Brendan looked about him, his father forgotten. In the crowd, some people stood out. They were more vibrant, more powerful presences. They were as different from the others around them as wildflowers are from blades of grass.
He turned his attention back to the stage and found himself staring directly into the bottomless eyes of Deirdre D’Anaan. The tiny creature perched on her shoulder was pointing directly at him. She sang and it was like a fist clenching around his chest, constricting his breathing.
It’s time to rise and take your place
To feel the sun upon your face
To face the truth if you may dare
Oh Prince of Neither Here Nor There!
Suddenly, the scar on his chest flared, obliterating his senses. He fell backward into someone’s arms. He looked up and expected to see his father but he was shocked to see it was Kim.
“Did you see them? Did you see them?” he gasped.
Kim just shook her head. “Can’t you ever stay out of trouble?”
^36 Streetmeat in Toronto parlance is a sausage from a street vendor. A local ordinance prohibits the sale of any hot food on the streets of Toronto save for the hot dog or sausage. The limitation on the choice of cuisine has led to fierce competition between vendors to provide peripheral enticements to attract customers. These include offering a wide array of types of sausage, from the Polish garlic to the spicy Italian, presenting a bewildering array of condiments, and even one instance when a vendor offered a free kitten with each sausage sold. The vendor in question had his licence revoked in short order.
^37 The tabla is an instrument originating in Northern India. It is a small drum played with the hands, as opposed to a drum that is played with the feet called the footbla. This latter is played by a very few people who have acute control over their feet. The footbla is not as popular because it is both difficult to master and incredibly stinky.
^38 Gaelic is the native and ancient language of Ireland. Few people speak it as a native tongue any more but Irish children are taught it in schools. Despite the efforts of the Irish government, the language is slowly dying out.
THE DREAM
Kim and his father helped him out of the hall. He was a little dizzy, but the farther he got from the sound of the music, the more stable he felt and the more he was sure he’d experienced some kind of hallucination. I mean, little creatures? Flying things? Give me a break, right?
The concert had continued despite his episode. Deirdre D’Anaan hadn’t missed a beat. To his relief, he wasn’t the only one to be transported by the music. Though some had taken to the aisles to dance spontaneously, none had been affected as deeply as Brendan had. Between Kim and his dad, they had managed to steer Brendan to the exit.
Standing out in the fresh, cool air, Brendan felt a little better. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t felt bad in the hall-quite the opposite. He had felt completely alive. That was amazing. I was totally going to make a fool of myself! I was going to go up on the stage and dance around like a lunatic but… I didn’t care! Part of him regretted that Kim and his father had pulled him away.
“Are you okay?” his father asked for the umpteenth 39 time.
“I’m fine,” Brendan assured him. “I just… needed some air.”
“You really gave me a scare there, bud.” His father was clearly trying to sound unconcerned but his laugh rang a bit false. “I thought you were gonna do some stage-diving.”
Kim stood back, arms crossed, and said not a word.
“What’s your problem?” Brendan asked.
“No problem,” she said evenly.
“You look pissed.”
“Well, I’m not. Not at you anyway.”
“Well, who are you pissed at, then?” Brendan was feeling belligerent and a little tired of her odd behaviour. “And what are you doing here anyway?”
“Hey, Brendan. Just hold on,” his father interjected. “Your friend Kim was a big help.”
“I’ll bet,” Brendan muttered.
“As I said,” his father repeated, “Kim was a big help. I don’t think you should be so disrespectful.”
Brendan wanted to say, Dad, butt out! She’s been sneaking around and talking about me behind my back. I’m sick of it. Instead he muttered, “I guess so”
“You’re welcome,” Kim snorted. “I’d better be going. See ya, Mr. Clair.” She plunked her helmet on her head and tightened the strap.
“Thanks, Kim,” his father said. “See you soon.”
Brendan watched her disappear around the side of the building and he heard her scooter cough to life and roar away.
“You’ve never mentioned her before,” his dad observed.
“She goes to my school.”
“Really?” His father arched an eyebrow. “Hmmm. Like I said: I’m surprised you’ve never mentioned her before. She’s cute.”
“Dad!”
“Come on! I’m just thinking she’s cute, is all.”
“She’s just a friend of mine, Dad.”
His dad winked knowingly. “I see. Say no more…”
“Dad,” Brendan groaned. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what? Who said anything about anything being like anything?”
“Well, it isn’t like that.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, brother.”
“You okay to walk?” His father’s face was suddenly full of concern. “We could take a cab…”
“Dad, relax.” Brendan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. We could go back in if you want. I promise, I’m okay.”
His father looked at him critically then said, “Naw. Let’s go home. I have an early day tomorrow anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I ruined your night out.”
“Not at all. I’m not really into that Celtic stuff, y’know. I like the rock and roll.” He punched Brendan in the arm. “I say we get some barbecue pork and head home, huh?”
“Okay.”
An hour later, after a delicious stop at the Golden Stone Barbecue Restaurant, Brendan climbed into his loft feeling totally exhausted. He was still reeling from the concert experience.
Leaving his father and mother talking in the kitchen, he went upstairs to his room. They’d both been looking at him a little too closely as he kissed them good night like they were expecting him to freak out or something. He knew his father would be telling his mum about his episode at the concert. He groaned at the prospect of their concern.
Picking the iPod up off the dock, he flung himself down on the bed. He didn’t feel in the mood for the Ramones. Too harsh. He clicked over to the RECENTLY ADDED playlist and scrolled down to find the new Wintersleep he’d downloaded before going to school. There it was, down at the bottom. He sat up suddenly, bumping his head again on the sloping roof.
“Ow.” He rubbed his scalp and peered at the screen of his music player. There was a new entry. He froze in mid-rub.
“What is this?” he asked the empty room. He read the name. “Deirdre D’Anaan?” He racked his brain. Had he downloaded this by accident? He couldn’t remember downloading any of her music. Maybe his father had done it.
