Agency

In Which Dr. Yan Discharges Berry Even Though He's Still Acting Strangely

the following Friday

According to the last living will and testament of James Ross, his body — which, like a thick, clumsy parka, has been gratefully shrugged off and left behind in the cab of life — is cremated and his ashes are to be brought home. There is some debate about whether Jim would prefer to be kept in a container or to have his ashes scattered outside. And if outside, then where? In Berry and Berenice's Spruce Street backyard, which is now clean of spiritual clutter? Or, outside the Scarborough house Berry grew up in? But that house will be sold, also according to the instructions in the will, so that might not be a good resting place.

These decisions can wait, Berry and Berenice decide.

Berry is still in the hospital, his brain and collarbone healing. These few days in the hospital are a glorious reprieve from all responsibility.

Berry is enjoying his time here. The nurses are kind and careful with him. Berenice brings the girls in after school each day and they stay until bedtime. They eat cafeteria food together over his tray table. Berenice comes in the morning too. She drops the girls off at school, picks up coffee and comes to sit with him before her classes start. These coffee mornings feel just like the cheap dates they used to have as students, sitting on park benches with takeout cups before class. Only now they share a family, a house, a dog. She shows him pictures of Waffles who, she tells him, is enjoying his temporary life at Simon's.

For his part, Simon is enjoying the dog's company, but he is enjoying Rod's even more. The young, handsome waiter has taken a parental interest in training the formerly obstinate animal. When Simon returns from work each day, Rod is eager to show him some new obedience he's taught Waffles. Waffles has an entire repertoire of tricks now that he's happy to perform so long as adequate payment in treats is proffered.

He still has terrible gas.

But back to Berry. Between Berenice's twice-daily visits, he spends time with Jim. With Jim's tapes, to be clear. Not with the ghost of Jim or any further visions of Jim. He hasn't seen anything not-of-this-realm since waking up from what he calls his "big sleep-in."

Today, he is listening to the final tape in his Dad's box. He is wearing the gargantuan noise-cancelling headphones Berenice bought him for this purpose. If he ever goes back to work, which he isn't thinking about right now, he'll fit right in with the Millenials at Quantum Coffee. Otto would get a good laugh out of him sitting here in his gray hoodie and pyjama bottoms listening to an old man's dictaphone tapes in the state of the art headphones. Otto is the only thing he misses about work.

Anyway, the tapes.

The last recording begins with tinny radio static. Everything on his Dad's tapes is tinny to some degree — this is hardly high fidelity technology that Jim opted for. There is always a clunk which signals the depression of the recording button, then the sound of a needle being dropped on the record player. Then the gift of the unknown. So far, the music has been a sort of alphabetical tour of the greatest masterpieces of rock from the 60s through the 80s. Apparently, his father, like most people, could find nothing to love about music that was made after 1989.

There were songs by the Beatles, LedZepplin, Joy Division, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie... the only thread that connected them was that they were each, in some way, important to Jim, and Jim had wanted to share them with his son. Often, he narrated over top of the music. Just as often, he simply let the song play. In the later tapes, Berry could sometimes hear his Dad chuckling to himself. Like an old pothead, he thought fondly.

This last tape was the most special, because, of course, it was the last. So, here it is:

First, the clunk of the record button. The needle drop. The song begins.