(Read “Outta Sight” first)
In 2004, I was working on PEI part time for a music store. Through some musicians we heard that James Brown was playing the Civic Centre in Halifax. We got a buzz going: gotta go see the Man. James Brown, he’s the Man.
I talked Dave MacDonald, the owner, into driving over and back in one evening. When we got to the Civic Centre there were a lot of black people in the audience and Dave seemed ill at ease. So I told him the story of how I dated this black girl when I was in high school, Patsy Skerrett. He seemed less than impressed as we sat down high in hockey rink.
The concert started with his great soul band and the announcer shouting “James Brown” band plays riff, “James Brown” band plays riff, “James Brown” band plays riff, etc. The concert was so hot. As old as he was, James Brown could out perform anyone.
There were two 50ish black ladies to my left and they were grooving away. One looked at me and asked “You digging this?” “Yes I am!”
When the concert was all over, James Brown was sweating and exhausted. So was most of the audience. The lights went up and I beamed at Dave “Wasn’t that great!” He muttered something and then I looked over his shoulder.
“Oh My God! Patsy Skerrett!” There she was 40 years later, my bookends James Brown wannabe-girl friend.
I brushed by Dave to give her a big hug. We traded lies about the 4 decades in-between. Marriages – her three my two – divorces, etc. Alongside was her little brother Wendell now all grown up. Patsy’s mother made us take him on dates. I think he was less than impressed with my hug.
And that was it. She left. I gathered up Dave and we left. James Brown left.
Isn’t it weird? What do you think it means?
