Middle
bookless in Burquitlam
I’m in the middle of the train. The accordion tunnel where two cars meet. I can’t see out. I have music in my earbuds. I don’t know where I am. I trust our arrival at my destination will rouse other riders to alert me that it’s time to disembark. This is community.
June is the 6th of 12 months in the year. Halfway through.
I’m drinking 7-Eleven coffee because it’s convenient. There’s a gas station beside the train station. It would be even more convenient to not drink coffee. This is how my brain works now.
I left my book by the door but—because I crossed six lanes of traffic to get a bad coffee—there were no seats left by the time I embarked anyway. This book, I would happily read standing up, but not today.
“Change here for the Expo Line.”
Change here. Change here.
The Expo Line is also standing room only. There’s no path to the accordion tunnel. I’m steadying myself with a hand to the ceiling. I can’t remember which street the bus I need has been rerouted to and I guess poorly.
My family gave me a subscription to the Criterion Channel as a gift, and so, after 90 minutes of scrolling, bookmarking every unseen Jean Gabin (is it too late for June Gabin?), I settled in to watch Freak Scene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr. Of course they filmed the video for “Out There” at Whistler. Maybe I just haven’t been watching the right documentaries, but it feels like it’s been a minute since Henry Rollins was in every documentary I watched.
I have loved Dinosaur Jr. since I was 15 and I’ve missed about two dozen opportunities to see them live. Last time they were through, I saw their name on the bill. Then I looked up and saw Flaming Lips, and you know, not super into them but okay why not, then I looked further up and saw the headliners was Weezer, and you know, good for Weezer for bringing Dinosaur Jr. on a stadium tour, but no thank you.
Change here. Change here.
Did you ever see when Dinosaur Jr. was on Letterman and David Sanborn was sitting with Paul and the band that week so when they played “Out There” it had a wailing, screeching sax whose absence I notice when I hear the studio version now.
I’m on the train back now and the trains out of downtown aren’t so full and this is normally the part of the day when I get in a good half hour or more of good reading. In school, we called it USSR. Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. If we had been clever, we would have called it CCCP.
You ever get up from your seat On the train because you see someone with a stroller and then as you move away you realize it’s a dog stroller? Stolen stroller valour.
How many times have I carted around a bag weighed down with extra books, just in case—against all probability—I finish the book I’m reading? Here I am, bookless. I’ve made my way, needlessly, to the accordion tunnel, the middle, to be chivalrous to a dog.