Sisi / Season 1

73⁒

a beautiful exit - miguel

I buy Miguel's latest EP Wildheart. That's how I'm currently feeling. I blast it up with the use of Étienne's Bose speakers. 

The electricity of the strong guitar strums makes me think of the tires and their black colour. I remember the time I took a joy ride down Champs-de-Mars with Jacques and Nixon. I wonder what they are doing now. Jacques had a knack for cars. Anytime I looked at my Facebook feed, sexy cars pictures would pop up under his name. He often bought new cars and fixed them up to his ghetto liking. That night he was wearing a black Canada Goose parka and a grilling smile. He had installed new rims.

By the time we reached Jarry street, the party had started. It was after 11. He shared his bottle of bitter spirits. I sat in the back seat. I sat behind the night.

I open my laptop and start writing. I open with a sad character.

'A beautiful exit' plays. Jaxon is born in my mind. He's dark, grungy. He likes fast lanes. He has dark hair, the way Jacques had it. Jacques didn't care about red lights. Jacques. Jax. Same man.

He'll kiss the girl, because that's what you do to sad girls.

Étienne turns the lock and walks inside. First thing he does is shut off the speaker.

I close my laptop.

"I was listening to that," I say, unleashing attitude.

"I can hear it all the way from the lobby," he points out.

I open my mouth, "Good. It's good music."

He grins, dismissively, and drops his stinky gym bag on the circular rug beside our pile of shoes. Now that I see the pile, I say ew.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, heading for the kitchen part of the space.

I get up and join him, feeling hungry now that I'm back in the real world.

"Writing," I say, watching him scavenge through the fridge.

"Ah," he sighs, "Nothing to eat."

His verdict is final and he stares at me with lazy eyes.

"Order Chinese," I contribute.

He shuffles his hand in his pockets. They come out empty.

"We could always eat your leg. You know, dip in some oil and fry it. Add some basil and onions," I say.

He laughs at my humour.

"I'll pay you back Thursday," he promises.

I look at him with a vain face.

"I have trust issues," I shake my head.

I open the cupboard and pull out a box of cereal.

"Who are you? Drake?"

"Drake spits bars. I eat them," I tell him, reaching for Quaker Oats bars.

He grabs it out of my hand and plops it on my head.

"I'll just get burgers."

He walks over to the door and shakes loose change out of his jacket.

"Yes. Man. You got hunt. Bring me a big ol' juicy beef. While I enjoy television," I bid.

After he leaves, I turn back on my lurid music and dance around.

I go over the night I danced with J. Whatever his name... My head starts to spin.

My phone goes off in my pocket. My older brother's calling.

"Quoi?" I retort.

"Sisi, what are you up to?"

"I'm busy," I tell him.

I fall my butt into the futon and turn on the television, finally. Xavier's annoying voice won't leave me alone, though I haven't heard it in over a month.

"Do you still have that guy's email?" he asks.

"Oh," I say, "Are you ready to get a job now?"

Xavier has been road-tripping the minute he got out of Loyola, a prestigious all-boy's school. I can only imagine him renting cheap motel, sleeping with women, and smoking pot all day. He's a good kid, just lost. A month ago, he came over. I told him he should start thinking of settling down and getting a place of his own, instead of living in his car. I told him he could work at Canadian Tire or something. But he only stayed long enough to fill up his gas tank.

"No, actually. I'm in California," he says.

"What are you doing all the way there?" I ask, missing him a tad bit now that I know how far he is.

"I don't know. Just looking around. Um, look, I'm going to be driving back up, but I don't have winter tires on. Could you tell that guy there to put reserve some for me there? His store carries the good ones."

"How convenient," I sigh.

"I'll be there in a couple of days. Just ask how much for install."

"You'll need winter tires, before you hit the border, dumbass."

"Nah, it's fine," he brushes me off.

"You'll have to find your own place to stay," I tell him.

"I'll just come by you," he says.

No. You can't. There's a boy sleeping on the futon.

"Listen, Xavier. You're 26. Don't you think crashing at your baby sister's place a little pathetic?"

The line goes quiet for a time.

"Pathetic, maybe," he sighs, "Freeing, much so."

There's no winning, when lecturing him.

"I'll get you your tires," I relent.

"Thanks. Bye," he ends.

I toss my phone to someplace. It needs to charge.

I imagine him standing at the gas station. I open my macbook once more. I glance at the top right corner. It's Tuesday. Whatever time it is in California, I'm sure Xavier's at the gas station.

Étienne returns through the door now. I find out it's raining outdoors by the look of his wet hair and shoulders. He holds the brown McDonalds bag. My nose itches. I watch his mouth chewing. He sits with me. His arm and my arm touch.

"I hope you didn't eat all the French fries on the way," I say.

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