From the sound of it, there were a lot of people beyond the edge of the bar, where I couldn’t really see them. They didn’t care too much about us. I tuned them out mostly. Toronto is a city where they welcome you with folded arms.
Couldn’t tune out Harmony though. Her disapproval. She was giving me a lot of attitude right there on that little stage. Still not quite sure I deserved it. Wounded me a bit. Man, I just want to play. Anyway, nobody was really watching. Saw one pair of eyes out there, peering at me. Guess it didn’t matter too much when she fired me right there onstage. Full house chattering beyond the bar.
You got to think it wasn’t too good for her career either. Pulling a stunt like that.
It was still before 10. Harmony kept playing. I lumbered off, graceful as I could. Dragged my bass over to the side. Down that little hallway. Then I was in this little closet-sized dressing room type thing. Had a chair and a bunch of brooms in it. And my travel case. I moved the chair out into the hallway and propped the instrument up against it. Ducked back in and was trying to get the case to stay open so I could just slide the bass over and in. Then I was backing out into the hall again. There was a dude standing there. I’d missed him somehow. I said excuse me or whatever and was pulling the bass up away from the chair. He didn’t say anything so then I stopped for a second and I turned and looked up into his face.
Next two things happened almost the same time. He brought down this bottle of Grolsch on the top of my head and the tips of my fingers went up into his windpipe.
Funny thing I noticed about the Grolsch bottle, as it rolled away. It hadn’t broken and he’d resealed it before using it on my head. I think he was hoping to finish it, instead of choking from a crushed windpipe, which was what he was doing. I’ve got strong fingers from playing. Stronger than I think. Even if they’re not as dextrous as they ought to be.
I’d let the bass fall back against the chair. He was making some kind of noise. I was holding onto him, felt like my armpits were on fire, and he was looking down into my eyes like he wanted to ask me a question. Like he wanted me to help him. Did he want me to help him? Is that the way dying works? You forgive your enemies and ask them for help? All I could think was he better hurry up and finish — the questioning, the forgiving, the dying — because somebody was bound to come around the corner of that hallway again real soon.
Harmony was still at it though. One of my faves too. She had talent. Maybe I had good taste. Maybe the song would hold them just long enough to keep their bladders. It was old blues. A cover. Rabbit Brown.
I think about the way that guy looked. I do. The way he was looking before he took that swing. I see it in my head. That moment. He didn’t look angry. More helpless. Anxious. He looked a lot like me. Except he was taller and fair and pretty narrow at the shoulders. So this was the husband. Fucked up like me. Didn’t look like he wanted to be in this hallway any more than I did. He really was dying too. I felt bad for him.
I didn’t know what was happening. The husband had fallen against me and wasn’t making any more noise. In the other room, the song was coming to an end. The door was still open and I heard voices. Nasal. Girls. Approaching the corner. I pulled him up and dragged him in. Reached forward and grabbed the knob. It was damp and nearly slipped from my hand as I closed the door.
Two grown men, one of them not breathing, and a double bass case leaning up against a pile of broomsticks in a closet. The one thing I wanted with me was still out in the hallway. Some drunken asshole was going to knock it down. Or mistake it for the wall beside a urinal and piss on it. Or steal it. I couldn’t afford that.
Don’t know how much time went by. A couple of minutes maybe. Felt like an hour. I heard a snippit of conversation between a pair of girls. It was about fake leather. Like in a jacket or something. And some dude having a bad trip, talking to himself about how Wednesday was zero.
Wednesday was going to be zero for me if I didn’t find a way out of this.
There was only one way to go. You probably saw it coming. I didn’t. Took a bit of thinking. First I had to rip the neck guard out of the case. Made me feel like I had tendinitis. Then I had to push back against the door for leverage. At one point, two or three broom handles fell across to the other wall. They made a loud noise. Insanely loud. My ears were ringing. I even heard the echo of the ringing.
Then everything stopped and I listened to my breathing. Somebody flushed a toilet and opened a door. Footsteps down the hall.
Harmony was still at it.
Things could have been worse. Case might have been too small. I might not have had a case at all. Or a soft-shell case.
There was no air left in the room. I just wanted to get out of there. Took a chance and opened the door wide. No one in the hallway. The case was facing the wrong way. By the time I was ready to go, there was a guy there, trying to get past me to the bathroom. He had to wait while I propped the case against the wall and slid the double bass from the hall into the closet. Closed the door. Then I lumbered down the hallway, past the men’s. He went in and I was alone again. Standing in front of the fire exit. I banged it open and stumbled out into the alley.
Urine never smelled so much like freedom. It was starting to rain though. Thought that might do something about the heat, but it didn’t. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my Tilly knockoff.
Queen Street was busier than it had a right to be west of Dufferin on a Tuesday night. Still, all that traffic would come to an end if I was willing to go far enough. West is the way to go when you’ve got a body in a case and time on your hands.
I started walking, trying to pretend I was just heading to a gig on a usual night in the usual way. But it wasn’t a usual night. And it wasn’t the usual way. Sweat was pouring off me with the rain. Still, people on the sidewalk parted to let me by. Respect for the musician. Nothing like it.
There was a streetcar coming, making its way at a snail’s pace through the traffic in the street. 501. The rain started coming down harder. The sign said, Humber. I figured I’d take it all the way to Humber College and then I could empty out my case somewhere on campus where my cargo might be taken for a wasted student. Humber College. All those red brick buildings where the crazy people used to live, back in the old days when it was the primary mental care village for the whole province.
Getting on the car wasn’t the problem I thought it’d be, though it took a couple of minutes. The driver said something I didn’t understand. I’d turned and was trying to get my weight under the back to pull up the rig and he said, It’s your lucky night. No pole. Air-conditioning.
He was right. There was air-conditioning. It felt good. If he was actually referring to the size of my case relative to the size of the door, I’d have to say he wasn’t making himself very clear.
Car was empty. There’d been people waiting with me at the stop, but they didn’t get on. Made me a bit paranoid. Like maybe I didn’t look as innocent as I thought. People cut a lot of slack for musicians. But maybe they notice when your case weighs more than you do.
Still, we were headed west and nobody was stopping us. We went past the streetcar station at the bottom of Roncy. Caught a view of the lake at the left. There was a big empty patch of darkness on the right that spooked me until I realized it was Grenadier Pond. Then new town houses on the left. I thought I spotted a garbage nest under a bush.