“What’s the office like?” she asked, keeping up.
Davey was practically glowing with excitement. His olive-coloured shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a headband wrapped around his head to keep his long brown hair out of his golden eyes, which shone with anticipation.
“It’s swinging, man. Not too big, but it has a groovy vibe.” He grinned. “We got a map of the United States on the wall, and we stick a pin in every spot where an American is coming from. On another wall we have a big peace sign made of old draft cards. Some are charred on the edges, like they tried to burn them. So cool.”
When they arrived, she realized that he’d held back in his description of the place’s decor. The first thing she saw was a plastic chicken hanging from the ceiling with the phrase “Chicken Little was right!” written on it. One wall held a huge poster of Bob Dylan, surrounded by posters, cartoons, sketches, poetry, and more. Brochures lay stacked on the windowsills. On top of an old bookshelf, she spotted a photograph of a soldier in uniform. The poor man looked exhausted. She couldn’t help thinking of Joey and the horrific scene he had drawn for her in his latest letter, and a knot tightenedin her throat. Joey had done more than his time down there. Extending the original six months to thirteen had been insanity. He should come back now, before it was too late, if it wasn’t already.
“Here. Take this outside. I’ll be right there,” Davey said, handing her a placard.MAKE LOVE NOT WAR, the flowery sign suggested. Theoinlovewas drawn like a heart, with a downward fork cut straight down through it, forming a peace symbol.
“Did you choose this sign specifically for me?” she teased. “Because I’m happy with another theme, you know.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it suits you. Can I bum a smoke?”
She reached into her bag for her cigarettes, and he stuck one in his mouth as he grabbed another placard.
“Davey?”
Sassy stepped out of the way as a small blond girl with a severe look about her mouth entered the office then walked directly to Davey. He lit up at the sight of her. Just as quickly, that happiness melted into an expression of guilt.
“Hey, Christine.” He bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “So cool that you came. Thanks.” He glanced at Sassy, and it dawned on her where the guilt was coming from. “Christine, this is my, uh, very good friend, Sassy. Sass, this is Christine. I’ve told you about her, right…?”
He hadn’t, but she let him off easy. She’d had a hunch. She had smelled cheap perfume on him before, and it was the same as the scent wafting off Christine right now.
“Of course. Far out.”
Davey might once have been laid-back about things, but these days he seemed more like the Tasmanian Devil in the Looney Tunes cartoons, and not just because he was always hungry. Outside of being with Sassy, he was working evenings in the Chez Monique kitchen, organizing protests and functions at the TADP, and now she knew about Christine.
With her hunch confirmed, she reluctantly accepted that she and Davey were better as friends and said nothing more about it.
A half dozen kids came into the little office then, squeezing her against the wall, and Davey nodded a welcome. “Pick a sign and wait in the back. There’s a crowd there already.”
They followed his orders without hesitation, and she felt a rush of pride for him.
Christine stood unmoving, watching the goings-on. “What should I do?”
“It’s almost time,” he told her, scanning the office with a frown. “I just need to…”
Sassy recognized his expression. It was kind of like when she was in a rush and had to go somewhere but couldn’t remember what she was forgetting.
“Your bullhorn,” she suggested.
“Far out, Sass. You’re the best.” He grabbed it off a shelf. “All right. Let’s go.”
Sassy didn’t miss the way he took Christine’s hand in his—or the victorious expression on her face when she glanced at Sassy. The two of them headed out, and Sassy followed, wondering how on earth Davey had connected with such an arrogant girl.
For a while, Davey walked between them, striding up Spadina Avenue with a bullhorn in one hand and Christine’s hand in the other. At the back of the group, some of the girls carried bundles of daisies, which they handed out to people they passed along the way. Eventually, Davey and Christine moved up to lead the two dozen or so protestors. Sassy lagged behind. Backing off was the right thing to do, but still, it was hard to see him so happy with someone else.
From the front, Davey started calling out slogans on his bullhorn, and the group eagerly parroted his words.
One, Two, Three, Four! Tell me what we’re fighting for!Sassy yelled over and over, more sure of herself with every step. She only stopped when her voice started to crack. She had to make sure she didn’t strain it, since she was singing again in a few nights. Someone lit up a joint and passed it to her, restoring her enthusiasm, and Davey switched toMake Love, Not War!,so she waved her sign and chanted along.
Like the love-in at Queen’s Park, their peaceful protest felt dreamlike,with all the colours and smiles and brotherly love that held the group together, all the singing and chanting and daisies, all the fingers held up in Vs. It was as if society’s rules didn’t matter for a day, and the protestors owned the city, preaching the message to everyone they met. Pedestrians paused midstep, taking in their procession, and when they turned east onto Bloor Street, Sassy saw photographers aiming at them. Still buzzing from the marijuana, she made sure to wave and smile.
Near St. George Street, a beautiful blond woman across the intersection caught Sassy’s eye. She was wearing a suit and walking the opposite way, though she’d stopped to observe the protest. Still following the group, Sassy admired the woman’s elegant, organized appearance. Something about her reminded Sassy of the yellowing photographs of her mother, once upon a time, framed liked museum pieces on her father’s mantel. She wondered where the woman was headed, with her shining hair drawn into a disciplined roll and her hand curled around the handle of a serious-looking black briefcase. She looked important. Sensible. Poised. Such a contrast to the messy joy that emanated from the protestors. For just a beat, Sassy wondered what it might be like to switch places.
The group stopped walking, and because she hadn’t been paying attention, Sassy bumped into the boy in front of her. From her tiptoes, she saw Davey in the lead, with Christine standing beside him, but he was blocked by a half dozen policemen. When one of them moved his hand to the baton at his belt, Sassy started shoving her way through the protestors to stand at Davey’s side.
“Don’t you dare hit him!” she shouted at the policeman.
