“Please welcome Vanguard recording artist Buffy Sainte-Marie.”
With a cry of joy, Sassy jumped to her feet and threw her hands into the air. She’d listened to Buffy’s records so many times, doggedly attempting to mimic the singer on her own guitar, that the record player’s needle needed to be replaced. Now she stared up at the stage, holding her breath as the legendary woman walked to the microphone and stopped only a few feet away. Her long black hair flowed like water over her shoulders, and she wore a deceptively shy smile as she began to strum. When she belted out “Universal Soldier,” Sassy felt torn between closing her eyes and watching every little thing that Buffy did. The next song was “Until It’s Time for You to Go,” and Sassy’s fingers itched to play along. Every woman in the crowd mustknow this song, she thought. This was the anthem they all needed, reminding them they did not need to wear shackles because of a man’s set of rules. Women were powerful, mothers and daughters sprung from the maternal spirit of the earth, and they needed their freedom. Sassy sang along, rocking from side to side and watching Buffy’s shining black eyes, feeling one with her as they shared the words.
After Buffy left the stage, Sassy sank back onto the grass, still buzzing with adrenaline. Her makeup artist lay dazed beside her, blinking at the sky.
“Buffy’s righteous,” a young man said, sliding in on Sassy’s right. He was medium height with brown hair almost to his shoulders, and a flop of it fell over one side of his brow. Without hesitation, he gave her a shining smile. He held out a thin, tightly rolled joint, already lit.
“You knew all the words.”
Sassy observed him as she inhaled, letting his face blur a little as the high entered her brain. She liked the look of him. Soft, but strong. Casually intelligent. She also liked that he’d been watching her. She held her breath a moment then released the smoke.
“I know everything she sings,” she said, passing the marijuana to the girl lying beside her. “She speaks to me, you know?”
“Far out. You sing like a bird,” he said.
A plume of smoke rose on Sassy’s left, then the artist returned the joint. Sassy took another puff and passed it back to the young man. She wrapped her arms around herself again, keeping warm, relishing the sense of mellow as it spread through her.
“You couldn’t hear me.”
“Sure, I could. I was listening. I can’t sing a note.”
“Bet you can,” she said, taking to him.
His gaze dropped briefly to the goose bumps on her arms. Without a word, he slipped out of his brown sweater and handed it to her. The soft polyester fibres still held his heat, and she was instantly warm once she’d dropped it over her head.
She went back to what she was saying. “Anyone can sing.”
The young man finished the joint, and his eyes drifted closed. “I don’tknow about that,” he said tightly, holding in his breath while he spoke, “but right now I’m feeling so good I might jump on the stage and give it a try.”
She leaned back on her elbows. “You’re funny.”
“Funny enough to take you out sometime?”
“Fast, too,” she noted, catching a glimpse of lion-gold eyes under long lashes.
“Toronto’s a busy place. I might never see you again. I gotta act quick.”
He might have been fast, but his laid-back accent was nice and slow. It charmed her. “Where are you from? I like the way you talk.”
He reclined on his side beside her. “South Carolina. I like the way you talk, too.”
Another performer approached the microphone, and the announcer introduced her as Cathy Young. Sassy had never heard of her, but she liked her voice. Lulled by cannabis and music, she closed her eyes and drifted, letting herself forget where she was, who she was, why she was… Eventually, she glanced back at the boy and wondered how much time had passed since he’d spoken. Time was a funny thing in all this smoke.
“What’s your name?”
“Davey.”
“Why are you here? In Canada, I mean.”
He held her gaze, as if he was daring her. “I came here because I ain’t gonna fight another country’s war.”
She had no argument with that. “Davey,” she mused, curling a lock of her long chestnut hair around one finger and regarding him through soft eyes. “Davey the Dodger. Interesting. My brother’s fighting over there.”
“So was mine.”
Past tense. The finality of his words silenced her.
You had better be all right, Joey.
