Day: July 17, 2004

I’m making Gavin dinner now. Garlic and ginger browning in butter. Sweet Gavool, he’s on the phone with his parents, talking about me. Mum: “so how’s the new girlfriend working out?” My comment, of course, “you’d think after five years, I’d be getting a chance to meet the parents.”

For those of you who know what it means, Gavin and I were going through the Straight yesterday and I found another advert of my fathers.

DANNY HOLMES – Hall of Fame
Would like to meet/educate my kids in music/art.

I’m only slightly terrified. He’s 50 now. There was an e-mail addy and I think I’m going to answer it. Create a false address with no link to any of my netnames. These have been showing up every once and awhile in the Straight for about 2 years. I’ve seen two before. One looking for a young female musician for ‘an upcoming project’ which I SINCERLY hope no one ever answered, and another looking for us. Mum’s in the phonebook these days but I can’t imagine he’ll ever call again. It didn’t go over so well last time. The Filth stomped him pretty hard. I suppose this means he’s still in Van. I’m going to attempt to word my letter in a way that doesn’t say I’m here in Van still. I may try to outright lie and give him my address in Toronto.

The sounds are different with every body. The movements, the whisper sound of hands on paper. I didn’t think that would be something to miss, but seemingly I do. We smile when we look at eachother. I think there’s many moments of not knowing what to say. He’s eaten more life than I and so rescues words with a grace I can’t yet achieve. I’m lost, halting. His eyes are a colour I don’t recognize.

Calgary doesn’t seem very far away now. Only a step outside and to the left. The mountains don’t exist, only the road and the path and that simple breakfast above in a bookstore. I need to be more alone in the city. Tornado weather on the way out. Sudden hail half a foot deep, white and green hiding the blinding sun. The highway invisible in the middle of July ice. Every night fireworks. Light crash and the cityscape. Purple red and green falling over the sparkle of the amusement park rides. I could like it here. I could never get lost. The feeling of knowing that never dies properly, but fades slow.

He turned to me with a paintbrush in his hand the night of Deans birthday. This Isn’t Mine, though they think it is. Sweetness and Marissa sleeping on the couch. Her fifteen year old friend Rachel, obviously out of her depth. Gavin and Dean fixing Ians shoes with chemicals and a nailgun. Uncomfortable with these strange people full of the creative.  Lucky she wasn’t there for the potatoe cannon out the front. Certain she didn’t see me watching her discomfort, my eyes full of Gavin. I caught him watching me perched on the car door our first day. I’d left my book behind at the studio in my morning exhaustion. The twelve hour drive accomplished in eight. The door was stuck when I ran in. I thought it was Dean who called come in. I slammed it open to realize I’d sent glass hurling towards a steel door. Twirling, I caught it to turn in a wave of black and velvet. I don’t know who was more surprised. Trembling adrenaline..