SCENE 22:
Out of this World
Autumn 1969
Indian Summer breezed into the city unannounced. Aretha returned from Woodstock on Labour Day thinner, tanned, and full of spirited stories from the music festival.
“There must have been a zillion people there,” she said. “It reminded me of the Sermon on the Mount, only it was all about the music. Freakin’ shit happened, let me tell you. There were all these bugs and drugs and some bad acid happening.”
“I’m amazed you remember anything,” Ulu said.
Loddy, Ulu and Aretha were lunching at the Rainbow Bar and Grill on Stanley Street.
“It rained and everything got muddy and it was a drag. But then this guy started sliding down this hill in the mud and we all followed him and it was just out of this world.”
“Out of this world is right.”
“It was so freaking fun, Ulu, okay. And then we ran out of food. Everyone was starving and it just appeared like Jesus breaking bread and fish. Only it was us, the freaking freaks he was feeding. And then some of us went skinny dipping and ...”
“You mean you were naked?” Loddy held her fork in mid air.
“Yeah, well, the body is a beautiful thing.”
“The temple of the soul as Marvel would say,” Ulu said.
“And it didn’t seem to matter. You should have seen some of them, just hanging out or disappearing into the grass. And let me tell you, they all didn’t look like Jean Shrimpton on the runway. Not everyone took off their clothes though.”
“I heard the music was incredible.”
“Oh, my God, Loddy! Santana, Ten Years After, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Canned Heat. You should have come.”
“Like, tell me about Janis.”
“Oh, she was just so amazing. I can’t begin to describe. She is one far out chick.”
“I know, like, she pours out her entire soul, all that sadness and agony. God I love her!”
“I don’t think we’ll ever see anything like that again. There were so many people there that they had to helicopter in the performers.” Aretha paused to take a swig from her beer. “In the end, I don’t think it was all about the music though. All those hundreds of thousands of us, we came there looking for something I think. A few came at the beginning and the rest of us followed because we thought they had the answer. No, it wasn’t just about the music. ”
“The answer to what?”
“Life. Everything. I don’t know.” Aretha played with her mug, twirling it like a broken spinning top. Another swig and then she smacked her lips, released a loud “Ahhhh ” then let the empty mug strike the table top. She narrowed her eyes and said, “I took LSD.” She made the announcement as though it were a badge of honour, as though it would startle everyone. And it did.
“NO! NO!” Ulu and Loddy said, in a duet.
“So did that help you find your answer to whatever?” Ulu regained her composure.
Aretha ignored them; fiddled with her napkin, hesitated as though she were searching for her tongue. She finally spit it out: “And, and, guess what? I think I’m pregnant.”
“WHAT! WHAT!” Another duet as Ulu and Loddy choked over their wine.
“Hey, and did I mention there was a baby born at Woodstock right behind the stage. Can you imagine? Don’t look at me like that guys. It’s okay. I think. I missed one period, for God’s sake. Isn’t that cool though?” Aretha swallowed the rest of her beer.
“Should you be drinking like that if you’re pregnant?” Loddy made a move to confiscate the second mug but Aretha beat her and guzzled down the rest of her beer.
“Hey, I’m thirsty.” Her head, unsteady, shaking like someone with Parkinson’s, Aretha rose from the table, twisted her body towards Ulu and bellowed, “Do I still have the job at the Y because nothing’s happening at The Garage and I need money?”
“The Y closed down the hostel yesterday and Loddy here agreed to work in the office with me. Sorry but I need someone who is serious and reliable.”
Aretha acknowledged Ulu’s decision with the peace sign, and then without another word, stumbled out of the restaurant with Loddy crying out: “Aretha! Come back! Come back! You can have the job!” Loddy turned to Ulu: “Like, I can’t believe that was Aretha. What happened?”
“Woodstock.”
No words between them, just the steady pour of more Beaujolais into their glasses until Ulu broke the silence: “And after the music stopped, I wonder if any of the freaks decided to grow up?”
xxx
Loddy had just stepped into the doorway when the phone rang. Thinking it was Fury, she made a dash for it, only to hear the familiar whining voice on the other end of the line.
“You come for supper tonight?” And before she could answer: “Shh. Be careful what you say. FLQ listen.”
“Oh, Maw, the phone isn’t bugged.”
“Yah, I hear click all the time.”
“Maybe it needs to be fixed.”
“Yah, maybe.” Alma seemed relieved. “You come supper tonight?”
“Maw, I have to work.” It was a lie, but sometimes lies were acts of kindness.
“What work?”
“The theatre.”
“You still go to that bad place?”
“It’s not bad.” Loddy could hear her mother’s anxiety, out of breath, panting like a dog after a run and plotting how to make her oldest daughter more miserable. “Where are you, Maw?”
“Bettina. Bettina hurt me so much. Oh, that Bettina! You, Loddy are my best daughter.”
Yeah, for now, Loddy thought.
“Is she okay?”
“She start university, but she break my heart. She say she no study social work. She be a poet now. A poet. What that? No money for a poet. She break my heart.”
“It’ll be okay, Maw. She can always teach poetry if things don’t work out.”
“Yah? Yah. Teacher be better.” Alma seemed relieved. “You make me feel always better, Loddy, when we talk.”
And then without any notice, the unintended words just surfaced. “Maw, I’m moving.”
“Moving? Where?”
“Not far, just a couple of blocks away on St-Famille Street.”
“Why Canadians always move? Why you move?”
“You said my place was a dump anyway. So I’m moving to a nicer place.”
“Ah, save your money, Loddy.”
“Maw, I’ll come see you next Sunday. Okay?”
“Shhhh. The phone. Hear? They listen.”
“Okay, Maw.”
“Bettina break my heart.”
“I know. I’ll see you next Sunday.”
“Shhh.”
When she hung up, she phoned Fury and gave him her answer.
“Yes, I’ll move in with you.”
xxx
She gave a month’s notice, but the next day Fury was already loading up a van with her measly possessions: books, clothes, records, shelves, portable television, bean bag and the card table with two fold-up chairs. She discarded the divan, leaving behind its stories for the next tenant.
“I want my white walls back or I keep the deposit,” the landlord said.
That last day, after she had scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom, and the floors wore the spotless patina of a bowling alley, she plunked herself down and waited for Fury.
“Can’t say I’ll miss you,” she said, voice hollow in the emptiness. “Good bye walls, good bye window and peeping tom, good bye cockroaches.”
“Saying farewell to the cockroaches, are you?” Fury stood in the doorway with cans of paint and supplies.
“Yeah, like I’m feeling nostalgic. They were my first pets, don’t you know. I think I need a cat.”
After the walls were washed and primed, she dipped a roller into the paint and started to erase the China Red rising sun.
“Goodbye rising sun.”
It took three coats of Snowball paint to conceal the red. When it was all done and the place radiated white, she locked the door to her old life and took a giant leap forward.