Although the results of the essay loomed large, Dan didn't care.
He was tired of living in the shadow of his Hawkesbury billionaire
parents who are known as the elite music producers of Vankleek Hill
- Ruthie and Darius Larocque. Darius has had a reputation for flying
artists in from all over the world to only work on 1 or 2 vocal tracks
in his private 10 board, midi-digital recording studio and then flying
them home (on his private concord, of course - the
fuel is cheaper than buying them regular standby airline tickets).
Ruthie, meanwhile, is a bit of a lively one and loves to throw wild house
parties on the Larocque estate (apparently, 2 weeks ago, Burt
Reynolds and Dolly Parton were photo'd by paparazzi streaking
across their 300 acre property).
Before the essay, Dan caught an interview with his Dad on BBC
while he was eating his daily mister noodles on his tv tray in his
apartment. Dan perked up to hear the interviewer asking Darius
if he was worried about his son and the daunting title of the essay.
Darius responded (in his usual gruff tone) 'F*ck, no. Dan's a big
boy. He knows that the family name is his birthright and he WILL
NOT screw this up.'
But that was all null and void - the time was now. Dan stood up
from the study lectern and paced through the periodicals a bit. In
his pacing, an ancient, wilted librarian startled him 'Are you lost,
sir?' Dan smiled. 'Oh no, no.' Dan held his chest and exhaled after
being startled. 'You just scared me, that's all.' The librarian
peered at him over the top of her daisy-chained bifocals for a
few seconds. 'You're that Larocque kid, aren't you?' Dan smiled
again. 'Guilty!' he said, raising his hand. The ancient lady turned
toward him. 'Shouldn't you be out celebrating your grand essay
or something? I mean...surely you've submitted it by NOW!'
She folded her arms and peered again. Dan's smile fell. 'Oh!
Yes, yes - of course I have! I'm just...brushing up on some...'
Dan looked to see what periodical section he was in '...Gestalt.
Love that Gestalt.' The librarian mumbled something incoherent
and aged, walking away.
Dan exhaled and felt the weight of a thousand tons hanging
closer and closer to his spirit. He trudged back to the study
lectern, almost hoping for a miracle. On top of everything else,
though, Dan was wiped - more wiped than usual. Instead of
working hard on preparing his essay last night, he personally
racked up an 85 dollar tab at Pub Italia as he was not about back
down to a challenge from his friend Jeremy Garra (of the band
Arcade Fire) who wagered $500 if Dan could try every beer in
the beer bible.
Dan pulled out a tuna sandwich from his bag and gnawed what
he could. He had one of those tossy-turny sweaty sleeps which
was mostly due to drinking, but partially due to stress. Dan
stared at the empty open word document on his desktop. The
blinking cursor seemed to be laughing at him with every flash
(HA_HA_HA_HA) and reminding him that with each flash,
precious seconds ticked away.
BUZZZZZZ. Dan was awakened from his uneventful cursor
staring by a text message from his Kingston friend who
owned the Kingston Guitar Shop - Brendan Lorimer. The
text message read 'whats up la-COCK! OOOHHH! -sent from
my iPhone'. Dan smiled and texted him back 'vry funny gtr man.
yer beard shows cultish traits. super stressd'. A long pause
occurred and then another vibrating text buzzed in. 'you havent
written the paper yet, HAVE you? oh MAN! -sent from my
iPhone' Dan shook his head and responded: 'good werk
sherlock. no i havent. any ideas musik man?' Brendan
buzzed back: 'Yer on yer own, prodigy. You're finally off your
biscuit - now you have to RISK IT! OHHHH SNAP! Oh and
by the way, t9 is for ludites. I could write that essay in a
FLASH on my iPhone BITCH! -sent from my iPhone' Dan
was getting annoyed as Brendan has always had a tendency
to run his mouth: 'ya - ok thanks fer yer great help. oh - and u
know u can turn off that stupid 'sent from my iphone' thing eh?
whats a ludite?' Dan chuckled with the snark of his
retort. After another long pause, a final message came in from
Brendan: 'ass'.
Deciding to nullify distractions, Dan turned his phone
completely off. Putting in his earbuds, Dan decided to scroll
around on his iTouch for some overplayed, overwrought
Dylan - 'Rainy Day Woman No. 12 and 35'. As the harmonicas
and juicy guitars set in, Dan found himself staring at the
cursor once again, bobbing his head slightly.
And then...as he bobbed his head...he remembered hearing
his phone buzz one more time...which was odd, he thought,
as he remembered turning it off...and then...with one massive
lulling head-bob as Dylan preached the wonders of mary-
jane into his pleasure centers, Dan fell asleep.
