I walked in during the middle of one of their sets, but I didn’t recognize the band at first because they were playing a song I’d never heard, and in all the years I’d gone to see Haddonboro with my friends or my parents to support Stokes, I’d never seen a female lead singer with them. Stokes had always insisted it was just him and his buddies from high school, and that was how it would always be. After watching my father play with a few different bands over his lifetime, I wasn’t naive enough to think all the members of Haddonboro would stay the same, but I never told Stokes that. I could respect his dream because I had one of my own.
What I could not respect was the choice to bring in the new female lead without ever having approached me about the opportunity. After all our time in vocal classes, hanging out afterwards, or when our high school sports teams would play each other, after all the hang outs at Rosalie’s with my dad, the discounts Stokes got, and the interest he knew I had in writing my own music, dreaming of singing it with a band, he never once reached out to me about the opportunity the woman I watched intently had taken.
Stokes sang a duet with her that night last summer, a haunting song, wrought with angst and emotion. She’d run her fingers through her short, bleached, pixie cut before making eye contact with Stokes and then the bassist, Cline, behind him. They both smiled at her and she turned back to the crowd with a sexy grin of her own as they sang along with her for the chorus. Before the jealousy could swallow me whole, I ran out of the bar, leaving any hope of singing with them there that night.
That was the last time I saw Stokes, and the last I ever intended to, so why do I even care he’s messaged me again?
I set my phone on the round, wooden kitchen table and saunter to the sink, rinsing my glass out. As the water gushes from the tap, I stare at it, entranced, as something within me answers.
Because you still want it.
I slap the tap lever down, set my glass on the counter with a clunk, and close my eyes.
It’s not possible, is it? He just wants another favour.
I open my eyes and sweep my long, dark hair over my shoulder, the breeze from the overhead fan soothing my neck.
But what if it’s different this time?
Fluttering stirs in my stomach, up to my chest.
I open my eyes and march to the kitchen table, grab my cell phone, tap the home button and tap the little circle with Stokes’ face inside. My eyes can’t take in the two separate blocks of text fast enough.
Hey Lyn, I heard you were back in town. I have a HUGE favour to ask. Haddonboro is down a member. Our lead singer left, and we’ve got three BIG shows booked. Two here at Winburn and one in the middle of those in Toronto. It’s at Noblemen! The last one at Winburn is a one-hour opener for Midnight Voices on Halloween night. I know it’s last-minute, but would you consider joining us? Just for these three.
I skim over the dates, all next week, leading to the end of October, to Halloween, and continue to the next paragraph with my chest heaving.
They’re paid gigs, and you’d get an even split of the money. It’s not much, but it’s a BIG deal to us. We’ve got these duets we do. Our booking manager calls them haunting. It’s the whole reason we got the bookings. DID I MENTION THIS IS BIG?! I know you’d be perfect for it. Sing with me again?
I shuffle down the hallway toward the front door as I read it all again and struggle to catch my breath.
Midnight Voices? Three shows with Haddonboro and opening for Midnight Voices? One of the biggest bands to come from Toronto. How could I pass this up? How does Stokes know I’m back?
I reach the opening to the living room, lean against the cold wall, and take a sharp, deep breath, lingering on his final question.
Sing with you again, hmm?
I guess he remembers the little concerts our vocal coach would put on at the end of each year, having his students sing as a group, pair us off, or insist on a solo. We did it all, but the duets were my favourite. I didn’t connect with any of the other students like I had Stokes. Maybe I had a bit of a crush on him, but mostly, he was easy to be with—talk to—when a lot of other guys our age made me more uncomfortable than anything.
And now he needs my help, once again.
But this time—this time he’s offering the chance I never thought I’d get. To sing one of my songs in front of a crowd.
Stevie nudges me with her soft head, as if to ask, what am I waiting for?
I shuffle across the hardwood floor to the burgundy couch and plop down in the middle of it as Stevie lies on the floor beside me.
Hey, I type, I’m interested.
I hit send and pull my feet up under me, curling into a comfortable position, setting my phone on the couch cushion beside me. I reach for one of my notebooks on the table; one of my favourite light, black-ink pens clipped to the top of it.
I crack it open to the last page I finished on and read the last song I wrote over a year ago after the separation. It was when I first came to live with Mom and Ron, before I went to see that last Haddonboro show. Before I gave up on writing songs and saw them only as poetry without melody.
Begin Again
Take a step back. Take another.
Take a room, meant for my mother.
Take a pill to
