JESS: Where is nowhere?
Nestled in between the gently rolling prairies, and mountains looming on the horizon, is a little town, like an uncharted island in an ocean of empty wilderness. Waiting.
[MUSIC]
Welcome back, folks, to your favourite radio show. It’s me, your host and pal, Jess- you might know me better as the lady who lives in the trailer on the edge of town, you know, the trailer that local kids like to throw rocks at after school, and you’re listening to 1110 AM on that radio dial, “nowhere, on air,” the only late night community-run radio show in this slice of the alberta expanse.
Before we get into today’s stories, we have a few housekeeping announcements to make:
Due to recent, totally fine, municipally enforced budget cuts that were announced at the last town meeting, we don’t have the money to have any real, popular music on air anymore. We’ll still do our best to get as much late night fun and news as we can and spice up the breaks in between. However, I’m sure the money’s being put to good use, going towards things like… like… other underfunded things.
Like, Town Council’s secret emergency fund for some impending, looming, terrible thing that we all know is coming. Apparently.
Also, the show is no longer broadcasting at 3:00am at the repetitious request of a number of our older listeners, so as you may have noticed we are now coming to you live at 8pm.
Which is certainly better for my sleep schedule, I must admit.
But also, unfortunately, due to the aforementioned budget decrease, a Town Council choice which I am in no way upset about, today marks our intern slash all around super helpful employee Jordan’s last day at the station.XX
I want to thank Jordan on air for all her hard work, and the blood, sweat, and tears she shed for the sake of community radio. Be proud of everything you accomplished- all the experience you gained, scars you earned, and secret knowledge learned that you can never share because no one will believe. We will miss you, and from the two of us left here at the station: please stay in touch.
Now Jordan, like the sweetheart she is, got me a little thank you gift and it has been sitting on my desk since I got here, but I promised I would wait until we were on air to open it, but well, I’m excited. She insisted it wasn’t much and she found it at the thrift store in the basement of the anglican church but- okay, okay. Let’s open this.
[UNWRAPPING SOUNDS]
It’s a mug! My very own mug that I can drink coffee and- and rainwater out of! And it says…
World’s Best Grandpa.
(QUIET FOR A MOMENT)
This is the best gift I have ever been given.
Jordan- I can see her in the booth and her cheeks are rosy with blood rush- thank you. I’m not kidding, we will miss you. We miss you already.
And it’s official, I’m your grandpa now.
*music*
This week’s first story:
*music*
A dream I had last night and the sense of inevitability and dread it filled me with that I haven’t been able to shake…
I’m at a diner. Not Mountainview diner, just… a diner. Picture a diner and you’re probably seeing it. Walls, floors, ceiling, windows- the works. I sit down in the booth, the last one, in the far corner, and someone comes and sits across from me.
It’s me. No shorter, no taller.
Not really older in the conventional sense but… aged. Like we lived the same amount of years up until that point, but there was more life and happening and heartbreak jammed into hers. Her eyes are the same green as mine, but they look tired. She has scars. Some very old, some fresh. Her palms are rough and calloused- I know this because she reaches across the cool linoleum table and grabs my hands.
And it's at that moment I realise up until this point in the dream, there has been no sound, and nothing casts a shadow. But when she touches my hands, the world fixes itself. Or she- I mean me, the me that’s not me- fixes everything.
Then, she opens her mouth to speak, and I can tell by the look in my- her- eyes that she is about to say something, about to unfold before me some wisdom I’ve been searching for my whole life, some secret knowledge bruised so deep within my being that I don’t even know how to find the ache on my own, but just as she parts her lips to form those words, I wake up.
Dreams are weird, aren’t they? Our brains, talking to themselves while we sleep. Telling us stories that seldom make sense but are somehow overflowing with the meaning we give them.
*music- stops*
Now, the news.
We’ve had a few reports of sightings of the town founder, Elmer Braedon Jamieson, tonight along main street, right through the middle of town, at the second and last set of lights. If you come across him, be sure to pay him respect and wish him a happy birthday, 185 is a big deal, or so I’m told by my otherworldly friends.
There have also been reports that the river was fuller than usual of memories today, and furthermore, weather forecast predictions say that this will continue for the rest of the week, and on into next week. Weatherman Todd Stevenson attributes both of these reports to the fact that the town’s 150th birthday is next week, Thursday to be precise.
As a reminder to all residents of Braedon: if you are down by the river and choose to enter the water, do not panic if the appearance of the reflection on the surface is not consistent with your own. Simply wish the memory peace, move carefully to a new wading spot, and under no circumstances give it your name.
Speaking of Braedon’s 150th birthday, keep your eyes peeled for town-wide centennial-and-a-half festivities and events starting Sunday afternoon, with a new, special exhibit opening up at the museum about pieces of braedon’s history. Tickets can be purchased in person, over the phone, or via carrier pigeon.
Here’s an insider tip: get your tickets for as early a tour as you can, who knows how long the exhibits about the controversial and morally problematic parts of the town’s past will stay uncensored by our benevolent Town Council, but I promise you, those are the most interesting parts.
Now, a public service announcement:
*music*
If you are ever going out onto the prairies by yourself, tell somebody you are venturing out. If something should happen to you, they may not ever find you, but at least they’ll know where to start looking.
Remember: you’re not lost if no one is looking for you.
It’s easy to forget the things that walk away and out onto the open fields. The horizon is very far away. The openness swallows you up like the mouth of a hungry cosmic being, sucking you into oblivion.
This concludes our public service announcement.
*music stops*
Here’s a little fun fact for you, listeners: while Braedon may have been founded 150 years ago, it didn’t start existing in the conventional sense until about 60 years ago. Isn’t that interesting? Inexplicable, but interesting.
Weatherman Todd says a meteor shower, if the clouds decide we can watch, will be visible tonight. As per is customary and compulsory, all lights must be switched off when this stellar light show starts, so we can see it as clearly and safely as possible. And so it cannot see us.
It is scheduled to start within the next two hours here and may last quite far into the night.
In other news, our local RCMP office released a statement today saying the Dogman alert level was lowered from blood-red “danger” to crimson “high.” I think this deserves a celebration, don’t you? The Mountainview diner certainly does, and is offering half off a cup of coffee and slice of pie until Wednesday night.
Congratulations, Braedon, those midnight howls in Old Man Wilbur’s field seem to be working as an effective deterrent. Keep up the good work.
Here’s your daily dose of traffic- night edition:
Be wary about welcoming hitchhikers into your vehicle especially along route 22 and highway 3. People are seldom who they say they are- and, I mean, you never know where they’ve been.
They could be dangerous- like a hitch-hiking serial killer, a vengeful spirit of someone killed by a hitch-hiking serial killer, or one of farmer Crawford’s boys trying to skip town again. Ethan if you’re listening, please go on home
And now, here’s a word from an anonymous sponsor. It’s been a while since we had one of those.
*music*
There is a meeting happening at the old, abandoned steel quonset on the north edge of the county at 8:32 pm on Wednesday.
If you were not already aware of the meeting, this doesn’t concern you.
If you have to ask what the meeting is about, this doesn’t concern you.
If this meeting doesn’t concern you and you show up, it will be the last meeting you ever attend.
*music stops*
Folks, with the town’s anniversary coming up, I’ve been thinking about, well, past-related things. Like, history. The things that happened in the “way back when.” And how they leave their mark on the land, and on us. Even a century later, our lives are shaped and impacted by the lives of people who lived so long ago. Their joys, their toils, their hopes, their dreams…
Their mistakes.
Those that came before will always be a part of us. That’s a
given. The things they did well, the things they didn’t do so well… things that happened to them. We carry it, sometimes in ways we don’t realise.
Or our knowledge, our new insights and understanding, can turn the history we carry with us into a burden. But it’s a part of us, and what we choose to do with that part and our awareness is what counts. How we choose to carry what they left us.
These next weeks, we remember those who came before us. We remember what they did- even their mistakes. We would not be honouring them properly- or ourselves- if we did not remember their mistakes. They, those many years ago, and even not so many years ago, made mistakes so we could do better. They were teaching us- even without knowing they were or meaning to do it.
We have been given the chance to be perpetually better than they were. Every year that passes is a chance to perpetually be kinder than they were.
Just- something I’ve been thinking about.
*transition*
For the next few weeks, the town of Braedon will be hosting a group from out of town called the Faceless. Here’s a list of behavioural guidelines Mayor Simon outlined in a press statement this morning regarding our new guests:
-Contrary to what their name might suggest, they do in fact have faces, however checking is not recommended. Permission is required to look at them directly, face to face. I learned that the hard way.
-You may speak about them, but do not speak to them unless they speak to you. If you need to initiate conversation, for whatever reason, you must do so in a way that does not address them specifically, such as “you know, I’d really like to talk to a member of a mysterious society, I wonder if one is nearby.” If they respond and identify themselves , it is safe to continue conversation.
-Their business is their business. Braedon is a town full of welcoming, open, neighbourly people, but I must caution you to refrain from asking what brings them to town. Things will be revealed if they need to be. “It’s just a matter of Time, it doesn’t concern you. It’s quite rude to stick your nose into other people’s business,” the Mayor said.
-Members can be identified by the following qualities:
-dark, form-concealing clothes
-an uncanny strangeness.
-a fickle relationship with corporeal existence.
-a face that seems familiar but oh-so forgettable.
-an ability to make ugly sunglasses look really good somehow? I don’t even know how they do it, but- anyways.
When asked how long our guests would be staying, the mayor just sort of shrugged his-cardigan cloaked shoulders and said, “Time is weird and dangerous. And also, arguably, fake.”
I mean, he’s got a point.
Anyways- if there were any members of some mysterious society staying in our town, listening to this broadcast, I’d probably say something to them like, “welcome!” and “I hope you have pleasant intentions, for all our sakes!” which, we all know, is a traditional Braedon greeting.
*music*
The meteor shower has started, folks. I popped outside during the break, and looked down into the dark void, my body held to the earth only by gravity and separated from that speckled abyss only by layers of invisible gas.
It’s beautiful.
No matter how many shooting stars you’ve seen, something about them never grows old.
Anyways, I could see the lights of the town all going dark, like candles being snuffed out by a sudden wind. We’ll be going dark here too in the next minute, but we’ll still be able to send out some noise, one last cry into the dark, to serenade you during this cosmic feat.
Thanks for tuning in.
*music*