Ivan

On a hot, humid, late spring evening close to sundown, the moon hangs heavy in the east three quarters full surrounded by a shadowy fog, filtered in the slowly darkening indigo sky. A bell sounds, ching~ching. A cyclist rolls by while three adults surround a mid size sedan, doors ajar, one packing a sleeping toddler into the backseat as the trio plays out a languid, elaborate goodbye after an enjoyable evening of barbeque and home made beer. Ivan's latest obsession is local IPA's. The small converted basement in the war era bungalow has become a makeshift brewery, hoppy and yeasty, overflowing with bottles and funnels, numerous batches of experimental blends and a graveyard of guitars in various states of function. Ivan's not much of a drinker. He considers himself more of a chemist, a creative scientist in the world of brewmastery. From 9 to 5 Monday through Friday Ivan works the service desk in a local chain retailer of musical instruments. He repairs guitars and other string instruments, violas being his least favourite. He has also been known to tinker with the occasional horn when the other technicians are in a pinch or a pickle. Ivan's good that way; always up for a challenge and curious to a fault when it comes to how things work. Not a natural builder, he spent many hours of his childhood pouring over manuals and charts, disassembling and attempting to reassemble his family's collection of small appliances, musical instruments, even the piano until his mother put her foot down. It was a family heirloom, passed on from generation to generation and somehow Ivan managed to lose track of two of the ebony keys. Guitars are less complicated. Portable, too. Nathalie appreciates Ivan's love for guitars and beer but she is growing tired of the constant smell emanating from the basement, clinging to the fresh laundry and making her sneeze. Now a strange series of glass tumblers, hoses and beakers have appeared, with smaller carafes she has yet to ask Ivan about. All Nathalie wants is for Ivan to be happy. If breaking things apart and putting them back together makes it so then she can live with the sneezing. It was a lovely evening with Barb, Graham and Benji. Graham seemed to appreciate the new brew Ivan tapped. Their car pulls away from the curb, Benji stirring in his car seat, hand pressed to the rear window. In the car's reflection Nat sees flames leaping out of the basement window. She only has time to turn her head to Ivan before the entire casing blows out sending Ivan flying backwards onto the neighbours lawn. Head ringing, sprawled like a beached starfish on his back Ivan focuses his eyes on the sky. He sees the moon pass behind the fog and thinks, I wonder if I left the burner on.