August 2002

They had limited access to running water.  They lived mostly on a small supply of fruits and root vegetables.  They were squatting in an abandoned campsite, and it was freezing in winter.  And yet, Alex didn’t think he’d ever been happier.

“All those years, we thought we needed stuff,” said Virgil, cracking open a can of Stella.  The three of them- Virgil, Bradley and Alex- were sitting on the veranda outside the meeting house (which was, essentially, just a big version of the cabins everybody slept in), listening to ‘Knights in White Satin.’  One of the few CDs they had was The Best 60s Album in the World, Ever, and they’d been listening to it on a loop since June.  It seemed appropriate.  The people who’d written those songs had wanted to change the world, too.

“I remember being a kid,” Virgil continued, “thinking I would die if I didn’t get a skateboard for Christmas.  Ridiculous!  That was what was keeping me up at night!”

The sun was setting.  Part of the reason they’d come out was to watch the sky and see which colours the clouds turned before it got too dark to see.  It was different every evening.  Alex had never really appreciated that until he’d got here.

He sent a letter to Roxanne every month.  If the rest of them wanted to know what he was doing, they could just talk to her.

Across the clearing, by the toilets, Alex spotted the new guy.  “Denny!” he called, waving.  Denny looked up and waved back.  “Come on over!”

Denny rushed up to them in an eager little trot.  He’d been here for a couple of weeks now.  Pinder was still declaring him to be his new best friend.  A true thinker.  A real poet.  He’s going to make the world sit up and listen.

Alex didn’t know if he agreed with that, but he liked Denny, too.  He was kind of upper-crust, but not in an obnoxious way.  He looked at everything with wide eyes, drinking it all in with every second.  It was as if he’d been locked in a tower his whole life, and now he was finally getting to see the world.

As Denny approached, ‘Knights in White Satin’ turned into ‘Blackberry Way,’ as if it was his theme music announcing his presence.  “Hi guys!” he chirped, “What are you drinking?”

“Whatever we can find,” said Bradley, with a laugh.  It was true- they had a pile of cans of various different brands and ages.  It was entirely possible that some of them were years past their sell-by date.  “Go on, take your pick.”

Denny rooted through the pile, picked out a tall can of John Smiths, and settled own beside Bradley.

“This is living properly,” declared Virgil, “This is getting it right.”  He shook his head and laughed.  “All these years, philosophers and intellectuals have been losing sleep wondering…  And we could have just told them.”

Alex shut his eyes, and felt the breeze on his face.  The Rhymers had everything they needed.  They grew their own food.  They made their own clothes.  They were working to change the minds of the rest of the world.  There was nowhere Alex would rather have been, and nothing else he’d have rather been doing.