One Blink

ONE BLINK

by Natasha Ramoutar

A long time ago, before the shisha cafes were banned in the city, before the curfew was implemented and back when the dog parks were still open, we used to be inseparable.

I remember those days because they were the last time I felt like I was growing up at the right speed. Every day we would take Rex to that dog park at McCowan and Ellesmere, where the grass always grew too high and the dandelions sprouted up below the steel gate. Like ritual we would play monkey in the middle, tossing the ball back and forth just out of reach of his flattened snout. Eventually, he’d get tired and would roll onto his back, his fat little legs in the air, until we slipped the ball into his awaiting mouth. When I got him on my sixth birthday, I was so excited that my body became weightless. I bounced off the walls, ricocheting from corner to corner, from floor to ceiling, as I narrowly avoided hitting him. You, big brother, were as cool as a sea-cucumber and scratched him behind the ear.

We threw the beach party a few days shy of my twentieth birthday, right before they banned the press and the unions. That summer night the moon was as full as cheese and the heat hung around us like a barely tolerable friend, and all of our young, aspiring sound-weavers spun until the sun came up. 

The milky beams along the shoreline lent us most of our light as we danced in the sands at the Bluffs. By day this place was for sauntering strolls and first dates, and by night for bonfires and beach parties. We basked in the moonlight like Maenads, Bacchus’ children, driven to dance by unfiltered joy.

The smooth beats slipped into our bones and joints and muscles, moved our limbs like marionettes, stuttered our heartbeats. Sweaty shoulders pressed against sweaty shoulders, the smell of the sea washing in with each gust of salty air to dry our sweat, only to have our pores pour out more. We had never seen this many people on the beach at the same time. You and Maxwell had outdone yourselves. Watching you two whispering dreams below the soundwaves, I could tell you were thinking about what lay ahead—event organizing, party promotion, some kind of not-for-profit Sound-Weavers Centre.

There was a moment where we broke off to get to higher ground. We followed the route up from the sandy shore to the rocky terrain, level two of the Bluffs. Rex walked dutifully next to you, far away from the path’s edge, tripping on the roots of a stray tree every so often. The height of the escarpment would give us a better view of the flames that would fly brilliantly in the sky in celebration. 

You remember, don’t you? We went with all your high school friends—Shauna who painted and sang; your girlfriend Tiana who used to run track; and Maxwell, your partner in love and crime, who was the first of us to be taken. You know, the friends they tell us didn’t exist.

You took a break from sound-spinning to come up there with me. I had always been the apprehensive little sister—afraid of heights, afraid of the dark, afraid of my own shadow—and you had always been the one to reassure me that it was going to be alright. That must be why you came up there with me even though you were mid-set. Even though you had never played for this many people before, sure as nails, you passed it off and headed out with us.

When we got to the cliff the noises began, those blasts as steady as the 110 beats per minute dancehall down at our open-air dance hall. Sunshots streaked across the night sky, trailing bright sparks, while the ground beneath our feet shook from the tanks rolling in.

Still, we sat there at the top of the cliff, all drifty-eyed and horizon-longing, as I leaned against you, your arm over my shoulder, the weight of Rex’s body stretched across our legs. A single firework sprinted across the sky, untouched by the chaos. We let its light fill our eyes as though it was the end of the world. 

In some ways, I wish it had been. One blink, and you and Maxwell were gone.