Only the Good Die Young

Chapter 13.2

As I debate the merits of Kyle, Jesse gets out of his seat to stretch his long legs and all thoughts of Kyle vanish. We're going to a town known for its skiing, and he's still wearing shorts. I wonder if he packed his uniform under the bus along with his drums. Mine's down there, somewhere, next to Kyle's.

Jesse wanders around, chatting. Eventually he comes to the driver. After a few questions about the size of the engine and mileage, he asks the driver's name.

"Gus," says the driver. He's young, in his thirties. Jesse blinks.

"Your name is Gus and you drive a bus?"

"Yes."

I wait for the other shoe to drop, for the driver to get insulted and for Jesse to be reprimanded by Mr. McKinnon. Instead Jesse just says, "Cool, man," and the conversation turns to snowboarding. Jesse uses expressions like "fakie stalefish" and "crossbone method air." How can someone have such effortless charm? Then he takes his seat by Alex.

Twenty minutes pass and Kyle returns from practicing. "Hey," he says. "I have another song for you, if you're interested." He puts Isabelle back in her case and sits in the seat across the aisle from me.

"Just one?"

"Well, there are hundreds, really. But I thought I'd start with this." He motions for his iPod and I pass it to him. At this point I'd rather just listen to my mind as it wanders around falling snowflakes, streaking yellow lines on the asphalt and glimpses of mountains that show through the endless forest.  Kyle fiddles with the touch pad.

"What's with all the snow? I thought it just rained in Vancouver," I say, gesturing out the window.

"We are going to a ski resort, Rebecca." He moves his thumb in a circular motion over the iPod and tries to pass it to me, but I shake my head.

Out of boredom, I peel at the rubber weather stripping around the window with my thumbnail and catch the angled reflection of my hand in the glass. I think of Vancouver, of my mom, Bill, and why we left Toronto. I try to push the memory away, but that only makes it worse. Then I decide I don't want to think anymore.

"Fine," I say, "give me this song of yours."

He passes me the iPod. "It's called Only The Good Die Young. There are actually three songs with this name. One's by Iron Maiden but there's no way you're ready for that. One's by Queen and it's not so bad, but the one I want you to hear is by Billy Joel."

"The piano man."

"That's the guy. Do you know any of his stuff?"

"Only that one song. "Why this one?" I say, putting the earpieces back in position. "You have thousands."

"I'm trying to broaden your horizons," he says. "I thought I'd start with the basics. There's a legend that says when Billy Joel was going to play at the University of Notre-Dame in Indiana he had to sign a contract saying he wouldn't perform this song."

"Why?"

"Well, it came out in the seventies and a lot of people thought it was anti-Catholic."

"Did he play it?"

"Six times in a row," laughs Kyle. "I don't know if it's true, though."

"What's it about?" I say.

Kyle presses play. "You tell me."

I hear a piano being played in the upper register, light and cheerful, then brushes on a snare drum. Suddenly the song lurches forward like a car that's just had its brake released. A driving handclap and foot-stomp accompany either a banjo or a guitar (I can't tell). Billy Joel starts to sing about a girl named Virginia and how her Catholic background is preventing her from going to bed with him. At least it's not about sex with Playboy bunnies. And I can see why he'd get into trouble with lyrics like this. Clearly the Piano Man is not a religious man.