by A. Q. Moser
The Director glanced over the article. “This is very disappointing although I’m not surprised by this one. We need to keep tabs on this one.”
8
Every morning after a refreshing shower, I had this drive to accomplish some task. This unknown vigour to do something had me feeling cramped up in my one bedroom apartment. As such, I resolved to go out for a walk and get some fresh air. I crammed on my running shoes, stored my keys and wallet in my summer jacket and slipped out.
Moving downward with the elevator and then out to an empty foyer, I stepped outside to breath in the cool air—a big booster to my otherwise sleepless night. The magnificent sun peered over the horizon, exhilarating my senses like the guest of honour at a surprise party. The light blue tinge across the cloudless sky offered the makings of a beautiful day.
I strolled along a clear sidewalk, heading north to a nearby communal park. Not a care in the word, I was free to do as I please. I had taken the entire week off from work on account of a mandatory court appearance. In all, there were no pressing matters for me to deal with other than attending a Tank ‘n’ Wind concert with Marie later on the day.
Not without my doubts, I was naturally apprehensive to go backstage and try to converse with a world-renowned singer, Billy Coax, about his recent music video and the possible relation with my nightmare from twenty years ago. There was the remote chance settle the matter and put my mind at ease. On the flip side, there was a big risk at being ridiculed for even attempting this.
Dare I even conceive the notion that the troubadour from the nightmare was a symbolic gesture to communicate with the musically inclined Billy? Could the folding star represent the star power of a rock star? It was like some hidden message within a medium left for me to decode. I wished I understood more of how this was so rather than treating this as some foreign disease of the mind.
Entering a street intersection, I waited for the lights to change before crossing over. The communal park was just on the other side. The invigorating smell of soft green grass and fresh pine was welcoming odour linking me to a past of family camping trips and outdoorsy adventures.
Right in the middle of the park was a vacant playground. The brightly coloured recreational area had plastic ladders and plastic slides. If it were not for my adult size, I would be climbing around the jungle gym like a carefree child. Instead, I sat down on one of the slides and appreciated the view. It was nice to let time pass by without having to rush anywhere. I felt loose and liberated.
Outside of the park, the streets crowded with bustling people and noisy vehicles. There was a lot to be said of watching this unfold without having to be a part of it. I was in a different world, in some sense, on the inside looking out.
Feeling a sense of time flying by, I grew tired and less keen on sitting and watching. I yawned, mouth wide to take in the warm air. Settling into an emotional low, I was ready to return to my apartment.
As I left the park and onto the cement sidewalk, there was this heavy feeling. It was like each foot carried an extra twenty pounds. Life was like a roller coaster—one minute had me feeling I was glad to be alive and doing something, and the next minute I was wishing I had stayed in bed.
Steps away from my apartment, I caught notice that the front patio bench was occupied. Two elderly ladies and an elderly man congregated under the shade. Their lips were moving as if caught in a whirlwind of a conversation. As I drew near, the chatting stopped. The act was so obvious that it was along the lines of witnessing crickets stop their chirping as an intruder approaches their habitats.
On my advancement closer, the elderly threesome shifted to uncross their legs as if preparing to converse with me. Each individual bore a devilish smile as if up to some underhanded purpose.
The elderly man nodded in my direction. “Out for a morning walk?”
I wanted out of this situation as fast as possible and so a minimal conversation was needed. “Yes.” I nodded back in a subtle fashion.
“How was your trip back from the courtroom yesterday?” the elderly man pried.
Nothing surpassed the gossip of the elderly spectators. How else would they amuse themselves?
“Sorry, it’s way passed my lunch time. I need to hurry.” I opened the front door to the apartment building and scurried inside.
Staying to converse with the meddlesome threesome was more trouble than it was worth. Not that I was one to judge them for they might be nice people but I was not up to revisiting the episodes of the Mister Popular trial. I climbed into an elevator going up and got off on the third floor.
Emptying my jacket pockets, I used my house key to get in. Then I liberally tossed my keys, wallet and jacket next to the telephone like a liberated child shedding his school backpack for the freedom of the weekend. In case Marie was to call, I reconnected the telephone that I had disconnected yesterday after the pestering phone calls.
Xenophobic, maybe a little bit. So the notion of running away from three elderly people seemed strange. It was so much easier to run and hide then deal with strangers about personal matters. All I knew for sure was I belonged in only one category, unique.
If I could sum what I felt right now, it was torn. My mind ran its own race, my body screamed for sweet rest, and my stomach beckoned for nourishment. It was way past lunch and hunger was one accomplishment I could control.
Seeking a simple meal to prepare to accommodate a late lunch, I mixed in a soup bowl dry cereal of the honey variety and cold milk.
The home telephone rang.
Every since yesterday’s episode with the constant calls, I was reluctant to answer the telephone. I checked the caller ID. Marie was calling from work.
“Hello,” I answered with a mouth full of cereal.
“I’m so excited.” Marie released her built-up energy. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
I swallowed my mushy-milky cereal. “Yeah, it’s really crazy,” I responded, unsure how to feel. An exciting rock concert would be a fun distraction but the business of trying to talk to Billy Coax about his music video had the potential to be disastrous.
“We’re going to have a blast,” Marie continued, unable to read my emotional roller coaster.
“How’s work?” I switched topics, not wanting to dwell on the events to follow.
“Work’s a bit slow today. I can’t wait till it’s done. I’m so excited for the concert. I just hope the tickets and backstage passes are real.” Marie returned a concern for the authenticity of the tickets I bought online.
“Oh yeah,” I acknowledged with the energy of a mule, knowing full well that a difficult evening was forth coming.
“Don’t sound too sarcastic about the concert,” Marie joked. “I’ll be by your side to help you out. I got to get back to work. I’ll meet you at your place with the taxi. Is a taxi okay with you?”
“Sure, I guess.” The only mode of transportation I was interested in was walking to my room and hiding there till tomorrow.
“Great, I’ll see you really soon.” Marie bubbled.
“Bye,” I whined my closing salutation.
“Bye.” Marie hung up.
Never in a million years have I regretted an ill-conceived decision to change my life until now. I stood there with a bowl of cereal in one hand, the telephone in the other and a friend forcing me to attend a rock concert that I had no inkling to go to. I felt sick to my stomach. I hung up the telephone and dropped off the remaining cereal in the sink, too lazy to empty or clean it.
Could Billy call off his rock concert today and save me the hassle of going through it? If only my life would be so lucky.
9
Exhausted before even partaking in any strenuous activity, I reacted with a big gulping yawn. I retired to the couch and collapsed on sift cushions. Heaviness began to settle inside me, I stretched out to my limbs and threw out another yawn. Even if I wanted to take a nap during the day, I could not fall asleep. For some unknown reason, my sleep as did the nightmares came
only during the night.
Hoping for a few minutes of peace, I closed my weary eyes. I was like a ship without a rudder, no direction and half-baked. At the helm of this ship were my nightmares—wild images written by someone else, directed by someone else, and acted out by someone else. Like everything else about my body, my hands began to quiver inexplicably.
I sat up on the couch, weakened, not strengthened from attempting to rest up. My hands stopped shaking. There was no doubt in my mind that all these problems stemmed from the nightmares. Somehow I needed to uncover an answer as to why this was happening to me. Why I was how I was? Simply put, why me?
Seeing the clock, I had about half an hour before Marie was done work and we would be off to the rock concert. I had backstage passes waiting for Marie and me not to mention the chance to meet with legendary rock star Billy Coax.
Dashing to the washroom, I shaved and showered. I dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a plain long-sleeve shirt. I then rushed to the kitchenette and scarfed down the leftover cold pasta. I washed everything down with a big glass of concentrate orange juice.
Refreshed and revving to go, it felt like Friday evening and the weekend was here and time for some fun. My cheeks tightened and I was smiling from the anticipation.
On cue, the home telephone rang.
“Hello,” I answered, perceiving it to be Marie without checking the caller ID.
“I’m waiting downstairs for you. Are you ready?” Marie enquired, as if expecting me back out.
“Try to stop me,” I shouted thrilled to be heading out. “Bye.” I hung up the telephone.
Wishing the evening to go well, I rifled through my wallet for the confirmation number to the tickets. Check. I tied my summer jacket around my waist in case it got chilly and made sure I had my keys. Secure, I charged out of my apartment and down on the first available elevator.
New to this rock concert preparation process, my energy level was running high. There was a lot at stake in regards to confronting the lead singer about a music video. As a worst case scenario, I would have the pleasure of enjoying the spirit of the rock concert and forgetting all my problems if just for a day.
In the building lobby, the ever patient Marie waited. She greeted me with an animated smile that beamed joy bliss from the sides of her mouth. She was decked out in a slender white t-shirt, a preppy sweater wrapped over the shoulders, black caprice pants that complemented her single strap flip-flops.
“Ready?” I expected Marie to jump up and down with eagerness.
“You know it.” Marie hugged me as if thanking me for this opportunity.
We stepped outside. “Where’s the taxi?”
Marie’s hand extended over my shoulder nearly poking me in the face. “Right there, silly.”
Neatly hidden by the side of the apartment was a canary yellow taxi. Marie wrapped an arm around my shoulder and together we marched towards our ride. Her flip-flops flopped and echoed off the building wall like the drum beat of a Greek war vessel.
Guided by our sense of adventure, we shuffled inside the taxi like two hyperactive kids going to an amusement park.
“To the Music Gardens, please,” Marie dictated as a boss would to a secretary.
Enabling the meter, the taxi driver then nodded. The vehicle darted out to the street level with a rushed right-hand turn from the driveway never bothering to check for oncoming vehicles. With the haste expected from a taxi driver out to make as much money as possible, he sped. The driver was a man on a mission and I was not going to argue over that.
I turned to Marie. “I’m nervous and excited at the same time.” I stretched out trying to unleash that energy from within.
Marie, who sat with her legs together and her hands nestled in her lap, tilted her head forward and grimaced. “It’s normal to be nervous,” she replied in a soothing voice. She squeezed my left shoulder in sympathy.
“I hope so.” I wore a brave face.
“We’re going to have a great time at the concert,” Marie declared. Her eyebrows set high in excitement, as was her genial smile.
Yenning for some truth behind the mysterious nightmares, I acknowledged with a nod. And I turned my attention to the passing scenery. We whizzed by sporadic encounters of foraging squirrels dashing across sidewalks to get to pruned trees and reshaped shrubbery. Groups of squawking birds feasted on the lawns of the homeowners. Animal life was alive and well in the urban surroundings.
Entering the downtown core of the city, traffic increased on the roads and on the sidewalks. The closer we got to the Music Gardens, small crowds of concertgoers flocked to the main towers of the entrance to the Music Gardens. Every single concertgoer strutted in various gear of Tank ‘n’ Wind. It was a parade tailored for one rock band.
“There are lots of people here.” The number of people was overwhelming, delivering a feeling of being insignificant.
Seeing my anxiety rise, Marie reached over and gave a comforting squeeze of my hand.
“The Music Gardens should be on the next corner,” the taxi driver announced as he pulled into a driveway marked by a sign FOR DROP-OFF ONLY.
Getting close to the curb, the taxi driver stopped the car. I stepped out first expecting Marie to pay for the taxi ride. After all, I had covered the cost of the expensive concert tickets and backstage passes.
Under the electrifying atmosphere of the concert grounds, there was a contrasting cool breeze that mellowed out the place. Instrumental music was blaring from across the entrance but nothing matched the sounds of Tank ‘n’ Wind—possibly an opening act was playing. We arrived early at the concert, about an hour before the main event.
In mere seconds, long lines were forming at the main towers as rambunctious concertgoers held tight their invaluable tickets. Groups of unlucky fans were haggling with various scalpers. The tickets were hard to come by and waiting till the last minute meant a hefty price for the remaining tickets. Police officers stood in line, keeping a vigil eye for any troublemakers. Marie paid off the fare and we stood together watching all the bustling.
“Where to?” Marie asked, taking in the pre-concert scene.
“We need to find last-minute-scalpers guys for the tickets. I’m assuming it’s near the front entrance.” I headed past the crowd, squeezing forward with Marie in tow.
Despite the masses of people around, we needed to locate the scalpers to get our tickets and passes otherwise we were going nowhere and I was down thirty-four hundred dollars.
Established under the shadows of one of the main towers were two forty-year old men in business suits waving tickets and shouting out people passing by. A sign taped across the fence of the Music Gardens listed the men as the LAST MINUTE SCALPERS. For the money I was paying them, I expected a little bit more on their marketing venue.
Directly approaching the suited men, Marie and I had their full attention.
“Good evening sir,” the suited man with the shaved head opened.
“Hello,” I responded back. “No line?”
Hearing the question, both suited men laughed.
“We don’t expect a line till the main event starts. People become more frantic when its crunch time.” The man with the shaved head nudged the other implying a joke shared between the two of them.
I was unsure how to respond. “I … I bought some tickets on the Internet.” I handed over a piece paper, which had the confirmation number for the tickets and the backstage passes and my driver’s license for identification.
The man with the shaved head understood immediately. “Ah yes, Mister Joel Taw. Two tickets and two passes all paid for.” He reached into a backpack and retrieved a giant envelope. He opened it up and delicately withdrew the contents. “Here we have two concert tickets bearing the genuine holographic images and two backstage passes with complimentary Tank ‘n’ Wind necklaces.”
Intrigued by the items, Marie clapped her hands. I returned my identification to my wallet and reached out a hand to receive my paid merchandise.
Somewhat smug in behaviour, the man with the shaved head left me hanging. Instead he re-examined the crisp tickets and the passes, deliberately having me wait.
“Just kidding,” the man with the shaved head laughed cruelly. “You’re all good. Two tickets with backstage passes coming up.” He slipped the expensive purchases into my outstretched hand.
I clasped the paper-thin materials. “Thanks.” Not amused by the joke.
“Thanks for supporting Last Minute Scalpers,” the other suited man replied, as if trying to make up for the cruel act of his partner.
Dare I say, I had in my possession the much anticipated concert tickets and the passes. I spun around and looped the necklace of one of the backstage passes around Marie’s neck. She bounced in her spot all cheery and motivated like she was receiving a gold medal for an Olympic achievement. I followed this up by handing her one of the pristine concert tickets—a gesture to match the ceremonial flowers given alongside an Olympic gold medal.
Interested to get inside the Music Gardens, we located the shortest line-up. Just before the ticket counter, we were shuffled through metal detectors, a requirement prior to entering the concert grounds. We slipped through without any problems.
Marie turned to me. “Those booth guys were weird.”
“Yeah I know,” I agreed. “It was like he was purposefully trying to annoy us.”
I handed over my ticket to a young girl, wearing a white bandana. She checked it and then tore a scored piece off and handed back the stub. “Enjoy the show.” She did the same with Marie.
“Well, the best thing is the tickets are legitimate and we’re almost there,” Marie screamed. “We’re going to meet the lead singer Coax.”
Seeing the moment was almost at hand, I had to confront Billy and try to get some answers without scaring the guy. How was I going to approach this? Hello Billy, I had a nightmare about twenty years ago that virtually matches your music video Dolphins know the way. Where did you get the idea for it? No, too direct. Hey Billy, we used to attend the same high school. Wait for a response from Billy. I like your music video Dolphins know the way, very dramatic and powerful. Wait for a response. Was that your idea for the video? Wait for a response. You know, I think I had the something similar to it in a nightmare twenty years. Both approaches sounded like I was some sort of nut job out for his money.