Dawnland Voices: An Anthology of Indigenous Writing from New England

Starlit Simon

102 Starlit Simon (b. 1983) The niece of Lorne Simon, also in this volume, Starlit Simon is from Elsipogtog (Big Cove) First Nation, New Brunswick. She earned a ba in sociology from the University of New Brunswick. In 2006 she worked at the Fredericton Native Friendship Center, where she created and wrote a newsletter, the Mali-Mac Times. Later she traveled through Canada and Europe, which led her to a new love: writing. She is pursuing her mfa in creative nonfiction at the University of Kings College and maintains her own website at starlitsimon.com. “Without a Microphone” was her first publication, appearing in National Geographic Traveler in March 2010. “In Quest of Road Kill” appeared in the New Brunswick Beacon online in February 2012. Without a Microphone The Celt is packed with Dublin locals and a few tourists who’ve heard of the place or have stumbled in to find a drink. “You just never know who’s gonna play here!” a Scottish man bellows to his friends who are crammed at the entrance. “You might even see the friggin’ Edge.” Gradually the patrons maneuver through the room to their destination: the curved bar in the back. The pub is small but warm and welcoming, in part because a crowd has managed to squeeze their way inside this Sunday night. The long wood benches pushed up against the walls are filled with flushed, smiling faces, and the few barstools available have been given to women in heels. The cobblestone floors flood with feet from all over the world. The Rattlin’ Rogues perform covers and a few original tunes in the middle of the room, perched on split logs. They take a break when a local opera singer, Anthony Kearns, drops in unannounced. He has a beer and mingles with the Rogues and some of the more familiar faces. Then he begins to sing without a sound check, without a microphone, without warning. The crowd hushes each other, and with the door to the bar open wide, the tenor’s voice booms out into Talbot Street. The din quiets. Starlit Simon 103 Some cry silently, moved either by his voice or by an excess of Guinness , but probably a combination of the two. This opera singer, seated on a log in the tiniest pub, has silenced the most drunken crowd as if he were on a grand stage in front of thousands of paying customers. This is The Celt, where musicians drop in unannounced seven nights a week. In Quest of Road Kill Zooming down the highway on a Saturday afternoon, I saw just what I needed for my latest hobby. I pumped the brakes and swerved off the road. “I don’t want to ride with that thing. What are you going to do with it?” asked my boyfriend, Dan. “I’ll put it in the cooler,” I responded. “This is so sick,” said Dan. “This would make great reality tv,” I said. No response. “You know how you guys like those shows like Swamp People and Man vs. Wild? Well I bet there’s an audience for road kill picking, eh?” I continued, hoping to pique his interest. I didn’t. I got out and jogged towards the carcass, stopped, then turned back towards the car. It was Dan’s lucky day. “You’re okay,” I said when I got back. “It was a raccoon, not a porcupine.” Almost every trip on a back road or highway throughout the summer of 2010 had me squealing onto the sides of roads. The results were always the same. The animal wasn’t the coveted dead porcupine, the impact had destroyed the quills, or other scavengers had gotten to it before me. But like hunters never forget their first kill, I can never forget the first porcupine I picked up off the side of the road. The sky had a pinkish hue. It was getting late in to the evening. Three of my 11-year-old cousins and I were driving home after a day at Moncton’s Magnetic Hill Zoo. “A porcupine,” I said excitedly, disrupting the kids’ chatter. “So?” said my cousin Knight. “Aww,” I cooed longingly. “He looks so good too.” “You’re so weird,” said Knight. It was time for a little history lesson. 104 mi’kmaq Porcupine quill work was a traditional Aboriginal art form found only in North America. The Mi’kmaq’s...