NOT BAD FOR A FRIDAY NIGHT

          Giles was the only person who knew how old Giles was. In his spirit, he was in his early twenties. His zeal for experience and general lack of knowledge about adult life confirmed this. In his body, he was in his sixties or older, a poet who had always wanted to be a musician. The young twenty-something musicians in Moose Jaw flocked to him. They found his age coupled with his maniac heart endearing. The fact that he usually had grade A,  B.C. grass on hand didn’t hurt either.

          He was invited to read some of his poetry at a local bar between sets of a CCR cover-band called, ‘I Put a Smell on You’. His poetry was violent, racist, and sex-filled but it always had a moral lesson at the end.

          He selected, “Fis Ting: The Sticky-Handed Chinaman”, “Never Rape a Porcupine”, “While You’re Down There”, “A Bag of Cats in the North Saskatchewan” and a few others.

          Barb Fletcher approached Giles after the show. She was in her forties, still blonde and keeping with a figure adequately attractive for her age. “I love poets and you are so funny.”

          “I like blondes and you are probably funny,” Giles failed at a reply. She laughed and unnecessarily moved closer. They wedged together between a VLT and the door to the off sale, close enough to guess the drinks on each other’s breath.

          Lawrence, the drummer for IPASOY, walked by. Barb escaped her conversation with Giles long enough to touch his nineteen-year-old arm. “I loved how you pounded those drums tonight,” she oozed.

          “Oh, yeah. Thanks. You’re Kristen’s mum, right?”

          She leaned in and whispered, “Yeah, I’m a mum. Some people say I’m a MILF. What do you think?”

          He laughed and agreed, “Oh, yeah.” 

          She leaned back. She had Lawrence, twenty years younger in her right hand and Giles, who knows how older, in her left. “What do you boys say you come over to my friend’s house for some after-drinks drinks?”

​

          They knocked on the West side of a duplex. Barb’s friend, Glenda, opened the door. Glenda wasn’t unattractive by herself but put next to Barb’s spikey blonde hair, perfected face and large, harnessed breasts Glenda looked wide, distorted and unnatural. She invited them inside and made them a mix of Coke and cheap vodka.

          The entire night was a strategic maneuvering of bodies. Giles and Lawrence wanted Barb’s body. Glenda wanted Lawrence and sometimes Giles’ body. And Barb wanted whoever was left over. At one point Glenda got Lawrence as far as sitting on her bed. She danced in the doorway, trapping him until he faked having to go to the bathroom. By six a.m. everyone was still unsexed. Barb, Lawrence and Giles left the house for their respective homes. Giles was ready to slink back to his one bedroom apartment and sleep the day away until Barb suggested, “My place now?”

          Giles knew what was up. She wanted them both. He thought that maybe he could play chicken with Lawrence. “There is no way Lawrence is going to want to share a sexual experience with me.”

          “Your place it is!” Giles answered.

          “Fine by me,” Lawrence spat.

          Giles drove with Barb and Lawrence followed behind. She reached over and rubbed Giles over his pants. “Are you ready for this, Giles? Can you share me?”

          Giles was now more than willing to do anything she asked. “I don’t mind sharing.”

          “This is what I want, Giles. I want you and Lawrence to take me quietly in my basement while my boyfriend sleeps upstairs. He works pretty hard roofing, so he sleeps in pretty late on Saturdays.” Giles went slack in his pants imagining a nail gun to the back of his head.

​

          Barb fiddled with her keys. While Giles and Lawrence waited at her side door. Giles tapped Lawrence on the shoulder and mouthed, “Let’s get out of here! She’s got a boyfriend in there”.

          Lawrence loosely smiled back at him and gave him a thumbs-up. Giles wondered if Lawrence had lip-read incorrectly or if he simply didn’t care.

          Giles made an excuse about needing to pee and detoured into Barb’s unfinished side yard. Lawrence, undaunted by Giles’ warning, entered the bungalow.

          Giles speed-walked all the way home. He climbed the stairs to his apartment above East End Fitness Centre and closed the door behind him. It was 9:30 a.m. and he was thankful for a warm bed to climb into.

          There was a message waiting for him on his answering machine. It was Lawrence. His speech was slurry with drink, fatigue and laughter, but Giles made out that he was in Barb’s basement for fifteen minutes before her boyfriend chased him out with a lacrosse stick.

            “A roofer AND he plays Lacrosse,” Giles remarked to himself. He wasn’t ashamed or afraid. He hadn’t felt he had wasted his time. He thought that the only currency that turned out to be worth anything was having stories to tell. He whispered to himself “Not bad for seventy on a Friday night. Not bad at all.”