All those motorists sitting at traffic lights cursing, should realize that it is not Hydro-Quebec’s fault.
– Hydro-Quebec, 1989
Montreal, Quebec, March 13th, 1989, 3:45am
CAMILLE WAS STARTING to regret her choices. Okay, maybe not starting. Something like finishing. There had been a journey, and the destination was regret. She was the sad drunk in the corner. It had worn off just enough for the real world to come seeping through. Before, all she had to do was let go, to feel the pulsing of the bass climb up through her feet, crawl through the nerves that snaked their way up her legs and chest, until it was personally beating her heart like a hand wrapped tightly around it. She didn’t even care to worry what would happen if it stopped squeezing. She wasn’t Camille anymore; she was part of the them that crowded the dance floor.
Now she was just Camille again. The same Camille who had built a perfect precarious life for herself, piece by piece. Now the flashing lights did nothing but give her a good view as it came shattering down around her. They were frantic, jerky, only shedding light on one small scene at a time. A man and a woman were dancing energetically, stealing kisses between twirls. Another woman was searching the floor for something. Two men were arguing loudly at the bar. She wanted to leave.
Henri had offered to walk her home, but she didn’t want to deal with his conneries. She thought that three years
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Kassandra Haakman is a fiction writer currently pursuing an MFA in creative writing at UBC Okanagan. She has been previously published in 805 Lit+Art magazine and has had several of her plays produced. She is working on her first novel.