The sun dips downward in daily ritual, toward the horizon of a cloudless sky. Painting vibrant streaks of pink and orange, a fitting farewell. It's the last night before the world goes back to normal as we know it. Back to university. It's a great place, don't get me wrong; plenty of great memories, and people I can't wait to see. It's just too soon. Sitting in my Thunderbird Turbo I examine myself in the rear view mirror. Fixing my bangs with a flick of my flip comb, I nod.
Two seconds later I ignite the engine which roars in acquiescence. I stare down at my phone, scrolling for a proper playlist. I'm staring down the barrel at 2020 but live my summers in the 80's. Leather jackets, giant hair, roller derbies, dance nights. I've got one of those radio tuners stuck into the 12 volt slot beneath the dash. Nobody mods this fine set of wheels. Settling on my summer hitlist, I lock the screen and tuck the phone away.
Sliding into reverse I roll out of my 'summer home', away from my parents and the farmy, forested mountaintop. Destination: nowhere in particular. I simply crave a night drive to escape the burden of what comes with the dawn. Shifting to first gear, I give it some gas, accelerating towards the coastline belting out the only lyrics I know from the first track, "It's the final countdown!"
Minutes later, the sun is kissing the coastline, spreading its lips wide as the trees give way to the hillside. My descent into paradise is blessed by bright lights, but they're still mundane white. Windows down, I belt out all the lyrics of Don't You Want Me Baby to myself as I wind closer to my destination. I breathe deep, no longer surrounded by peaty farmland.
The buzz of a Beatle breaks my daydream between the rumbling of its broken muffler. I shake my head, watching it struggle to overtake my ride, cruising closer to the coast at a cool 121 KM/H. The last time I drifted at 142, I got pulled over for speeding. That was a rough couple of weeks with the parents.
The city drifts by in a blur of lights, the nightlife awakening in florescent stripes, dazzling blues, yellows, greens. They're the colours of my rainbow, beckoning me closer. I change lanes without hesitation. The wind twists my hair, curling it straight into my eyes and mouth. Tasting pomade I spit, fishing the strands free. Slicking my hair away from my face, hoping the wind doesn't pull it back, I skip forward a track, not feeling MJ right now.
I'm grateful that traffic is light. I glance left, grinning as I spy the water pierce through the shadowy coast. I wonder if Tory and Rory are out there for one last surf. There's a good breeze for it. I already miss the beachside evenings, bracing for the crashing waves like a waterpark. I bounce in my seat to the beat of Love Shack, keeping my right foot firmly on the gas to maintain optimal cruise speed. My left hand pops out of my window and I sing to the sky "Headed for the love getaway, love getaway, I got me a car, it's as big as a whale..." I stroke the cool chrome paint in reassurance.
Finally I spy my stop, sliding off the highway.
The dim road gives way to my headlights, guiding me toward the sandbar. I'm a lone rider. The sweet neon of the city lights glimmer in the distance, stretching into one another and the dark sky. Still moving my head to the beat, I grin and park, about one hundred meters from the sand. A single building stands at the end of the parking lot. I silence my ride, reluctantly extracting the keys. Cars are scattered before me as I saunter toward the old warehouse, its walls whitewashed to stave off rusting.
I pause to eye the glowing sign overhead. RINGO'S ROLLER RINK juts from the wall in bold, glowing rods. I respect everything about Ringo, the owner of this establishment, except her penchant for alliteration and obsessive compulsiveness when it comes classic bands. My gaze drifts over to the northern corner, opposite me. I spy a few bodies but can't make them out beyond their leathers. I breathe deeply. I'm home. For one last time this year.
My ears wriggle as I walk, tuning into howling that's started. Deep, full of longing it reaches for the incomplete moon, swaying over the stars in the mostly clear sky. I smile, smelling the sugar in the air, mixing with the salt of the stale water.
Finally approaching the bar, the howling now greeting me. Hairspray grazes my senses between the fist bumps, high fives, and hugs. The W O L F C L U B, as they stylize themselves, are old friends, old souls, and like me, out for a final night. I recognize each of them from the past few summers. Many, like Jane and Phuong, I'll see in class, but we won't mention that till morning.
The dogs let me pass, and I greet the few others standing around enjoying their ice cream, non-club members like me are just as welcome. We're all seeking the same freedom of the moon, the cars, the dancefloor.
Two people stand at the bar. Ringo herself serves up the last of summer's fare. She's a wiry sage of perhaps thirty five, anchoring our culture in the actual past. She runs this joint, the Go-Kartz next door, and is partner at a local accounting firm. Her brown hair is streaked with blonde, teased into a massive cloud. Her apron covers her outfit, save for her bright, signature arm warmers. Her head turns, perfect teeth set in a natural smile as I slow my approach.
The patron at the bar is Jo, standing sure their combat boots, leather jacket sporting FM-84's sunset logo and bright blue leggings which go with those sparkly blue eyes and eyeliner. They're getting their favourite, strawberry-orange twist in a waffle cone. It might not be very retro but waffle cones taste so much better. Gender-neutrality isn't retro either, but we're both part of the revival movement and not the actual 80's so it's important to take liberties to improve the culture where we can.
Jo is my last flame. It took a hurricane weeks to douse the fires in my heart. We get on now. It's not getting off, but is better than nothing. I find myself down memory lane, pedal to the metal as my eyes wind their way down Jo's curling bangs. I slam on the breaks of my mind, but can't look away, catching a glimpse of the tongue work, treating the ice cream like the most delicate soft serve swirls you've ever seen.
Odie, the resident karaoke lover diverts my attention, singing in his careless baritone, "I'm after you, Smell like I sound, I'm lost in a crowd, and I'm hungry like the wolf!" to cheers and howls.
I chime in for the chorus.
When the refrain is over, I realize my mistake as Jo saunters over, boots thudding heavily with a cocky elegance. They smile and I envision myself dripping like the ice cream.
"Long time no see. Wanna ditch this popsicle stand and go for a ride?" They ask quietly before plunging back into the cone.
There's something about her careless whisper that drags me back. I take a breath to steady myself before replying, "Sure, sounds nice. Just let me get what I came here for."
I hope that came off smoother than it felt.
"Last cone of the summer?" Jo inquires.
I nod, stepping to the counter. I order a chocolate neon swirl while searching the jukebox of my mind for confidence. Instead all I'm getting are cheesy Queen lines. So I hold myself with the sugary mix of chocolate, blue raspberry and strawberry in their flavourful cacophony.
"The classic," Jo says as I rejoin the crowd, raising a half empty cone in cheers.
We're quickly surrounded by a few others, bantering about the latest remixes, or the best tires for the coming weather. I'm grateful for the distraction but acutely aware of Jo's body so close to mine. Wishing I was as chill as my ice cream, I try and slow my breathing.
Instead, I'm stuck, a human racing against the heart, and against the thrumming beat from someone's speaker. I meet Jo's gaze as they shift it to the parking lot. I catch their drift, stepping from the crowd. My feet move quickly, hoping to outpace them. I turn and lean against my car, only to find Jo right behind me.
"That's better. I can hear myself think now," Jo says, standing before me.
I nod in agreement, crunching down my cone. "Yeah they have a big crowd out tonight. You come down alone? I don't see your wheels," I observe.
Jo cracks a slight smile, "Got a ride down with Jill. Octavio was wintered today."
Jill being the tallest woman in the C L U B, standing over us at about 6 foot, red haired and rogued like a pin-up Ariel, sporting a modded 87 Chevy. She's had eyes on Jo for over a year.
Octavio being Jo's car. Not sure why anyone would name a car that.
I finish the last of my cone and Jo moves toward the passenger door. I pop the locks before sitting down. Keys in the ignition, I pause.
"You look well, Andi. That's good to see. Ready for the school year?" Jo asks, not quite meeting me eye to eye.
I wince at the use of my name. I know it's a lame choice, but I picked it for the versatility. I play it off as a shrug, replying "As ready as I'll ever be. You still in school, Jo?"
"Last year," They nod. "Where you headed tonight?"
I shrug again, eyes yearning for the road. "Was just out for a drive. Glad I stopped here." I turn the car over, bringing the engine alive.
"Perfect," Jo coos in that tone that makes my throat hitch.
We pull out of the lot back onto the highway almost screaming "Woah! Living on a prayer!" and for a moment, my anxiety about my ex being in the car dissipates.
Jo turns and smiles after the song. The good old days of singing in the car. I force a smile back, glad to be back on the open road under the moon. I notice Jo smells like citusry tea. It's beautiful, energizing.
I drift along the avenue, grateful there aren't many cars around. Destination free, we sing, we banter and generally resume life in a painfully familiar way. It's wonderful, confusing, and horrifying all at once. I've lost track of the road signs but don't care. Half a tank of gas goes a long way.
The next song slides onto the speakers like an old cassette. Jo goes quiet and I'm lost in thought. Without even realizing, the song converts my thoughts into verse. "...Everything fits when you tell your story, the blurry portraits in the halls of former lovers goooone, But nothing was looooost..."
Silence as I sing my way through my heartache for the thousandth time. Her smile is gone but she moves to the song. I remember last fall when we saw them together. It was a pleasant time, but past our due. My last try at, well, trying.
We're back under street lights. No neon glow, just plebian florescent wisps dangling above. Sitting in silence, everything seems calm but me. Jo sits placidly, still as an touched pool. I'm a bundle of nerves, left leg bouncing out of beat, palms sweaty. Unable to speak I cycle the playlist forward a few songs, hoping for something to cure to mood.
Settling for some A-Ha, I roll off the highway instinctively.
The streets are immediately familiar, but not home, yet. The stores all line up from memory and I'm soon swinging around Cootes Drive up into Lot I. Nearly home for real now.
"Wouldn't it have been faster to come left off Main, past the hospital?" Jo asks, releasing their seatbelt.
I grin and shrug, "Sure by half a minute. View is better the long way around." Windows up, I step out of the car and gently shut the door.
"So," Jo says with a flap of their arms, "Where to?"
"You'll see. Come on," I walk from the parking lot around AN Bourns toward John Hodgins. In my personal tradition, I pause to admire the willows. Even in the dead of night they're peacefully majestic. I feel Jo's eyes on me from the sidewalk. Keeping it short, I hustle ahead. Through the arches of University Hall, past a couple of residences to the field.
"The football field? You having a midnight dance party?" Jo says playfully.
I feel myself flush, glad it's mostly dark, even with the lamps overhead.
"I hadn't thought about that. Hadn't thought about any of it, really. Just let the road guide me," I reply slowly, staring out at the field. Never really cared for football. I know that makes me a poor Marauder, but I'll make up for it in other ways.
"Mmm," Jo sounds like a four cylinder. "So that hasn't changed then. Still leaping before you think," They say, starting to turn away.
"Look," I say, feeling my bile rise with anxiety. I point at one of the bleachers in the far upper left corner. "That's where we met last September."
Jo looks, unimpressed.
"I was just hoping we could reconnect. Maybe reignite," I admit, choking back tears. I feel so uncomfortable. I reach for my comb to fix my hair.
Jo thinks for a minute, finally breaking the silence with soft laughter. It rings like my face being crushed through a glass door.
"We never disconnected. We're here, aren't we? The mutual social circle? We just... we never had a flame. Not romantically. We took a tealight and turned it into a bonfire," They look over at me, my lip trembling upon a face I know looks like an oncoming train wreck.
"It was fun, for a while. But then you realize that flame won't keep you warm all night. We're not in synch, and I'm not sure you realized that, before tonight. Thanks for the ride. It was good. My student house is only a few minutes away. I'll see you," Jo explains before turning away.
I motion for them to stay, refusing to accept it right then. So I struggle in a weeping pile on a synthetic field. But part of me knows Jo is right. And part of me knows with every sunset comes another glorious sunrise.
For the first time in my life, I seek solace in silence. It's no 80's dance night, but it's not as scary as I expected.