RECORD TWO: NIGHT AND DAY
Copyright © 2013 by Allthing Publications
With stories by Carine Abouseif, Amir Ahmed, Alain Latour, Cathy Terefenko, Catherine Lopes, Jodelle Faye DeJesus, Rasheed Clarke, Sufian Malik, Christy Moffat, Luke Sawczak, Melissa Carter, Agnes Wakulewicz, and Chiamaka Ugwu.
Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.
Your support and respect for the property of these authors is appreciated.
The thirteen authors in this collection retain and hold their individual respective rights to their stories. Opinions and stories presented in this publication are exclusively of the authors, and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors, or of Allthing Publications. Additionally, Allthing Publications and the editors take no responsibility for accuracy of facts, names, or events represented in this publication.
The cover for this book uses an eye icon drawn by Ayesha Rana from The Noun Project. It is licensed under the Creative Commons CC BY 3.0.
Table of Contents
Foreword
Champagne Birthday by Cathy Terefenko
Rain in Beijing by Amir Ahmed
Harbourfront Man by Agnes Wakulewicz
Fighting Noise by Jodelle Faye DeJesus
Snow through the Window by Alain Latour
Belinda’s Tragic Genes by Melissa Carter
91 Days by Christy Moffat
Support by Rasheed Clarke
Wrong Wrong Wrong by Sufian Malik
Put some Ice on it by Carine Abouseif
Derek by Catherine Lopes
Double-walker by Luke Sawczak
Orange and Red on Jarvis Street by Chiamaka Ugwu
Acknowledgments
Foreword
My DJ name is Jack the Tripper.
I’m not even sure what exactly DJs do, but there you have it: an alter ego that no one else knows about.
I’ll probably never have to use my DJ name, but having it feels good sometimes. It’s a secret up my sleeve—a second self to keep from the world.
The DJ name doesn’t suit me: I’m musically, socially, and physically inept. While my peers spent their university years dancing, I was learning how to make an N64 emulator work. That’s the Amir that my friends and family know, and they’d never suspect that there was a tiny bit of Jack hiding inside my head. But maybe, one day, Jack will come out. Wow some folks at a club. Drop a beat. Kill the lights. Watch the place transform
We think we know a person. We think we know how the world works. We think we know our towns, neighbours, and homes.
And we do.
But then the air changes. Then the lights go out. And suddenly, we’re not sure of anything.
The point of these anthologies is to document little stories from little people. In this issue, I wanted to explore what happens when the lights go out—the difference between what we know and what’s out there. What we see, and what we get. What we want, and what we do. Sometimes, the difference is small. But other times, it’s night and day.
Amir Ahmed
July 15th 2013, Mississauga
Champagne Birthday
Cathy Terefenko
“I have been looking forward to this for, like, ever, Anna, you don’t even know, okay. We haven’t gone out for, like, a month! I am so ready to get smashed, amiright?!”
I don’t respond about if she’s right. I’m in the front seat, keeping a bouquet of roses between my legs. The flowers are pretty, and I’m trying desperately keep them upright in the vase as Anna speeds along the DVP.
Maggie asks me something. I ask her to repeat.
“I said,” Maggie repeats, “what about you, Cathy? Are you excited? This is your first time, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” The car makes a sharp turn. The roses jerk, and I steady the vase.
“It’s just a lounge, right?” I ask. “Polly dragged me to one when Nat came to visit. I’ll probably just get a drink or two and find a place to sit while you guys dance or whatever.”
We’ve been driving for a good twenty minutes. I have no idea where we are, until Anna says we’re in Toronto.
I hate Toronto.
There is a long silence in the car; only the fast rap song can be heard coming from the speakers softly.
“Are we picking anyone else up before we get to the lounge?” I ask.
I look over to Anna. She looks like she’s deciding what she should say.
“Um, no,” she says. “Not picking anyone else up...”
Maggie laughs from the back seat.
“You should just tell her we’re already in Toronto, she can’t leave.”
What?
“Tell me what?” I ask.
They both laugh.
“Hahaha,” I attempt. “No, seriously, tell me what?”
I look over to see Anna give a meaningful glance into the rear-view mirror.
“Well, since you’re so interested in knowing, we aren’t going to a lounge.”
I can feel my stomach in my throat.
“Then where are we going?”
Anna and Maggie giggle to themselves, a high-pitched set of tee-hees.
I repeat, “No, seriously, where are we going?”
They don’t answer.
“Guys, I’m serious. Tell me where we are going or, so help me, I will jump-roll out of this car.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Cat,” Anna says while rolling her eyes.
“We are going...” In the back, Maggie starts to slap her thighs in a mock drumroll motion, then, at the same time, they shout:
“TO A STRIP CLUB.”
I hear myself laughing.
“Yeah, right. Strip club. That’s totally happening.”
“Yup,” Maggie says.
I laugh some more. “Haha, very funny. You got me. Seriously, though, we’re going to a lounge, right?”
Anna smirks.
Oh dear God.
No.
No.
No.
No. No. No. NO!
How they hell did they manage to keep this a secret?! Everyone at work knew about tonight. Does that mean everyone knows? EVERYONE? Even the cute produce guy? Oh, please, God, no. I told him I was looking forward to tonight. DOES HE THINK THAT I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO GOING TO A STRIP CLUB NOW!? WHY?!
“But,” I squeak. “But everyone at work? Is that why Jessie isn’t coming tonight?!”
Anna adjusts her curled hair as we pull up to a red light.
“No, Jessie legit had to write an essay. But I told everyone at work to keep it a secret so you wouldn’t be able to make up an excuse.”
The light turns green. Anna pushed her foot on the gas. The car surges forward, bringing me forward to my fate.
Everyone lied to me. Everyone. I have been lied to.
I stare out the window. She’s only going sixty. It wouldn’t actually kill me if I jumped out right now. I might need a trip to the ER, but I wouldn’t die.
I could call a cab when I get there, but Anna wouldn’t tell me where we are. Plus, I don’t even have my cellphone; I left it in Anna’s apartment where we were getting ready.
Oh God, this is actually happening. I am going to go to a den of iniquity. My soul will be tarnished and Grandma will see it happen from Heaven.
After driving for a few more minutes, Maggie humming in the back to the rap song, Anna almost shaking out of her seat with excitement, and me three panicked breaths away from a nervous implosion, we pull up to a TD Bank to park the car. We walk a corner over to a small, nondescript building and go
through a door. Down a long, narrow staircase and we are officially inside “Klub Kave”. I pick up a business card so that I have something to do with my hands, and notice the address. We aren’t even in Toronto. We are in Etobicoke. Anna told me we were in Toronto to throw me off.
There is no way this night can get any worse.
Then it does.
It is obvious that I won’t get through tonight without some emotional trauma. I need alcohol.
I order a cosmo right out of the gate. Cosmos are the drink of strong, independent women who are ready to let loose for the night. It is gross. I can’t believe they charged eight dollars for it. The taste of cranberry juice lingers in my throat.
I turn to look at the club.
This was going to be bad enough when we were just going to a club. Now, I am in a figurative hell, holding a drink I hate, clutching my jacket to me like a lifeline, trying not to watch a mostly naked man thrust his hips in my cousin’s face. Someone must have bought her a lap dance while I was getting my horrible drink.
One of my coworkers, Catherine, must notice my discomfort. She nudges me playfully in the side. I see Olga in the corner, talking to the bartender. She slips something into his hand and makes her way over to us.
“Come on, guys, we’re moving to the front.”
I grab my jacket and spill a little of my awful drink onto the leather couch as I get up. I manoeuvre between the cramped tables and chairs to the tables right in front of the stage. There is a man in a fireman’s plastic red hat and yellow trunks swinging around on a chain attached to the ceiling in front of our new table.
I see a sign on the surface of our new sitting area saying that these seats are reserved for patrons who have had a “minimum of five drinks”. That explains what Olga was giving the bartender. The tall, heavyset man comes over with a giant tray of shots. Olga stands up and signals for us to be quiet.
I’ve barely said a word since we got our IDs checked; silence really won’t be a problem for me.
“On this momentous day, we are celebrating Anna’s champagne birthday! Here’s to another year of laughs, loves, and parties! Yeah!”
She signals us all to take a shot. I see Paula take a sip from her water bottle. I’m guessing she’s the sober driver tonight and will be making our responsible decisions for us. I feel a wave of anger overcome me for a moment. Everyone in this circle knew where we were going tonight and they all kept it a secret from me. I am in a group of liars. Then the vodka kicks in and the room gets just a bit more hazy.
The next man makes his way to the stage after the fireman gets his applause. I had always wondered how Canadians tip strippers. We don’t have one-dollar bills like Americans—do we throw loonies down their underwear? Do they jingle as they walk away? Do they get coin-shaped bruises from the loonies and toonies being chucked at the stage?
I want to order a martini. Not a cosmo. I don’t want to ruin my image of another iconic drink that I have always wanted to try but never had an excuse to. So I order, sigh, a “sex on the beach” instead.
Dammit, why does everything have cranberry juice in it?
I see Olga on stage, gyrating with the man dressed in white trunks with a red cross over the crotch and a stethoscope around his neck. This is her third time on stage, one of which was a contest of musical chairs (the strippers were the chairs) to win a miniature vibrator.
I see Anna and Polly smirking at each other and pointing at me out of the corner of my eye. I pretend not to notice because I really, really do not want to know.
I order a Long Island iced tea. The drink where you want to get drunk without realizing how much alcohol you are actually drinking. I like it. It’s sweet and I can barely taste the inebriating stuff. It is the drink of my people— those “people” being they who do not want to remember what the hell happened last night.
When I get back to the table, half the girls have gone outside for a smoke. Anna is leaning over the table towards the stage, giving a man in a police hat and thigh holster a five-dollar bill. I set my drink on the table and am about to sit down when I notice the stripper reaching out for my hand.
No. Dammit. No. Why does he want me on stage? What did she do? What the hell did she do?! I don’t want to do this but I feel Anna pushing me to the stage and the man pulling me around the stages steps.
I stand on stage in an almost-out-of-body experience. I can’t believe this is happening to me. My hands are at my side as the man dances in front of me. I stare at anything but him. The ceiling, the ground, the bachelorette party hooting in the corner. My cousin grinning so widely I think her face might split in half.
I feel him grabbing my hands which were clutched at my sides. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Grab my ass,” and then places my hands on his posterior. I am so shocked I can’t even think about doing anything. I stiffly move my hands over their placed position and have officially offended the man in front of me.
I am sorry. I am so uncomfortable that I have offended this man who probably makes more money in a night than I will with my super-useful English degree.
The song finally ends and my torture is ended for the moment. The man gives me a loose hug and kisses my cheek and gestures for me to get off the stage.
I make my way back to the table and scowl at Anna who sits there, looking all too pleased with herself. She can tell all she needs to know about my current feelings by the bright red flush and uncomfortable grimace.
“I hate you.”
She gives a toothy grin.
“You’re welcome.”
Some of our companions return to the table and are immediately regaled with all that transpired while they were gone. Olga immediately curses her nicotine addiction and begins to mercilessly tease me.
The night is almost over and we all have morning shifts. Olga gets her last dance of the night and we make our way out of my hell.
“I want a picture of us all!” Maggie shouts.
I immediately offer to take it because there can be no proof that I was ever here.
The picture is taken.
I will never live this down.
Rain in Beijing
Amir Ahmed