It was on the morning of July 3rd, 1984, when Janey Manx picked up her lawn chair and, swaying in time with the rocking of the van as it wiggled through the rock cuts and across muskeg-spanning causeways of a Northern Ontario highway, worked her way to the back of the Econoline van and inserted the legs of her chair behind those of Frankie DeSilva.

The van, moments before, had come to a very sudden and unexpected deceleration that sent everyone and everything flying to the front of the van, where they came crashing, squished into each other and into the back of the two bucket seats. The blue metal cooler shot across the corrugated ribs of the van floor, gliding like a hockey puck, and crashed into the dashboard. Ice hit the windshield, from the inside, as brown stubby bottles clanked and spurted and fizzed and André yelled "Tabernac". But the cow moose, unharmed, looked back at the pile of faces, arms, legs and asses that filled the cab of the white utility van, turned and trotted into the forest. And so began the road trip to Detroit and the day that Janey hooked up with Frankie. It was the summer of love.

The lawn chairs were taken from the bush party at the lake the night before. That was Frankie's idea. He was thinking he was a commando or something and talked the other guys into following his orders as they made their covert assault on the campfire. Most of the kids were either passed out or down by the water making out, so the drop and roll and fingers held into the shape of a revolver really wasn't necessary, nor was it seen by anyone other than the four who accompanied him. They knew the threat was real though; if the boys from West Hill saw them at their campfire, there would be blood. Or a severe name calling.

But there wasn't. The guys laughed and hushed each other as they brushed the sand from their hair and tried not to make too much noise as they folded up the lawn chairs, lime green and yellow and webbed, tried to tuck them under their arms and drunkenly staggered to leave the scene of the crime. Mission accomplished. They would have something to sit on for the ten-hour ride to that mythical city in the United States of America.

"Like, holy fuck man." That was the general exclamation once Wally's dad's work van resumed its trek south. But it wasn't so much because of the near-collision with a moose as it was because of the loss of beer, a few bottles for sure, and a bit because of the mess. Wally didn't seem upset, like he knew that things would get far worse before the end of their odyssey.

The whole trip was Janey's idea. She was like that, always looking for adventure. Janey was the youngest in a family with four older brothers and had learned to fight to be heard, to get a word in and to get her share of any second helpings. Yet, other times, she was content to slip into the background while her older brothers made all the noise and received the well-deserved wrath of her parents. She knew when it was beneficial for her to be the forgotten child and used this to her advantage. For a girl going into her final year of high school, a girl in the midst of the transformation to adulthood, she already displayed the confidence of the woman she would become. And she could make things happen, like the road trip to see the Prince concert in Detroit.

The guys couldn't figure out this Prince. They didn't like his music, didn't like his clothes, or lack thereof; they were very uncomfortable with the way he danced around half-naked and moved and sang like a girl. They were not sure that he wasn't somewhere in between boy and girl. Billy joked that if Prince had come into the boy's changing room dancing like it was 1999, there would be two purple rings around his eyes. But the guys sure liked to watch Janey dance to "Let's Go Crazy." So they went along because Janey told them it would be an adventure. Plus, there wasn't much else to do in town, certainly nothing better than hanging with Janey and seven friends on a road trip.

Stevie said it was the first time he had been this far out of town. They had only been driving an hour and had nearly taken out a moose. Stevie was from the Ojibway Reserve at the point; because he worked at the Band gas station, he was the man to know for cheap smokes, gas and beer. Plus, he was as funny as hell when he got drunk. His Indian voice would come out and no matter what he said, he sounded like a French-Canadian Tonto.

There was that time in Grade Eleven when some of the guys skipped out of third period, took a long lunch and slammed back some Molson's in Barney's basement, then came back to class. Stevie was trying not to say anything because all the guys knew he would sound all native, and he hated that. Sure enough, Mr. Clarke asked Stevie to read from the play we were studying. They pissed their pants listening to Tonto and Juliet.

It was just past Crawford Corners when Stevie said, "hey, I never been this far south, you know." They all laughed and called him names that people don't use anymore.

Most of the beer that didn't spill when they hit the moose, as the legend would eventually have it, was gone soon after Crawford Corners. The first pee break was on the shoulder just past the big rock cut. The sun was coming up and the morning light on the pink granite revealed white veins of quartz.

The girls needed to pee too. It was agreed that once the boys were finished decorating the rock cut like The Who's album cover, the girls would be next. So, as the boys climbed back in through the rear barn doors, the girls filed out like recess in the schoolyard. First, Janey hit the ground with a giant leap for womankind, leaving her sandal prints in the dew on the crushed stone of the shoulder. Next came Lisa, Janey's faithful servant. Lisa would do anything for Janey, would throw herself in front of an oncoming freight train if she needed to in order to save Janey. But it was Lisa who needed the saving. None of the guys knew exactly what Lisa's story was: they knew that Janey would have paid for her ticket and for the trip, that there was an asshole father, a drunk mother, lots of missed days at school. Normally a girl like Lisa would be considered trailer trash and never hang with this group, but, because of Janey, she was sheltered and loved, and no one dared think of doing her harm. Next to the sheer radiance of Janey's glow, Lisa, herself, took on her own kind of beauty. Janey had a way of making the world look a little better.

Last out of the van was Mo. Maureen seemed to always be around, like she saw herself as one of the boys. Quiet and unassuming, Mo would just be there. Not really close to anyone, but not distant either, like she didn't care if she had friends or not, but would never be seen alone. She was attractive enough, keeping her hair short and plain so that she looked unique. Most of the guys had been with her for a while at some point throughout high school. Mo didn't "sleep around", as Janey put it, but it was as though her friendship with one of the guys would get a little close at a party and eventually they would end up making out in a bedroom, then they would be a couple for a while, then Mo would end up hanging out with the gang as a soloist again, until the next duet came along. That was just how she played it. There was never any drama or hard feelings, just Mo.

These three girls also made up the clarinet section of the school band: first, second and third clarinet all marched out, in order, to have a pee. It was a pretty pathetic band, really. And if it wasn't for Janey, there wouldn't have been a school band at all. The entire brass and percussion sections only showed up to rehearsals because Janey would be there. She had that kind of pull. Mr. Rankin, the music teacher, had a special spot for Janey, you could tell. And he should have, because he would likely be teaching Phys-Ed if it wasn't for Janey's vocal promotion of the performing arts. If a tractor-trailer had slammed into the van as it was stopped next to the rock cut that morning, the entire musical future of Northern Heights Secondary would have been lost, and next year's Santa Claus parade would have one less fourteen-piece band, and Mr. Rankin would be coaching murderball.

But no trucks passed and the girls successfully squatted behind the van and the boys successfully caught a glimpse of three white asses as the girls scrambled to pull up their jeans, and two thirds of the school band, half of the art club, half of the yearbook and the third line of the hockey team rearranged their lawn chairs in the white Econoline van marked "A Roofer" in black Futura Bold Stencil, and Frankie DeSilva, lead trumpet and centre of the third line, had his chair next to Janey's as the van resumed its southward march.

As far as epic journeys go, it was rather uneventful. They couldn't buy more beer until ten o'clock and by that time, no one really felt like partying anymore. Frankie, Stevie, and André had been up all night, first at some girl from West Hill's house party, then to Wally's garage to wait until Wally woke up and came down to get the van. That is why most of the beer for the trip didn't actually make it into the cooler. It was probably a good thing.

The brief stop at the truck stop south of Huntsville provided enough chips and Cheezies to hold them off until they hit Toronto, where they would refresh the D batteries for Frankie's ghetto blaster. No one accounted for the replacement of the twelve batteries required to keep the van rocking to George Thorogood, CCR and Bruce Springsteen, so a collection had to be taken among the passengers.

It was expected that there would be arguments over the music for the trip. One of the guys, likely Frankie, had put together a mixtape of driving songs that was generally acceptable to all, or at least to the guys. Except for Janey, none of the girls had strong opinions about music. Frankie's tastes in music were less than sophisticated, in fact, he didn't care for music at all. The mix revolved around the entire Born in the USA album interjected with ZZ Top, Van Halen, Madonna, Prince and Huey Lewis and the News. It was during the opening riff of "I Want a New Drug" that Janey sat up and said, "Christ, Frankie." She held the fast-forward button until the blur of squeaks turned into "White Wedding," gave him a look of triumph and slouched back into the lawn chair and put her legs on his, using Frankie as a footstool.

Frankie just smiled. He didn't seem to mind being scolded. He, after all, appeared to be the first of the guys to be on track to earning the coveted prize that was Janey's touch. Not that he, nor the others, hadn't wanted Janey to show them more than friendship. There were likely advances made, and certainly pride swallowed, but those aren't the kind of stories that guys tell. Janey would have let them down gently, that was her way, and the friendship zone was maintained. Plus, there was always hope. Her smile was pronounced by her cheekbones and the warm tone of her skin had been painted by a summer in the sun. Her light warmed the van that day, but none were as warmed as Frankie. In spite of his shitty mixtape.

The bedrock of the Canadian shield turned to farmland then turned to fields of warehouses; two lanes became four, then eight, then sixteen. Stevie stared out the window in amazement at the new world, but it was the look of fear. Some of the others were bragging, rambling in quick, short bursts, about all the things they would do once they moved to the city. Wally said that there was no way he would be a roofer. "Stupid to go into the trades," was his prophecy. "Look at all these immigrants down here. That's who will be doing the roofing. I'm going to go to school and take Kinesiology."

"You don't even know what that is." André was thinking he was going to become a French teacher, so he was guaranteed cash for life, and was entitled to be a smart ass. They were all entitled to be smart asses.

"Sure, it has something to do with studying bones. It doesn't matter man, as long as I get out of that shit-hole of a town."

But Stevie looked out the van window in silence as the blur of signs and trucks and high-rises became a curtain.

Detroit loomed ahead. After ten hours in the van, countless pee breaks, refuelling stops, and stretches, the travellers stood on the banks of the Detroit River, staring across at the promised land.

"I guess we walk," Frankie said.

There was some discussion about the best way to get to the concert because the van had been turned back at the Windsor Tunnel. Since Wally's dad's van was registered as a commercial vehicle, and since commercial vehicles entering the United States were subject to inspection, and because Wally didn't have documentation of ownership or insurance—let alone passenger seats —and because it became apparent that he also didn't have his father's permission, it was decided that rather than risking having the van impounded, it might be wise to leave it in Windsor, on the Canadian side of the border.

"We can't walk, idiot."

Janey told them that they could take a bus through the tunnel, right to the Joe Louis Arena. Since Lisa couldn't come up with a birth certificate, Janey gave her fake ID to Lisa, which meant they had to go on separate buses. Lisa whispered something to Janey and Janey said that it will be fine, go on with the others, she and Frankie would stay back and catch the next bus and would meet them at the Renaissance Centre.

The group looked out of the back window of the Windsor Transit bus. Through the blur of diesel smog they could see Janey and Frankie waving, then his hand took hers. As the bus burped into the tunnel, everyone understood, at that moment, that Janey and Frankie had become a couple.

***

Memory has a way of choosing which of the few images we will still hold onto years later. It is like the dealer shuffles the deck, and the cards we are dealt, those five or seven that form our hand, are all we have left. And thirty-two years later, as seven of us, all of the original travellers except Frankie, gather at my cottage on the lake on a perfect summer's evening, have a few drinks around the campfire and talk about the day we saw Prince, we only remember those few cards, and for each player the cards are different.

For Mo, her memory is of the hot afternoon sun beating down on the white sidewalks of a public square in Detroit. People are moving, an R&B band is playing a public concert backed by the river, six white Canadian kids are pacing and sitting, waiting for their friends to come off the bus. Lisa is a wreck. André and Wally have bought something off the first guy who stopped them after they got off the bus. Who knows what they took, but it hasn't hit them yet. Stevie has his arm around Lisa, trying to calm her. He looks just as scared. And we are all waiting for Janey to return.

André tells of the crowd of faces pushing into the arena. Black faces. Faces of people who look so much bigger and meaner and tougher than the kids from the Northern Heights Concert Band. He fights the panic of being swallowed in a sea of style. Wally is standing, dazed, letting the crowd push him into the turnstile. Janey and Frankie are ahead, he holds her in front of him, pressing against her. Mo, Stevie, Lisa and I are somewhere behind.

Wally remembers that once the acid begins to wear off, he just wants to leave, to go home. He is freaked out that the van, over on the Canadian side, might have been broken into, or stolen. Frankie left his tape player in there, and that would be enough to invite a smash and grab. During the show he is yelling to André that they should go, get out of there before the crowds make it impossible to find a bus back.

For others, they share brief glimpses of the show. Stevie tells of a seeing a tiny man on a huge stage, a dot really, as seen from his side-view seat on the upper tier of the arena. He has never seen so many people together in one place, and to have this tiny dot be able to command the sea of voices and arms. He admits that to him, a kid who until that day had rarely left the Reserve, the trip meant everything. Stephen R. Hunter—lawyer, activist, politician—that day, heard a voice.

Someone pokes the campfire with a stick, and embers fly skyward until they fade from red and become the white specks of the stars. Lisa doesn't admit that she was hurt by Frankie. Probably because she wasn't. "We all felt a little betrayed," is how she puts it, "but we also knew that we couldn't have you to ourselves forever," Lisa says to Janey.

But for me, it isn't the wall of sound that I remember most, nor the way that we were swept up, off our chairs, to join the rush of love that filled the building. I remember the purple rain of colour, the light falling on us like the dove of peace, the holy spirit, descending upon us that night. That we would go forth and spread love and that everything might be better.

And I remember. How we are all on our feet, thousands swaying and holding hands and chanting together as his anthemic guitar solo, wailing in tragedy and triumph, anguish and affirmation, blesses us. How we know that we are loved and we are filled with love, and how, two rows below, Janey and Frankie, locked together and swaying in time, are belting out "Purple Rain, Purple Rain", how I can hear Frankie's hoarse voice, off-key, above the din of the crowd, and how Janey turns her head and looks back, up to where I am standing.

And I understand. I understand that she knows how I feel and how I have always felt. And with her smile she is telling me that it is okay, that we will be alright. She knows, she always has known, that it is not yet our time. Through the black hair that streaks in front of her face, I see the purple and orange embers reflecting in her eyes, and she is telling me that one day there will be no Frankie, that we will know when our time is right. And that she knows how it will end.

And tonight, once the fire has burned down and the nylon lawn chairs have been folded, and our friends are asleep, as Janey and I lie in our cottage bed listening to the waves lap against the shore, and as my hand slides along her familiar chest and Janey takes my arm and tucks it into its rightful home between her breasts, and as Janey wiggles her back, pressing into me like she does every night, and as our breaths fall in time with each other, as we share the long exhalation that announces the ending of another day together, my hand will brush away her hair and my mouth will place a long, soft kiss on the back of her neck, and Janey will say to me, "happily ever after, my love."