     “Trix, a word?” She attached herself to his side without a glance at me. They moved down the hall into an office, and I stood alone again. My phone buzzed with yet another Timeless update. I realized I needed to change my settings – the phone was practically becoming a vibrator since >>>> set up direct Timeless feeds. No wonder Trix stopped reading her texts. I pulled out the phone and read the display.

     I couldn’t breathe. My scar story on the internet.

     Jamie.

     He had told my secret. No one could be trusted, after all. My legs felt like water and I almost fell. My heart cracked and I hurried to fill the fissures with cement before the pain could spread.

     Jamie had let me down.

     As though I’d called him forth, Jamie wandered through the doorway from the theatre, headphones still draped around his neck and a cord dangling. I felt like I might hit him and I fought for control. He’s just a kid. He’s just a kid. He’s just a kid. Still, I found myself rushing him and drew up just short of a body-check.

     “Take it down.” I hissed through clenched teeth to keep from yelling. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to my temper.

     “What?”

     “My story. Get it off the site.”

     He looked genuinely confused for a moment, and I almost faltered. But then his eyes widened with understanding.

     “Oh no, Christine! No, it wasn’t me!”

     I wasn’t in the mood to argue semantics. “Look, if it wasn’t you it was whoever you told or whoever they told. I don’t care how. Get it down. It’s the least you can do.”

     Trix was emerging from the office, and I didn’t want to share this conversation. She called me over. “Okay Mouse, let’s roll.”

     Jamie still stood silently staring at me, and I wanted to smack the sorry off his face. He should have thought of sorry before he ran his mouth off. I leaned in close and chose my tone to wound.

     “Whatever, Jamie. Right? Whatever.” I walked away.

     “What’s up with Jamie?” asked Trix as we finally exited the building.

     “Nothing, he’s just feeling the pressure.” Trix glanced over, alert.

     “Do you think he needs some help?” She watched me carefully. I thought about Jamie and whether he needed help. I expected to have a hard time with objectivity, but I found myself able to think of him as if he were any kid.

     “Yeah, I think so, Trix. He’s a little fragile, you know? And you have him on a lot of stuff.”

     “Okay, thanks for telling me.”

Scene 4 Bash’s Car

We walked in silence around the back of the building, each with our own thoughts. I expected to take the bike, but Trix continued around a bend into a bricked-in space between two buildings. This hidey-hole housed an old volvo hatchback so tightly that the doors couldn’t possibly open more than halfway. Trix clicked an alarm off by remote, which surprised me – a built-in alarm seemed incongruent with this car’s vintage. It hardly appeared worth stealing, the sage-green paint kind of raw, the fenders marked up – a bit of an old beater, really. Only the darkly-tinted windows looked new. I opened my door carefully just enough to squeeze myself in. For once, I was glad to be small.

     Magically, I found myself in a different car. Inside, this vehicle had been lovingly updated – modern leather seats cushioned my lower back, gleaming metal shone from digital controls for the built-in GPS and kick-ass stereo. The car felt like luxury.

     “Welcome to Bash’s car. My wedding present to him.”

     “No way!”

     “I know my man. We’re lucky he’s lending it to us – thanks to you. He doesn’t normally trust my driving.”

     I failed to stop myself from asking what I wanted to know.

     “Trix, how do you afford all of this?”

     She glanced sideways at me, then threw her arm over the back of my seat to squeal us backwards into a spin-skid that pointed our nose at the exit. We came within an inch of smashing into the opposite brick wall, and Trix smiled at my expression. Pulling into traffic, she answered me as though our lives had never been at risk.

     “Money? Until two years ago, it was always just around, you know? What you see are remnants, left over from before money got more…specific about how it’s gotta get used. Bash deserves this car.” Defensive. Protective.

     “What changed two years ago?”

     “Everything.”

     “No, really. But, before that, even. What’s the history of Timeless.”

     She slid her eyes to check me out, then back to front. She grinned, a short laugh rippling her breath, swift breeze over water.

     “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve gleaned already?”

     “I don’t know..”

     “ I’m a little disappointed. I thought you’d have milked some of the gossip out by now. Maybe you’re not as committed as I thought. Maybe you’re not really interested.”

     “You’re just changing the subject!”

     “Can’t pull one over on you, hmm, Mouse?” She chuckled.

     “I love a good story,” I told her honestly.

     “Okay. Perhaps you know that I grew up at Timeless? No? The apartment where I live now was my family home when I was small. The Drachev Academy of Acrobatic Arts was downstairs – ah, do you like that name? Not ostentatious at all, hmm? Nothing like naming a band after yourself, for instance.” She owned her pride.

     “The buildings belong to my uncles, they rented one to us and the other as a rooming house…of sorts. It’s getting to be prime property now, but back then it was outskirts. It was hard living out here, rough, wrong side of the tracks. We didn’t get many students, so we started teaching boys whose parents weren’t around for them, from the community. Boys who weren’t in school anyway, so they needed something productive to do. Mama put them in commercials, bit parts in movies, some stunt doubling to help earn their keep. She had a pretty good network with the lower-end casting houses. And then, Dmitri.” She stroked his name into existence with her voice and tongue and lips – a beloved name. I couldn’t wait to hear more. Trix glanced over to ensure her dramatic flare had its effect, and laughed at my hungry expression. I wanted to feed her storyteller.

     “Tell me more, tell me more!” I begged for fun.

     She settled back.

     “I never get to tell my own stories anymore, and here I have a ten minute drive with a curious sort of creature. What a treat!”

     “Oh,yes!” I clapped my hands together, letting my little girl out for a few seconds to enjoy the prospect of story time. Her eye-crinkle told me she appreciated my enthusiasm.

     “I thought so! So, do you remember Demitry Love?” She purposely over-emphasized a North American accent on the name, which felt only dimly familiar.

     “That’s kind of familiar, but not really.”

     “Not surprising – he was a brief teen heartthrob in the 90’s, a few minutes before your time I think. He came to us as Dmitri Lvov.” She pronounced the slavic sounds as native tongue. “Dmitri was an orphan. His father had been killed through bad connections. His mother died in jail. He was a hard case, and already fourteen. Too old. Too messed up. He’d run away from foster care, and the priest asked Papa to take him, to keep him in the community. Dmitri had this air about him…this way of shooting off prickles that kept everyone ten feet off. Not Papa, though. He’d been a hard case himself – that is another story for another day.”

     I glowed at the prospect of more stories, stories that extended beyond Trix herself into her history, the history that created her. My enquiring mind wanted to know. She went on.

     “I was a hot-shot then, not even ten you know, but I couldn’t remember when I wasn’t the best in the school at pretty much everything. Papa asked me to show Dmitri the ropes – that was a pun, there, did you catch it?” I laughed appreciatively.

     “With Dmitri, meeting him that very first time was like knowing him forever. We had chemistry. Not quite sexual – I was very young – but what existed between us was tangible, different, apparent to everyone. We understood each other. I thought he’d come just for me, you know? He was beautiful, and when he really looked at me…I felt seen.

     He was a natural, of course. All those years he’d been perfecting his own personalized martial art. When he was six, he attended a few free classes at the community centre. This provided the basis. Sometimes he would cop free lessons from studios around town to incorporate new moves from whatever he remembered. He practiced for hours each day – as you can imagine, he thought little of school attendance. He was quite formidable, practicing his hodge-podge martial art. Dramatic and lovely to watch, like a dancer. So he was already supple, fast, strong. He was ready to learn anything that could make him feel more like a super hero. That’s what he wanted most – to be a super hero. Dmitri.“ She smiled again.

     “Once Mama saw what he could do, she got lawyers, an agent. Even before we trained him in the arts. That’s Mama. Always the pragmatist. And when that teen idol hit, he hit big. Left me in the dust. I never forgave him for it.”

     She got quiet for a minute. I didn’t mind. I closed my eyes and filled in the blanks – a young boy, practicing in secret with deadly determination, hiding his developing super powers from a world he didn’t trust. A boy no one wanted, suddenly transported to acrobat school, suddenly a natural, his gifts becoming obvious, his dreams within grasp. And a little girl, his safe place, his teacher and still, just a little girl after all. That little girl’s face the moment she realized, and her face the moment she accepted the truth of it. Her face right now. I opened my eyes as Trix shook her head.

     “Mama was never one to miss an opportunity. As Dmitri’s manager, she clawed up to the right social circles. It wasn’t even two years before she raised enough money for a wing at the Performing Arts School, the Drachav Body Arts Facility. We’d already been uptown a year when they broke ground.

     There have been others with talent, which of course attracts quality in a virtuous circle – by the time Dmitri burned out, Drachev was known for movement-based talent all over the globe. Mama circled the right circles for money and reputation, and my Mama – she has a way about her. Once she’d stepped up in the world, it was clear where she belonged.“ Trix sighed affectionately.

     “We expanded into specialized stunt-work, celebrity coaching, a mixed martial arts video and infomercial, but of course we’ve also maintained a pure program to ensure the tradition and dignity of our signature acrobatics, handed down from generation to generation.” She pronounced the last line in perfect radio voice. “In any case, graduating Drachev helps a resume, and there are many who owe their jobs to Mama’s nose and her flow of talent. My parents and the American Dream. We’re not as rich as rich people, but we pass. For years I never worried about money.”

     “And then?”

     “And then, Timeless. This big idea. Reviving our purpose, so to speak. Perhaps reliving my childhood, I do realize it. My uncles still own the buildings, and while they are businessmen, there are advantages to that. My college fund seemed like enough to cover us, at the beginning. It got us a certain distance, enough to…attract interest. ”

     “Who’s interest?”

     Stopping at a stop sign, Trix faced me with piercing eyes.

     “That’s not the question to ask, Mouse. Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ve got it covered.” She turned back to driving. “We do what we need to. We circle the circles. We gather and disperse. We keep things going. Just…leave it at that.”

     She seemed irritable and I realized I wasn’t even that interested anymore. I was pushing into this space just to keep my mind off Jamie, the betrayal that still felt so fresh I hardly believed it had happened. I pulled out my phone and tried again to connect to the Timeless website, but I couldn’t even get a search to run. Maybe I needed to reset?

     Trix turned on the radio. Random rock filled the car.

     “You’re pretty intent on that phone,” she observed coldly.

     I realized I hadn’t even thanked her for the story. Or commented on it at all – of course she was annoyed. But now that memory had invaded, I couldn’t get my mind on anything else.

     “I’m sorry, Trix. I loved your story. It’s just, there was another story on the website this morning. About me.”

     “There’s talk about all of us, every day.” She waved her hand, waving it away like a fly. “That’s how those kids earn their keep. It’s just noise, it’s part of the hype.”

     “Not this story.” I saw her hear my masked-over pain. Damn. She glanced at me, then pulled over to the side.

     “Okay, Mouse. Spill.”

     I started to cry. I felt like such a fool, crying when I hadn’t even said anything. She was going to think I was a whiny princess. She was going to regret bringing me along. All of this only made me cry harder.

     “I’m sorry,” I blubbered.

     Trix didn’t try to console me, nor did she seem impatient. She waited. I found I couldn’t cry in the face of that – as suddenly as it had started, my fit subsided. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, and Trix passed me a tissue for my nose.

     “There was a story about…the night I got my scar. It’s a…private story. I haven’t even managed to read what it says, I just saw a tweet advertising it like…some juicy morsel. I don’t want that up there. It’s too much.”

     Trix’s nose twitched and scrinched in tight like a rabbit. She puffed her cheeks out with her breath.

     “Down it comes. Call Static,” she commanded. I realized she was talking to the car, not me. I heard the tinny, undefined echo of the ring, then a muffled voice from the headset on her ear. She didn’t bother with traditional greetings.

     “Take down the Mouse scar story.”

     Her eyes narrowed and widened. She looked at me in surprise as the other speaker continued. She looked away.

     “I don’t care. Down. Now. And send it to me, I want to read it.” A question, then “Just do it. Now.”

     Trix pulled back into traffic.

     “It’s coming down. Static will send me the story so you can read it. Okay? I won’t ask you to promise not to get upset, but I will ask you to please try to look at this in context. No one is trying to hurt you, here. This thing, it’s a tornado, and you’re sitting beside me, right in the swirl. There’s some risk to that. I should have done a better job preparing you. I’m sorry. But hey, life’s an adventure, little sister.”

     “I’m not complaining about it all. Just this one thing.”

     “Yes, until the next thing. Look, we’ve all got stuff we wish we could keep private, but nothing’s a secret in the end. Information wants to be free, and stories love to fly. We can take it down but we can’t stopper up the world. If you’ve got stuff, it’ll be out there one way or the other. Might as well get it over with now. Live out loud, baby!”

     “Easy for you to say.”

     “Not really.”

     I thought about how much more attention she got every day and realized she was right – what was out there was always out there, waiting to bite when we weren’t looking. Might as well shine a proactive light in the corners.

     “It’s not just the story,” I tried to explain, “because, I only told one person, so…”

     “Now, hold on. We’ve got the whole place wired, you know. You tell one, you tell all. No secrets at Timeless. You can’t go blaming one person.” Suddenly, Trix turned up the radio.

     “Listen! They’re talking about us!”

     The voice on the radio continued, “…tickets for this Friday night’s Trix n’ Traces Extravaganza at Timeless. We have only 10 more sets tickets between now and then – you don’t want to miss it! Be caller 5.”

     Trix grinned, mischievous.

     “Let’s have some fun! Call Spanner,” she instructed the car.

     “Hey, Spanner, my ears were burning!…Yeah, let’s do it….Okay.”

     As the song ended, the DJ cut in, excited.

     “Speak of the devil…” he began, when Trix echoed beside me and from the speakers at the same moment, “And she suddenly appears!” Trix turned off the radio and put her phone on speaker.

     “Ladies and gentlemen, we have Trix Drachov on the line from the local super-group Trix n’ Traces, playing this Friday at Timeless downtown. Trix, what brings you to my humble show?”

     “We heard you talking Friday night, which is going to be MINDBLOWING!” They laughed again. “I just want to make sure everyone knows you should totally come even if you don’t win tickets- we’re gonna blast the music for a full outdoor party, my friends! Fill the streets!”

     “Well…” Spanner sounded uncertain, “…okay then! I guess they’ll have to, since tickets are so scarce!”

     “What do you mean? There’s a batch of tickets opening every day from now till the doors open.” Trix’s voice teased the audience with this information.

     “Yeah, it’s just totally random whether you can buy them before they’re gone,” Spanner complained.

     “Ah, well, good thing we gave you a few then! You can dole them out to the most deserving. Who’s coming?”

     “We have Leela on the line – Leela, say hello to Trix!”

     “Leela! Will you be dancing in the back or surfing on the crowd?”

     “I’ll dive right off your stage, Trix!”

     “Well, ALL-right Leela! See you Friday!” Trix made a huge kissing sound.

     “Trix, we’re going to break for news in a minute, can you stay with us after the break?”

     “Sorry, Spanner, no can do. I’m taking Mouse to practice some secret acrobatics for the show.”

     “Not the Mouse of YouTube fame? She’s there with you now?”

     “Say hello, Mouse.” I shook my head and she rolled her eyes, impatient, and motioned with her hand. I leaned towards the dash as though that would make me more audible

     “Hello.”

     “Well, Mouse, what do you think of all the attention?”

     “What attention?” I asked. Spanner laughed. Trix pushed me back to my chair.

     “Nothing phases Ms. Mouse. She’s got an iron heart in that tiny frame and she’s tough as nails.”

     “Will we see her doing some acrobatics in the show on Friday, then?” asked Spanner.

     “Ah, you never know what you might see. Enjoy!” Trix hung up. She didn’t turn the radio back on.

     “See, that was fun,” she told me firmly as we pulled up to the Drachev Body Arts Facility.

Scene 5 Acrobat School

The Drachev Body Arts Facility

     [INT. DRACHEV BODY ARTS FACILITY, FRONT HALL]

          (High-ceiling, high-gloss, lots of visuals of acrobatic feats and similar-themed modern and folk art mixed around, like a museum exhibit. Very fancy front lobby. As they approach Reception, Christine looks around in wide-eyed wonder.)      

          CHRISTINE: Wow, this place is amazing!

          TRIX:   Everything amazes you, doesn’t it?

          CHRISTINE: Amazes and disappoints at the same time, I think. Like I can’t believe it’s even real, but if it’s real, it should be…even more real. Or something.

          TRIX: Like something’s missing? Yeah, I get that. Hello, Harley.

          HARLEY: She’s expecting you half an hour ago.

          TRIX: Hmm. Can’t be helped. Is she still pretending she doesn’t mind, or has she commenced open complaints?

          HARLEY: She just noticed that you weren’t here yet, and wondered if she misunderstood the time.

          TRIX: Ah. I stand forewarned. Let her know we’re here.

          (Trix uses a keypass to buzz through a door)

          [INT. DRACHEV, INTERIOR HALLWAY]

          (Hallway is wide, ceilings high. Off side-walls, windows to gymnasium studios where people practice gymnastics and acrobatics – these are framed so they look like life-sized televisions from the hallway. Trix continues a brisk pace to wide double doors at the end of the hallway. Opportunities for interesting angles and shots for this corridor. Trix throws open the double doors as Christine hurries along behind her. )

          HEIDI: The traffic must be busier than usual today.

          TRIX: Not so, Mama, I’m just not bending time as well as usual.

          HEIDI: Well, try harder. You know these girls are on schedules of their own. We already lost one, but I can see now she wouldn’t have done, so no great loss. I’m glad you finally arrived. Hello…?

          TRIX: Mouse

          CHRISTINE: (at the same time) Christine

          HEIDI: Good. You are resisting. Never stop resisting! Pleased to meet you, Christine. Now, will you please dance for me?

          CHRISTINE: Pardon?

          TRIX: Way to just jump to it, Mama. Where are the girlS? Let’s look at them first, process of elimination.

          (Heidi whistles, and girls stop practicing, run and stand in a straight line side by side with their feet together and hands clasped in front of them. They are all under 5’3“, and match Christine’s major characteristics. Trix walks around them, scrutinizing. She taps one girl on the shoulder and then another)

          TRIX: Not you, or you.

         (The girls break from formation and return to their practice)

          TRIX: Good picks overall, Mama! Did you teach them the set I want to see?

          HEIDI: Eric taught them. I have other things to do than your bidding, my royal daughter. But rest assured, they know the routine. Ready? Go!

          (The remaining girls in line spread out and begin executing a series of movements, some like dance and some like just regular walking bending, turning. Trix walks around examining them, and taps out all but three of the girls.)

          TRIX: Okay, Mouse, now we need you to dance.

          CHRISTINE: I thought you were kidding! I can’t dance in front of all these people!

          TRIX: I watched you dance in front of a whole floor full of people the first night I met you. And I’m counting on you dancing in front of a whole theatre of people in short order.

          CHRISTINE: It’s not the same, and you know it!

         HEIDI: Then we all dance.

          (Heidi Trix leads all the girls in the room in a simple set of dance steps. Christine tries to follow. The girls all watch her and copy her way of moving, but Christine doesn’t notice this right away. Lots of opportunity to bring in old world feel with modern version of traditional music, to start the dance with slow, easy movements, moving slowly to longer, more graceful and flowing. Christine loosens up, and girls copy her more fluid movement. The music stops abruptly.

          TRIX: Good, that made things easy. You are in the show, and you are understudy. The rest of you, if you want to come out, Mama can get you tickets. Thank you.

          [INT. Heidi’s office]

          (Trix, Heidi, Christine and Emilie sit around a chic coffee table in stylish but not-quite-comfortable chairs. Although the table is circular, they sit on angles that make a square, creating an unusual space among them. Could be shot from above to emphasize? On the walls are photos of Heidi in various poses in her prime, and some of child-Trix and an older boy. Emilie pulls off the excellent wig she was wearing, showing a head of dyed-bright-red hair underneath.)

          Emilie: I’m so excited! Thank you!

          TRIX: Wait. How old are you?

          Emilie: Fourteen.

          TRIX: Mama, she’s too young! Why did you put her forward?

          HEIDI: Because I knew you would choose her.

          Emilie: I’m emancipated. I live in the student housing and I have a special scholarship to study here.

          TRIX: I see. Well, Mama, it’s on your head. Trace will have more papers for you to sign.

          Emilie: Can I come back with you? I’d like to follow her around, get her movements down.

          CHRISTINE: Excuse me, but am I her? Because I’m not sure what is going on here, and I did what you asked without any complaining but I’m not having her following me around and mimicking me. What is this, anyway? She’s supposed to be me?

          HEIDI: I see your superior communication skills remain intact. This girl doesn’t even know why she’s here. You certainly must be bewitching, and not in the least responsible. (turning to Christine) My girl, you are the subject of an elaborate ruse on the trusting fans.

          TRIX: Mama, you are not helping. And it’s not a ruse, it’s live props, it’s a show. People expect special effects. Look, Mouse, you’re going to disappear from the stage, and then Emilie here will show up in a spotlight, dressed like you, climbing the wall to a trapeze. She’ll do a trick and land on the stage, run backstage and you’ll come out with your guitar like you just scooted back to fetch it. We won’t be announcing it’s you, the audience is left to its own deduction.

          CHRISTINE: It’s a total fraud!

          TRIX: It’s marketing!

          CHRISTINE: What, so after, when people ask me about it, I’m supposed to pretend that was me up there?

          TRIX: Say what you want, and people will believe what they want to believe. Hopefully we’ll get a viral video movement out of it at just the right moment.

          CHRISTINE: I don’t like this! You’re using me.

          TRIX: Hey, language matters and that’s hurtful language. I’m not using you. I’m using Emilie, but since she’s being paid, the energy exchange is complete. What about you? What do you need to make this okay?

          CHRISTINE: I don’t like the idea of pretending. What’s the trick? Is it something I can do?

          TRIX: (laughs, then stops) Sorry. It’s a legitimate and principled question. Well, let’s see.

          (Cut to Christine in protective gear on a  high platform with a trapeze in her hands. She looks terrified. Trix stands beside her on the platform)

          TRIX: So, just aim for the other side. There’s a net, if you don’t make it, just fall and land loose like we practiced. But you won’t need to do that. Ready?

          CHRISTINE: No. Not ready.

          TRIX: Keep your eye on the target and go when you’re ready. Do you want me to count?

          CHRISTINE: Okay, you count, that’s like, accountability.

          TRIX: Nice pun.

          CHRISTINE: It was an accident.

          TRIX: Three, Two, One, GO!

          (Christine stands on the platform.)

          TRIX: That was the count.

          CHRISTINE: I know. I wasn’t ready. Now I’m ready.

          TRIX: Three, Two, One, GO!

          (Christine jumps. She misses the other platform and swings back and forth for awhile, then drops to the net. Trix is at the bottom and helps her roll out of the net.

          TRIX: Good try!

          CHRISTINE: Okay, I guess I can’t do it myself. But do we have to pretend it’s me? Why can’t I stay on the stage?

          TRIX: Don’t you know that an audience needs mystery, magic, wonder and speculation? People say I’m straight edge, but you’re like a razor! Look, you gave it your best go, but you can’t pull it off yourself and it’s part of the show, so it’ll be what it is. Can you be cool with that?

          CHRISTINE: I guess. Hey, thanks for that. I’ve always wanted to try the trapeze, like, my whole life!

          TRIX: Well, you didn’t do half bad. Do you want to try again?

    CHRISTINE:  Is there any chance that I will be able to do this trick in the show?

    TRIX: Not really. But…I like how it matters to you, to be true. Let’s try again.

     (Show them go back and forth a few times, then Chrstine tries to let go and be caught, falls, tries again – give sense that an hour or more has passed and progress is clear)

    TRIX: Better! Wow, like night and day. When you get it, you really get it, eh? You know, you might just pull it off. We’ll keep Emilie on reserve, but…if we keep it simple…

          [INT. BASH’S CAR.]

          (Christine is looking at her phone when it rings. She looks at the number and makes a face)

          CHRISTINE: Um, Hello?

          BREN: Christine. Hello. It’s Tyler Brendshaw, we met last night?

          CHRISTINE: How could I forget? You sent me a huge reminder this morning.

          BREN: Good, you got them!

          CHRISTINE: Trace was pissed. That is why you’re calling, right? To make sure she was pissed?

          BREN: No, not at all. I’m sorry she was…pissed. I’m not sure why you getting flowers should matter to her, exactly. Unless you and she…?

          CHRISTINE: Don’t be stupid. I know you and Trace have a thing and I’m just bait in the middle or something.

          (Trix’s eyes shoot over, showing that she’s very displeased with the conversation)

          BREN: Is that what they fed you? Do you swallow everything you’re served, Christine?

          CHRISTINE: Look, I don’t know, okay, but I’m just really…busy this week. And I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. So, yeah.

          BREN: I guess dinner tonight is not possible, then?

          CHRISTINE: Exactly. Not possible. Impossible. Not going to happen. I mean, I’m sorry.

          BREN: I get it. You’re not the only girl in the world,  you know. Lots of girls want to have dinner with me.

          CHRISTINE: That’s good, lots of women. I don’t feel so bad about saying no then. I gotta go, okay? So, bye.

          BREN: Bye for now.

          TRIX:  Who was that? Was it Brendshaw?

          CHRISTINE: No one. Fine, yes.

          TRIX: Well, he’s persistent. You don’t need to be so honest, you know. Just tell him you have a boyfriend. Or, lead him on a little, wouldn’t hurt the cause, you know.

          CHRISTINE: No way. That guy’s a little much for me. I’m keeping him at arm’s length.

          TRIX: Good to know.

     everything amazes you

     I need to do more research. Would welcome expertise! Here are some things, just random things, that might factor into this scene:

     Trix is at home here

     They are prepared for her, have a set of girls ready to audition

     Sizes them up against Christine – she realizes she is meant to have a stunt double, objects

     Trix thinks it’s funny, suggests Christine do her own stunts, then seriously tries to think of something simple but impressive looking (ideas? research!!)

     Sees them perform the routine they’ve been taught – 3 are chosen

     Takes the time to practice one stunt with Christine to use in the show

     Meet Trix’s mom

     Some strangeness with her cousin and uncle – alert because of Freida’s accusations

     More?

Chapter 20 Wednesday Afternoon

so for Wed, need to have her unhappy to put on same clothes, then delanie and delisle show up with clothes, stay against her wishes, Trix does the intros trick and then pushes over the line with “I cover for your weakness”, Bash loses it, they take off fighting, Dels offer to take her shopping, trace invites herself, go in Dels town car, they go to expensive places, girls dress her, then trace takes to thrift and they find her outfits. when get back, pelted with tomatoes, guitar is there waiting,

Scene 1 Practice makes…

[INT. TIMELESS, MAIN THEATRE]

          LIZARD: Trix, you really gotta see this. From today’s local news at noon.

          (Lizard holds up his cell phone and everyone crowds around it.

          Video:

                   ECHO’S MOTHER: I’ve kept silent as long as I can. Our children are in danger. Right downtown in our city, we have a perverted cult operating, and they tried to suck in my daughter. We caught it on video.

          (video shows Trix and Echo, it’s the footage Donna shot, but closely edited to convey a different message)

              Echo, you tell your momma (cuts abruptly)

               You’ve got a problem (cuts abruptly)

               We need you and you want to be with us (cuts abruptly)

               (shows Trix and the two girls spinning fast)

                (Shows Echo’s mother)

          ECHO’S MOTHER: She tries to turn my thirteen year old daughter against her own mother so she could exploit her talents

           …hate your mom (cuts abruptly)

               she shuts off thinking about one thing that matters to you (cuts)

               all you need to think about is you (cuts)

          ECHO’S MOTHER: She even tried to convince my daughter to kill herself if she couldn’t be in the show

               Your momma (cut) here you are, weighing her down (cut)

               So what is the way around (cuts closely) making your life worth giving up“ (cuts abruptly)

               Will you rot here?(cuts)

          ECHO’S MOTHER: Echo stood up to her.

          (Shows Echo talking to Trix, both in frame)

               You’re a pervert and a communist.

               You’re all the same (cuts)

               you’re a cult.

          ECHO’S MOTHER: Sweetie, how do you feel about Trix now?

          (shows Echo when she turned to Trix, close-up on her face so that it’s not clear who she’s talking to)

         I hate her!

          ECHO’S MOTHER: But what about those kids with nowhere else to go? She’s a monster, she only cares about getting attention.

          (shows Trix)

         I am both a pervert and a communist.(cut)

          (Shows youngest girl hugging Trix’s legs, Trix’s swift kiss, then cuts back to Trix)

               I hope that gets us some press

          (shows Echo’s mother standing in front of a group of neighbours. pay attention to the combination of characters. a chance to tell a character’s whole story in just a moment of facial positioning, should be interesting to actors even though it’s a bit part)

          ECHO’S MOTHER: We need to save those kids! We will be silent no more! We don’t want those people around our city. Timeless must go! 

          NEWSCASTER: The Youtube video has already attracted the attention of over 20,000 viewers. With a sold-out show coming up this Friday at the Timeless Theatre, your Local News One team will update you on any traffic or public disturbances that may arise from this neighbourhood conflict.

          CHRISTINE: Holy shit!

          TRIX: Don’t swear.

          (As they talk, Trace and Jamie hurry over)

          CHRISTINE: Sorry. But…that’s brutal! She’s making out like you’re a child molester or something. I was there, it was nothing like that!

          TRIX: Echo’s mom’s gone off the deep end. This is what passes for news? Doesn’t she know she’s giving us free publicity? No one’s going to buy that chopped-up farce.

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know. People are stupid.

          TRACE: Maybe you need to put out a statement, reach out an olive branch? We don’t want these people picketing at our doorstep.

          TRIX: What does Bash say?

          TRACE: He says you can handle it.

          TRIX: That’s helpful. No, no statement. This is ludicrous. I won’t dignify it by taking it seriously.

          TRACE: No need to decide this minute. Are we practicing this afternoon? Discipline’s out the window when you’re the one who’s late. Myrtle’s set up and waiting.

          TRIX: Sorry.

          TRACE: Let’s just get to it.

          TRIX: People!

          (Trix lassoes her arm in the air. CG the air magnetizes the people, pulling them in like waves. See shimmers in the air, like waves of silvery energy rolling people into the shore of her space)

          TRIX: I’m sorry I’m late. I hear you all buzzing about this news feature on Echo’s mom. Well, don’t. People will always try to tear you down when you’re on your way up. When that kind of garbage gets enough attention for the news, it’s because we’re already news, not because of what she said about us. The people who are with us will see that video for what it is. The people who are against us were already against us, and this only confirms what they already think. We must not let this poison seep into our thoughts and interactions here. This is the last I want to speak of it. Ms. Myrtle’s here! Let’s boogie!

       (Christine looks at her phone. Constant stream of Timeless updates. No texts or voice messages. Christine texts Chris.)

          purc: I need to come by for some things

          (no reply. message says systemichris is offline. Christine dials her phone)

          CHRISTINE: Hey, Chris, if you’re there pick up. Fine, I’ll leave a message. I need to come by for some of my stuff. Let me know if you want to be there, and when’s a good time. You aren’t returning my messages, and you need to. I know you’re mad, but let’s be grownups, okay? Alright. Bye.

     See if I can fit in another story or two here, maybe a group story from three?

Scene 2 leadins mixins

Trix uses leadins of compatible popular songs to help Christine find a foothold in the music

     Need another story about how they got here

     Conversation with Rekha

Scene 3 Practice Interuptis Tim call

Before the practice, Delanie and Delisle show up, DeLorean’s back – groupies gathering.

     “You need to go shopping.

     Trix gets pulled by suits

     Ruby pulled me aside:

     Me an’ Chia, we two parts o’one thing. You mess wit her, you got me.

     I’m not messing with her. She likes me, what do you want me to do, ignore her? Chase her away?

     Nah, sure, sorry, just – somethin’ about you ain’t right. Why’re you here? Why’re you not in midtown having latties wit’ some white ladies? Why’ve you got no place to sleep but here, when clearly you got people who care ‘bout you? Don’t you know, we need this place? You’re some kinda tourist, but we got no other chances. Quit playin’ around wit’ us. One thing ta play the show, sure, but now here’s Miss Mouse in da House and seems like we make good toys for now, but then you’re on and out. Chia don’t need a friend like that.

     Well, why not? It’s not like every friendship is for life. When I was little, we traveled all around the country. I’ve met so many people, and if I saw them today, they’d hug me and know we still love each other. But were they there when my dad died? Were they there for me when I had my accident? No. Not even my mother was there. Are they part of my life every day? No, but hey, I see them on Facebook. The people who are here are here. People come, people go. Lighten up, already!

     You sayin’ I’m too dark for ya?

     Really? That’s where you want to go with this? Look, I know you’ve had a way heavier life than me, and what I know can’t fill a thimble when it comes to how things work around here. I didn’t mean to step on toes, I’m just…following my nose, seeing what happens. So I ended up here. I really like Chia, she’s so sweet and deep and easy with herself. Why can’t I just be her friend, while I’m here, and we’ll see what happens next?

     How’d you get that scar?

     Hot grease in a bar kitchen while my dad was playing on stage.

     Huh. Okay, friend-for-now, that’s how I’ll take you, and teach Chia the same. But you better not mess wit’ her, and you know what I mean. Remember, Trix won’t like you nosin’ ‘round another girl. Chia’s not even gay, she’s just…loving.

     Oh, Ruby, I didn’t know you thought…that…no, okay, no. I’m not seeing Chia that way! I wouldn’t…no! And I’m not sleeping with Trix, either, so you can go ahead and pass that through the grapevine.

     Jus’ ‘cause you say it? I report what I see, an’ only that. That’s how I am.

     I bet it is. You seem to fit in great here. Thanks for talking with me, it’s way better than feeling like you don’t like me.

     I don’t like you. But maybe I’m warmin’ – we’ll see.

     Exactly!

     (Christine’s cell phone rings)

          CHRISTINE: Hello?

          TIM: What do you think you’re doing?

          CHRISTINE: What?  Look, you’ve got the wrong…

          TIM: Christine! Don’t you hang up on me! Where do you get off cancelling Delisle Abner-Fitch, of all people? Do you know who she is? Who her mother is?

         CHRISTINE: Look, I’m sorry! I thought you said I could control my schedule.

          TIM: You have complete flexibility as long as you’re there when the clients want you! We don’t cancel lessons. Not for rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of…you get the picture. We. Don’t. Cancel. Clients. Especially not an Abner-Fitch.

          CHRISTINE: Okay, now I know. Sorry!

          TIM: It was in your orientation video. It’s your first week! This does not bode well. I can’t afford another bad hire, you are going to work out, you hear me?

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know how many ways I can say I’m sorry. I know now. We don’t cancel.

          TIM: Okay, alright, it’s done. But you had better show up for Delanie tomorrow morning. I updated your calendar with the address. I would have given a map, but I wasn’t sure on your starting point…?

          CHRISTINE: I’m at Timeless.

          TIM: So it’s true! I saw your little video from last night but I thought it was just a publicity stunt, you being there. How does Chris feel about it?

          CHRISTINE: He’s why I’m here! He doesn’t trust me, and I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.

          TIM: Uh, oh. Sounds like trouble in paradise. If you want my advice, don’t run away from your problems. When Freida and I have an issue, we get it out right away so there’s no drama. You need to talk with Chris.

          CHRISTINE: I’m not running away..exactly. I’m focused on this show, and Chris and I needed some…space to cool off. It’s good for me to be here, isn’t it? For…the brand? Listen, I won’t let you down, Tim, I’ll be there for Delanie tomorrow, even if there’s rain or sleet or gloom or whatever.

          TIM: I’m counting on you, Christine. The whole YKM team is counting on you.

          CHRISTINE: Okay, um, bye.

     ****

 TRIX: Okay, little girl, do you need a ride home?

          CHRISTINE: I can’t go home. Chris isn’t even returning my calls.

          TRIX: Timeless is a program for displaced youth. You can’t stay here indefinitely, you know.

          CHRISTINE: I know. I don’t have anywhere to go.

          TRIX:  You can return to Chris.

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know. Not just for a place to stay.

          TRIX: You’ve had a spat, but surely it hasn’t come to that. You will talk, and remember why you gave up your life to be here with him.

          CHRISTINE: I don’t even know if he’s there. Can’t I just stay here tonight?

          TRIX: I can’t babysit you, Mouse, and I can’t take you with me.

          CHRISTINE: Why not?

          TRIX: For one thing, you haven’t got a stitch to wear. But seriously, I’m working. These parties aren’t for fun. No one has fun, that’s not the point. I bring you, I gotta worry about what you’re saying and doing, whether you’re on brand…

          CHRISTINE: On brand? I didn’t realize I was such an off-brand commodity.

          TRIX: I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. It’s hard to work with friends around, surely you’ve found that. I need to be on, aware, focused. You’d distract me.

          CHRISTINE: Fine, I’ll hang out in the Bunkers.

          TRIX: I’m not so sure you should be doing that. I mean, your little performance last night was impressive – what, did you think I’d missed it? And yes, I want you comfortable with the team, it’s just…you’re so…

          CHRISTINE: So what?

          TRIX: You’re covered in armor, but your tender spots show. These boys are getting trained into civility, but they come from rough places, and humans are like dogs – even the tame ones might turn on you.

          CHRISTINE: I can take care of myself.

          TRIX: I’ll take your word for it. This is show week. It’s craziness. I guess one more crazy bird in the nest won’t shake us outta the tree. If we’re gonna do this thing, let’s do it right. Let’s get immersive and see it through.

          CHRISTINE: So I can stay?

          TRIX: Until the show, as long as you keep yourself out of trouble and don’t bring any trouble calling. Okay?

          CHRISTINE: Thanks.

          TRIX: Say okay. I need an agreement.

          CHRISTINE: Fine. Okay.

          TRIX: Okay what?

          CHRISTINE: What what? Okay, I’ll stay until the show…

          TRIX: And?

          CHRISTINE: And…I’ll stay out of trouble?

          TRIX: And?

          CHRISTINE: Do we really have to dissect every aspect of this conversation?

          TRIX: Yes. How else will I know if we have an agreement?

          CHRISTINE: (sighs) I can stay at Timeless until after the show. I will stay out of trouble. I won’t bring any trouble…calling. Okay?

          TRIX: Yeah, baby.

          (Christine sticks out her tongue. Trix grabs for it and misses,both laugh. Trix passes Christine a key pass.)

          CHRISTINE: For me? You know, it almost…kills the mystery. The fate that always brings someone to the door when I need in.

          TRIX: So give it back and take your chances.

          (Trix swipes playfully for the card. Christine snatches it out of sight.)

          CHRISTINE: As if!

          TRIX: Don’t lose it.

          CHRISTINE: Or what?

          TRIX: The boys get 1,000 pushups and toilet duty for a week.

          CHRISTINE: I’m not a boy.

          TRIX: Yeah, I’ve noticed. Just don’t lose it. But if you do, text Trace right away so she can deactivate it.

          CHRISTINE: Check. But what would my punishment be?

          TRIX: Let’s not find out.

     Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going shopping with Bash.

     What about practice?

     We have some technical stuff, let the kids fill in, you and Bash figure out what you’re going to wear.

     What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?

     To go shopping at the local freshco, nothing. but on my stage, you show who you are amplified by 10. Bash is awesome at this. Trust him.

Scene 4 Shopping with the Dels

so for Wed, need to have her unhappy to put on same clothes, then delanie and delisle show up with clothes, stay against her wishes, Trix does the intros trick and then pushes over the line with “I cover for your weakness”, Bash loses it, they take off fighting, Dels offer to take her shopping, trace invites herself, go in Dels town car, they go to expensive places, girls dress her, then Bash shows up, takes to thrift and they find her outfits. when get back, pelted with tomatoes, guitar is there waiting,

     In this scene, practice is interrupted by the intrusion of people Trix and Trace need to deal with. Trix is visibly upset. She dismisses Bash to take Christine shopping for an outfit for the show, and he accepts it but is not happy.

     At this point it’s important to note that many more references to the neighbourhood discontent, Youtube war with Echo’s mom continue. In this scene, mainstream media picks up the Echo story – Christine tells Bash, he is worried, relates it to the men who have come but is vague.

     In this scene, Bash and Christine size each other up as competition on both Chris and Trix. He gives her advice.

     They shop at high-end stores, then go to vintage and used to duplicate what he liked, with more flare. 

Chapter 21 Wednesday Evening

Scene 1 Rotten Tomatoes

Neighbours are picketing, get pelted with tomatoes. Bash invites her up to get cleaned up. She decides to take a bath.

Scene 2 You want to BE her

I heard the door open and started awake. Trace stood framed, dark against the light behind her. Her nose scrunched up with distaste. Being naked in front of this woman felt intolerable, but I didn’t want to acknowledge that to her.

     “You’re here, ” she sighed, closing the door behind her. She stood at the sink, her back to me, while I watched her examine herself in the mirror. She caught me, her reflected eyes spearing mine in place. “But you know, that doesn’t mean you should be, Mouse.”

     “Christine,” I corrected automatically.

     “Yeah, that. That’s it right there, Mouse. Just go with it. You know, get over yourself.”

     I heard her muttering, as if to herself,

     “So delicate – is she trying to prove she can be gentle enough not to break you?”

     She turned fast and faced me head on.

     “Because she can’t.”

     She leaned over the tub and used two hands to heft open the window to the fire escape. Her cleavage dangled menacingly in my face. Taking a single cigarette and lighter from her back pocket, she perched on the edge of the tub and lit up, careful to blow the smoke out the window.

     “I hope you’re not thinking about having sex with her.” Her light blue eyes became sonar radar as she gauged my non-reaction. She shrugged and continued.

     “That never goes well. You missed Luca. A great technician.  Things almost fell apart when she had to go. For what? We’re very lucky Jamie cleaned up his act or we’d be screwed for production.”

     She waited to let the words sink in. This was the second time she’d mentioned Luca to me, a second warning.

     “And now, you. You play proficiently. You seem to get what we’re trying to do. It would be easier if you can stay with us, at least for awhile.”

     I couldn’t help but object. “Hey, I never committed to anything but this show.”

     “Yes, yes, okay. And if you sleep with her, it won’t even be this show, which is unacceptable at this point.” She took a few more irritable puffs, then shook her head.

     “What is the problem? You’re not even gay.” She was getting testy with me, but not half so much as I was with her.

     “Who are you to say if I’m gay?”

     She regarded me levelly. “You want to BE her. It’s not the same thing. Just don’t. Okay. Just…don’t.

     She seemed about to stand, then stopped. She pulled in a deep breath with her eyes closed, held and slowly released – I recognized the method. She opened her eyes and shook her head.

     “Mouse, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t know your best friend if she skipped up and tongued you her bubble gum. Listen. Trix is the wind. And me,” here, she leaned in closer to where I sat in the cooling water, my arms curled around my knees.

     “Me, little Mouse, I’m a wind tunnel.”  She stood, flushed her stub down the toilet. “What does a mouse have to offer the wind? Maybe fleeting amusement before she blows by you, or blows you over. Play music with us, get into it, but don’t get confused. She is not for you. You will not fuck this up. And if you tell her I was smoking, I’ll have to break your little fingers.” She smiled her sweet, babydoll smile before spraying a disgusting room freshener in my direction. She closed the door carefully behind her.

     I contained my anger with difficulty, picturing her face as tiny, pixilated dots, just a trick of light, really. I contorted the face, this way and that. It was amusing to see her writhe. But then I started to feel something else – a begrudging admiration. She was so strong, clear about what she wanted. I felt envy. To be able to pull that off seemed like a super power to me. I wasn’t so sure it was Trix that I wanted to be.

     And then, the door opened again. Trace stood for a moment, then stepped forward to crouch beside me, her face three inches from mine. She’d left the door open, and I felt the breeze. I shivered, goosebumps rising. Trace reached out a finger that hesitated briefly in mid-air before stroking the raised skin on my arm with her finger-tip. I felt something in her touch, both menacing and wistful. I shivered again. When she spoke, all the pretense had fallen away. I saw how tired she was, and how determined.

     “You think you’re special. You think she loves you. What you don’t understand is, she does love you. And everyone else, too. And most of all, herself. Trix is in love with the world. She is living her life like making love to the world. It’s amazing. It’s absolutely amazing. Of course we are all in love with her. But there is something big going on here, and you fell in love at exactly the wrong moment. There’s nothing more for you here. You should leave. You should go.”

     She stood, looking down at me, cold and vulnerable with enough contempt and disdain to poison her pity. She left the door open, forcing me to exit the tub without privacy. I toweled off quickly, leaving large wet patches that caught my underpants into a twisted knot behind my thigh. The faster I tried to dress, the more my clothes and body didn’t want to cooperate. When I finally finished, I didn’t feel any less naked. I didn’t want to go out into the living room.

     Grabbed my things

     Bash – of course not, we need her

     Trix comes in

     Or get it together and keep your pants on, play the show and fade away. I want things smooth. This is your last warning from me.“

     I felt like yelling, “or what?” but I felt strangled and tight. She left the door open, forcing me to exit the tub without privacy. I dressed quickly and grabbed my bag.

Scene 3 Did I dream her kiss?

(texts with Ethan)(sleeps on sofa, wakes with a blanket, did I dream her kiss?)

Chapter 22 Wednesday Night

Scene 1 Wandering, the streets at night

 – Jamie wakes her, he has a lead on curtain girl, wants Christine to go with him. Don’t want to use their key cards to get in, so Jamie jimmies the door with a wood chip (later realize that’s how the girl snuck with echo)

          – As they sneak out they hear footsteps close and think they’re being followed, but see no one, then later on street find Emilie, who has not gone home and followed them out – Echo

          – Follow lead, see the seedy side of street life

          – girl is gone, end up with Echo in tow, Jamie has to hide her or she’ll tell they were out looking for the girl

     Luca

          – christine sneaks back

Chapter 23 Thursday Morning

Guitar shows up, no indication, assumes it’s tyler but when she calls, it’s not. tells him she’s just coming off two relationships, not a good time.

     (no practice, arrive at 4pm, so goes back to see Chris, learns a lot about him, relationship, self)

     (bus back, texts with Ethan

     Christine enters the dark, smelly apartment to find Chris a mess. He’s been drinking, not bathing, lights out since she left. Takes care of him. They talk. Learn a lot more about him, their relationship. Discovers that Bash came to Chris the night before the wedding to see if there was a chance there.

Scene 1 Escape

Because someday I’ll be a better person than I am today, and I’ll always know. I’ll always know. And that will be there, wedged, in my life from now on.

     Or I can fix it.

     I can change it.

     Let’s not pretend we’re not choosing, okay? Let’s not pretend this is not a big deal. Together we believe that the ends justify the means. But do we each believe this? Inside ourselves? At our core? And will the better people we hopefully become believe that? Or will we, perhaps, thwart our better selves altogether? Let us consider, and consider it carefully, that this act, this collective act of ours, could well launch us onto a path of shallow self-serving self-satisfaction, in which case will we be spared our guilt. Will success absolve us?

     Trace: I’m counting on it.

     Ride with Freida – I promised Tim I wouldn’t miss it, but there was no way to get there, simply no way. I didn’t want Tim to know, but I couldn’t call Rekha, I couldn’t ask Trix – so, Freida it was. I can’t bring you back from there, you’ll have to find your way. Make them take you.

Scene 2 Delanie, ride w Bren

(ride with Frieda, more about social media buildup, controversy around the Echo’s mom video. dropped at a ridiculous mansion, bigger than DeLorean’s house)

          CHRISTINE: Hi – remember me? From Your Kinda Music?

          PRIDEY: (whispers) Maybe YOUR kinda music.

          CHRISTINE: Pardon?

          PRIDEY: Nothing.

          BREN: You turn me down for dinner then show up at my house?

          CHRISTINE: I…uh…I didn’t know…

          BREN: I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me.

          CHRISTINE: I’m not! I had no idea. I’m here for…your…daughter?

          BREN: My what?

          CHRISTINE: Delanie?

          BREN: Delanie’s my sister, for god’s sake. Half sister, Father’s second life. She’s seventeen! How old do you think I am?

          CHRISTINE: I don’t know. Like, fo…thirty…nine?

          BREN: Does everyone over thirty still look the same age to you? I’m only thirty-four.

          CHRISTINE: Anyway, she could be your kid, technically.

          BREN: Well, she’s not. They’re just staying here while our father sorts out his legal issues.

          CHRISTINE: What kind of legal issues?

          BREN: That’s a little rude to ask.

          CHRISTINE: You brought it up. Why do people even bring stuff up if they don’t want you to ask questions?

          BREN: People? Who else does that?

          CHRISTINE: My mom. And Trix does it all the time.

          BREN: Maybe she really does want you to ask questions. Maybe there are questions she’s not asking herself.

          CHRISTINE: Are there questions you’re not asking yourself, then?

          BREN: Of course. And you’re here to make me answer them.

          CHRISTINE: I’m here to teach Delanie guitar.

          BREN: I can’t imagine Delanie practicing anything that might wreck her manicure. I think you’re here for me.

          CHRISTINE: Wrong. I didn’t even know this was your place.

          BREN: Maybe not. Yet, in more universal sense, you were brought here. I called you into my life for a reason.

          CHRISTINE: What does that mean?

          BREN; I’m still figuring that out.

          CHRISTINE: Look, is Delanie here? Because I have a really packed day and it’s gonna take hours to bus back downtown.

          BREN: Don’t worry about that. I’ll have someone take you back.

          CHRISTINE: Really? That would…help me out a lot.

          BREN: In fact, I’m heading to meetings in the vicinity. I’ll take you myself.

          CHRISTINE: I…guess…

          BREN: Now you don’t want a ride? You were so enthusiastic five seconds ago.

          CHRISTINE: Look, you freak me out a little, okay? I don’t know what you want from me.  You’re so…intense.

          BREN: I am intense, it’s true. It’s the secret to my success. But I don’t bite…hard. What I want is your time and attention. Let me give you a ride.

          DELANIE: Oh, no you don’t! You’re not stealing my guitar hero, Bren. I paid for her! 

          BREN: I doubt that – I’m sure I paid for her, if you want to get technical. You’ve already wasted half your hour making her stand here waiting for you. Have your lesson while I handle some email. Christine, I’ll take you downtown in thirty.

          DELANIE: You suck, Bren.

          BREN: Maybe, but I’m the one paying your bills right now, so try to be more charming, dear sister.

          (Delanie sticks out her tongue)

          DELANIE: Come on, Mouse! Bren acts like the big hero, but where did his startup money came from for all this? He’d be nothing without Papa.

          CHRISTINE: You probably shouldn’t be telling me private family stuff…

          DELANIE: Private? What’s private? I’m not saying anything everyone doesn’t know.

          CHRISTINE: Well, not everyone…

          DELANIE: Everyone who’s anyone. And now you, too.

          CHRISTINE: So, where’s your guitar?

          DELANIE: Oh, I don’t have a guitar. Do I need one?

          CHRISTINE: Well, I guess you can play mine, it’s just hard to demonstrate.

          DELANIE: Well, why don’t you play for me and show me how the notes look, how the fingers move?

          CHRISTINE: You want me to play for you? What would you want me to play?

          DELANIE: Oh, anything. (she skypes Delisle from her laptop)

     DELISLE: Mouse!! You’re gonna play for us? So cute!

          (Delanie sets up her iphone to record Christine)

          CHRISTINE: Hold on, I’m not sure I’m cool with recording this.

          DELANIE: Oh, come on! You know it’s all for good. Anyway, you owe me for getting Delisle tickets and not me. The only reason I’m not mad is that    

    she’s taking me. Right, Del?“

    DELISLE: Right, Del.

    DELANIE: What’s with you and Bren? You sounded like an old married couple.

    CHRISTINE: We don’t even know each other, really. We met at a party.

          DELANIE: Oooh, who’s party?

          CHRISTINE: Oh, um, Tasha Lefoyt?

          DELANIE: Bo-o-ring. Bunch of old rich people standing around not eating weird things.

          CHRISTINE: Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, um, we should get on with the lesson…

          DELANIE: Don’t worry, okay? I’ll fill in all five pluses on your evaluation this week. Just chill, okay?

          CHRISTINE: I mean, well, we don’t have to…jump in, first lesson. We can ease our way. Let me show you the notes.

Scene takes place in car between Bren, a playfully handsome CEO with acute onset existential angst, and Mouse, a guitarist who is drifting into the world of Timeless, where Trix holds court with the homeless youth who are helping her build a musical movement. 

BREN: So, you might as well tell the truth. Trix sent you to my house to get my attention.           
CHRISTINE: No! Seriously! I just started with YKM yesterday and your little sister was there.           
BREN: Step-sister. What’s YKM?          
CHRISTINE: Your Kinda Music – Delanie’s music school, my employer.           
BREN: I bet it’s not my kinda music. Or yours, either, for that matter. Why are you teaching spoiled teenagers guitar?          
CHRISTINE: For money.          
BREN: Surely it can’t pay enough to be worth your time.           
CHRISTINE: Hey, if it pays more than zero, it’s worth my time – I’m broke!          
BREN: Are you talented?          
CHRISTINE: Well, I mean, I’ve been playing since I was two. And I play a lot of styles, and I was in the Orchestra…          
BREN: But are you talented? Really talented? Do you have something special? Or not?          
CHRISTINE: It’s sounds so challenging when you put it that way. I don’t know the answer.         
BREN: Well, then you’re probably right – teaching is all you can do.           
CHRISTINE: Is this some kind of reverse psychology thing where I want to rise to the challenge and prove you wrong?          
BREN: Would that be effective?          
CHRISTINE: No.          
BREN: Then it’s not. Seriously, if you can’t find it in yourself to know that you’re special, and that the world needs what you have to give, you can spend your time earning money from other people. But if you know that you’re amazing, how can you waste your time for a few dollars?          
CHRISTINE: Because I have to eat and pay the rent. You probably don’t know what that’s like. Your time is worth so much more than mine.          
BREN: Yes, it is. Because I don’t sell it for less.           
CHRISTINE: You really think it’s all just about choice? What about opportunity? What made you CEO of your own company by your age, however old you are? Not everyone has money to start with, not everyone has a family that supports them. Some of us have to do whatever it takes to survive.          
BREN: (makes the starting sounds to the Rocky theme)         
 CHRISTINE: Oh, fuck you.          
BREN: (laughs) I’m not mocking you, but you’re funny. Do you think that I don’t know what it means to work for what I have, just because I had some luck along the way?          
CHRISTINE: No, I think you under-estimate how much luck played in. If my dad had cut a decent deal for his music, or made a bigger name for himself, maybe I’d have a million dollars to do everything I wanted too.           
BREN: I bet you’d make a big splash. Why don’t I give you a million dollars and see what happens?          
CHRISTINE: Sure. Make the cheque out to Christine Purnell. Two l’s.           
BREN: As soon as we stop.          
CHRISTINE: You’re not serious.          
BREN: Why? You’re not serious about wanting it?          
CHRISTINE: Well, I mean, I…who does that? No one does that. You aren’t just going to give me a million dollars. I’m not stupid, you can’t trick me into sleeping with you or something.          
BREN: See how your mind jumps right to that? Interesting. Fine. Offer rescinded.          
CHRISTINE: Hey, wait a minute! I knew you didn’t mean it.          
BREN: I did. I might. But not today. After you stew on it for awhile.          
 CHRISTINE: Whatever.
Silence
Bren: Do you know what you want, Christine? In Life?
Mouse: Um…do you mean why am I on Earth? I seem to be getting that question a lot lately.
Bren: I mean, more like, what’s your philosophy? How do you live? 
Mouse: I didn’t study philosophy. Just music.
Bren: That’s philosophy! 
Mouse: Only if you’re being abstract. 
Bren: Okay, well, the way I see it, some people see life to take care of others, and other people devote themselves to a cause, maybe like music. Some people see life as seeking safe, warm, comfort. Some people see life as an interesting set of experiences, some people see life as a grab-what-you-can-get game to win. And some people see life as a journey of truth. 
Mouse: (scoffs accidentally) Is that what you think you’re doing? Living a journey of truth?
Bren: (affronted) I’m not?
Mouse: Uh, no! Mr. CEO fancypants, your version of truth looks more like grab-what-you-can from the outside.
 Bren: You don’t know me.
Mouse: Right, yeah. You really push, don’t you? I mean, you want me to act like I know you, but then you don’t like it when I do. 
Bren: (laughs, nervous like someone who’s telling the truth past their own barriers)
Bren: Yeah, that’s totally true. (chuckles to himself, like he’s had a theory proven). 
Bren: Look, Christine, I’m not stupid. I can see now what this game I’ve been playing costs, that it counts on exploitation at every level. But I can’t change the game at this point. The great divide is coming, the only question is, which side will you be on? The exclusive club of the uber rich, if you can, or the desperately poor, if you can’t. That’s it.
Mouse: Oh, wow, that’s what you actually think. For real, like, you’ve taken lots of time to think about this, and that’s what you think, now? About what life is, and the role you play?
Bren: (laughs, offended but grudgingly amused) 
Bren: Yeah, little Buddah, I’ve taken lots of time to think about this, and that’s what I actually think. What about you? Which way do you live?
Mouse: I live to play.
Bren: Play? for fun? Or music?
Mouse: Well, duh.
Bren: So get on with it! Play your music already. But look at your actions, they don’t match up. You’re mucking around with Trix and her music, and prostituting your skill to rich teenagers.
Mouse: Hey
!Bren: Sorry, strong. Ak, I’m always too strong.
Mouse: Me too. We have that in common
Bren: That’s why I know you, and you already know me. You know it’s just true, there’s no point denying it. I’m not saying it means anything, but it’s gotta mean something, right?
Mouse: No, it doesn’t.
Bren: Well, I think it does. 
Mouse: You and Trix have the same playbook. Tell me I’m just like you, push me to act like we’re already old friends, to trust you, when I have no reason to. 
Bren: Well, you can’t! You’ve got to know Trix is just using you for an interest blip in her stats. 
Mouse: I don’t think so. I mean, what they’re doing there seems to be really helping kids with nowhere else to go…
Bren: Sure, yeah, if it suits her. But she’s just as grab-what-you-can as anyone. She’s in it for herself first. She’ll suck you all dry.
Mouse: How is that any different from what you do to your workers? To earn profits that you don’t share?
Bren: Listen to the little communist! (amused)
Mouse: I’m not a little anything.
Bren: You’re a little mad right now.
Mouse: Wrong. I’m a lot mad right now.
Bren: You said it yourself. How is what Trix is doing any different from what I’m doing? She’s the charismatic CEO, luring investors and talent with her big visions and big promises. There’s Trace, the President, and Bash, Director of HR. Yes, I know exactly who they are. I watch, just like everyone, and they know it. At least I pay my workers a decent wage, they take their labour for free. At least I’m honest about what I’m doing, trying to make money, and not pretending that I’m just in it to help when really, I’m building my brand.
Mouse: She’s honest. She never said she doesn’t want to be famous.
Bren: Well, then. So you want to give her your all? You think it’s better to play her music than your own.
Mouse: She has music. I just have my guitar
Bren: And a million dollars.
Mouse: Not yet.
Bren: No, not yet.

Scene 3 Office Detour

Bren detours her to his office, but leaves her in the lobby when she doesn’t automatically stay in the car. Co-workers engage her, she feels harassed. Bren doesn’t take it seriously.

     The car stopped outside a green-glassed palace. I jumped out of the car, looking up, up, up to the top like the worst sort of tourist. Bren nudged me.

     “Tall, right?” he asked, amused. He used a keypad to enter the first set of doors, then a fingerprint scan to allow us into a marble stadium with ceilings so high it almost felt like outdoors. A security desk sat empty against one wall. Unused benches lined the widows with real-looking artificial plants between them, as though the office building were a glass-and-metal park. We were the only people in the entire expanse. Our echoed footsteps reverberated rudely, as though we’d disturbed a sacredly silent space. But we weren’t alone, after all. I heard Bro Laughter coming from near the elevators, and sure enough, as we approached, two men with simple but expensive haircuts leaned together, phones in hand, laughing like men only laugh when they think they’re alone. Crew Cut looked up with a wide grin.

     “Who’s the skirt, Brendshaw?” he asked. I felt infuriated. I wasn’t even wearing a skirt. But I also felt out of my element, so I didn’t speak up.

     “That’s not politically correct, Pettiroot,” returned Bren, as though invoking political correctness was any less of an insult. Flop-mop hadn’t looked up from his phone during the entire exchange.

     Bren and I stepped into an open elevator, but the doors didn’t close. Bren pushed the button, then stepped forward for an eye scan. Nothing happened.

     “Oh, I see,” he muttered, turning an apologetic face my way. “I should have had you wait in the car. I can’t bring you up to the floor where I’m going when security’s not here. I really will just be a minute, but you’ll have to wait here.”

     “Gee, thanks,” I grumped, unimpressed. “You dragged me here, and now you’re leaving me in the lobby?

     “Sorry. It won’t let you up, there’s nothing I can do.” His hands fluttered a little, as though he would push me off the elevator but was holding himself back. Feeling strangely rejected, I stepped off, glaring into his eyes as the doors closed between us.

     “Guy’s a bit of a prick, eh,” confided Crew Cut, sidling up a little too close to me. I gave him a tight smile so I couldn’t be accused of ignoring him, and headed for a bench in the sun. He followed like we were joined by a cord, sitting beside me without asking permission.

     “I’m Corwyn,” he smiled, reaching out his hand to shake. I gave him the ends of my fingers quickly and pulled a little further away on the bench.

     “You’re not…like, with Brendshaw, are you?” he ventured. “I don’t want to read this wrong.”

     “No, I’m not with him, but, I do have a boyfriend,” I stated, stretching the truth to my purpose.

     “And does your boyfriend pull in a million and a half a month, net? Because I do.” He expanded his space, widening his legs further apart and throwing an arm over the back of the bench. I wondered, had he seen someone act this way in a movie about a successful person and decide to practice it, or did it just come naturally to assholes? Some stereotypes exist for a reason.

     “How nice for you,” I replied blandly, standing. “I’m going to walk around a bit.”

     Corwyn wasn’t stupid, he didn’t follow. But he did stare pointedly at my ass as I walked away, and gave a low whistle that he probably thought conveyed appreciation. I felt hot with embarrassment to be watched like an object.

     It turned out, the space went in a circle, so after a few minutes of loudly stepping my way past bland interiors and sudden, unexpected pieces of fairly decent art, I ended up back at the elevators.

     “We’ve got you coming and going,” observed Flop-Mop, still without looking up from his phone. A loud ding from the elevator shook my spine. I was standing exactly where he’d left me as the doors slid open to reveal Bren, now laden with a second laptop case.

     “Well, you could have sat down!” he smiled, shaking his head at me.

     “I didn’t like the company,” I replied pointedly, indicating Crew Cut with my chin.

     “Oh, Pettiroot doesn’t mean any harm, he just likes to flirt,” dismissed Bren.

     “I didn’t enjoy his brand of flirting. He was too much all in my space, too familiar.”

     “He doesn’t know that until he tries, does he?” Bren opened the door for me. I threw him a withering glare as I slid into the car. If that was his attitude, what was the point of arguing with him?

Scene 4 Chris Visit

Walking from the bus stop, I suddenly worried. Chris hadn’t been answering the phone. Would he be there? Would he not? I wasn’t sure which I preferred. Part of me wanted to grab my things and go, but I also wanted to clear the anxious, off-balance way I felt about the the way we’d split. We needed to talk.

     I climbed up to our apartment, then hesitated at the door with my key extended. This wasn’t my home anymore. I knocked. Twice. Three times. Fuck this, I thought, turning the key in the lock. I pulled back from the rank backdraft that hit my face as I opened the door. What the hell? A stone dropped hard in my stomach. Something was really wrong.

     I looked around our dim apartment. The sunny day tried to peek around drawn curtains, highlighting the shambles in bits and pieces. Were we robbed? I took another step in, frightened but compelled. Overturned liquor bottles, beer cans and wine bottles. Food plates knocked over and turning to mould. My clothes strewn around, some of them ripped and torn. A hole in the wall, chairs upturned. And that smell – that gross, rotting smell like meat left on the counter. My skin crawled. Where was Chris?

     “Chris?” I called tentatively. I wondered if I should leave. If we’d been robbed, the bad guys might still be here. I didn’t feel safe. But more than that, I felt with a dread of certainty that we hadn’t been robbed at all, that Chris had made this mess, that he was the one who wasn’t safe. I didn’t want to think any further than that. What had he done?

     I almost jumped out of my skin at a loud a groan and shuffling from the other side of the bed.

     “Chris?” my voice came out high and scared. He lurched up, using the bed for leverage.

     “Chrith…Chrithy…Chrishtine? Go away. I don’t want you to see me.”

     I almost wet myself with relief. I let myself acknowledge what I’d feared – I thought he’d killed himself. Instead, he was just drunk. I felt a little like laughing, but he was no laughing matter. He looked like hell.

     “Have you just been sitting here, drinking in the dark, since I left?”

     He slumped back to the ground, dejected.

     “Yeah, pretty much.”

     “Loser.”

     He laughed with me, just a little. I approached cautiously – the smell was definitely coming from him. Old vomit, dried food and maybe even urine.

     “I can’t believe this! You’re supposed to be the together one. You reek!”

     I stomped to the bathroom, turned on the shower, then took a deep breath and held it before dragging him, semi-cooperative, to his feet. We stumbled our way to the bathroom and I pushed him into the shower fully clothed. Now an obedient child, he let the water beat down on his head and drip from his soiled clothing. I sniffed myself – great, now I smelled too. I stripped down, and stepped behind him into the shower. The way he stood, head down, sagging, made me suddenly afraid. Chris was solid, strong. This man in front of me was not that. Who had I been living with, who had I come here for? If Chris could feel this way, the world must be more dangerous than I’d ever let myself believe.

     Tentatively, I reached over and tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it over his head and drop it to the tub floor. We stripped him down, item by item, and I kicked the sopping clothes pile away from our feet. I picked up the soap. Slowly, I washed Chris from the top of his head, down his back to his feet, and moved around to the front, making my way back up again, sudsing up his little chest soul-patch and sliding along his neck, behind his ears, around his forehead. When he was clean, really clean, I pressed myself against him and we stood glued together in the warm, beating flow until the water started to cool. I wrapped him in a towel and dried myself fast, then patted him dry since he just stood there, staring blankly. I took his hand and led him to the bed, tucking him in under a new blanket from the closet. I dressed in the only t-shirt I had left in the drawer before lying down beside him. I lifted his arm around me and settled in before speaking.

     “So, Chris, what the fuck?”

     He sighed heavily, eyes still closed. I wasn’t sure he would reply until he sucked in his breath and his chest got hard under my cheek.

     “Everything is shit, that’s what the fuck. My research is a failure. You’re leaving me. You’re right, I’m a loser. A waste of space. You were my last chance and I’ve blown it. I’ll never have love.”

     “Chris, you’re a genius. Whatever is going on for you now, it will be different in a few years.”

     “So you are leaving me!”

     “I didn’t say that.”

     “You didn’t have to.”

     “Look, Chris, you’re a great guy, you’re smart and sexy. We might make it work, we might not, but it’s just stupid to think I’m your last chance. You can have any girl.”

     Chris laughed his irritated, bitter laugh.

     “You don’t know. You don’t know anything.”

     “What don’t I know?”

     “You don’t know me. What I’m like.”

     “What are you like?”

     He didn’t answer. I tried a softer approach.

     “Chris? Maybe…tell me a story. So I’ll know what you’re like. Tell me something I don’t know.”

     He stayed silent. Shallow breathing, mind churning, his arm stiff around me. I reached up, stroking his head while I waited. Finally, he pulled in a sharp breath then pushed it out in a huff.

     “Okay, here’s a story. The night before the wedding, Bash’s wedding, we were here, a few guys from school and other guys Bash knows. Kind of a bachelor thing, but weird? Because he’s gay, and some of the guys were gay – it was awkward, they kept giving him a hard time and he just took it. Then those guys went off to a bar, the guys from school went home, and by eleven, it was just me and Bash, sharing a bottle of scotch, like comrades. I wasn’t pissed but I sure wasn’t sober. He…he kissed me. Then he, we…I mean, I…he…”

     Understanding dawned.

     “You had sex?”

     Chris rolled away angrily, leaving me only his back to contemplate. Arms crossed tightly to his chest.

     “No! I don’t know, sort of. He…oh, whatever. We did some stuff. Okay? But then I told him to go, and he did.” 

     “Don’t get all defensive, I just want to know where you’re going with this. So what, you think you’re gay then?”

     “No! I’ve had sex with, like, six women including you, and I like sex with women! This was just one weird thing. I don’t even know if I liked it.”

     I waited. His words came slowly, in a small, unsettled voice.

     “But I have to admit, after Bash, I kept thinking about it. Because my last girlfriend before Luca…we never…I didn’t…well, and then Luca, she turned out to be gay, I never even kissed her. So I started wondering. Maybe I’m not straight, after all?”

     “Would that be so bad?”

     He sat up fast to stare at me, bug-eyed incredulous.

     “Are you kidding me? It would be a life sentence. Do you think I want to live like that? I want a normal life – adventurous, yes, but not marginalized. I want a wife, and I want kids, and I definitely don’t want to have to worry what people think about my sexual preferences whenever I meet them. Being gay would be a nightmare!” 

     “I’m sure the gay guys out there might have something to say about that.”

     “Well, they aren’t me. And I’m not them. I’m not gay. Because of you, Christine, I know that. I wanted you right away. I can’t tell you what a…relief it is, that I want to fuck you. Damn, that sounded very bad. But Christine, sex with you is like…the only time I ever feel like I know who I am.”

     “So you’re not gay.” 

     “But…I’m scared maybe it’s just you, that if I lose you, I may not find another woman I want…enough. I don’t want you to think I don’t love you. I do. Every inch of your squirmy, compelling you-ness. I love you, Christine, and I love sex with you, so I want to marry you. Is that so bad?”

     I sighed.

     “No, it’s not bad. It’s just…too much. Too fast. I don’t know what I want or why I do anything I do. I can’t jump into something so permanent just because you’re afraid you won’t want to fuck another woman. You’ve got to get that, don’t you?”

     “So go already.” Plaintive. Lost and alone. I knew what that felt like.

     “Hey, you’re a sexy guy. The sex with you is amazing, maybe the best I’ve had. So I wouldn’t worry about it. What’s gay? What’s straight? Whatever, that’s what I say. Sex is sex. Love is love.”

     “Easy for you to say. Girls are allowed be be bi.”

     “Now you’re just being whiney. Look, I gotta get back. Shape up! You’re better than this. We’ve got dress rehearsal tonight, and I expect to see you there, looking hot and virile. Get some sleep, eat something, drink water and pull yourself together!”

     He grabbed me then, pushing me back down to the bed. Chris pressed a messy, desperate kiss into my mouth, too much tongue and spit. I shoved him away and rolled off the bed.

     “Jesus! This is not the time, Chris.” I started gathering my clothes from around the room, shoving them into a plastic bag I’d found next to the stale takeout. He lay back on the bed, sulking.

     “So that’s it, we’re done? You’re leaving?”

     “Oh, Chris, why does it have to be so black and white? I’m going back to Timeless right now, yes, and I’m taking my things so I have them. But I don’t hate you, I’m not cutting you out. I asked you to come tonight. I’m inviting you along.” I knelt beside the bed, and held his hand in mine. With my other hand, I turned his head so our eyes could meet.

     “Just come along for the ride, will you? You can get off if that’s what you want, but don’t try to make it out like I’m kicking you off the train. Clean yourself up and woo me a little, if you want me back. I’d like that. Let’s just see how things go, okay?”

     “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”

     “That’s good enough for me. Not knowing is so much better than knowing the worst.”

     “You’re really weird, Christine.”

     “That’s why you love me!”

     “Yes it is.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. I ran my fingers over the two-days stubble on his cheek, velcro-prickles.

     “See you soon.” He closed his eyes as I leaned in to kiss his forehead smooth. Before leaving, I set the alarm on his clock for 6pm, so he’d have enough time to get ready and make the show. I opened a window, but left him with his own mess to clean, closing the door gently behind me.

Scene 5 Mom, what do you remember about that night?

Change this to scar conversation, move it.

     Discovers that grandma took custody or she would have been in foster care, mother was drunk the night of the burning, didn’t know what happened until the next day, also find out grandmother was abusive

     I pushed the red button and held it down, so the phone hung up and turned off at the same time.

     Reveals that grandmother died this year

     Chrissy, what do you want from me?

     You knew. You knew what she was like and you still left me with her!

     Well, I knew she wasn’t the nicest person I’d ever met, but I didn’t think she was abusive.

     She was, okay?

     She had a hard life. She didn’t know any better than to talk to you the way her parents talked to her.

     Or hit me with a cane? Or trip me for no reason? I don’t buy it. She was mean, and that’s it. Not mean-spirited, but it came out mean, and that was not fun to live with.

     I’m sorry.

     What am I supposed to do with sorry, rebuild my self-esteem?

     It’s not like I had a choice!

     What are you talking about? You had a choice. You could have stayed home and raised me yourself. Or taken me back on the road!

     No, I couldn’t.

     Why not?

     They wouldn’t let me.

     Who? Who wouldn’t let you?

     Social Services. After you got…after the accident, they took you away from us. We thought we were lucky, when Katherine took you in. We thought, at least you weren’t in the system…

     What? What are you saying? All that time I was growing up, I had to live there, like, by law, and no one told me?

     I don’t think we meant to keep it from you, I just never wanted to admit it out loud, and I figured she must have told you, gloating…

     No. She gloated because you were a deadbeat and didn’t give a shit about me, not because the state declared you unfit.

     Oh, Sweetie, it was never like that. I cared about you. I care about you. Please know that.

     Yeah, okay, but anyway, whatever, it’s done. Now I know. You were state sanctioned to dump me there and get on with your life without me and dad.

     That’s completely unfair.

     Not completely, but it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. We can’t change the past, as you’re always telling me. I just need to know…do you know anything about…about the man?

     What man?

     The man I…the one who…the man I hurt?

     You were the one who got hurt.

     No, but, there was a man, I…might have accidentally…stabbed him?

     What? No, that isn’t…I don’t know about any  man.

     Why do you sound less than 100% certain?

     Well, you know those days, you know where I was at, your dad hit it big and I was still just following him around, that night I was…don’t make me say it, Chrissy.

     You were drunk. You were so blind drunk that you don’t even know what happened at all.

     I woke up in the hospital, like you, the next day. They told me you got burned. They told you they were taking you away from me. But they didn’t mention any man.

     So you don’t know.

     Well, I think I would know, if something like that happened. If you stabbed someone, they would have mentioned it when social services was listing their reasons.

     You think I’m lying?

     Maybe you just…hallucinated. Or you’re having a false memory. That happens, when there’s trauma. Maybe you had a dream and you thought it was a memory.

Chapter 24 Thursday Afternoon

Scene 1 Guitar Hoopla

The guitar she tweeted about arrives.

      In this scene, the guitar Christine tweeted the previous afternoon shows up with no indication who sent it. She assumes Tyler and calls him. Not him. Awkward and embarrassing. Not Ethan, Trix, Bash. She wants to reject the gift not knowing where it came from, but the guitar calls to her.

     Sunburst Guitar shows up

          Christine calls Bren to thank him, he denies it

     How can we tie Rekha in here?

     Need another story or two about how they got here

Scene 2 Ms. Rankin

“What’s happening?” Trix asked before she’d even crossed the threshold of the door.

     “Ms. Rankin is here requesting an inspection.” Bash’s quiet, gentle voice sounded almost compassionate, as though he felt sorry for Ms. Rankin, that she was required to make such an unreasonable request.

     “An inspection of what?”

     “Of our records, and interviews with the wards and volunteers.”

     “We’re on the verge of a major show here. Everyone is too busy for your bureaucracy.”

     “You are required to let us inspect your records.”

     “With adequate notice or a court order. Do you have one of those?”

     “Trix…” Bash’s tone held a warning

     “No.”

     “Then, out. I’m happy to talk with you next week.”

     “Or reasonable suspicion that you aren’t following the rules.”

     Trix narrowed her eyes at Ms. Rankin, who visibly shrank back.

     “Be explicit, Ms. Rankin. Why are you here?”

     “We have reason to believe you have children working here.”

     “The whole team is over sixteen. Any younger volunteers are signed in and out by their guardians.”

     “That’s the policy, yes, but my question is how well that is enforced.”

     “You people are unbelievable! We try to work with you and you turn it around into a witch hunt.”

     Bash stepped forward and took Trix’s hand in his. I saw them exchange a squeeze before releasing. Trix stepped back. Bash retook the conversation.

     “We have spoken already about Latchkey…that is, Nigel’s forged release, and our honour policy to allow him access pending verification. When we discovered his situation, we called you immediately. There is nothing to suggest our systems are ineffective, and I know first hand, they are no slower than your own.”

     Ms. Rankin listened with the impatience of one who is waiting to play a card that she knows trumps yours. Bash had barely finished speaking when she pounced.

     “But he was here overnight. You had a child here, overnight. That can close you down.”

     “We did not.” Trix stated it flatly.

     “You did. Two nights. He told us that during intake.”

     Trix turned her back on Ms. Rankin, and I could see why. Her face at that moment was not for the uninitiated. They could mistake her for a demon enraged.

     “I’ll find out,” she said, turning to talk to the wall.

     Bash stepped forward, politely crowding Ms. Rankin so that she took a few steps to the left, putting her on path for the door.

     “Clearly something happened with this one boy, but we cannot be sure he is telling the truth – he already lied to us once. I can assure you that we will determine the story and address what is needful. I will submit an appropriate report.” He was all gentle civility.

     “You know what people are saying. It’s my responsibility to protect these children. I want to meet each young person working and staying here, and review their records.”

     “Yes, but you do not have the authority to compel that today, and I must politely decline to accommodate you at this time. If you come again next week, we can talk then.” There was no compromise in Bash’s tone – he was pleasantly stating the facts.

     “I’ll come back with a court order tomorrow. Is that what you want? Isn’t it better to let me talk with the wards today, not inconvenience your show?” She sounded like discovering this power had just made her week.

     Bash smiled, as though they were discussing predictions for the weather.

     “I think maybe it will take you two days, at least, if you have friends in the right places, which again brings us to next week. So, thank you for informing us of what you learned from Nigel. We will ensure that nothing similar happens. We are busy and I must ask that you leave the premises.”

     He placed his hand on Ms. Rankin’s arm and shepherded her through the door.

     Trix stood facing the wall. I could hear her deliberate breathing, occasionally escaping in a huff. Trace peeled herself from the chair where she’d been silently observing and walked to stand behind Trix, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind. I noticed that she was tall enough that her face cleared Trix’s shoulder – I would have had to lay my own cheek just below her shoulder blades.

     Trix stiffened, then sighed back, sinking into a familiar comfort. She hugged Trace’s arms closer to herself and bowed her head, allowing herself anguish while Trace held her in a safe space. They were no more aware of my presence than if they’d been on a television screen. This from-behind glimpse into their relationship told me more than I wanted to know. They knew each other on a level I’d never reached with another person.

     At the same time, I couldn’t help but think Trix was overreacting. Surely this was not the first run-in with government workers, given what they were doing. I wanted to leave, but didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

Scene 3 He’s OUT

Bash returned a minute later. Trix seemed to wake from a trance, and she woke up agitated.

     “He is OUT. OUT.”

     She started pacing the room.

     “Days or nights. A simple question. He lied to me. He LIED.”

     She was like a caged tiger being taunted by the smell of meat in the air. Trace stepped forward but didn’t try to touch her.

     “Kids lie. I know it hurts, but try not to take it so personally.”

     “It is personal! And it’s not just personal. He put this whole place at risk, right when…” Her words ground into a growl. “Get him in here. Now.”

     “No, Trix. Not until you cool down.”

     “Then I will find him.”

     She strode from the room. No one moved to stop her, but we all followed.

     Trix let herself use more force than necessary to throw open the door to the bunkers. I caught a glimpse of fifteen upturned faces showing surprise, fear, curiosity, excitement, confusion, before the door ricocheted closed behind her. When we entered a few seconds later, she was still towering over the room like a menace.

     “Where’s Lizard?” she barked. There was no mistaking her anger.

     The boys were uneasy. They knew instinctively how to respond to this kind of rage in authority – their faces closed into masks of dull unknowingness before she’d even named her target. She saw it, too. She sunk to the floor, knees by her ears. This, more than her angry stance, got the boys’ attention. Several ran over to kneel beside her.

     “Are you okay?”

     “No. Not really. But that’s okay. What do I mean by that?”

     “Um…maybe you’re going to be okay…later?” tried Lit.

     “Yes, mostly. I need to ask you something and I need the truth.”

     “What?”

     “Did Latchkey sleep here?”

     The boys’ eyes all scattered. Jez spoke for them, his voice too careful to pass.

     “He never slept in the bunkers, Trix.”

     Trix looked up sharply and Jez shrank back. His left eye twitched involuntarily and his chin was shaking. His hands were up around his neck. This was a boy who expected violence. Trix’s face broke into sadness. She reached out her arms, and that scrawny, grown-up tall boy came in for a cuddle like a preschooler.

     “Jez, Jez, where did he sleep?” she crooned, rocking him slightly back and forth. Jez didn’t look up. He didn’t answer.

     All the boys were slinking away, but no one had yet dared make for the door. Trace was standing by the kitchen, Bash by the exit, and without noticing, I myself was stationed where we’d come in. I wondered if I was the only accidental guard. I hoped they didn’t expect me to actually try to stop someone from leaving. At the last exit, Static stood watching, enthralled and amused. Trix and Jez showed up briefly on the projection wall, as if to underscore his role.

     Trix released Jez and stood. She surveyed the boys with a look that was close to disgust, but mingled with understanding. Her voice sounded tired, irritable, resigned.

     “Where is Lizard? Paul. Step up.”

     “Lizard’s downstairs in the workshop.”

     “Thank you.” She turned and walked toward me. I realized she didn’t even see me – I was below her line of vision. I had to step aside or she would have ploughed me over.

     We trailed behind her like a gaggle of jesters in a play, an audience on the stage. Down a narrow back set of stairs I’d not yet seen, we came into the workshop from behind, where I hadn’t registered even seeing a door before. It looked like a different place from that angle, a doppleganger workshop. In the far corner, back to the room, Jamie worked at a computer with large headphones obscuring his ears. He didn’t even know we were there. At the centre work table, Lizard seemed to be helping two boys with something that involved soldering. I’d picked up the smell in the stairwell, but once through the door, acridity filled my nostrils and turned my stomach.

     “Lizard!” Trix was not spending time on preliminaries. He knew we were there, but hadn’t yet looked up. He deliberately took his time, straightening slowly and taking an even pace to meet her on the other side of the table.

     “What’s up, Trix?” He was guarded.

     “Did Latchkey sleep here?”

     Lizard’s eyes darted to Jamie, who still hadn’t registered our presence, before settling back on her eyes. He seemed to stand a little taller. I felt he was accepting a challenge, or becoming a champion. He answered clearly.

     “Yes.”

     “Get your things.”

     He blinked at her. It was as though he saw her clearly for the first time and she wasn’t quite what he expected.

     “Really. You’re kicking me out? Just like that.”

     “You broke the rules. You lied to me. Now Children’s Services is nosing around. You put the show and this whole place in jeopardy. Do you think you should stay?”

     “Do I think I should stay? When you don’t ask me one question before pronouncing judgment?”  His nostrils flared a dry laugh. “No, ma’am, I don’t think I should stay.”

     He turned on his heel and walked from the room, his back straight, no glance to the left or right. He didn’t even say goodbye to the boys he’d been working with. I felt that he was holding himself together by will, and wanted to be away before he lost control.

     Trix looked as though she’d been slapped. She raised her hands and rubbed her eyes with the balls, growling and moaning quietly in her throat. I watched her stretch her face into a grotesque mask, tilting her head and rolling it slowly from one side to the other. Mesmerizing. Eyes closed, Trix slowly folded herself in half from the waist, laying her right cheek on the outside of her left calf, hugging her legs with a loving embrace. She moved her face to the other side, then slowly unfolded, continuing so that her arms stretched for the sky and she rose on her toes. She opened her mouth and I expected a roar, but she just held that pose a few moments, then let it go. She looked over at the two boys at the table.

     “Let it be known, boys, that we cannot tolerate lying and sneaking in this house. Deception will rot our foundations out from under us. You are the messengers. Go.” The boys sat, awestruck. “I said, GO!” she bellowed, impatience winning over her self-mastery. I felt a rush of enjoyment in the midst of the turmoil. I loved seeing her beyond her control. I felt like I knew her so much more in this moment than at any time before. Her raw power, when she failed to tame it, magnetized my nerves. The boys took off at full speed.

     Between her shout and the shuffle, Jamie finally noticed what was happening behind him.

     “What’s going on?” he asked, but Trix was already striding from the room. Trace and Bash rushed to follow, but this time, I stayed put.

Scene 4 Appropriate Timing

Jamie froze when he saw me, and our eyes never broke contact. He spoke like a man, no pleading in his voice, just truth.

     “Christine, I didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t me.” I couldn’t doubt it any more.

     “I believe you. I’m sorry. I…it was a shock, and the timing…and I don’t trust anyone, you know.”

     “I know. But I still love you.”

     “I love you, too. I can’t hug you right now. I’m too bristly.”

     “I can see that. What just happened here?”

     “Trix kicked Lizard out.”

     “What?” “Why?” Jamie was very agitated – he had jumped up from his seat and seemed ready to bolt the room.

     “Latchkey slept here. Lizard told Trix it was just days. Now there’s a social worker poking around, saying she can shut things down. Trix is pissed.”

     Jamie’s face had turned the kind of bluish white that shows every pock and mark like it was drawn on with makeup. I was afraid he might vomit.

     “She kicked him out? Because of Latchkey? Just Latchkey?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe because of lying? Or both?”

     “Shit.”

     “I know. But he was almost ready to leave, anyway.”

     “No. Latchkey slept here. In the workshop. Lizard just found him something to do upstairs during the day for me. It’s me who should be out.”

     “Jamie, you can’t tell her!”

     “I have to.”

     “No way! What about the show? You need to be here. Just…wait. Let’s get past this show, then you can martyr yourself or whatever you want to do. Don’t blow everything because you feel guilty. Don’t put her in that position.”

     He looked pained.

     “Maybe it’s better. I’m a mess, Christine. I can’t handle it. I don’t know what I’m doing and nothing is right. Maybe it’s better to let her professional handle things. Isn’t that why she brought him?”

     “She brought him to help you…because she was putting you under too much pressure.”

     He was surprised, and shook his head in disbelief.

     “She brought him because I’m fucking up too much, because she doesn’t trust me to come through. She’s right. I suck.”

     “Jamie, come on! This place would fall apart if it wasn’t for you.”

     “And what if I fall apart? Does that mean everything stops? I can’t handle that, Christine. Don’t put that on me.”

     “That’s not what I meant.”

     I could see, now, the toll that the week was taking on him. He looked more gaunt than ever. His hands were shaking.

     “I could maybe do a hug now,” I said.

     We met halfway. I stood on my toes and his head hung over my shoulder. He shook like he was crying, but there were no tears. I wanted to make his world okay.

     “Just stay out of Trix’s way today. It’s not lying. It’s…appropriate timing.”

     “Do you really think that, Christine? Is that really the right thing?” He was like a small boy, uncertain, looking for approval.

     I felt a pang. He was ready to defer to my judgment if I seemed certain, but was I right? I didn’t think that Trix would say so, but who made her grand arbiter of rightness? The thought of Jamie getting kicked out right now, when he was so vulnerable, that could never be right.

     “Yes. Just take care of yourself, take care of the show, and let’s get through the next couple days, okay?”’

Scene 5 Only for you

Though they were trying to keep their voices down, I heard Trix and Trace arguing and slowed my steps to approach the door stealthily. There were men’s voices as well, not Bash.

     “There may not be a show tomorrow. It’s got to be tonight.” That was Trace. I stopped to listen.

     “And blow our load?” Trix. “No. Tonight is the dress rehearsal. Tonight we play the way…the way it should be tomorrow. We play and we blow them away, we don’t rely on sensationalism, a gimmick…”

     “Are you having second thoughts?” This male voice was vaguely familiar, but electronic – through speakers or a phone. When Trix didn’t answer immediately,  Trace growled her high pitched frustration.“What is WITH you? What so captivates you about a curious breeder that it knocks you off course every time?”

     “You’ve got it wrong. This isn’t new, I never liked it, not before, not now. I understand it, but I don’t like it.”

     “You want to live in an ideal world, Trix. It’s not realistic.” That sounded like Static. What was he doing in high-level strategy talks?

     “The question is, are we still on plan, or are you changing the game?” The voice on the phone again – Trix and Trace’s own Charlie.

     “I don’t know.” Trix sounded tired.

     “Trix, you know I’m with you,” Trace said, but her tone implied otherwise. “I trust your instincts. As long as it’s your instincts we’re talking about. Is it?”

     Trix talked fast, as though to get the words out before being interrupted. “Maybe we don’t need to do it at all. Maybe there’s enough, the buzz around tonight, the controversy, the airtime.”

     “Why take that chance?” asked Trace.

     “You know why.” Trix’s voice held incredulity, as though the question itself was beneath considering.

     “And you know it has to be tonight.” Static couldn’t keep his nose out, and it was enough to finish the conversation for Trix.

     “No.”

     “And if tomorrow doesn’t happen?” the man on the phone wanted to know.

     “Then it was never meant to happen. That’s it, and I’m sticking with it. No decision until tomorrow. Tonight I get my show. Now the question is for you. Do you trust me?”

     Only Trace answered, at least that I could hear. “Not at all. But I’m with you.”

     Never in my life had I wanted to know anything as much as I wanted to know what they were talking about. Their hushed urgency told me that asking outright was probably not my best option. I felt trapped in the hallway. I didn’t want to walk in now, and have them suspicious. I couldn’t turn and escape without making noise. What if one of them came to the door, or someone showed up and caught me standing there eavesdropping while I tried to figure out what to do? Forward seemed the only viable option. I purposely regulated the volume of my steps so they would hear me coming and assume I’d just arrived in the hallway.

     “Who’s there?” called Trix.

     “It’s Christine.” I stood in the doorframe.

     “And where have you been?” I noticed that whoever had been on the computer or phone was no longer evident. When I didn’t answer right away, she glanced up. “Whatever, never mind. Get in here, Mouse. I need you to call Tyler Brendshaw and get him to come tonight.” I had expected a possible grilling about my time in the hallway, but not this. I didn’t like Static’s hungry expression as he watched our exchange.

     “Trix, I just blew him off. I told him I’m not interested.”

     “This might be the only show we do. I need Tyler Brendshaw here. Call him and tell him to come.”

     I felt torn. As always, a big part of me wanted to give her what she was asking for. But there was something about Tyler Brendshaw that I needed to steer clear of right then, and to undo what I’d just done seemed fickle at best. What she was asking for was manipulation.

     “I’m just not comfortable…”

     “Mouse. I’m not kidding around here. ”

     “Get Trace to call him.”

     Trace spoke up. “He said he had other plans.”

     I raised my eyebrow.

     “I thought he’d be blinded? If she can’t get him here, you think I can?”

     Trix narrowed her eyes at me.

     “Yes, I do think so. I’m not asking you lightly. Call him.”

     “If he has other plans, he has other plans.”

     Trix leaned down so that our faces were only inches apart.

     “Mouse, there are only three people in the world who need to see this show live, this week. Tyler Brendshaw is number two. I rescued you when you asked, and now you’re going to suck it up for the team and make this call. Will you do that? Now?”

     She had played her trump card – how could I say no? I dialled.

     “Christine?”

     “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

     “This is a surprise.”

     “Sorry.”

     “No, a nice surprise. What’s up?”

     “I…uh…I was wondering if you want to come to our dress rehearsal and after party tonight?”

     He was quiet.

     “I have some pretty important plans tonight,” he said carefully, hesitantly. He was considering it, but he was trying to figure out my angle.

     Trix whispered, “Tell him it would mean a lot to you!”

     “NO WAY!” I mouthed.

     “Say it!” she hissed.

     “Um, it would…mean a lot to me, if you come?”

     A beat passed.

     “Trix is right there, isn’t she?”

     “Yes.”

     He laughed out loud.

     “Well that makes more sense. Her idea. And yet, it’s YOU on this phone, Christine. For you, I will change my plans. Only for you.”

     “Wait, I didn’t mean to…”

     “I think you did. Too late to take it back now, Mighty Mouse. I’ll see you tonight.”

     He hung up. I looked at the phone and could almost see him gloating with a tenderness I didn’t know how to allow. I should not have made that call.

     “Is he coming?”

     “He’s coming.”

     “Way to go, Mouse!”

     I didn’t look up at her. I felt ashamed, and I wanted to blame her for my shame while knowing full well where its weight belonged. I moved for the door.

     “I need to spend some time by myself.”

     No one followed or called after me.

Scene 6 Luca returns

     Trix: It’s not your fault, not one thing that’s happened up to today. Everything that has happened, everything you’ve been and done, is all that could have happened. All is as it should be. Your life up until now, the challenges you’ve overcome and the times you let yourself down, the times you didn’t get it and made the wrong choices – these are the journey that has brought you here today. And here today you know that your choices do matter. You can never be that ignorant person again. From here on in, your failures are your own fault, but your triumphs will be your own as well. You have what you need to stand up and get on with finding your purpose on this planet. You have a safe place to sleep, food to eat, work to do and a community of people to help you knock down the blocks. What will you do now? And how will you help make sure it continues?

     Luca appears, tells Christine she fears she’s in danger, outlines a plan she came across, thought it was aimed at her and she left, but now thinks it’s Christine. Idea to set up double triangle with Trace Trix X; Trace, Bren, X, the perfect middle point, build her up, build up the drama, get people talking, have X fall on Friday night to get publicity, launch Trix n’ Traces

     Jamie’s not okay, I think he might be using, or about to. Help! I can’t help. What can I do? I don’t know, something! Or nothing! Whatever, you pick. You’re here, now, what difference does it make? When everything that’s going to happen happens, what then? You don’t know how hard it is. You can’t know. No, I can’t. I find it hard enough, and I’ve got nothing on you. I don’t need to know the specifics to know that for sure! You’ve stood up to stuff I couldn’t if I had to, and you’re here in the same place and moment as me. That makes you a hero, in my book. You came back to warn me, so, thank you. Maybe I’m asking too much, asking you to look out for Jamie. Maybe that’s it, that’s all, you’ve done what you can. He’s on his own. I’ll do what I can for him, I will. I just…I kinda suck. I don’t think it will be enough, what I can do for him. And you and him, you guys had something, like friendship, like maybe mentorship, you know? And when you’re a mentor, even if it’s not on purpose, maybe you have some responsibility, some accountability, for seeing that kid through. I get that you’ve got to take care of yourself first, and I’m grateful that you came here when you felt that you might be in danger for doing it. Jamie’s at the edge, and he looks up to you. Maybe you can make a difference, with not too much effort asked, you know?

     Sees Chris, tells Christine not to tell him she’s there, disappears

Chapter 25 Thursday Evening

Scene 1 DRESS REHEARSAL

(so many things happen that I can’t begin to describe them, but the most important is the dress rehearsal private show, which rocks) *moves into after party

   Author’s Note: They need to devise a few ruses to get their invited guests into the building through the protest outside.

     Chris shows up with a ring, Christine tries to head him off

     The dress rehearsal goes perfectly, totally rocks. They broadcast it on a screen outside to the protesters, trying to break it up, but it attracts a bigger crowd.

     Want to write some descriptions? Want to record some music?

     After the warning from Luca, christine is afraid to do the trick. She has to make a leap of faith and decides to trust Trix. She is proved correct, when the trapeeze holds and she makes it safely to Trix and back again. Christine does her trick without a hitch, audience reacts. Finishes the show feeling joyful. Audience and musicians swarm the after party with other guests

Chapter 26 Thursday Night

Jamie comes to the party, looks like shit

     Jamie pulls Christine aside, confesses that he’s been helping underage kids through Timeless as part of an underground railway of sorts, getting kids out of porn/drug/prostitution. He’s a mess of agitation, Christine suspects he’s jonesing – turns out he disappeared halfway through the show (they didn’t need me, right?). He’s at the edge.

     Against her protests he bursts through the crowd and confesses to Trix, tells her to kick him out instead of Lizard. She does. Jamie runs. Mouse is torn, but before taking off after Jamie she blasts Trix. Argument is between tough love vs enabling on one side, and loving support vs abandonment on the other. This is a critical argument. Both ladies are forever changed by its articulation at this moment.

Scene 1 Dance with Me

Before me stood Tyler Brendshaw, in spite of how badly I’d treated him today.

     “Dance with me.”

     I shook my head.

     “Oh, come on. It’s the least you can do” He took my hand and pulled. I followed, reluctant but also a little thrilled that he still wanted to be with me.

     “I love the way the lights sparkle in your eyes.”

     I rolled my sparkly eyes at him.

     “Really? That’s your opening line?”

     “You are a decidedly unromantic girl.”

     “Woman. Am I?”

     “I think somewhere along the way you decided not to be romantic, and now it’s a matter of pride. ”

     I blinked at him. Was I being insulted? He saw me wondering, and spoke quickly.

     “It’s cool. I like it. It cuts through to the heart. Still, you know what?”

     He let go of my waist and took both my hands in his, bringing them up between us and resting his lips on our intermingled fingers.

     He whispered, “You should let me romance you a little. I’m good at it. Let me sweep you off your feet. ”

     “And crash when you’re done. You might as well say, let me hurt you.”

     He paused. All the tease left his face. He was a grown man, after all.

     “That’s right. Let it hurt, if that’s how it goes. But it doesn’t have to go that way. Hope is the way to the future, Christine.”

     There was something in his expression that softened me. I felt like he wished me hope for my happiness, not just because my fear was in his way. And, also, that my being afraid wasn’t something wrong with me, it was just another part of who and where I was.

     He released my fingers and took my hips, pulling me a little closer to him before sliding his hands back from my waist to flatten his palms against the small of my back. Like he owned me.

     “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

     “I’d shove you and run away.” He looked closely to see if I meant it.

     “You would, wouldn’t you? ”

     He actually seemed hurt, like a let-down little boy.

     “You haven’t asked me why.”

     “Why?”

     “Because these people would think I’m a slut. I was living with Chris, I spent Tuesday night in Jamie’s workshop, and now they all think I’m sleeping with Trix. Kissing you tonight would be over the top.”

     “Wow, you are a slut. Might as well kiss me at this point, for all the good your restraint is doing. Who’s Chris? Who’s Jamie? And you’re not sleeping with Trix.”

     He seemed so self-assured.

     “Chris was my boyfriend until Tuesday. Jamie is my honorary kid brother. And how do you know who I’m having sex with?”

     “I don’t know who you ARE having sex with, I just know that you’re NOT having sex with Trix.”

     “You’re right, but I don’t believe you really knew. You were guessing.”

     “I’m pretty sure you’re not even gay.”

     “Everyone seems to want to weigh in on that question lately.”

     “Well, whatever you are, you are beautiful. Thank you for dancing with me.”

     He leaned in and kissed my cheek before releasing me. He disappeared into the crowd.

     I tried to remember if anyone had ever called me beautiful before. I was often cute or pretty. Beautiful seemed too grandiose for the likes of me, a term reserved for those who achieved the highest societally-preferred appearance criteria on many levels.

     When Tyler Brendshaw said I was beautiful like he meant it, the word landed in my stomach and spread warmth through my core. I suddenly felt beautiful. I felt glad he was gone, so I could savour the feeling without him watching. I didn’t want him to think he had that much influence – he planted the seed, but this flower was mine.

     I understood why he was such a successful playboy – you really believed him. Until he left and you could think again. Then it was clear that he was the last kind of complication you needed, simple as he made it sound. But I did love to be flattered, and I felt really happy as I looked around a party where I actually belonged, feeling beautiful. The music had sped up and I was already its slave before I’d even noticed myself moving in flow. I laughed out loud. Everything was utterly ridiculous.

Scene 2 Mighty Mouse stands up

How’s he ever going to learn to trust anyone if he can’t trust you not to abandon him when he screws up? He’ll just screw up again and again, hoping you’ll prove you love him this time. And when, every time, you withdraw, you just make him more scared and alone. He did this grand and mighty thing, against difficult challenges not the least of which was his love for you, to save the people you decided weren’t on your critical path. He did what he thought was right and you kick him out. Is that about trust? Is that about love? Maybe he found you weren’t quite trustworthy. I think that’s what really gets you. You’re a tyrant and a bully.

     How’s he ever going to learn to trust anyone if he can’t trust you not to abandon him when he screws up? He’ll just screw up again and again, hoping you’ll prove you love him this time. And when, every time, you withdraw, you just make him more scared and alone. He did this grand and mighty thing, against difficult challenges not the least of which was his love for you, to save the people you decided weren’t on your critical path. He did what he thought was right and you kick him out. Is that about trust? Is that about love? Maybe he found you weren’t quite trustworthy. I think that’s what really gets you. You’re a tyrant and a bully.

Scene 3 Gotta find him

Luca

     Lizard

     Christine

     Echo

     Christine goes after Jamie. Luca appears

Scene 4 Violence, Firehoses

Latchkey, Jamie,

Scene 5 Never just one thing

I followed Trix through the door, leaving a dripping trail straight into her bedroom. I was glad there was no one around. I couldn’t believe what had just happened had just happened.

     Trix stripped off her wet t-shirt as she walked, tossing it into a basket and grabbing a new one from a shelf in the closet. As she pulled it over her head, I saw goosebumps standing out on her ribs. I marveled again at her incredible muscled leanness, a body with just what it needs and no more.

     I found myself shivering.

     “It might be like wearing a tent, but you should really change your top at least. I’d offer you one of Trace’s, but she’s not here and…her things aren’t mine to offer.”

     I fingered through the pile, all large concert T’s from obscure bands. I stripped off my shirt and bra, grabbing a random replacement. Aphex Twin – good enough. Half-sitting, half-leaning against the bed, Trix watched my progress. Her head tilted sideways, eyes curious. I flushed. I felt the air on my naked chest; I became very aware of exposure. I started turning away, but something about her expression sparked a response in me. I found myself taking a step towards her. She raised an eyebrow. I let my hand drop to my side, still holding the shirt. I walked deliberately to stand topless in front of her. She watched me in silence; she seemed slightly wary. My mind cast around for some socially acceptable explanation as contingency against rejection and found none forthcoming. I thought, might as well go.

     I placed my left hand on her upper chest, just below the shoulder. I loved the feel of my palm in the hollow between her shoulder bone and chest plate.Perfect fit. I fanned out my fingers so they brushed her neck. My thumb stroked where her chest began curving into breast. I pressed down for leverage and lifted my right knee to the bed so I straddled her thigh.

     I kissed her lips, light like a butterfly. Trix closed her eyes. Her shallow breathing filled my ears. I kissed her again, applying slightly more pressure, and I felt her response like a key in a lock. She smelled like sandalwood and clean clothes; she tasted like bitter-sweet mocha. It was like kissing my guardian angel.

     Her hands found my hips and pulled me closer, but an instant later, I felt myself moving back. She manoeuvred me to sit on the bed beside her. I tried pulling her with me, but she gently disengaged our lips. I flopped back on the bed in frustration.

     “You don’t want me?” I suddenly felt full of doubt. I could hear my left-out little girl whine, and I felt ashamed of myself.

     She barked a single acrid belly laugh.

     “You think I don’t want you.”

     She moved over me fast, her face hovering above mine.

     “Why wouldn’t I want you? Look at you! No, no, I don’t want to run my hands over your soft body,” she purred, sliding shivers up my side with her fingers.

     “I don’t want to lick your sweet little bellybutton,” she murmured into my tummy, her tickling tongue darting into my navel.

     “I don’t want to tweak those cashmere nipple buds.” She ran her thumb lightly over my right nipple, then gently pinched. A shock-wave shot through me.

     Trix rolled on top of me, her torso pressing down on my chest, her lips at the scar on my neck.

     “You think I don’t want to kiss you where you burn, little sun?” Her tongue lightly traced over the raised skin – I couldn’t feel it, exactly, but the intimacy of it paralyzed me. Trix sucked a deep, ragged breath against my throat like she was taking in my essence. She groaned, and I felt her weight flatten, then pull away from me like a stuck boot shlooping out of mud. She configured herself beside me with her knees by her ears and her forehead in her hands, a jack sitting inside the box. I didn’t move from where I lay. I stared at the ceiling and waited. She seemed to gather her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice sounded gentle, resigned.

     “Christine, I’m married.”

     Was she serious? I felt beyond thinking straight. I bolted to sitting, incensed.

     ’Married? What are you saying? Are you saying you’re not gay? That Bash isn’t gay?“ I controlled my tone as best I could, but my voice shook with indignation. Did she think I was stupid?

     “I’m saying, sex is just sex, at the end of the day.”

     I felt my resolve start crumbling. She was serious. She unwound herself to sit facing me; took my hand and played lightly with my fingers. I let her, the way a cat lets you scratch its belly. Until it’s had enough.

     “How do I say it?” She kept looking down at our hands. I focused on my breath. When she looked up, her eyes held clear determination. I held them defiantly.

     “We must consider the big picture. I’m committed to a path. It’s all coming together. Let’s not mess things up, you know?”

     Suddenly, my anger dissolved into a swirl of unpleasant emotions, a strange mingling0 of shame and rage. I spun my back to her, grappling with the huge t-shirt, not able to cover myself fast enough. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at me.

     I started sobbing before I noticed that I was crying at all. I felt like I was hyperventilating. It was all too much. I covered my head with my hands, rolled up in a ball at the edge of the bed. I heard myself making strange, squealing noises.

     Trix landed on the floor in front of me, a soft, heavy thump.

     “No, no, I’m such an idiot,” she mumbled. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t decide whether to comfort me, or how. She leaned in and worked hard to find my eyes with hers. I couldn’t look at her. Her tone became urgent, earnest.

     “Listen to me! Do not let any experience drive you deeper inside. See? You’re whole! You survived! You must continue to ask for what you want. It doesn’t matter if you get it. There’s pride in the asking. Be proud, Christine.” I couldn’t acknowledge her at all.

     Trix climbed onto the bed behind me, and fit herself around me like a blanket of compassion. I suddenly didn’t care at all, about anything. The relief of not caring overwhelmed me so I could hardly move. I leaned back into the crook of her arm. She stroked my hair and quietly hummed a vaguely familiar tune. My voice croaked as I tried to lighten the mood.

     “So, you did want me just for my talent after all.” It came out flatter, starker than I expected. Time passed, and I thought she wouldn’t respond. Then her whisper, like the ghost of a thought on the air.

     “It’s never just one thing.”