by Kayt Burgess
When Blanche first began singing, she was humble, eager, willing to work, willing to learn. Now she is headstrong, condescending, unprofessional, and just a tiny bit full of herself. She is also the closest to genius that Antoinette, her accompanist, may ever have a chance to work with.
MODERATO. A-FLAT MAJOR. SIX/EIGHT time. Piano, delicate, a Victorian music box, but supportive. Staccato both hands, no flippancy in the bass. Light pedal.
I note it in my sheet music.
Blanche won’t be pleased. Singers like the reverb. Mine says it makes her feel more resonant, gives the impression of feedback non-existent in these rehearsal rooms. Always straining to hear herself but never listening. If she listened, she’d hear that, when I use this pedal, her music is boue.
My hands are cold. So are my feet, but they don’t matter, especially if I’m not using the pedal. And I’m not, even if Blanche complains. And she will. Well, not if she doesn’t show up. But she needs to show; the opera opens in less than a month.
She better not be on. I don’t think I can handle her at full capacity today. I shouldn’t have walked by the rehearsal hall this morning. I know better. Two more lessons. By then it’ll be late, and everyone will be gone, and I won’t have to worry.
I need a coffee. I wonder if she’ll bring me one. She hasn’t in a while, but she used to. Back when she listened, she knew I took it strong and black. Always sly, she would ask if she was bringing me coffee or a man. I said coffee because, knowing my luck, anyone she brought me would just need me to play the piano for them.
Quarter past. But I bet that’s her tromping down the hall. If she wore flats, she wouldn’t sound so elephantine. I suppose it doesn’t matter how she sounds as long as her legs look thin.
“Sorry, Antoinette,” says Blanche, my soprano, as she enters the cork-walled rehearsal room in a snow-covered flurry, tossing faux-fur coat and designer handbag to the ground. Her cheeks are flushed with cold, eyes bright, manic. Her blonde bangs stick to her forehead. Coffee? I look to both of her tiny, pale hands. None. As she approaches the piano, she unravels the white angora scarf from around her neck and tosses it on the lid. Stray drops of slush melt on the oak slab, superimposed on old water rings. I hate that this piano will have to live out its long life scarred.
I fold her scarf and place it on the bench. Ice crystals melt against my hands. How long has it been snowing? I don’t remember the last time I saw a window.
about the author
Writer, artist, and musician KAYT BURGESS was born in Manitouwadge, Ontario and grew up in Elliot Lake. She studied classical music at the University of Western Ontario and has a Master's degree in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University. Her novel Heidegger Stairwell was published by 3 Day Books and Arsenal Pulp Press in September 2012. www.kaytburgess.com
from the library
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“I love this story because it’s just plain good. The characters are broken and unsure, but the love they have for each other and the humor that carries them along is genuine and lovely to behold. This story made me laugh even while it was hitting me in the gut, and I’d like nothing more than to sit down and drink a beer with everyone in it. Mr. Goodman, thank you for rocking my literary waffle.”
— Lish McBride, author of Hold Me Closer, Necromancer
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— Nancy Richler, author of The Imposter Bride
“What a great story! Told in terse, restrained sentences, yet opening to a lush and radiant heart, Addresses captures the anguish of a marriage gone off the rails, and the moments of redemption that arrive from unexpected places. Flood’s use of language is uniquely her own–staccato, clean as a knife, and brilliant. Cynthia Flood has done it again.”
— Shaena Lambert, author of Radiance
“The abruptness of the title tells so much about this exquisitely drawn story by Cynthia Flood. ‘Tell the truth but tell it slant,’ Emily Dickinson advised, and that’s always been the approach Flood has preferred for her bone-china fictions, edging into them sideways. Once escorted into the story’s arrhythmic heart, we readers have no choice but to immerse ourselves in a world long gone but still very much with us, to emerge both shaken and stirred.”
— Dave Margoshes, author of A Book of Great Worth
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Embark upon these twenty short, scrumptious flights of fancy from the unmistakable pen of Scott Prize-winning author Kirsty Logan, and you will be astounded, titillated, disturbed, amused, heartbroken, and above all, astonished.
“Logan crafts an exquisitely wrought diorama full of tenderly compelling characters; observations about grief, worship, social order, and human nature, and a love that transcends definition.”
– NPR on Logan's debut novel The Gracekeepers
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“In the still-frothing wake of And Also Sharks, here’s another sadly hilarious and hilariously sad Jessica Westhead story with bite. The self-deluding wedding DJ in The Lesson is a perfect addition to Westhead’s bent gallery of sympathetic sad sacks blustering their way through work and love ever after.”
— Zsuzsi Gartner, author of All the Anxious Girls on Earth and the 2011 Giller Prize–shortlisted Better Living Through Plastic Explosives
A hybrid travelogue and memoir that pieces together the fragmented recollections of one woman’s rocky journey toward vegetarianism. From her rural upbringing in francophone Northeastern Ontario to exotic locations, outlandish adventures, and bizarre meals, Julie relives her struggle to make the right food choices for herself and examines the consequences of her decisions.
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In the rugged Nepisiguit River region of northern New Brunswick, two hunters face off. One is local sports lodge employee Danny Knockwood, a Mi’gmaw guide with a withered hand. The other is Mui’n, a one-eared black bear battling his inexorable hunger. When Danny is charged by the lodge owner to hunt down the bear that is frightening guests at the salmon pools, his personal values come into sharp conflict with his commitment to the task. The resulting confrontation tests both his physical strength and his beliefs, as Danny begins to recognize a kindred spirit within the fiercely determined bear.