Complete the CAPTCHA before submitting. *

A password will be e-mailed to you.

Complete the CAPTCHA before submitting. *

By: Andrew

My tape of Leonard Cohen isn’t even really mine — I bought it many years ago at the mall for my dad but he never listened to it so I kept it. I’ve heard it so many times now that when I listen to it I don’t even need to pay attention anymore—there are no words or music, just the deep slow drone of his voice & occasional far-off guitar sound meaning nothing to me because me thoughts are always elsewhere. Jesse Legault has a copy too, he’s had it since grade eight & says it’s been the only consistent music in his life from then until now, & it’s been used so much the words are almost all rubbed off the plastic & it sounds so crackly & distant. Driving up north once late at night in my old car I let Loaring drive to keep him busy & I sat in the passenger seat looking at the moon & jesse sat in the backseat with Courtney, who I liked. She pestered him with questions all the way & poor Jesse, all he wanted to do was listen to the tape — so long Marianne said the tape, &: oooh I luv this song said Courtney.

One day during that winter when I was so down & neither of us had anything to do, I borrowed my dad’s car & picked up jesse legault & we drove around all afternoon listening to the tape — thrue heavy blue neighbourhoods & melting countryside, all the way out to Webster’s Falls where we walked around on the muddy grass & lay on the picnic tables looking up at the grey sky thru black branches & sitting in the rain. We didn’t talk much — it wasn’t like it used to be before he moved to Burlington & I used to go down to St. Catharines to visit & we were both so glad to see each other. We would walk wrapped in woollen scarves for hours around the city at night, thru crooked intersections with flashing lights & on the rusty bridge over the river, & behind the factory & the empty schoolyard — & we would sleep in the same bed & listen to records on the floor & listen to Leonard Cohen. Back then we talked, like really talked…not like now. Near the end of that bad winter, the week before I headed east & he headed west, we met in a coffee-shop to say goodbye & eat donuts on the stoop of the abandoned building by the juniper bushes in the dark, watching cop cars drive by & thinking about how long it would be until we saw each other again

(2056 Headon Forest Dr., Burlington, Ontario L7M 2M6)

Hello and welcome! Our website is updated daily, and our magazine comes out 4 times a year. 

MEMBERS: Login and start your visit at the MEMBERS HOME PAGE. (Click on the BP LOGO to go back to the Members Home Page at any time.)

NON-MEMBERS: Enjoy 4 free reads! For 5 more free reads, and a FREE sample issue of our magazine, go here. (Click on "About" to access the offer anytime.)

Posts Remaining