The Wages, An Illustrated Story | 23. Songs and Parables | Ontario Hills

Previous page | Main Table of Contents | Chapter index | Next page 
A line drawing looking in through the window of Brandy's bus. The countryside is reflected on the windows over the figures inside. The reflection is broken by the window's' cross-bars forming a horizontal cross-shape. The reflection shows rolling hills with a few trees, a fence, and a radio tower over the hills on the horizon jutting toward the clouds. A horse and foal graze nearby. Inside the bus, Brandy's bass-player girlfriend Joanne sits alone at the front reading a book. Her cowlick of short blonde hair tumbles over her forhead, making her look cool, androginous, and beautiful. In the seat behind Joanne, Crystal holds a pen and sorts papers with illegilbe lines. Brandy is sitting on the window-side of the seat, beside Crystal. Brandy is turned toward the window, and her T shirt says Rose Garden, with her cross pendant hanging above the print. Brandy stares toward the passing landscape, so she sees the hilly fields and horses that are shown framed and reflected over her. End of image description.

I stared out the window at Ontario for a long time.

I wondered how much my musical talent contributed. I mulled my theory that Crystal’s organizational skill combined with her drive to be Canada’s most prolific reverse groupie was a large part of what kept us going. When the cash thinned out, there was still a tall lonesome cowboy in every town from Vancouver to St. John. I think she was the biggest safe sex advocate of all drummers ever, and she lived by example.

I was still hoping I could keep something lasting with a lover, just one, for good. As the rounded softness of the countryside rolled by, I started wondering when Joanne and I could slip off somewhere and have a lot of oral sex with each other. I thought about giving her butt some smacks, getting my hands into her short blonde hair to yank her pretty face into me, and then letting her yank me around to where she needed. We were due for it.

I wanted to lie around and talk with her afterward, like we used to. We needed to get that part back. Two naked disheveled women, our tired curves interwoven like the Ontario hills, talking about music and dreams, or about where we came from and what we believed, or about breakfast—about anything.

Previous page | Main Table of Contents | Chapter index | Next page