Tatouine by Jean-Christophe Réhel

Tatouine by Jean-Christophe Réhel

Author:Jean-Christophe Réhel
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781771862356
Publisher: Qc Fiction


Elliott Smith’s barking like mad. I’m sitting in the back seat of Aaron’s car, and the dog’s licking my cheek and mouth. “Wuh. Easy d’re, d’ggie.” Cammy asks, “What’s up with your voice?” I shrug. Aaron has perfect hair. He’s wearing a long beige coat, the kind you only ever see in the movies. I’m wearing a snowboarding jacket that’s a bit too small and a bit too worn. I wish I could wear a long coat like his, but it doesn’t look very warm. I’d catch cold, for sure. Anyway, I don’t have the money to buy a coat like that. Elliott Smith’s still barking. He runs back and forth from one window to the other, jumping over me each time. My sister shouts at him, “STOP IT, ELLIOTT, STOP IT!” Aaron turns left and mutters, “Fucking idiot.” Another guy just cut him off. Aaron’s cologne is discreet and distinguished. I smell like clementines. There’s classical music playing in the car. I say, “What’re you l’stening to?” He looks at me in the rearview mirror; he didn’t understand my question. My sister repeats it for him. “Oh, ahem, Chopin.” “’K.” My sister turns to me and asks how my trip was. I don’t know where to start. I’m about to explain, but she cuts me off, “How’d it go in Albany?” “’lb’ny?” “Yeah, Albany? It’s like the ugliest and trashiest bus station ever!” I remember the bus stopping at one point at a station, but I didn’t know it was Albany. “OK.” I’m exhausted. I don’t want to talk for another ten thousand years. My sister can tell from my face and turns to me. “We’ll be there soon. We live in the Upper East Side.” Needless to say, that means nothing to me. I look out at the cars and the passersby. The people don’t have necks; in New York, people don’t have necks. That’s how they protect themselves against the cold. It’s just as freezing here as it is in Repentigny. It’s all perfectly normal, nothing exceptional about it. People are breathing, people are talking, people are walking. A fat guy waits for the light to turn green before crossing the street. He’s carrying a bunch of plastic bags, and I can see his lips moving. It looks like he’s talking to himself. It looks like he’s saying an ancient prayer. We turn the corner and I silently bid him goodbye. I like saying goodbye to people in my head. I often do that when I’m in the car or on the bus. Sometimes I’ll say, “Small world” out loud. It’s funny cause most of the people I see in the street I’ll never see again. Elliott Smith is lying on the back seat with his head on my leg. I think about the novel I’m not able to write, I think about the poems I haven’t written for ages. I think I’m all out of things to say. I think I’ve said all I have to say.



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