Written by Jia Zhang

The streetlight shuddered and dimmed as a rusted old black Camero roared down the sloped street of Pape Avenue, the speakers screaming the newest rap tunes. The dogs began barking at the moon, which was half-sheltered behind a fog of gray hues. Flickers of silver broke through the foreboding covers of night and clouds, and onto the corners of the ancient public school. The streetlight burst into darkness as the October wind ran through the streets with a haunting ferocity.

Johnny Talburns quivered under midnight’s careful watch, with only the nocturne of Mozart rampaging in his head. The music kept him company as he waited for the other half of his rendezvous. He blew on his hands, the tepid breath from inside thawing his frozen hands and temporarily keeping his instruments warm. He played the No. 5 concerto against the wind, the madness of the music existing only inside his head—his bare hands were cold as he felt for the surreal piano keys. Johnny closed his eyes, a smile lighting his strawberry cheeks as his hands sung the symphony in his mind.

The beat of footsteps awakened him from his dross coma. The music stopped. Johnny slipped his hands beneath his arms, the skin of his palm feeling the rhythmic pulse of his throbbing and nervous heart.

“Yo! JT! My man!”

Johnny turned around just as he was suddenly embraced. The face of Devon Meyers stared back at him. Devon’s skin was dark and rich, tinted with a hint of brown. His eyes were wide and wild, and his teeth were two tones of white and gold. He smacked Johnny around by the shoulders, laughing in his face. The smell of burnt alcohol nearly made Johnny vomit with disgust.

“Hey Devon…you’re late.”

“Sorry, man, but you know how it is Friday nights. I had to come all the way from a rave down at the Beaches.” Devon glanced around cautiously before turning to Johnny with a Cheshire-cat grin. “JT, man, you better have made my trip worth this cold. Where’s my goods?”

Johnny glanced around for any activity of the roaring rusty Monsters, before setting his eyes on a blonde maiden standing behind Devon. Her eyes were blood-shot, her rosy lips smudged with crimson, her cheeks a brilliance flesh red, her clothes distorted and ruined. She stood wobbling like a newborn lamb, half a smile and half a frown on what would normally be a lovely porcelain complexion. The hem of her silver skirt was drawn up to the hips, and the collar of her top was ripped down to the center of her bosom.

“I said no body else. What’s with the chick? Shit…she looks totally wasted.”

Devon smirked. “Ah, nuttin’ to worry about, man. This pretty baby won’t remember a thing by mornin’, so you got nuttin’ to worry about, all right?” He chuckled at some private joke as he place a gentle kiss on the pretty girl’s face. She twitched lightly, but remained an impassive toy.

“Jesus, Devon, how old is she?”

“Old enough,” he answered placidly. “Now stop asking so many fucking questions. Do you have my shit, or not? I worked real hard to get enough dough, so you better have the stuff.”

“Yeah, I have the stuff.”

Johnny rolled his eyes unconsciously as he gazed around one more time, before taking out two packages from under his coat. They were pleasantly wrapped with clear zip-lock bags—one contained bright crystalline dust, and the other a green vegetation. Devon’s visage suddenly perked up as he rubbed his hands together avariciously. “Damn, JT! That’s dope, man, that’s dope.” He chuckled inwardly as he slipped the folded Prime Ministers into Johnny’s hand. The transaction was complete; Devon went on his way with his angel haired companion.

“Hey! JT, man, you the great fucking bastard ever!” he called before he disappeared behind the schoolyard.

Johnny shook his head as he wrapped his hands together, blowing on them softly before slipping them inside his coat pockets. “Dickhead,” he cursed as he left the playground. His black shoes kicked at the dirt as he began the odyssey home. He was alone once again with his music, the imaginary piano keys creating the soul behind melody. Despite the frigid winter weather, he drew his hands from his coat and they danced feverishly across the invisible piano. The divine harmony sang through his body, trapping him in his own euphoric world.

This was his drug—this melodic symphony that transcends the quarters of time.

“From the top,” Johnny muttered to himself as he trekked home, down the slope of Pape Avenue, “Mozart’s Concerto No. 5 in D minor.”

FIN

Author's Note: I do not know what possessed me to write this story, but I rather liked how it turned out. This is a partially autobiographical story; when I was eight, I lived in one of the supposed "ghetto" areas of Toronto, and I accidently saw a drug trafficing transaction occur. Of course, as a child, I had no idea what had gone one, but it was the key source of inspiration for this piece. I hope you enjoyed it, and all comments and criticism are welcomed.

Jia Zhang