Bluesfest Day 8: Henry

I met Henry eight years ago, five minutes after Bluesfest 99 started. I was sitting on the bleachers and he sat down beside me. A few minutes later, I pulled out my camera.

“You can’t take a picture of the band from here with that little pea-shooter,” said Henry.

“I’m not,” I said, “I’m taking a picture of the beer-seller.”

He followed my gaze to the wandering beer-seller – a female bodybuilder with a very distinctive look – and burst out laughing.

Then I reached into my knapsack and pulled out my BIG camera with the BIG lens and snapped a picture of the band.

“Oh yeah?” he said, and pulled out an even bigger camera. We spent the rest of the evening stalking musicians and taking pictures together. After that we were inseparable.

The next day cameras were forbidden at Bluesfest, by order of a very paranoid Little Richard. I pulled some strings and got us media passes, so not only were we allowed to have cameras, we were allowed right up at the stage for every performance for the rest of the festival. We had crazy fun.

For the next four years Henry would come to Ottawa for a week or two, then go back to Waterloo for two or three weeks. Ottawa, Waterloo, Ottawa, Waterloo, for four years. We went to Bluesfest every year, as well as occasional blues festivals in Chicago, Fredericton and Niagara Falls.

We took pictures, we went on month-long camping-and-antiquing trips to the Maritimes every year, we collected and traded antique photographs, and we went to every fleamarket, garage sale, antique show and auction we could find. (You want to know how crazy we were about scrounging for antiques? We’d get up at 3:30 on Tuesday mornings, drive to Lachute Quebec, poke around the Lachute Fleamarket with flashlights for an hour or two, and then drive back to Ottawa in time to get me to work for 8:00 a.m.)

We also spent time at art galleries, played a lot of rummy, had farting contests and laughed ourselves silly for four years.

He was the kind of friend who always knew the perfect gift to give you for your birthday, even if it was something you never would have thought of yourself. He gave me my first mannequin.

My dog, Sam, was absolutely, totally, completely, head-over-heels in love with Henry. (Note to single people everywhere: in matters of the heart, your dog will never steer you wrong.)

Our relationship ended in 2003, and it didn’t end well. I won’t go into the gory details; let’s just say it was my fault. Unfortunately it was a long-distance breakup to a long-distance relationship, which left a lot of things unsaid and unresolved. The final nails were driven into the coffin via telephone and express mail.

Our relationship deserved much better.

I only saw him once after we broke up. We met for coffee in Orangeville in 2005. Many hours of coffee.

I doubt there has been a day since we broke up that Henry hasn’t crossed my mind at least once. I don’t sit around pining for him or anything, but I do think of him often. We had a lot in common, we were best friends, and many things still remind me of him.

So when I saw his name in my inbox a few weeks ago, my heart skipped a beat. After some friendly correspondence, he decided to come to Ottawa to catch some of Bluesfest.

For the first week of Bluesfest, he camped out behind my house in his old VW van. He’d come inside to use the facilities and play rummy. Sometimes we’d have a glass of wine and play our guitars. And we went to Bluesfest every day, which was special because Bluesfest just hasn’t been the same the last few years without Henry. He’s always up for an adventure, he knows how to have a good time and he makes me laugh.

There he is, standing beside the No Standing sign at Bluesfest. Such a rebel.

He rolled out of town yesterday morning, back to Waterloo. It was a good week. We’re friends again. (‘Just’ friends doesn’t do it justice, but yeah, we’re ‘just friends.’)

I’m happy. But I didn’t go to Bluesfest last night, because it just wouldn’t have been the same without Henry.