the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 24: Come Together

Oh Peace Train sounding louder,
Glide on the Peace Train;
Come on now Peace Train,
Peace Train;

Now I've been crying lately,
Thinkin' about the world as it is;
Why must we go on hating,
Why can't we live in bliss?

- "Peace Train" Cat Stevens, 1971

Thinking that there was no way Simeon could've been serious, Remus had almost left the Fender behind. It felt stupid to bring an instrument to a party he'd only been invited to at the last minute. Sirius would've loved it of course, being an aspiring musician and naturally the most luminous person in any room he walked into, but Remus only knew a few songs and most of them sounded half-baked at best. You'd never catch him admitting it, but after Simeon had left him on the berm Remus had gone back to his dorm and practiced straight through dinner out of nervousness.

By the time he'd worked up the nerve to leave Godric the sun was long gone and the roads and paths of House Lane were lit up only by the yellow street lamps. Named after the poet, Byron boys dorm had earned itself a reputation for housing Hawkings' artsy, alternative types, though that was a loose description at best. Simeon didn't really strike Remus as 'alternative', but he figured the guy owned at least one or two puka shell necklaces, which had to count for something.

Passing the dorm's exterior plaque depicting a golden ox, Remus walked right through the front door and down the hall. He heard music before anything else, but as he approached the common room, he could hear a mixture of laughter and shouting. Slowing just outside the sloped doorway, Remus leaned his head in to listen.

"I'm telling you, Cass, it's just a division of extremist politics and industrial labour, how can you not understand that? It's not just about being nihilistic, they're really trying to fight against a future that isn't working."

Another voice joined the conversation, deep and sarcastic in tone; "I thought you were talking about the ethnic division versus the aging population?"

"It's not a 'versus' thing. Don't you see how it all links back to one another—that those bleeding codgers in parliament are only putting a bandage over a bullet wound? They're going to drive our generation into the ground!"

"Sunt lacrimae rerum, Audrey."

"You don't actually sound any smarter when you speak in Latin, dickhead."

Another voice called out, "Audrey, come sit down, love."

"He's impossible! I swear there's just sawdust where a brain should be."

There was more laughter, and Remus had just steeled himself to walk in when a hand came down on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Two for two, today," Simeon smirked. "You're too jumpy, Remus."

"Maybe you should stop sneaking up on me."

Simeon just grinned and indicated toward the noise and laughter with a jerk of his head. "Come meet the club."

With no choice but to go where Simeon led him, Remus went with him into the common room. Like Godric's, the room was decorated with sofas and armchairs as well as tables and benches for studying. Bookshelves and paintings were decorated every wall and surface, though it became obvious right away that where Godric House favoured a baroque-style and impressionism, Byron coveted surrealism. Melted faces and various depictions of juxtaposed realities stared back at him from every wall; and they weren't the only ones.

A group of five kids, two boys and three girls, watched him from the centre of the room where they had pushed the sofas together into one big circle. Each of the kids were in weekend dress, which at Hawkings usually consisted of a variation of their uniform paired with clothes they might wear at home; though they had slightly more jewelry and makeup than Remus was used to seeing, even after hanging around Mary for two terms. The windows were open to the night behind them, but Remus could still smell the hash and the coffee table was decorated with rows of bottles, cans, and ashtrays. He didn't recognise any of them from the Easter service either.