Free The Lost and Found of Years by Claude Lalumiere

THE LOST AND FOUND OF YEARS

    Phone rings. It’s Jasper. Says he wants a Montreal story for a new anthology he’s preparing, something about cities. Go crazy, he says.
    Big money, he says. Hard/soft deal with Knopf/Vintage. HBO planning mini-series based on his concept, adapting stories from his book for TV. Put in all the sex you want, he tells me. It’s cable TV. Money, he says again.
    Right. Money. But any of it for me? I ask.
    Tell Jasper about Bestial Acts deal. The first story about my fictional bookshop, Lost Pages. Haynes bought the rights, made a film with Depp playing Lucas. Big indie hit. Didn’t see a dime. Not even a penny. Pringle took it all. Read your contract, he said. Fucking publishers.
    Tell Jasper I’ll think about it.
    Money sounds like a good thing. No story ideas, though.
    Take the dog out for a walk. Look around. Maybe something in the neighbourhood will spark an idea or two.
    Girlfriend always says I never notice anything. Always in my head. Stores go out of business. New buildings go up. And I’m just clueless.
    I’m not really that bad. But she’s not wrong, either.
    Walk around with the dog, look at stuff. But I get no story ideas.
    Long walk, though. Makes the dog happy, at least.
    Girlfriend says, Take that camera I got you for your birthday last year. You know, the one you never use. Take pictures of the neighbourhood. It’ll rev up your imagination. You’ll think up a story in no time.
    Yeah, right.
    I go out with the dog again. And the camera.
    Meet lots of people from the neighbourhood. Portuguese grandmothers who can speak neither French nor English. Cute McGill students. Other dog walkers. Clerks from the neighbourhood bakeries, the newsstand, the used bookstores. People who know me ‘cause they see me walk the dog all the time.
    They all fuss over the dog. They always do.
    Dog just soaks it all in. Wags his tail. Smiles. Pants.
    I don’t manage to shoot any pictures. No inspiration. Getting depressed. Go to the park to play with the dog.
    Betcha Jasper never thought about how happy his stupid anthology would make my dog.
    Lots of dogs in the park. Dog loves it. Humps a bunch of them.
    Fuck it, I’m too depressed. Can’t play anymore. Head back home. Dog’s not too happy about leaving the park.
    Girlfriend gives me a good pep talk. We gab about Montreal. What’s fun about it. What’s special about it.
    All the different kinds of people. Culturally diverse. No violence. People holding hands and kissing in public. Gay. Straight. Whatever. Lots of sexy girls. Great city to walk around in twenty-four hours a day. Easy to make friends. And the food. People love eating. All kinds of food. And bakeries everywhere. Bagels. Croissants. Baguettes. More.
    Then, bad stuff. The paranoid Anglos who think their culture is threatened. Yeah, right. The gullible Francophones who believe all that tripe about being oppressed. Yeah, right.
    Nowhere near as many people like that as the media makes it appear. Most people just like to get along. Québécois. Anglos. Jews. Arabs. Blacks. Asians. Latinos. Whatever.
    More bad stuff. Everyone fucking smokes. Well, not everyone, but, fuck, it sure feels like it sometimes. And everyone’s always late. Always. Montreal custom. Hate that.
    Well, so what. Still no ideas for a story.
    Fuck.
    Temperature shoots up ten degrees today. The sky is clear, and the sun is hot. It’s just a few degrees above freezing, but, for us Montrealers, so eager to leave winter behind, it’s like the first taste of summer.
    Go out to Rue St-Denis with the girlfriend.
    Same as every year on the first day with even a hint of spring. All the terraces are open for business. Everyone eating outside, everyone underdressed, everyone checking each other out, everyone happy and chatty.
    Fuck, there’s a lot of beautiful girls in this city. And it’s nice to see a bit of flesh again, after months of winter.
    Girlfriend notices me noticing.
    She laughs. She always does.
    I love it