Cold

She stood there cold. The ice was a raw wasteland of shovel lines and skate cut grooves. Her hands grasping emptiness in her pockets; no arms clutching her waist. Cold captured her like a cockroach under a paper cup--claustrophobic whiteness, no escape--running in circles under a dome sky, not getting anywhere. November was such a long month. His breath was still hot on the back of her neck, yet his shadow remained unseen even though it was 2:00 in the afternoon, on a Saturday.

He used to call her Jade, like the stone. Everyone else called her Jane, but she would only hear her momma's voice, the pursing of her lips, the accusing tone, the questioning inflection at the end of the syllable. "Jane?" she would stare seriously, "I hope you don't outstay your welcome at the Fairburns' house. If you overwhelm everyone, you'll end up alone." She was just Plain Jane to them. Then he came along telling her that stones--precious stones--were very strong and could be made into ornaments. She was more like a stone.

The wind was aggressive. Bit by bit, with arctic force, it shaved off exposed flesh, which wasn't entirely bad because she often felt too fleshy, too bulky in her button down black coat which was already missing a silver button. Owl Creek was meant to be temporary: I'll go to school there, for now; I'll find friends there, for now; I'll get a part-time job there, for now. Even when her dad moved the family up there--when she was twelve--he said, "This is our home, for now," so she never fully settled in. It's now eight years later.

After graduating, Jane became a youth coordinator at the Klondike Arts Centre, a generally painless job that involved entertaining a handful of pre-teens with art projects during the week and going ice skating on Dawson Pond--by the RV site--every Saturday at noon. The kids were all home now. She remained.

Her mind painted that white afternoon black. Black like the night--three years ago--when he took her to that pond and left his truck headlights on. That night when they went ice skating and she slipped her hand into his for the first time, feeling his strength, through mittens, as he ensured she wouldn't trip over the ice's inconsistencies.

Adam's the type of first love Jane won't remember fondly with her drunk, former girlfriends, at their 10 year high school reunion. She won't roll her eyes when she remembers staying up all night, in the eleventh grade, just because he said he might call "late." The relationship won't teach her how to move on and find new romance--like those women in W Network movies who give up on love, only to find Prince Charming sitting at the next Starbucks. Owl Creek didn't have a Starbucks.

Darkness was already nestling into the neighbourhood. It was much later than she thought. Her boots strode back to the soft glow of the town. She manoeuvred through the chain-linked fence. Her crunching footsteps were stifled by Mr. McKenzie's roaring dually truck and snow plough clearing the streets, because he cares about the community, and loves showing off his green Chevy. She had to walk all the way home that afternoon because she didn't hitch a ride with Jen's mom after ice skating.

Walking was more poetic: the sun setting over rickety houses, her black coat and long, brown hair flowing under her toque--like a New York winter wonderland photo shoot for Vanity Fair-- thoughts of a lost love turning in her mind in the form of similes and metaphors. Our romance was like the Neverending Story. Adam was my Atreyu, saving me from the impending un-imagination of the Nothing. Life was more attractive imagined through movie lenses. She walked down the centre of the street for perfect symmetry. She strived for perfect camera angles.

Q&A With Aidan Knight

In anticipation of Aidan Knight's CD release show, January 8 2010.  

What can listeners expect from Versicolour?

That's a tough one. Listeners can expect to hear a lot of introverted  
pop music, ghostly noises creeping in and out of songs, easter morning  
trumpets and a lot of myself. I sing on all the songs. I also wrote  
the songs. Haha. (Sarcasm and witty nods are hard on the internet). 

Who did you work with on the album?

Jonathan Anderson is my briliiant producer and great friend. We  
actually didn't know one another very well when we started but now he  
and I are close, I would say. We've eaten litres and litres of Pho.  
Jon and I created the base of the recording and then all my fantastic  
friends in The O' Darling were in town and recorded. In retrospect, it  
was very spur of the moment. It would've been a very different record  
if they hadn't been around. Might have been a little less ornate, and  
1 track longer. I'm so happy with it. That says a lot. 

What is your favourite track on the album?  Why?

I really like Knitting Something Nice, especially the ending. I think  
I get more comments on the drumming in the end of that song than  
anything else I've ever done. If someone puts on the last few minutes,  
if I haven't heard the beginning of the song.. I get totally lost. I  
can't find the beginning of the measure to save my life. But what I  
said before, I mean: I love all the songs. No Filler, as they say.
 

 How do you feel about the upcoming show on Friday?  Supporting
bands etc.?

Wow. To answer simply, I feel so great about these shows. The lineup,  
to me, is the ultimate. I will take this moment to make an itemized  
list:

We Are The City - You guys are inspiring to be around. I love being  
friends with you guys and playing music alongside you. I can't wait to  
tour and have some hilarious late night conversations during the  
drives out East.
Yukon Blonde - I wish I could've played bass with you guys on that  
tour. Your band writes some of the most grin-worthy songs I've ever  
seen live. The first time I saw you, I knew that you were headed for  
huge things.
In Medias Res - I have a lot to be thankful for. You guys get along so  
well with my family and you are genuinely funny and caring friends. I  
don't know why you aren't a household name yet, but I hope that  
changes. It will.

That's how I feel about them. I fell great about them!
 

 What do you want people to take away from your music and live
performances?

I hope can see past my standoffish appearance, see my awkward shyness  
and appreciate the attention that I put into my songs, and that I  
really hope that people have a great time at my shows. Also, laughing  
is good. I'd rather have fun than be serious all the time. Mhm!
 

 Where can fans pick up Versicolour?

I'll be selling 200 copies at the 3 shows. Versicolour comes out on  
March 2 on Adventure Boys Club. Ditch Records will definitely have it.  
They've been so cool with carrying a few copies when I have them in  
stock.
 

 How do you like playing solo shows in comparison to working with a
full band?

I've kind of sworn off solo shows at bars for the most part. It's  
immensely unsatisfying to have to play and sing twice as loud to  
compete with the bar crowd chatting over their pints. I still play  
house concerts and cafes by myself, and I've played a few concert  
halls which have been unreal. I just like playing off of other  
musicians and friends onstage. It feels less dorky and stiff when you  
can improvise a little bit and feel supported.
 

 Will you be playing any upcoming shows in Victoria soon?

Just these release shows for now. I mostly jam over at my friend  
Colin's house in the living room and do impromptu living room shows  
with friends. 

 What is your favourite breakfast cereal?

I get asked for cereal recommendations quite often and I should  
disclose that I'm not eating Kellogg's, Post, General Mills, etc. any  
more. I'm trying to eat more locally produced food right now. They're  
still delicious cereals, but they are also shipped thousands of miles  
and are, subsequently, full of BHT and other preservatives. I love  
Oaty Bites, which are very similar to Crispix but infinitely more  
delicious. If you are looking for amazing deals on cereal: Pharmasave  
on Fort at Richmond. Tell them Aidan sent you!

A New Arrangement

He had already walked six miles from the village when he lost his footing on an iced-covered rock and fell backwards, shattering the rum bottle he was safely carrying in his back pocket. Six miles was too far to go back, but a two day train ride without liquor would be unbearable. The worst part: he was still sober enough to remember why he was leaving. Conor picked the glass out of his already torn blue jeans and whipped the pieces onto the saturated dirt. That's what I get for trying to ration my booze. He turned around, his head hanging lower than before, and plunged into the city. Light was threatening the anonymous darkness as he wandered down deserted city blocks, tasting the liquor's sweet aroma as it wafted behind him. The only sound was distant laughter from last night's bar crowd finally finding refuge from their late night indulgence. Without rum he would be forced to think of Amy. Amy and her blue dress. Amy and her curly, brown hair. Amy and her lipstick. Red lipstick. She was the girl of his dreams but he couldn't handle the fact he had caught her. Their love only flourished from a distance and he was determined to get away and reclaim the chest-tightening longing he once had for her. Of course, she didn't understand his transient nature and he wished he felt guiltier for leading her to believe that he was steady. The only thing she could count on, was him leaving. He strolled up to the blinking teller in the high-ceilinged station, "one ticket to San Francisco please."