Read Online The City Still Breathing by Matthew Heiti - Free Book Online

like something might escape. ‘Jyrki Myllarinen, right?’
    Milly shifts his eyes, taking this guy in. Grey in his moustache, older than he looks. ‘Yeah.’
    â€˜I used to teach your brother piano.’
    Milly’s memory stirs – this guy, Bedard, one of Mom’s efforts, have Lemmy play piano because that’s what normal kids do. ‘Oh yeah.’ Palms and fingers fumbling together over some kind of handshake.
    â€˜How’s he doin?’
    â€˜Fine, fine.’
    â€˜Good kid.’
    â€˜Yeah, Lemmy’s great.’ Lemmy banging away on their piano. Practising , Mom called it. Always happy making a racket and he suddenly feels he owes this sad-eyed man something.
    â€˜So, what’re you doing these days?’
    â€˜Well, still playing. Playing here tonight. Big reunion concert.’
    â€˜That right?’
    â€˜Yep. Have to see who turns up. Big deal, I guess.’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Trying to remember what band, what kind of music. ‘You guys were … something.’
    â€˜Yeah, well … thanks, lad. We had our time, I guess. Toured Europe – parts of it anyway. Even played with Downchild at the El Mo once. Almost got that record contract. Almost.’ He takes a slurp of his coffee, holding it in his mouth all thoughtful, like it was the best kind of Scotch. ‘Guess there’s some dreams that never die, eh? Or you die with em.’
    â€˜Yeah, guess so.’
    Foisey puts a steaming cup of tea in front of him. He sips at it, the guy next to him sipping too – one of them dipping down while the other pulls back.
    Milly thinks about that night, him in bed listening to his parents scream again, dropping down out of his bunk to pack his suitcase. Then the guardrails and the car flying. After that the bag stayed packed for seven years and all those dreams of the coast packed away with it and Lemmy saying, Tell me bout the oh shine, Yershey . Parcelling out those dreams, stretching them like taffy over seven years for them to live off the fumes. Seven years of bringing his coast, Milly’s coast, back to life over and over again. Passing on his dream like a disease to Lemmy until even that isn’t his anymore and then three days ago Lemmy says, Tell me bout the oh shine, Yershey and he says, What, Lemmy, what, what in the hell do you want to know?
    Where’s the oh shine, Yershey?
    Out west. In Vancouver.
    Can we go to Vancoomer, Yershey?
    No.
    Why not?
    Because.
    Why not go?
    Because we can’t.
    Why not go? Why not?
    We can’t, Lemmy.
    Why not?
    Because it’s gone.
    No, Yershey.
    And out comes the suitcase and he’s opening it and throwing clothes around and screaming at Lemmy the way his parents screamed at each other, the way he promised himself he’d never scream at anyone. It’s gone, you stupid retard. All dried up – the whole ocean – all of it. Gone, all gone. Like Mom and Dad and Ukki and me and everything. Gone.
    And when he wakes, Lemmy and the suitcase are gone too.
    â€˜Well, I gotta get back. Young minds to ruin.’ The stool shrieking as the guy pushes back, zipping up his leather jacket. He sticks out his hand for another awkward shake.
    â€˜You should come by tonight – it’s gonna be just like old times.’
    â€˜Maybe. I’ve got someone to take care of first.’ And when Bedard gives him a weird look, he forces his lips into a little smile and finishes, ‘My brother.’
    Milly turns back to the bar, done talking. Behind him, he feels the guy take the hint and leave. Now just him and Foisey. Milly pictures his brother all laid out, his eyes closed, stuffed in the trunk of some car. Somebody driving who doesn’t give two shits about Lemmy. About where he belongs.
    Foisey has his back turned again, polishing beer glasses like the world depends on it. Milly clears his throat. ‘Where can I find him?’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Where,’