Janus

In Roman mythology, Janus (or Ianus) was the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings and endings.

*** Sunset 9:15 PM ***

The soft yellow sun touched the black horizon. A solitary bluff of poplars broke the wavering line marking land and sky. Seaborg's Trees marked the traditional party spot. Michael took a sip of coffee and checked reflexively for the telltale twinkle of a bonfire. His classmates had likely moved down to the lake some five kilometres farther west. Michael ran his fingers through damp bangs and took another contented sip. He studied the flaming sky. The thin curtain of western cloud reflecting the mellow light complemented the deep violet-blue of approaching night. Altostratus, the term popped into Michael's head, no rain there to spoil his solitary evening. There would be a full moon later.

Michael stepped lightly off the deck and onto the freshly watered grass. It was cool against his bare feet. The dry evening breeze tickled the hair on his legs and sucked the last of the moisture from his skin. The camp lantern was lit and after a final sip of coffee Michael turned to the task of building a fire in the pit. A soft smile played across his lips as he went about the familiar routine. First, a mound of shredded paper, then twigs from deadfall making a perfect tepee to catch the first flames; one match placed in the heart of a well-built fire could start an unstoppable inferno. He made a few minor adjustments to his creation and retreated to the small wood pile to select more kindling and wood. In the growing darkness, Michael laid a crib around the central cone. When he judged it ready, he paused to admire his creation and take a long pull from the quickly cooling coffee.

Michael left the coffee mug in the kitchen while he scouted out his book. Mingled voices from the family room competed with the muted sound of his father's baseball game. The book was where he had left it in the living room, Scarrow's Centurion, freshly delivered by Amazon; something of a reward to himself for finishing his first week of manual labour. He brought it back to the kitchen and listened to the voices as he refreshed his coffee. Ashley had breezed back from St. George for some week end party. His sister's cheerful voice contrasted with Acton's polite responses delivered in his West Indian accent. Michael recognized the measured tones of his mother and father's counterpoint. His experienced ear picked up the polite caution in his parent's voices. They thought themselves accepting, but Acton was something to be adjusted to, an unexpected diversion from their eldest child's usually tranquil progress through life. Nothing would be said about the young man of course.

Michael wondered briefly what Ashley had said to disrupt the Wa of the Novak household. He suppressed a whisper of dissatisfaction before it could find voice. The Novak's had used the same cautious tone with Michael when he suggested tentatively that he would prefer to take an Arts degree at the University of Assiniboia in the fall. Literature was his passion. He had been overwhelmed quickly by practicalities. What could he do with an Arts degree, they asked reasonably. The four-year education degree at the University of St. George would leave him with a marketable skill. There was the family condo in St. George and of course Medicine Hat with its larger campus would be overwhelming to him. They thought the matter closed. Michael picked at a small blister on his palm. When he heard his name mentioned he retreated to the back yard.

Three matches; one would be optimistic but that was what you wanted. Michael drew the first wooden match from a pocket and ran his thumb over its tip. He examined its spent end by the light the camp lantern and frowned. The second match was good so he squatted down. Michael tested the air waiting for a moment when the slight breeze might die away. With a practiced motion, he struck the match against a block and touched off the waiting timber. Paper curled instantly and the small flame expanded up the side of the cone licking at the bark on the small twigs. The flames illuminated Michael's face briefly but as he watched the small conflagration subsided unexpectedly. It had travelled the surface of his structure and failed to burrow in. It happens from time to time with the best prepared fires. Michael stood and reached for his third match.

"Mikey!" Michael paused when he heard Ashley sing out his name. She had stopped on the deck. When he turned to smile at her she bounced down onto the lawn and ran over. "What are you doing Mikey?" He gestured at the kindling with a smile and turned back to light the third match. Ashley hugged him from behind. Michael endured her squeeze. "Oh my look at all these new muscles popping out!" She ran her palms across his flat stomach and patted his shoulders.

"Hardly Ash," He knew he was the same slender person he had always been. Ashley was fashionably slender too. They were much alike. They shared the same broad mouth, straight nose and narrow face. Ashley's eyes were browner but she would have shared the same auburn hair if she had not been changing hers since she was fifteen. Michael thought his sister was beautiful.

Ashley noticed the book on the lone chair by the fire. "Oh my God Michael, you cannot be serious!" She gave him a playful punch. "Why aren't you out?"

"It's been a long week, I'm tired."

"As if," but it was very much her brother to go his quiet way. He had almost skipped his graduation party two weeks before. "Come with Acton and me."

"I don't know about that," Michael protested. He was ready to argue the point when Ashley stopped him with a cool hand to his chest.

She opened her mouth, then paused squinting at his bare chest. "Wait a minute; is this manliness I feel on my baby brother's chest?" She picked at the shallow valley bisecting his chest, "Nope, just my imagination." They matched smiles. "Come with us Michael, it will be cool. You are in university now; you have to meet new people. We'll have a riot together."

Ashley would have a riot, she always did. Michael was sure he would be what he always was, a quiet bystander watching the fun. "Not so sure of that Ash," he murmured.

"I need a DD," Ashley added.

"That I can believe," Michael replied with a grin, "You have Acton."

"You don't have to be designated driver," though she knew he would be. Michael rarely drank. It was the reason he seemed to avoid the bush parties, "but come. You should meet some new people."

"These are your friends Ashley."

"They like you Michael, besides; there will be all sorts of people there. You remember Mark Reisner?" Michael shook his head. "Maybe not, he was two years older than me. He just graduated from the University of Saskatchewan. They have a place out by the lake. Just come Michael, this isn't some bush party with puking kids. You need to get to know people like this before September. What do you say?" Michael looked helplessly at his carefully prepared fire pit and then gave in.

*** 9:50 PM ***

Nine thirty and it was still light enough to see a small herd of antelope in the field as they jolted along the grid. Michael bounced off the seat as Ashley lifted through another intersection. He wished he was driving. His cell phone vibrated so he dug it out. "Mike do you have the Dodge?" It was his dad.

"Yeah dad,"

"Are you driving?"

"No Ashley's driving," Michael waited out the long pause. They had to take the truck. Ashley would have torn the bottom off Acton's Mazda two kilometres out of Vimy. The Reisner farm was half a kilometre short of the lake at the end of old highway nine; seven sections out of town. The antelope were long gone when Michael's father spoke again.

"You will be driving on the way back." It was not a question. The sun might rise and fall on Ashley, but Michael was the steady one. He agreed and snapped the phone shut. Ashley swung the truck over toward the side of the road and they all felt the back end slip on the loose stone.

"Eh eh," Acton remarked absently from where he sat beside Ashley. He had a hand braced against the dashboard. Michael grinned at the man and stretched his leg across the cramped back bench. His sister was not trying to kill them. The world just needed to ramp up to her speed for its own safety. Acton turned around. His eyes seemed to appraise Michael's lanky frame from his Reef sandals up to his thick Bay Store hoddie. "Mookie, its good you're going to lime with us tonight. We're all going to have a fine time." Michael's smile faded slightly. He nodded his head to acknowledge the remark. The Trinidadian left Michael lost for words sometimes. He was not comfortable with the man yet. Not for his parent's reasons though, Acton Heighes had poise and the body to match it. With little effort he commanded attention. The family had met Acton at Michael's graduation. Michael had been off with Kara and the other Vimy grads primping themselves when Ashley swept into the gym with Acton's arm possessively on her hip. Michael imagined that had derailed more than a few small town conversations. It was Michael's grad, but Ashley and Acton effortlessly danced their way into the centre just as Ashley always had.

"Acton's moving into the condo Mikey," she glanced in the mirror as it to catch Michael's eye.

Acton was still looking at him so Michael raised an eyebrow, and with a shrug said, "That's cool." It was not really. Acton's smile was warm but when he turned back to Ashley. Michael felt he had been dismissed in some way. Like they had just measured cocks and Michael, four years younger, came up short. He wondered if this was Acton's way or if the man wrapped himself in confidence to insulation himself against the herd of pasty faced Western Canadians crowding in on him. Michael studied Acton's aristocratic face as the man smiled softly at his sister. It was an unguarded moment. Chip away at the newness of it all and Michael thought he might like the man.

"You'll know a few people I think Mikey. John's back on the farm for the summer, you know John?"

"Yeah I remember John." Michael looked out the back of the cab. The dry prairie dust boiled up behind the Dodge in a grey cloud obscuring the grid road before the night snatched it away. The full moon lay close to the horizon, its presence not yet felt across the broad prairie landscape. Michael was glad Ashley had talked him into coming. Since the let down of grad night he had felt a pressure building inside him. John was a year older than him and he was as familiar as Michael's own smile. Michael was tired of all that. Besides, he felt cut loose, he was a tumbleweed lightly snagged to the ground waiting for a strong wind to blow him somewhere new. He needed to shake the familiar dust of Vimy off his sandals and get on with it; get on with whatever comes next.

The Dodge's tires rumbled over the gravel suddenly as Ashley hit the brakes. Michael instinctively gripped the back of the bench as his momentum threatened to drag him off the seat. "Eh, eh," Acton offered and Michael laughed. He liked Acton just a little more seeing how well he took his sister. Ashley cut the corner and accelerated on toward the farm yard glowing a few hundred metres up the road. Michael shifted on the bench and hung onto the front seat. Ashley flashed him a smile. He eyed the approaching farm and all the newness it might offer.

*** 10:05 PM ***

There was a respectable crowd. The vehicles, mostly cars, were parked randomly. Ashley tolled off the names as she recognized vehicles. They were strangers to Michael and he stirred with interest. Ashley had brought him, not so very far from home, into unfamiliar territory. Vimy bush parties spanned the years. Michael had attended his first party in grade nine as a freshie, but it was not unusual to see seventh graders mingling with graduates. Alcohol and isolation seemed to be the great leveller in rural Assiniboia. Michael trailed behind Ashley. He measured the unfamiliar faces and caught fragments of conversation. Ashley distracted him from time to time with introductions but mostly he was content to remain her shadow while he accustomed himself to this older crowd.

"Yucca Flats?"

"Pardon?" Michael stared blankly at a man grinning at him.

"You have to be Ashley's kid brother." Michael confessed that he was. "Yeah the face, I can tell. I'm Mark. You need a drink buddy, follow me." His host snagged a loose fold of Michael's hoody and pulled him away from the group Ashley was with and toward a table where a lone girl was busy cutting fruit. The rhythmic churning of a paint mixer caught Michael's notice. "Almost ready dude; should've had two of them. You know Lauren don't you?" and Michael did. Lauren Mercer graduated a year ahead of Michael and they had taken a creative writing class together. She smiled brightly at him.

"Hey Little Keith," She held his gaze a moment, "Good to see a familiar face here."

"Sure," he agreed. Lauren cut at the fruit distractedly between watching Michael. She stirred his interest. He liked the simple cut of her long brunette hair. It was parted down the middle and framed a soft face. She was wearing a simple black top that emphasized her breasts and a pair of fitted blue shorts. "You're at St. George aren't you?" Michael cast about for some connection between them. She nodded, so he added "I'm there too. I mean next year, in the fall, Education," he trailed off.

"Awesome, I'm taking Commerce. So do you guys have a major or something?" Lauren popped a cherry into her mouth. She offered Michael a chunk of pineapple. Michael moved to take it from her but she pulled her hand back, "It's messy. Just take it." She held it out toward his mouth. A shiver travelled down his spine that curled back up into his groin when her fingers touched his lips. They smiled shyly at each other.

"Yeah sure I guess I'm in the high school program, science major and math minor."

"Seriously? I remember Delgado reading us one of your poems. She raved over it. I figured you would be planning to be all artsy or something. You know, grow your hair long; be the Beat poet."

"Well they say the jobs are there for science teachers. I have to be practical." Lauren agreed with Michael quickly. The mixer shuddered to a halt at Michael's feet and Mark bounced back into his life.

"Done, grab a glass buddy and let's fill it up." Michael took a plastic beer glass from the stack. He noticed an open cooler of ice and beer cans and scooped a glass full. Mark was cradling a four litre sealer jar swaddled in a towel when he turned back. When Mark had the lid off the jar, he took Michael's glass. "Pish dude," The young man dropped half the ice onto the grass and slopped the glass full of a swirling mass of broken fruit and vodka. Michael took it gingerly and tried a sip while Mark refilled Lauren's glass. With a shout toward Ashley and Acton, Mark abandoned them to their conversation.

The fruity concoction was heady stuff. Michael listened as Lauren carried the conversation back to shared acquaintances in Vimy. They exchanged gossip as they stood by the table. Michael moved a little closer, picked a cherry out of his drink and then offered it to her. They shared a laugh when she nipped his finger.

Their privacy was ruined soon after when the table was swamped by people freshening their drinks. An elbow jostled Michel and the drink splashed his hand. He set it down and moved back. Lauren smiled at him over the broad shoulder of some university athlete and Michael realized he was flushed. He pulled the hoody off and cast about for some place to leave it. He settled on a gnarled branch close to the fire pit. Beyond the tree was a small group playing Bache Ball to the dim light of a circle of flickering citronella torches. He stepped toward them drawn by their laughter.

Three of them stood arguing lightly over the placement of the closest balls. The word ball seemed to set them off and the trio tried to work it into the conversation in different ways. A fourth player stood behind hefting a yellow ball as if it was a shot put. It hardly mattered to the men whose ball lay closest to the white pallino. One of them noticed Michael and waved him over, "Hey man, these dicks wads are never going to agree, you decide."

"Don't get me in the middle of this," Michael smiled at the four faces turned his way. It reminded him of the fun he had with his friends curling in school during the winter. The young man laughed at him and told him there was no pressure so he came over to look at the spread. The red ball was clearly closer to the pallino. He toed it tentatively, "Red guys."

"No!" The young man wailed and clutched at his t-shirt. The other two laughed it off. His attacker quickly let go and made a show of straightening Michael's shirt. "Okay, not a big deal. I'm Nevin," he waved his hand lazily in the other men's direction as he continued; "Scott," and then he paused in consternation. He turned to the other two players, "Sorry I forgot already."

"Sanil,"

"Gavin,"

"Nevin, Scott, Sanil and Gavin," Michael repeated the names back to them, "hey, I'm Michael." The men collected their balls and one of them tossed the small pallino over towards the house. Michael stood among them as they continued to play. He checked his phone and noticed it was half past ten. A light skiff of cloud obscured the full moon still so the four men had to pace across the expanse of lawn to find their target. It did not seem to matter much. The play absorbed their energy. The young men exchanged information and argued cars, music and summer jobs. Working construction was Michael's first job and he took quiet satisfaction that it travelled well with the other jobs these older men disparaged. Only one of them seemed satisfied with his job. Michael let them talk, absorbing their greater experience and confident opinions like a sponge. After a time two abandoned the game for a group of women heading into the house.

Nevin turned on Michael, "Want to play buddy?"

"Sure," Michael nodded.

"Cool, Scott let me be yellow." Nevin gestured for the other young man's balls.

"No I'm good here," the tall man named Scott replied reasonably. Michael picked up the pallino and the red pair as he listened.

"Be the green, green's a nice colour."

"You be the green, I want to be the yellow. I can see the yellow."

"I can't see the fucking green. I can't see the white ball either," Nevin's whine was playful.

"Then let's go inside," Scott countered with a laugh.

"It's no big deal guys, we don't have to play," Michael interjected shyly. He kicked at the blue Bache balls at his feet nudging one closer to the other. He juggled the red pair against his side with one hand and held the pallino up. Scott stared at him in fascination. "Look, we could toss the white ball towards the back steps." All three turned toward the pool of light illuminating the lawn.

"Good thinking Mitch," Nevin exclaimed brightly. He was on his second beer since Michael had joined the group.

"It's Michael," Scott and Michael responded simultaneously.

Michael swivelled toward Scott and flashed a broad smile. Scott returned a slightly abstracted look that melted into a soft smile when his eyes met Michael's. He was standing with his pair of Bache balls pressed firmly into his thighs. This emphasized his broad shoulders, developed biceps and strong hands. Michael recognized the easy build of a high school athlete, narrow hips and long legs. He judged Scott too lightly built for college sports. He looked the sort to spend an evening playing football with friends. He had about six centimetres on Michael. Scott grinned at the sudden scrutiny; Michael was flustered.