Rushing Whispers

    “Oh! Cameron,” Lee called, though his voice was muffled by the bite of toast in his mouth. “Has everything been readied with the promoter for the shows in Canada?”      “More or less,” he answered nonchalantly as he returned to the table. “He’s asked us to call him today, as he may have news.”      “Did he say what kind of news?” Lee asked hesitantly.      “He wouldn’t,” I interjected. “Mark’s never been one to give out details before it’s set in stone. Cryptic bastard,” I added with a chuckle.      Lee looked at me, clearly puzzled, and raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you know him.”      “I do.”      “Really?”      I nodded, and ignored Cameron’s soft chuckle. “We used to be good friends, years ago.”      “I never would have thought,” Lee murmured. “When did you last see him?” he asked curiously.      I shrugged and picked u...

    It mustn't have been past two o'clock when I woke. Only the faintest amount of light was coming in through the blinds, which I was sure came from the streetlights outside. I was relieved to be awake and no longer dreaming; since we had gone to sleep I had been reliving my past. Scenes from the house Cameron had once dreamt of, heavily laced with tension and unease.      I slowly got up from the bed and washed my face in the bathroom. I looked as tired as I felt, and spent a long moment watching myself in the mirror. I’d changed a lot since the days in that house, stifled by my father’s anger and the fear felt by my sister, me, and our mother.      Not wanting to get too caught up in the remnants of the dream, I left the bathroom and sat in one of the chairs; I was glad that most of the hotels we stayed in had a desk and chairs at one end of the room. I watched Cameron as he slept. I had left the bathroom light on, but close...

    The hotel-provided continental breakfast wasn’t spectacular, but I’d eaten worse things for breakfast. This morning’s cold buffet was made better by the company in which it was enjoyed; the seven of us were seated at a large table in the middle of the dining room, casually eating and chatting.      A lull in the various ongoing conversations gave me an opportunity to speak.      “Lee, was it you walking around the hall last night?” I asked. “I could have sworn it was a herd of bison but I only heard you,” I added.      Lee sighed and put his pastry down. “I can’t confirm. I woke up in the bathroom.”      “What?” Cameron asked in confusion. “The bathroom?”      “The employee bathroom,” he explained. “No idea how I got there.”      I chuckled, but Dale spoke before I could ask anything else. “The real question here is how did you feel this morning? Waking up in a bathroom ...

    The drinking had ended around three in the morning, and Colin had refused to let Autumn travel back to her relatives’ house by taxi at that hour. She spent the night in his room and thanks to the room’s spacious bed, it was no issue. She’d knocked on our door early in the morning, around eight, quietly asking me if I had a shirt she could borrow.      “Absolutely,” I told her, and led her into the room. I poked my head into the bathroom and warned Cameron not to walk out nude, then walked over to the only drawer we’d filled.      Autumn stood shyly near the foot of the bed, but happily accepted the shirt I handed to her. “Thank you so much. I would have brought clothes if I realized I was staying for the night,” she added.      “Don’t worry about it. Do you need underwear, though?” I felt shy myself asking, but figured I could do no harm.      “Oh, no, no thank you,” she sputtered.    ...

    We had arrived at the festival grounds in Lancaster by ten on Friday morning. There would be six bands performing over the two days—Amoeba and a Chicago-based group called Madman would be doing both nights—and each had been assigned a trailer to use for the day they’d perform. Our hired driver parked the bus beside Amoeba’s trailer, and by the time we’d been given our access passes we could see throngs of fans piling onto the grass.      My laminated badge, strung on a lanyard to be worn around my neck, said “VIP” in large, bold letters. Geoff’s lanyard presented him as “Manager” whereas Cameron and the others’ passes clearly labelled them as “Artist.”      Cameron, Willie, and Geoff were pulled into an impromptu meeting with the festival organizer almost immediately after disembarking the bus. This left me standing near the trailer with Lee, Colin, and Dale, the latter of which left in search of a strong drink soon after. ...