The Brief History

If ten thousand people were asked about their favourite place in the world, the chances are none of them would say the same thing. With a question as vague as this one, you can be pretty creative. One might talk about a lover’s embrace and another will tell every details of their childhood house. A third would think a lot about it but never find an answer satisfactory enough.

That’s one of the good things about being alive. About being human. Everyone experiences it in a different way. Even two siblings coming from the same womb won’t follow the same path. Even two children growing up in the same neighbourhood won’t stay the same after a few years. Maybe one will go away and become a worldwide renowned superstar while the other age quietly, behind the counter of a store in a silent, small town.

The human nature is about always wondering what could’ve been in another universe. If things had gone differently. Many, many different paths can be found when you know where to look. That’s why there are so many songs and movies and books about finding your own way through life. Because it’s always such a different journey for everyone.

This story follows two people existing in the same world. Two different boys who were friends, once. A long time ago. Who used to believe they’d be best friends forever. Who would have said their favourite place is next to each other. But they lost touch with each other as their paths separated, in the middle of the road. This story is about two people who don’t know each other anymore. But wish they did.

This is the story of Remi and Bee.

Winter 2005

Walking down the frosted street of his neighbourhood, Remi is trying not to fall down and break his neck. Or any part of his body, for that matter. The task proves to be harder than he thought since it has rained all night and it’s always quite a bit windy, here, in this quiet coastal town, neatly tucked-away far from the rest of the world. But he’s used to it. It’s been this way since he was born, twenty-three years ago. He doesn’t mind unpleasant meteorological phenomenon normally but, right now, he’s in a hurry and would like very much to be able to walk a bit faster. His boots feel heavier with every step he takes and he forgot his gloves at home so he’s trying to keep his hands in his pockets. Which makes the whole ordeal even worse.

“If only I wasn’t stupid, I would’ve looked outside and left fifteen minutes early. But since I’m apparently the biggest buffoon ever,” he rambles to himself, his gaze firmly on the ground, looking for the rare spots where there is more ground than ice. It’s so early that it’s still pitch-black outside and the darkness is making it harder for him to see anything past his feet.

Remi doesn’t need to see the way, though. He could walk this street with a blindfold on and never need to cheat and lift it up to make sure he’s not going towards the cliffs. He’s done that many times before. He grew up right there, with the ocean on one side and empty fields on the other. He knows every little bump in the road, after avoiding them with his bicycle when going to school for more than ten years. He knows which trees are to avoid when you climb and which ones have the tastiest fruits in the spring. He has walked all the dogs in his neighbourhood and even some from a few miles down the road. He can recognize every cow grazing around the peninsula. He gave carrots and sugar cubes to every horse and donkeys, too. The people walking by him when he’s in downtown all know his name and he knows theirs. That’s why he’s not really scared of walking an icy road in the middle of the night with no lights on. Because he could walk it with eyes closed.

However, this goes down for more time than it should take to go from one end of the street to the other, until Remi finally reaches the bus stop. The sun is slowly rising in the sky, lazy and tired. He doesn’t want to be here either. Remi sighs and sits on the bench since he already missed his bus and has to wait for the next one. It’s frozen and he can feel the ice through his jeans. He’s normally a really chill, pun intended, guy and doesn’t get pissed easily. But today is already putting him to the test and it’s not even seven o’clock. What a great way to start the day!

All he can do is hope that there won’t be too much work at the store. The week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve is a calmer time for them, with only a bunch of people coming to develop their Holidays photos or look at accessories to buy for their brand-new cameras. It’s a bit boring these days. He just wishes he could stay at home and watch movies with his dad and the cats. Or even play board games. Maybe he could ask Sade to take his afternoon shift and go home earlier? But then she’ll asks him many, many favours in exchange of that and he’s not sure it’s really worth it. And Simon doesn’t work on Thursdays so there’s no way out of today. He’ll have to stay until closing time.

Remi sighs again. The bus is running late, probably because of all the ice. It’s too early for anyone to have put salt on the road, especially in this part of town. The roadmen around here aren’t known for their early-birds attitude. They’ll come by later, when the sun is higher and most people are awake. That’s how it’s always been.

And everything and everyone have its own rhythm. When there are barely more than five thousand residents, everybody knows everybody. Just like with the cows and the horses and donkeys, Remi knows all the bus drivers and roadworkers and he knows most of them are good people who hate driving on ice or getting up too early, thus the delay. He also knows the teachers, the doctors and the cashiers. When he goes to the swimming pool, he talks a bit with the lifeguard since they went to the same school and he loves going to the bakery because the pastry chef has been the same since he was a little boy and no one makes lemon pie like her. The librarians are really nice people, too. Never giving up delay fees when he brings back a book a few days late.

He loves his town and its people. Sure, there are some assholes. Some old cops who believe they’re the kings of the Island but never leave their cramped office on the main street. There are people Remi only knows by name or heard about in passing. He hates the old man living next to the photography store he works at. And there’s a really, really insufferable teacher at the private high school he went to. And some people from said high school really are the worst ones he ever met. Insufferable and stupid and mean teenagers who turned into insufferable and stupid and mean young adults. A few of them left town after graduation but it’s not enough to be a normal thing. Most people stayed and became the reason why he crosses the street sometimes, when he’s out.

And, yes, he hates how the roads turn into ice every winter but he so loves the sound of waves always following him, everywhere he goes. The way the ocean is always by his side is such a comforting thought. In the summer, you can make the tour of the peninsula on bike and then take a walk in the forest to cool down under the shade of trees. Or you can have a picnic on the beach and spend your day under the sun. There are parks and playgrounds all around town. Dogs can walk freely and cats always come when you make silly sounds. Children can play in the streets and go on adventures everywhere, without anyone being afraid for their safety. Except if you go too close to old man Philips’ farm. Everyone knows he’s a maniac.

To Remi, it’s the best place in the world to live. It doesn’t matter that he never left and never saw anything else. Pictures in the travel guides at the library or on the internet are enough. He doesn’t need anything else but his family and his friends and his perfect little life, far away from the rest of the planet. Everything that he loves is there, close to him. Well, almost everything. Almost everyone.

✶✶✶

Summer 2006

It’s sticky hot in the little room. It’s been this way for weeks and it’s starting to be insufferable. It’s four people for only one little cooling fan, spinning really hard and really fast. The poor thing is trying its best to do its job. Maybe the four people in the room should do the same. But, honestly, it’s too warm outside and everything is damp and the air is heavy. And it’s even worse inside.

The four of them are a band. A little, not very well-known rock band. They make music. They should be making music at this very moment. But currently, they’re mainly trying to survive the heat wave. It’ll be a miracle if they stay alive long enough to call themselves musicians one more day. Or even one more hour.

Viha, the leader and singer of the band, is laying on her back. She’s the kind of girl you don’t want to upset. Ever. Her temper is as hot as the current weather. Her spunky, short hair is sticking to her face but she’s not awake enough to care. If she were, she’d probably be glaring around the room with her mean stare. She doesn’t do it on purpose but she can’t help but look and act like a menace. Doesn’t matter that she’s barely five foot three. She has a really impressive aura. Something that makes most people shut up when she’s staring. They don’t even pay attention to the fact that she has crossed, heterochromatic eyes. If she were a dog, she’d probably be some sort of breed with “bull” in its name. And people in internet forums would be actively arguing against the ethics of making more dogs like her.

But currently, Viha’s been dozing off for a while. It’s better this way for everyone in the room. She’s bit on edge all week because of the warmth and the anxiety of another deadline. She’s a heavy sleeper, though, so it doesn’t bother her that Francesca, the keyboardist, is painting her fingernails in many different colours with lots of care. She’s used to that kind of things, after all. Francesca loves taking care of others. That’s the perks of growing up with six siblings. Six other people with pretty blonde hair, tan skin and black eyes. Six other people who don’t really know about personal space and personal property. When there are so many people under one roof, you either learn absolute selflessness or you become an asshole.

Francesca’s really kind. She has a lot of space in her heart for love. She loves her family, music, watching romance movies with Barnabé (because he always looks really displeased with the grand gestures of love happening on the screen) and her girlfriend, obviously, but most of all she loves fashion. She loves thinking about new outfits and drawing them and creating them. She loves dressing up and mixing stuff that shouldn’t work together but make it work, nonetheless. She loves digging for hours in tiny, tiny haberdasheries with old ladies doing embroidery at the counter. She’s been designing clothes since she was a very little girl. First for her dolls and plushies and then for her siblings. Since there were lots of them, they had to use the same clothes a few times and only her oldest sister, Giulia, could get new items. So Francesca would alter the hand-me-downs whenever they went to someone new.

If music doesn’t work out, she’s thinking of trying her hand at becoming a freelance designer or something along those lines. She’s far too ambitious to go back to the shadows of the little coastal town where she grew up. She wants to be famous one way or another. She wants everyone to look at her and she wants to be able to provide for her family. And if music works out, then that’s good too. She loves designing their stage outfits.

On the other side of the tiny, tiny room the drummer of the band, Ersheen, is reading a manual. A really thick manual, written in many languages. Too many of them. There are probably dead ones in there like Sumerian or Coptic. Ersheen’s currently trying to understand how to make the fan going faster and harder. It might not be possible but they didn’t work this out yet. They’re a really stubborn person, just like their twin, Viha. They’re kind of two sides of the same coin. One being the happy, optimistic and uplifting side and the other being the glaring sister with weird eyes and bad attitude. But, at least, she can sing and play lots of different instruments so she’s a good addition to the band!

As far as twins go, they really look alike too. Except for the eyes. And the hair. But they share the same straight nose, bushy eyebrows and brown skin. They’re also both pretty obstinate and loud and always taking too much space in every room they walk in. Which isn’t good when the room is small and there’s four of them and only one fan. That’s why Ersheen wants to make it turn wider and faster. Thankfully, their sister is sleeping. Or else, they’d probably argue over the utility of the fan in the first place. They don’t argue often, though. Don’t think they’re the kind of siblings always picking at each other. They love each other more than anything else in the world. It’s just that Ersheen loves annoying her and Viha loves nagging them. It’s their way to show how much they care about each other.

“You should give up,” says the final and fourth member of the band, disturbing the peace of the room. “There’s no way you’re making this trash works better.”

And there he is, leaning against the windowsill: Barnabé, the bass player. He fought with Viha about opening the window and he won. It went a bit along the lines of “I’m taller, I’m stronger and I firmly believe that it’s the same whether the window is closed or open. It’s July! It’s hot everywhere,” and he sat down there, on the edge between the window and the balcony. He’s starting to regret his choices, the heavy sweat trickling down his forehead on his glasses being proof enough that he was wrong. It's definitely worse on the outside. He will never admit it, though. He’d never give Viha such an easy win. She’ll have to fight for it. And she won’t since she’s currently battling against sleep on the floor. Barnabé: one, Viha: zero.

Francesca, startled by the sudden sound after more than two hours of silent, lifts her gaze from her nail work, and Ersheen rolls their eyes, “Could you stop being such a negative Nancy for one second or would it kills you?”

“I’m not being negative,” replies Barnabé with a bored voice. They all know he’s very negative. But they love him despite his bad temper. If Viha’s reckless, Francesca’s kind and Ersheen’s high-spirited, Barnabé tends to be plain rude. He has no social skills and doesn’t care about it. He speaks more often with his fists than his mouth and has punched most of the underground music scene around here.

And yet, he’s the one bringing most of the fans. It’s only because, to most people, he’s really handsome. Like, really, really handsome. He’s tall but not lanky. He has a pretty, deep brown eyes, a strong nose and bleached hair. There are many scars upon his face which could have been crafted directly from a stone. He’s cold and distant and, unfortunately, girls love his attitude. That’s how it’s been since the start of their career. One girl fell in love with him at a club and she came back with a friend. Then from two they became three and four and five. Viha is really popular, too. It doesn’t come close to Barnabé, though.

And he hates it. He doesn’t like people in general but he hates girls. He hates girls who come to their show only to fawn over him. Girls who giggle behind their hands when he gazes around the crowd. Girls who wait for him after their performance to ask for him e-mail or his number. How many times will he have to tell them that he doesn’t have a Myspace? It’s pissing him off. Girls are pissing him off. And the worst thing is, he can’t do anything about it. Because without them there would only be five people left to come to their shows. It’s been six years since they came here to pursue their dream and all they achieved was to get annoying groupies. They’re no boys band! They’re making rock music! They’re serious performers!

All right, they don’t look really serious right now. They all know they should be working on a new song or practicing so they’re good enough to perform. To bring more people to listen to what they’re making.

But it’s been a week of the worse heatwave ever known to man, or at least coming really close to it, and they can’t do anything but think about how hot the summer is. They can’t even use the cool of the night because their neighbours already told them a thousand times to shut the fuck up after ten. Which is less than convenient for them. Viha tried writing a few things but everything always comes back to heat and warmth and fire and hotness and they don’t need yet another song about things being hot. Even if it’s about the wheels of a car or the body of a woman. Or both.

So, they spend their days thinking about their careers and their nights, too. They have a show at the end of the week and they told the event coordinator, Fiona, that they’d have a new song. Something fresh and cool and chill. The direct opposite of the current weather and their current mindset. And Fiona already warned them that if they couldn’t bring enough people this time, she’ll have to stop booking them for Saturdays. They can’t go back to the Tuesdays. They simply can’t. No one goes to listen to unknown bands on a Tuesdays. No one. So, they have to write a song.

Fall 1988

Tuesdays have always been Remi’s favourite days. His mom picks him up from school and they directly go to his dad’s office. They wait for him in the waiting room and he can play with the little cars on the green carpet with a fake city printed on it. Sometimes, there are other children and they share the cars. Sometimes there are adults and he has to sit still and read a book just like his mom. He learned to read not too long ago so he goes slowly over every word and asks the people around him when he’s not sure. They’re always kind and help him patiently. Tuesdays are good days.

Once his dad is done with his work for the day, they all go home together. Sometimes they stop downtown and buy a pie at the bakery. The nice man behind the register always gives them a free pastry for him and Remi always say ten thank you as the little bell chimes on their way out. He likes the sound of the bell and, sometimes, He’ll stay a bit behind just to hear it longer.

As they walk home, the three of them talk about their day. His mom share stories about her colleagues and how funny miss Maghraoui is. His dad explains many things he doesn’t quite understand about laws and people hurting others. Then, it’s Remi’s turn and he talks and talks and talks until they get home.

Like, today, there was a race at recess and he almost won but then Colin shouted really hard and everyone stopped to look at him but it was a ruse and he kept on running and he won. All the children in the race were really mad at him because Colin always cheats and he’s mean to others so they went to tell the teacher. Colin and Freddie tried to stop them but they were seven against so they won. But their teacher was talking with the headmistress and everyone is afraid of the headmistress so they all went back to the recess and said angry words at Colin! No mama, not mean ones. Just angry ones! Oh, and they read a new fairytale in class, about a princess being stuck in a tower and everyone said it was Francesca because she has long blonde hair, just like the princess. Sofia said that she wasn’t pretty enough to be a princess but it’s wrong because Francesca is the prettiest girl in the class. Sofia is pretty too, though. Also, for lunch they got potatoes and beef and, you know, Remi ate all his vegetables before the rest. Just like papá always tell him to. And there were strawberries for desert but since he can’t eat them his teacher let him have a piece of chocolate in secret. He couldn’t tell the others so he ate it really quickly and it was the best chocolate he ever tasted! Oh and—

Usually, he talks like that until they reach the fence and then his dad and him race to the porch. His dad always wins because he has such long legs. It feels a little unfair but Remi knows he’ll grow really tall and win someday. Until then, he just has to pretend to not be upset about it. Still, he is upset about it.

But today, his parents stop in the middle of the street to talk with their neighbour. There are six houses in their streets. Theirs is at the far end, just before the big field and the little steep path that goes down the cliffs to the beach below. They have four neighbours and a vacant house in the middle. Mrs Castro lives in the other end of the street, in the littlest home of all. She has an apron on and her long black hair is tied into a pretty braid. Remi thinks Francesca should do the same thing to her hair since she always seems so upset when boys pull on it.

“Hello, Lani, how are you holding on?” asks Remi’s mom, reaching over the small brick wall around their yard to gently pat her arm. His parents are both good friends with the Castros. His mom always says that Mrs Castro’s the kindest woman in town. Her daughters are in another school and take dance classes so they only play together on the weekends. Remi likes them even if they always team up against him. Also, they’re girls and they always say girly things like “Oh sorry it’s time we go play this game only girls can play”. He hates it when they do that. But they’re nice like their mom. Their dad is a bit impressive, though. He’s a massive man with a huge beard. Remi once asked his dad why he didn’t have a beard like that and it made his mom laugh for a long time. He was so happy to make her laugh that he forgot about his dad’s answer.

“Andrea,” starts Mrs Castro but she suddenly looks like she’s really, really, really sad. Her lips are turning all the way down and her eyes are full of tears. She looks up and quickly wipes them off. Then she offers Remi a small smile before turning back to his mom, “Thank you. It’s been a very hard week but I’m okay. Better than yesterday, at least. It’s still all so complicated…”

“You know we’re always there if you need, right?” says Remi’s dad and he sounds very serious, almost like when he’s at work. When he gets calls from clients on the weekends while they’re playing a boardgame and he has to answer. His voice is different in a good way. Remi feels safer when his dad talks like that.

“You already helped us so much, Eduardo. I can’t ask for anything more.”

“Of course you can. I’m your friend before I’m your lawyer,” he smiles, too, and Remi isn’t sure why they all upset in their own way. The way adults always seem upset, with their eyes instead of their mouth and their body. He starts feeling a bit upset himself and he’d like to ask what’s going on but before he can open his mouth, his mom rubs gently the top of his head and it’s really comforting and he feels better. She always knows what to do when he starts feeling down.

She doesn’t stop caressing his curls as she says, “And how is Barnabé doing? Losing a sister is already pretty hard but I can imagine that losing a mother when you’re such a young boy isn’t easier. And moving with relatives is always a bit scary.”

“Well,” the tears come back to Mrs Castro eyes but this time she doesn’t do anything to hide them, “he’s a brave kid. Really. He’s polite and really nice but he has terrible outbursts. All his feelings are… Anger. He’s so full of anger, Andrea,” she sighs and it comes from deep down her body, as if all her pain was trying to leave through her mouth. “He hasn’t said a word since he arrived. We’re not sure how to deal with it. Even Arturo can’t contain him…”

“Have you called the psychiatrist I recommended? She’s a wonderful professional,” continues his mom. And they all keep on talking about stuff he barely understands but Remi caught something interesting. A boy. A boy who lost a sister or a mother?

A boy to play with, who’s apparently living with the Castros, now. He really hopes he can meet him soon! Boys at his school are either mean or annoying. Or both. Colin and Freddie are rude, Jin stole one of his figurines last week, Steven tore up his dad’s magazine about birds, Daniel always pushes him when they walk down the stairs. Basil is always crying somewhere and even the quiet Feye laughed at him that one time he peed on himself. Remi doesn’t like them! He just wishes he could get one true friend and maybe this boy is the one? How was it again? Barnaby? Barnabé? He’ll ask again when they meet!

He tries to look over the wall; to catch a glimpse of this new kid but the yard is empty except for the three hens they keep at the back of their house. Mrs Castro’s daughters are still at their dance lessons and Mr Castro is always working late. If there was another person, Remi would spot them immediately. But there’s no one except for a crying neighbour. Oh. When did she start crying again? His mom stopped patting his curls and is rubbing her friend’s back. It looks a bit awkward over the wall but it must work because, soon, the tears are gone again. She sniffles and nods to something his mom is telling her. Remi’s mom said Mrs Castro is the kindest woman but it’s not true because his mom is. She’s always making sure everyone around her is fine and happy before she goes somewhere else. She never leaves a room with someone crying in it except to fetch some more tissues.

He's glad she’s his mom and not someone’s else. He loves her very much.

✶✶✶

Summer 2006

When he was around twelve, Barnabé started writing songs. He always liked music. It had always been around, ever since he was little. His uncle was a part-time music teacher and he made learning fun and easy. He gifted him a guitar when he was nine and gave him lessons on the weekends, when they were both free.

Barnabé liked the guitar but it didn’t felt like his instrument. He didn’t felt in tune with the way he had to play. He tried playing piano at his friend’s house but there was still something missing.

He went to a music store when he was eleven and tried a bass guitar. It was love at first sight. He quickly started doing chores in his neighbourhood to get more pocket money and went back to the store almost every day after school to play. After a year and a half of walking dogs and mowing lawns, he finally had enough to buy himself his own instrument.

He had never really been comfortable with being at the centre of attention. Being a guitarist made everyone watch him. Look at him, at the way his fingers strummed the strings. Strangely, they all seemed to expect something from him. Something he didn’t want to give them. He felt self-conscious and awkward. And sitting on the bench in front of a piano felt too impressive, too serious. He wasn’t short by any means but the piano made him feel small. He loathed this feeling. He didn’t want to make music for others or feel stupid while doing so. He wanted to enjoy everything about it.

Playing bass was a different thing. People didn’t expect him to bring his instrument everywhere, for starters. They didn’t ¨constantly bug him to play at every family gathering or neighbourhood parties. He could just stay in his room with his amp and the music. He could lose himself for hours, listening to the sounds, feeling the rumble in his stomach and letting his fingers loose until they bled. And they did. He already had a habit of biting his nails but the state of his hands only became worse after he started playing more seriously. They were always full of bandages or even little stains of dried blood. It didn’t help with his reputation back then. Everyone at school thought he was some kind of teen gangster and he leaned a bit into it. They left him alone and he was happy with that.

At the time, Barnabé had a friend. Other than his instrument, whose name was Sabrina. Like the movie. The bass not his friend. This person was someone he could always play his songs to. He started to write his own for them, too. To impress and to show off a bit. Whatever he sang, they always liked it and supported him. It was different from his family’s appreciation too. They didn’t felt pressured to sit through endless afternoons of Barnabé trying to find the right way to play what melody was stuck in his head but they always wanted to. They liked it. His cousins preferred the piano and his aunt and uncle were busier and busier and couldn’t afford to mind his pubescent passions. But he was never alone because he had a friend. They shared their passions and dreams. They were Barnabé’s favourite person in the world.

✶✶✶

Barnabé doesn’t write anymore. In fact, he absolutely hates it. The words always seem wrong and awkward, his grammar is horrendous and he simply despises the idea of putting his thoughts on paper. He keeps them well-hidden in his mind and it’s enough. They’re not supposed to be given to others. Thoughts are meant to stay inside the head!

He left his songwriting adventures behind, just as this friend with whom he shared them. Good riddance. He doesn’t want to remember anything about them.

Nowadays, Viha is the main author of their songs, such as “You’re my doll”, “Funky Funday” or even “I love you Babe (not the pig)”. Suffice to say she’s a decent writer but far from being a lyrical genius. She says it doesn’t really matter since they’re doing rock and not rap or folk or anything else. What matters the most are the melodies and the instruments. Lyrics come second. And while Barnabé agrees with that mindset, it’s not the case for the others. Francesca firmly believes all the best songs ever written are enjoyable because the lyrics and the music complements each other. Ersheen’s simply a contrarian. They don’t care for lyrics as long as they can have fun on the drums.

That’s why they asked Anton to come by today. Since the sky is full of clouds and the air is more tolerable than yesterday, it felt like the perfect occasion to get some work done before the weather starts making them feel tired and useless once again. They’re not supposed to play music inside of their apartment since their neighbours complained many, many times but they still have to find a new rehearsing space. They couldn’t afford the one they had anymore since Viha got fired three times in a row and Francesca and Barnabé’s incomes are barely enough to pay rent.

Anton, by the way, is Ersheen’s best friend. It’s how he introduces himself most of the time. Doesn’t matter if the person he’s talking to doesn’t have any idea of who Ersheen is. The bit started when they were fourteen and they kept doing it ever since.

That’s the first thing Anton ever said to Barnabé. But Ersheen’s also kind of Barnabé’s best friend so there was an awkward silence between the two of them. Mostly because of the fact Barnabé can make any situation really awkward really quick, though. According to his friends, it’s his superpower. Well, either super-awkward-man or super-asshole-man. He never thinks about it. Unlike Ersheen, who’s always thinking about it. They made a comic with Francesca about the adventures of Assman where the main character looks just like Barnabé except his glasses are squares instead of circles. Barnabé still doesn’t know about it and, hopefully for them, he’ll never will. It’s a shame, though. Because Assman has a really spunky sidekick called Vahi who likes to shout at people and he’d love her! Or maybe not… For their own safety, they won’t try to find out how he feels about this persona.

Honestly, Barnabé doesn’t really have an opinion about Anton. He doesn’t find him obnoxious and that’s enough for him. He’s such an easy-going guy, he never lets Barnabé’s temper bother him. To Anton, he’s just another friend. Another guy he likes spending time with. He doesn’t see him as a jerk or some freak with anger issues. When he’s around, Barnabé feels at ease, just like with his friends. He’s alright with him hanging out with them.

But, apart from being Ersheen’s best friend, Anton’s also a musician. That’s why he’s there on the first place. He’s producing for some C-list celebrities and even write lyrics. Unlike the band, he’s employed full-time by a label. He even won prizes! Well, they weren’t his directly but he contributed to their achievements so… A win is a win.

He often reads and comments on Viha’s songs, which she dislikes. She doesn’t care about his paycheck or the number of awards he sorts of won. She likes the guy, don’t get it wrong. She just doesn’t love it when he speaks his mind about things she never asked his opinion on. When he’s in work mode, she finds him annoying and pretentious. When they’re out drinking beers and hanging out at a skatepark, he’s the funniest guy she ever met. Currently, he’s falling into the first category. She’s about to bite him if he keeps on talking.

“What do you mean I should add another verse? Do you really want this song to last fifteen minutes?” Viha’s voice is higher than usual and her left eye twitches a bit.

“It won’t last fifteen minutes if you remove the guitar solo. It doesn’t add anything to the melody and takes away from the meaning of the song!”

“And you,” she points an accusing finger on his chest, “are taking away from the meaning of my life!”

He lets out a laugh and she glares at him so coldly the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. “Viha, please, listen to yourself,” he tries to calm her down but it only makes her more upset.

They’ve been arguing like that for the past hour or so. It’s always like this with them. Viha will shout, Anton will state his piece of mind, she’ll frown and roll her eyes and he will comply on whatever she set her mind on. They’ll argue a bit more, rewrite a few sentences, moves around some lyrics, cut a part or two and another song will be born. All the while the three others are bored out of their minds.

After sitting on the floor watching the two of them argue for another twenty minutes, Francesca and Barnabé exchange a glance. They’re both thinking the same thing. They need a break from this madness. So, as one, they get up and leave the room, trailing Ersheen behind them. They don’t ask them where they’re going, too happy to have an excuse to flee the war zone. The three of them put on their shoes and leave the place without neither Viha or Anton noticing it, too lost in their own world made of melodies and lyrics. When they’re talking about music nothing else exists.

Summer 2006

Outside of the tiniest apartment in the world, the sun keeps on shining through the clouds but there’s a nice breeze, making it all more bearable. After hesitating a few seconds, Barnabé, Francesca and Ersheen decide to go to a nearby park to escape the tense mood building up between Viha and Anton. When they’ll come back, they’ll have a new song. Maybe two. In the meantime, it’s better for them to stay away.

They walk in comfortable silence, passing by open stores and busy terraces. Ersheen grabs a peach out of a stall and Francesca giggles when they hand it to her. She takes it graciously, putting it in her bag for later. They stop at a tourist shop to try ugly hats and silly sunglasses. Francesca needs to pee so they hop in a bar and Barnabé waits for them on the sidewalk with some customer’s dogs. They’re little and panting under the sun so he steps in front of them so they can rest in his shadow.

Then, after a little stroll, they finally reach the park. It’s a crowded place, bustling with life and people everywhere but they find a nice spot, a bit out of the main square. Music is blaring out of a stereo and there are people playing a game of ball. Some teenagers are dipping their toes in the fountain while a dog’s making circles around them with a toy in its mouth and an older woman is reading a story to a bunch of children. A few runners pass through, covered in sweat.

Barnabé isn’t a big fan of people. He finds them too easily infuriating. That’s why he tends to stay on the sidelines, far from others. Far from assholes making him lose his mind. This obviously doesn’t include his friends. It’s always better when they’re by his sides. Like right now; Ersheen is talking about a new movie they want to see before the end of the week while picking up flowers around them. Barnabé’s fingers are gently going through Francesca’s hair, braiding it with care. He learned to do it for his cousins while growing up and naturally started doing it for her, too.

She’s always the one looking after them, kinda like a mother duck. So, he likes helping her in little ways. They all do, honestly. After seven years of only relying on each other, they build a bond tighter than friends. If he was a sentimental prick, he’d say they’re more like his family than his aunt and uncle and cousins ever were. No shade to them. He just never really felt at home when he was with them. Not the way he feels right now, in this busy park in the middle of June, braiding strawberry blonde hair under the shade of a tree.

“I’ve been thinking about home lately,” says Francesca a bit absentmindedly, her eyes closed as Barnabé continues working on her hair. Her timing is on point.

“Home?” Ersheen looks at her and cock their head on the side, kind of like when dogs hear the word treat. They’ve been making flower crowns and their own is slightly falling off their head. They push it back up.

“Yeah, home.”

They all stay silent for a beat, thinking about what home means to them. They all grew up in radically different places. Same town but different houses.

Home, for Francesca, is a place full of life and people. Always bubbling with sounds and activities. There’s always someone to hang out with, to talk to. When you grow up in a beat-up house with eight other people, it’s easier to feel lonely when there’s no one around. She loves having people around. That’s her home.

For Ersheen, it’s a little flat with the ghost of a grandpa, lots of pictures of people you never met and dust gathering on the furniture. It’s a key in their pocket and no will to put it in the keyhole. No will to turn the handle and get in. Home is where Viha is. Always the two of them against the world until the very end and since the very beginning.

Barnabé never thinks about home. It’s only bad memories and heartache. His family are strangers. They’re all great people but it simply never felt like home. He had to share his space with his cousins and they never wanted to share it with him. Girls will be girls. Home used to be him and his mom singing in the car until she crashed it in a tree. Then it was only him. Him and people he didn’t know. Then home became… someone else but they left him behind too. Everyone does. Home is himself, pushing through life with anger and regrets.

Francesca’s voice brings him back from his thoughts. She says, really earnestly, “I think I miss my family. Mama called me yesterday. Giulia is pregnant.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Ersheen’s smile takes all of their face. They love happy news more than anything else. And they’re noisy as fuck. “Is she still with, hum, what’s his name? Fabian?”

“Fabien. He’s French. Like you, Bee,” she opens her eyes and smiles at Barnabé who scoffs at the outdated nickname. Ugh.

“I’m not French.”

“You so are!”

“Only, like a quarter.”

“Well, your name sounds more than a quarter French, Monsieur Barnabé Garnier,” she laughs and her accent’s thick, putting emphasis at all the wrong places.

“Whatever. What’s up with home?” he sighs, changing subjects. He doesn’t want to think about whether he’s French or not. Or about this stupid nickname and its stupid origin and all these bad memories. He doesn’t need that today.

“I’d like to be there when the baby is born. I don’t want to be the last one to meet my future nephew or niece, you know?” she looks at him over her shoulder and smiles tenderly. “I already missed so much of my family’s life.”

“You’d like to quit the band?” Ersheen started playing with the grass around them and sounds a bit anxious. As if they just learned about their parents’ divorce or heard that Santa doesn’t exist.

“No! Of course, not,” she quickly shakes her head. “I love being here with you and making music. But sometimes I fear that we’re not going anywhere and I don’t want to waste more time if it’s the case.”

Barnabé looks at her for a few seconds before grabbing a hairband to tie her bread and says, “Does Viha know?”

“We already spoke about it, yes. But I’m not sure she understands…”

“You’d want us all to go back home? Pursue music from there? Leave the city behind and any hope of becoming anything more?”

“What I want is stay with you,” Francesca sighs and looks at Ersheen, offering them a tender smile. “But I miss home. I miss my family.”

“But home is here. Isn’t it?” Barnabé lets the braid fall next to her shoulder.

“Not for me, Bee,” and she closes her eyes again.

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the afternoon. Ersheen puts the flower crowns on their heads and try explaining a card game to Barnabé while Francesca lays still in the sun, her pale face starting to turn a bit red. She’ll probably have to put lotion on that later. Barnabé tries to understand the game they’re supposed to play but it has far too many stupid rules and nothing makes sense. It quickly becomes annoying. He shouts a bit at Ersheen and, to soothe things, Francesca starts talking about the book she’s been reading. A love story between two people or something along those lines. Barnabé stops listening after a few minutes.

Around four, he gets up, taps his jeans to get the grass off and finally says, “I have work,” after a long time without opening his mouth. His voice a bit rough and he has to clears his throat, drawing attention from the people around them. The old lady and the children are gone and the teenagers stopped playing in the fountain and are currently basking in the sun.

“Really? When are you done?” asks Francesca, looking up at him.

“We’ll keep a slice of pizza for you! Oh and,” Ersheen gestures toward his flower crown and offers him a smile, “don’t forget your couvre-chef, mister French man.”

“Probably nine. Atef said he wanted to show me something later,” he readjusts the flowers and nods at them before walking down the little dirt path. Some people give him weird looks but he honestly couldn’t care less. He’s been in this city for seven years and saw much more weird shit than a guy wearing some flowers on his head. He stopped thinking about the way he’s being perceived long ago.

Seven years. He arrived here when he was fifteen, ditching school to follow his friends and their dream out there. Somewhere where dreaming means something. They all come from this absurdly tiny town lost on some peninsula, far away from here. They met at school and bonded over their love for music. When the twins and Francesca graduated high school, they wanted to wait for Barnabé but he begged his aunt and uncle to let him leave before his last year of school. He never cared for it. He skipped most of his classes, only got bad grades and all of the students hated him. Few of the teachers, too. He wanted to escape this hell and he had a golden ticket in hand.

After a few weeks, his family accepted. They gave him this chance to leave and start anew. And so he did. The four of them took all the money they had, packed their bags and left without ever looking back.

It’s been seven years since and they haven’t accomplished anything. He starts wondering if it really was a waste of time and money. No one has been interested in them or their music. They got a manager who only told them to change what they had already without doing anything else. The guy probably doesn’t know a single thing about music. They have fans but they’re only there for their faces, not their songs. They’re all so shallow and annoying. Thinking about it makes him so angry.

By now, they should be at least a bit known, at least in the underground scene. They should have signed with a label and made an official release. But they’re stuck at the starting line, playing in empty bars and small venues to uninterested crowds. Why can’t they never get what they want? Have they not worked hard enough? Staying up late every night for months, writing and rehearsing like machines. They put everything they had in this. If it doesn’t work then they have nothing.

Barnabé doesn’t like anything else in life but music. He lives for this. All he wants to do is go on stage and play all night with his friends. He doesn’t know what to do if they don’t succeed. They have to. And if Francesca wants to leave, they have to do it before she packs her bag and leave them here. They have to become famous quick.

Realistically, he knows Viha won’t let her go alone. They love each other too much to stay apart. So, she’ll probably go with her. Viha can do music everywhere. She loves being on stage but she’s happy enough with composing in her little bubble, making music only for them. She has no need for fame or recognition as long as there’s someone out there listening to her songs.

And there’s no doubt Ersheen will follow them both. They don’t really care about all of that. Sure, playing the drums bring them endless joy but they love people more than anything else. They’d probably find some social work back home and be glad.

But Barnabé can’t go back. He can’t leave. There’s nothing for him back there and there’s nothing here. The only thing he knows is music and there’s no career plan like that back home. The high school counsellor told him quite often. He doesn’t know how to go home because he never thought he would be back one day. He hasn’t seen his family since he left, seven years ago. He wouldn’t know what to say to them. How to act around the house. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not now.

He trails slowly in the streets, hands deep in his pocket. He likes working but he’s not motivated today. He’s been feeling tired since he woke up this morning. He’d like to go home and punch something or play bass. He wishes he could go on a run. He can’t. It’s too hot, there’s too much people everywhere and Atef, his boss, is waiting.

He finally reaches the music store. He’s been working there since he was sixteen. There’s everything you could wish for inside. All kind of instruments in many shapes and colors, a huge variety of CDs, tapes and records. Collectors editions, too! Music oriented revues and magazines and even some books about famous musicians. Band t-shirt and official merchandise from many artists. And in the middle of all that, stands Atef, a thirty-something wearing a ridiculous orange jumpsuit and, right next to him, Barnabé’s worst nightmare, Salwa.

✶✶✶

Winter 2005

Remi doesn’t mind working with Sade since she’s a very professional person. She’s efficient and rarely ever makes mistakes. But she’s also a bit hot-headed and, because of her demeanour, he always has to help her with clients in fear of people finding her rude and leaving the store without purchasing anything. It already happened in the past and their manager was really displeased. He can’t have that.

“Please, stop telling them to go shop elsewhere!” he pleads with her after she started arguing with her third client of the day about cameras lenses. She’s been having many opinions about it, lately. It’s getting out of hand.

“It’s not my fault they’re assholes,” she counters, absolutely unbothered. She’s never bothered by anything, to be honest. “If they want to buy the right thing for their stupid cameras they should listen to me.”

“Yeah, but they’re paying assholes, Dee,” Remi sighs while rearranging stuff on a shelf. Why are there memory cards next to batteries? He’ll have to talk with Simon about it. Again. Ugh. He can’t let him work alone once without finding everything in the wrong place the next day. It’s almost closing time, thankfully. Fifteen more minutes and they’re out. “And you know what they say. The customer is—”

“Always right, yeah, sure,” Sade rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. “By the way, are you going to that thing at Colin’s?” she asks him, picking at her nails. She’s always taking care of her appearance, hating when anything looks out of place. She’s kind of a perfectionist.

In Remi’s opinion, she never looks anything but stunning. She doesn’t care about his opinion, though. So, he never says anything and let her use the studio to take pictures when she feels really pretty. Which she always is. With her radiant dark skin and her dyed red hair perfectly matching her vibe. Her green eyes are a bit turned down but it gives her whole face a gentler air. She dislikes it. She likes looking cold and detached. So, she often wears heavy makeup to hide her soft side. The physical appearance of a metaphorical shield.

Sade’s a classical dancer and when she dances, she has to look stern and tight. Or something like that. She said it herself. Remi doesn’t know much about dancing, really. He went to one of her performances once and he thought she looked passionate and happier than he had ever seen her before. He didn’t told her that. She would’ve frown on purpose for the next six months and never invite him ever again.

“Uh, yes. I figured I could stay a bit before going home. Not too long, though. I have the opening tomorrow, with Simon” as he talks, he takes out a few misplaced articles and puts them back at their right place. If only people stopped leaving their stuff all over the store! If only his coworkers could do their work correctly!

“Right. And is your friend coming?”

“Which friend?”

“Don’t act like you’ve got thousands of them, Remi. You know the one,” Sade rolls her eyes again, one of her signature moves, and then look pointedly at her manicure before adding, “The pretty one you’re always hanging out with.”

“Oh, Nana?”

“Yeah, right. The one with the manga name,” she tries to scoff but it comes out lighter and kinder than she intended. They both pretend it sounded different. Colder.

“She doesn’t really enjoy parties,” he tries to remember if they ever went to a party together but nothing comes to his mind. “Besides, she doesn’t even know Colin.”

“So, I guess that’s a no?”

“Hmhmh,” he nods and grabs a broom. Ten minutes and they’re out. He doesn’t want to go to Colin’s party to be honest but he promised Mayari he’d come by. She was invited by some boy she has a crush on but didn’t want to go alone because she doesn’t really know anyone else. And since her sister’s busy, Remi took one for the team. It was either that or enduring her endless complaints for days.

He looks over at Sade who stopped making sure every single one of her nails is painted in the right way and is closing the register, “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stupid Colin’s party?”

“Unfortunately. Can’t miss it when it’s my boyfriend’s party,” she shakes her head and shrugs lightly. Remi sighs and continues to sweep the floor. Eight minutes. He doesn’t really understand how a girl as pretty, interesting, smart and kind, because she is really kind under her cold facade, could go out with Colin. Who is the direct opposite of all that has been said.

Remi has been in the same class as him since they started school and Colin has never once been someone nice or funny or even interesting. Not even during the parents-teachers conferences. Even when they were six years old, he was already a total jerk.

You see, Remi is pretty popular. Always been. He’s outgoing, friendly and never judges anyone. Or, at least, doesn’t say anything mean out loud. He can’t control all of his thoughts. Unfortunately, Colin’s also popular. Which means they often end up in the same circles, often hanging out with the same people. It doesn’t mean Remi finds him less insufferable. But since Sade’s his friend and she’s also Colin’s girlfriend, he’s been making efforts. For her sake only.

However, this isn’t one-sided. They both dislike each other. Ever since Barnabé broke his nose when they were thirteen, Colin decided that Remi was the second worst person alive. Right after Barnabé, obviously. And sometimes Remi can’t help but wonder if it’s true. If he’s really as bad as Colin finds him to be.

But now is no time to ponder over that. It’s finally six pm. Sade’s done with the register, the floors are clean enough for tomorrow, the shelves are neatly arranged, everything is tidy and they can go. Nice. Freedom at last.

“Do you want to walk there directly or you have something else to do before?” he asks his coworker as they’re putting on their winter coats. She’s thoroughly wrapping her scarf around her neck and its bright red colour looks pretty cool with her hair and makeup. She’s always paying attention to details.

“Sure. Do you mind if we stop by the grocery store? I’ll get beers.”

Remi agrees with a nod and takes the keys of the store out of his pocket. They turn off the lights and he locks the door. Then he double-checks if it’s really closed before putting the keys back into his pocket. Sade watches him do all of that before she starts walking towards Colin’s building.

It’s dark outside but there are still a few people in the streets, going from one place to another with the same look of “It’s too cold and I want to be home and drink something warm and go to sleep” that everyone else has these days. He’d like to be at home, too. With his dad and their two cats, Crème Brûlée and Bergamote. At the same time, he’s glad he’s not home yet. He’s tired and the day has been really long and he’s not ready to see what’s awaiting him. If only he could stay at Sade’s or the Castro’s. Unfortunately, he’ll have to go home sooner or later.

As they walk down the street, they discuss who will be at this party. Lots of people they grew up with, since the town isn’t really big. Still, they don’t know everyone. There are three different schools. Remi did all his schooling in the only private institution, on the outskirts of town. It’s a pretty big building overlooking cliffs and, far below, the ocean. Sade went to one of the two public schools so they never crossed paths during these years. His family had money and she had to take part-time jobs at fourteen to afford her dance classes. She’s hardworking and highly responsible. Remi tends to act a bit spoiled, at times. But they still get along pretty well. They met at work, at the small photography store located between the hardware store and the bakery, on the main street downtown.

Sade had been working part-time there since she was seventeen, juggling between work and her studies, and Remi’s dad knew the owner. He didn’t even had an interview; he was hired on the spot. This pissed off Sade big time. She hated his guts on the spot. She couldn’t handle the favouritism. And the worse thing was that Remi had always loved photography so, of course, he knew more than her. He acted like a little know-it-all and she almost screamed at him more than ten times in the first week.

After a while, though, she realized he wasn’t all that bad. He covered for her when she couldn’t come, never said anything bad about her even when she argued with clients and he gifted her a pretty vintage ring for her twentieth birthday. She still wears it to this day. They started talking more and hanging out outside of work. Remi knew lots of her friends and it was only natural for them to become friends, too. They still bicker often about lots of things. But it’s friendly fire. Sade has a bad temper and Remi hates losing. She talks about her stupid boyfriend and he lies about stuff people normally don’t lie about. They never ask anything more other than what they’re given. That’s why their friendship works so well.

Fall 1988

It takes Bee exactly three minutes and twelve seconds to go from his house to Remi’s, by foot. Not by bike. He would be far quicker with a bike. Probably ten seconds or something! For Remi it’s four minutes and around five seconds to do the same. It’s because his legs are shorter. And he’s not much of a runner. He can jog well but sprint ain’t his forte.

Also, Bee might cheat. He can’t prove it yet but he he’s really suspicious of him.

Bee is the boy living next door. Well, down the road. His name’s Barnabé but he didn’t mind when Remi called him Bee. He was wearing a yellow jumper with black stripes when they first met, exactly three weeks ago.

They’ve been friends for only a little while now but he’s the best friend Remi ever had! For starters, he’s a boy! He doesn’t have to only hang out with girls at school and be called names because of it. And Bee is pretty cool. He has glasses and he never talks. Like ever. Remi’s mom told him it’s because Bee went through something that was really scary and really sad and he stopped talking. Remi doesn’t care if he talks or not. They get along pretty well even without words. They just get each other.

They race and run laps around his garden for hours. There’s a swing Remi’s dad made all by himself hanging from the big tree at the end of the garden. They take turns pushing each other and see who can jump the farthest, in the fallen leaves.

They catch grasshoppers and worms and put them in boxes. They give them names and lives and, at the end of the day, they always let them go. Remi’s mom wasn’t happy when she found a box full of insects under his bed.

When it’s raining, they can play inside. Bee doesn’t like books or puzzles so they play hide-and-seek and since he doesn’t talk, it’s always Remi who’s seeking. He doesn’t mind. He knows his house pretty well so he often wins. Sometimes they will play pretend and Bee will follow everything Remi says. Like a real-sized puppet. It’s really fun! Other times, they’ll sit in silence on the porch and watch the rain fall. Then Remi, who dislikes silence, will start telling him stories about their classmates or their neighbours.

Bee lives with the Castros. He likes it there. Or at least Remi thinks he does. Because he seems happy enough. Every morning, they pick him up with his mom and they go to school together. His backpack is purple because it’s his cousin’s. They drew flames on it with a marker so it looks cooler. But no one seems to care about the colour of his backpack. Except for stupid Colin who made fun of him for that. The other kids were so excited to see someone new in school they barely even looked at his backpack. Everyone wants to know why he doesn’t speak and they always ask about it, even after the teachers told them to leave him alone. Remi decided to act as his official interpreter, even though sometimes he’s not really sure what Bee wants. They exchange looks and wriggle eyebrows until Remi’s answer to whatever question was asked pleases Bee.

If Bee lifts his left eyebrow, it means he’s not sure. The right eyebrow is for “I don’t care”. When he wrinkles his nose, it’s a big NO. But if he closes one eye, it’s yes. Tapping one finger on his cheek means “let’s go play”.

It’s true that he could simply shake his head for those but they thought it was better if only the two of them could understand it. It’s a best friend secret language.

After school, they go home with Bee’s cousins. Sanraya is the oldest and she always acts like she’s a real city girl. She likes wearing her hair up and she always has coloured nail polish on. She tried to put some on his hands but Remi hates it. He doesn’t want to look funny like her!

Mayari is one year older than Remi and she’s really annoying but in a nice way. He doesn’t mind when she bothers him. And since Bee’s here, now, they’re two against two! He finally has an ally. They can’t fight the girls so they decided to hide every time they’re around and scare them by shouting really loud. It always works!

So, after getting home, they leave Bee’s backpack and his cousins at his house and then race to Remi’s porch. They play for a long time, never short of games. Sometimes, Bee is allowed to stay for dinner and it always feels special to have him at the table. He doesn’t like the stuff Remi’s parents cook so it’s always simple dishes when he’s over. Remi likes that. He’s tired of vegetables and funny pies.

And sometimes he goes to Bee’s house and eats with his family. It’s fun! The Castros are so nice and they always have an interesting story to tell! Their meals are always really good, too! He wonders how his mom would react if he asked her to make the same dishes as Mrs Castro…

After dinner, they have to say goodbye. At least until the following morning. They always exchange secrets faces with wrinkled noses and furrowed brows. It often ends in laughter. Remi’s really glad Bee came to live next to them. Some days he wonders if it’s fate. If the universe sent him a best friend because he was well-behaved and always ate his vegetables even when he didn’t want to. He thinks, if it’s the case, he’s terribly lucky Bee was the one they sent him. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else.

✶✶✶

“Mama?” Remi’s voice is muffled under the covers as his mom is tucking him. She always put them all the way up and then kisses him all over until she finds his face and then she kisses him on the nose. He really likes that. But tonight, there’s something on his mind.

“Yes, Sunshine?” she gently takes down the comforter to see his face but barely. Only his nose is sticking up.

“What happened to Bee’s parents? You said his mommy had an accident but where is his dad? Will he come pick him up?”

“You really like him, right?” Remi’s mom smiles and pushes a few curls out of his forehead.

“Yes. He’s my best friend!”

“You have to treat him well, then. Promise me to take good care of him, alright?” she puts her pinkie up and waits for him to do the same. Remi takes his hand out of the cover and wrap his finger arounds hers. She squeezes it a bit and he squeeze back.

“I swear mama! But you didn’t tell me where his parents are!”

“You know how some children don’t have a dad or a mom, right?”

“Like Ayame?”

“Yes, just like Ayame,” she nods and sighs a little. “Well, Barnabé lost his mom in an accident, a few months ago. That’s why he’s there now. Mrs Castro is his aunt,” tenderly, Remi’s mum strokes his cheek as he takes it all in. He tries to understand. Just like Ayame, the girl at his school who doesn’t have a father, Bee doesn’t have a mom. He already knew that, though.

“But where’s his dad?”

“We don’t know, Sunshine. Barnabé doesn’t know him very well and he wasn’t there when the accident happened.”

“So… he’s all alone, now?”

“No, of course not. He has his aunt and uncle and cousins, like I said,” Remi’s mom plays a bit with the hem of the comforter before adding, “And he has you. You promised me to take care of him. And I’m sure he’ll take care of you. That’s what best friends are for.”

Remi nods and thinks a bit more about what it means, to not have a mom or a dad. He can’t think of something more terrible than that. He loves his parents so much! He doesn’t want to think about a world where he’s alone. When he’s sad or scared, there is always someone comforting him. When he fell and scorched his knee, his dad carried him all the way back home to look at his bruise. When he has nightmares, all he has to do is walk down the stairs and crawl into his parents’ bed and the nightmares go away. What can Bee do when he’s scared in the dark? Does his uncle treat his wounds when he’s hurt? Does his aunt kiss his face before bed?

Tomorrow, he’ll tell him that if he’s sad, he can come to him. Maybe to in the middle of the night because they’re not allowed to go out after dark but… He’ll always be there for him. Yes. He’ll tell him all about his promise to take care of each other. They’re best friends, after all. And maybe Bee will make a pinkie promise, too! They can make a contract, like his dad always do at work. With lots of stuff they want to do. The first thing will be that they have to stay friends for ever!

“Well, it’s time to sleep now,” Remi’s mom takes his hand and put it back under the comforter before kissing his nose. “I love you, my Sunshine.”

“I love you too, mama.”

✶✶✶

Winter 2005

The room is loud and full of people. There’s so much noise around, Remi can barely hear what Mayari is telling him even though she’s standing right in front of him. Everywhere around them, there are people pushing and dancing and drinking and it feels suffocating. He tries to tell her something but he blinks and she’s gone. After glancing over the crowd, he sees Mayari with the boy who invited her. Henri or Enrique or something. Good enough, at least she’s not alone.

Remi escapes the nightmare that is the living room, crawl through the hallway and finally breathes out on the porch of Colin’s building. When he heard of a party at his place, he didn’t realized it meant half the city would be gathered into a three-floors apartment building in the downtown. He had forgotten all the other tenants are Colin’s friends. It’s not only his party. It’s theirs. He only hopes Mayari will be alright. He'll keep his phone close in case she needs him.

Outside, the stars are twinkling between the clouds and the moon is staring back at him. At least, he’s not alone out there. With the sound of music blearing inside.

“Remi!” someone shouts from somewhere and it takes him a few seconds to see them. Federico is sitting on the sidewalk, waving a lit cigarette at him. He’s otherwise perfectly hidden in the winter darkness. “Come!” Remi takes a few steps and sits down next to him.

“Hey, are you not cold?”

“I drank too much; I don’t feel the cold anymore!” he laughs and takes a hit on his cigarette before offering it to Remi. It’s only when it’s under his nose that he realizes it’s not a cigarette. He gently declines it.

“That’s how you die from hypothermia.”

“Then you better keep me warm,” Federico snuggles against him and he gently taps his shoulder. They’re not friends, not really. But they often meet at parties. He’s working down the street from the photograph store so he stops by sometimes to talk. He’s a nice guy but can become a bit overbearing when he drinks. Which he apparently did tonight. Remi doesn’t like drunk people. He hates when they’re acting like toddlers or using it as an excuse to do stupid stuff. He never told anyone, though. So, for most people, he’s an agreeable presence when drunk. They gravitate around him at every party he goes to. He bites down a sigh.

“Did you have fun?” Remi asks absentmindedly. He’s in his socialite mode. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Words are coming out by themselves. His brain shut down a few minutes ago, in the hubbub of the living room.

“Sure. Until Isa pissed me off. She said I shouldn’t be here but she’s here too! Like, please, leave me alone. She’s not my fucking mom!” Federico groans and stands up a bit, a few of his ashes fall down between them and Remi quickly remove his coat. The last thing he needs is a dirty jacket.

“She probably just wants to take care of her little brother.”

“It’s not like she’s much older. She just likes to be a bitch when the others aren’t around,” the boy next to him rolls his eyes and the light of his spliff makes them shine a bit. They’re a pretty shade of blue. Warm in the sun and cold in the night. Kinda like the ocean. Not as bewitching, though. He wouldn’t lose himself in this shade of blue.

“Maybe don’t call women names if you don’t want your sisters to piss you off,” Remi cocks his head on the side. He knows there’s no point in trying to talk some sense into Federico at this point of the night but he still tries. He’s not close with any of Federico’s sisters but he knows them enough to know they wouldn’t like their brother cussing them behind their back. Isabella most of all.

“But Isa is a bitch! I wish it was her who left instead of Cesca,” he falls back against his shoulder and sighs loudly. The weight is unpleasant but Remi won’t move away.

“Don’t you think it would be the same thing? Francesca would be the one scolding you tonight instead of Isabella.”

“Hmm… That’s probably true but,” Federico seems to think about it for a few minutes before the track is lost and he jumps onto another topic. “You came with Sade, right? The dancer chick.”

“Yes, we were at work.”

“Right. Well, you might be interested to know that someone told Freddie who told Linh who told me that the two of you are more than friends…”

“What?” Remi scoffs in disbelief. “What the heck?”

“Yeah, I thought the same!” Federico laughs and it echoes in the empty street, “She’s too much of a stuck-up for you, right?”

“No. We’re just friends. She’s a really great girl but we’re friends!” Remi feels pretty appalled. He hopes Sade won’t hear about it or else she might be upset for a while. Even Colin might start a riot. There’s no way he’ll let anyone think his girlfriend is cheating on him with his sworn enemy. Maybe the title’s a bit exaggerated but you get it.

“Is she your type?”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Oh, come on! Everybody's got a type!” and, as he says that, Federico nudges him with his elbow, using the movement to get a bit closer than he already was.

“Not me, though. I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, sure. Think about all of your crushes. They surely got something in common. That’s your type.”

Remi looks at him and frowns a bit. He doesn’t do crushes. He can’t. There’s too much going on at home, going on in his mind. He doesn’t have the time for someone else. He never really cared about that kind of stuff, honestly. Ever since he was younger. Sure, he liked a few girls here and there but there was always only one person in his heart and it was Bee. They were best friends. They didn’t care for girls. Or anyone else. It was just them.

And after Bee, things got too hectic and here he is. Type-less. He hasn’t thought about love or romantic relationships in years, honestly. Too much on his plate already.

“No, really. I don’t have a type nor a crush.”

“So… Does that mean your heart is free?”

“Hum, yes?” Remi really hopes this conversation isn’t going the way he thinks it’s going. Federico isn’t a bad guy. They get along just fine when he’s not drunk. And even if he doesn’t have a type, Remi knows he’s not interested in him. But if Federico isn’t talking about this, then he’s just being an asshole for assuming without any reason. He can’t judge him like that. That’s not fair. He has to hear him out before rejecting him. If rejecting is even an option, here.

“When was your last relationship?”

“Uh, never.”

“What? But you’re like twenty-four! And the prince of the town! Everyone knows you! How come you never went out with anyone? Are we peasants not good enough for his grace?” Federico bows down a bit and it’s awkward because they’re sitting on the floor and so close to each other. A few strands of his hair brush against his knee. Remi slightly moves away.

“Yeah, no. I just never felt like I needed someone.”

“Did you ever kissed someone?”

He should be getting annoyed at all the questioning. They don’t know each other well enough and it really feels like an interview of some kind. But that question brings back a memory. One that had been sleeping in the back of Remi’s mind for years. Decades even. A sunny afternoon, the trees all around and the songs of birds deeper in the forest. A fox calling another somewhere and the rustling of leaves under their feet. Someone grabs his fingers and he grabs them back. Skin pressed against each other, a familiar warmth in the palm of his hand. A look. A question. Many, many answers but not enough words. There are butterflies flying all around. Or maybe they’re confined in his stomach. His eyelids are heavy and his cheeks are flushed. His whole face his hot, honestly. His entire body is turning into a fire. But Remi wishes he could keep the flame going on this way for ever and ever. There’s a tingling born in his fingertips and crawling all the way to his mouth. Another question. Another wordless answer. The scent of shampoo filling his space. Two hearts beating so loudly the whole town can probably hear them. It’s closer to an earthquake than anything else. At least to them.

And there it is. A breath against his own. Dark eyes to dive into. A freefall.

And a kiss.

Before that, Remi had never kissed anyone. He never wanted to, really. He turned his eyes away when there were romance scenes in movies and cringed from other students kissing in the hallways. But he gets it now.

“Kissing doesn’t mean anything, though,” he says to Federico, coming back to this cold sidewalk in the middle of winter. It’ll be a new year in only a few days but he’s still clinging to useless and painful memories like that. Maybe his good resolution should be to forget about the past and, finally, start living in the present. Easier said than done. He already tried. He’s been trying for years to forgive and forget. And yet, he’s still stuck back there. At a time where everything was easier.

Remi doesn’t say anything more. There’s nothing to be said. Federico won’t probably even remember what they talked about. He lets him rant and babble in his ear and he answers without even thinking about the words or their meaning. He didn’t drink anything tonight but his heart aches for something to fill the void. He doesn’t want to go down this road. To think about it anymore. So, he takes the blunt out of Federico’s hands and takes a hit.

Winter 2005

Getting home isn’t a problem. It’s a bit far but Remi’s used to walking these streets. It takes him more than thirty minutes with the darkness, the ice and the cold but, when he reaches the porch, he’s glad he declined Federico’s offer to stay at his house. Firstly, he doesn’t know him well enough to share a bed and secondly, he needs his bed and his cats and his routine. Even if it means he’ll have to get up really early tomorrow for the opening and won’t get much sleep tonight. At least he’ll be able to sleep tucked in under his own comforter and no one to share it with. Except for the cats, of course.

“Pá?” he calls out as he pushes the door. Every single light is on and there’s a weird noise coming from upstairs but there’s no trace of anyone in the hall. He takes off his shoes and coat, hangs it next to the door and closes it behind him before he goes to the kitchen, turning off the lights on his way. He checks that the cats’ bowls are full before going up, to the first floor. Bergamote is sitting there, on the last step. She purrs and rubs against his legs. He picks the orange cat up and gently cradles her in his arms as he follows the sound and the lights to his parents’ bedroom.

The room is pitch black. A weird contrast with the rest of the house. But, even in the dark, Remi recognize his father’s voice and his shape sitting on the floor. It looks like he’s been there for some times, now. Hunched over something. Remi steps closer and he sees it’s only their other cat, Crème Brûlée, purring on his laps, absolutely not fazed by the situation.

“Papà, I’m home,” Remi gently says as he crouches next to his father. He doesn’t hear him. Or he doesn’t care. He keeps on humming and it takes Remi a few seconds before recognizing the tune. It’s an old lullaby his mom used to sing when he was sad or upset. He puts his cat down and carefully places a hand on his dad’s shoulder. Bergamote and Crème Brûlée sniffs each other before chasing after each other, out of the room. Meanwhile, Remi checks his father’s body for bruises or any sign that he’s hurt. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Maria?” his dad’s voice comes out as a whisper as he turns around, the face hollow and the eyes empty. He’s looking at her ghost again.

“No, it’s just me, papà,” Remi squeezes his shoulder and offers him a tender smile. He stopped being upset about this a long time ago. He knows he’ll never be anything more than a way for him to see her again.

“Oh, Sunshine. Sorry,” his dad’s eyes open a bit wider and his pupils grow, getting him out of his memories and sorrows. He’s been spending more time inside his own head lately. Even more than before.

“Hi, papà, what were you doing?”

“Uh… I think I wanted to paint. But… I don’t know where my paintbrushes are,” he looks down at his empty hands and around the room, searching for something that’s not there. Someone who disappeared long ago. His gaze stops on the wall.

There’s a huge painting hanging in front of the bed, a portrait of Remi’s mother made before her death. She looks ethereal and a bit ghastly in the darkness. You can only make out a few of her features. Her soft and deep brown skin, the curve of her lips, her long lashes. Her curled hair is framing her face, emphasizing her dark eyes. She used to be the most stunning woman on the peninsula and now she’s gone.

“You can paint tomorrow, alright? I’ll leave your equipment in your studio,” Remi helps his father get up and places an arm on his back to steady him. “Let’s get you to bed, now, it’s really late.”

He doesn’t know if his dad already had dinner or even showered but he’s too tired to deal with this now. Maybe Mrs Castro or Heather came by earlier… He hopes so. His mind is still a bit clouded by Federico’s joint and the strain of the day and his dad’s weight seems heavier than usual. Remi guides him to the bed and sits on the side of the mattress as his father lays down. He looks so small in the sheets, lost between the cover and the pillows. It doesn’t feel like he’s the adult, here. The dad.

Remi hates this situation but there’s no other option, here. If he doesn’t take on this role then no one will and they’ll be left alone, in this great house, with no one to take care of them. It’s been this way ever since his mom died, ten years ago. His father can’t do anything alone anymore. The day she disappeared; Remi lost two parents.

He doesn’t get to be selfish; he can’t afford it. On most days he goes to work with a weight in his heart. Then he comes home and has to make sure his father ate and didn’t hurt himself. He sits him at the dining table and puts everything down for him. He rushes upstairs to take a shower and then downstairs again to help him with his dessert. He watches him take his medication and takes him up to bed. Some days, he helps him in the bath and reads him a book. Sometimes, he stays in the corner of the room until his dad falls asleep and then he can breathe again.

He went through high school this way, too. With no one else to lean on but himself. Nowadays it’s easier. Their neighbours come by and help him with some tasks like the groceries or the housework. His father’s therapist comes twice a week and there’s also a nurse visiting them three times a month to make sure everything is alright. But it’s never enough. He doesn’t have time for himself but still has to go out with his friends and entertain the illusion that nothing changed.

“Are you good? Do you need anything?” Remi asks as his father’s lids are already closing.

“No… I’m okay,” his dad smiles weakly at him but there’s nothing behind it. It’s only mechanical. He can’t remember the last time he saw his father truly happy.

“I’ll be in my room,” Remi kisses him cheek and tiptoes out of the room.

He climbs up the stairs and goes straight to his bedroom. He’s not hungry, only exhausted. He takes off his clothes and crawl into his bed, quickly joined by the cats. They all curl up together and Remi sighs heavily, fighting back the tears. It’s been this way for ten years and he knows it’ll be like that for another decade. Every day resembling the one before in an endless loop. Until his father wither away and there’s no one left but him in this house. Alone.

✶✶✶

Summer 2006

“Salwa. Hi,” Barnabé fights back the urge of rolling his eyes and turning back from where he comes. Instead, he offers a forced smile to the siblings in front of him. He’s only this polite because his boss is here.

“Barnabee! Habibi!” Salwa drops everything she’s carrying into her brother’s hands and jumps at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It’s awkward because he’s taller than her and it forces him to cramp his neck down. After a few moments of discomfort, he manages to push her back without making it look like she’s got a highly contagious disease. If only he could say he’s sick or something. He can’t though. Because Atef would send him home and he’d lose a paycheck and they literally can’t afford that.

“Salwa, leave him be,” Atef groans and drags his sister back to where he stands, pushing a new set of boxes in her arms.

“Thanks,” Barnabé mouths at his boss and goes straight to the register so he can put a bit of distance between him and the girl. He grabs his nametag and secures it on his shirt, pointedly looking down.

Salwa isn’t mean. Anyone else would surely like her. But to Barnabé, she’s pushy and noisy. He might hate her. He can’t say that, obviously. Instead, he says she’s a bit annoying and overbearing. And, sure, she’s a really, really pretty girl. With long dark hair, shiny and curled at the end. In the words of poets and writers, her eyes are two of the prettiest gems in the universe. She has the kind of mouth anyone would be glad to kiss. Not Barnabé, though. He’s no poet. He has no interest in her mouth or her eyes. Not hers or any other girl’s, for that matter. Not now or ever. He has plenty other stuff to think about than romance at the moment. And always better things to think about than girls.

Unfortunately, Salwa decided she was in love with him when they first met and never gave it up ever since. Even after he told her off many, many times. In many, many ways. He tried to be patient and kind, which is really difficult for him. He groaned and scolded and complained. He even yelled once, which didn’t end well for either of them. There were customers in the store and Barnabé never saw his boss this mad. Salwa might be the most stubborn person he knows. He doesn’t have the nerves to deal with her any longer. But he can’t do anything because she’s literally his boss’ sister and, even if Atef understands she’s irritating, it’s not like he can tell her to never come by. Not when she also works her. Even if work is a big word for what she actually does around the store. And, most of all, she’s his baby sister. No one is allowed to find her annoying but him. Barnabé doesn’t really have siblings but he gets it. He used to feel the same way with his cousins.

Barnabé has to endure it. He’s been working really hard on his social skills, lately. Ever since the incident, a few weeks back, which blacklisted him, and the band, from the most famous club in the City. Francesca has been really pushing him to become better. She even said, “do it for me if you can’t do it for yourself, Barnabé” and she used that voice he can’t resists. She said Barnabé with the harsh sounds and the accent and the French way. He can’t compete against her. So, here he stands, smiling at the most annoying girl he knows while she talks his ears off about stuff he couldn’t care less even if he tried.

“Habibi, I waited all day long for you!” as soon as her brother releases her, Salwa drops the boxes again and makes a beeline for the counter. She sits on top of it. She’s too close. Her knees almost touch his waist. He backs up a bit but there’s not much space left between them and the wall.

“I was busy.”

“Are you coming to my birthday on Saturday?”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh, please come! Your friends can come, too! Everyone’s invited! It’ll be really fun!”

“I’ll see,” he glances over at Atef who’s displaying the latest albums on the shelves. He won’t help him this time. He’s got too much to do, today. They’re having a signing event tomorrow and all the instruments need to be tuned. That and the floors to swipe, the shelves to tidy up and the flyers to sort. Barnabé decides to start with the tuning but Salwa follows him to the guitars.

“Please! You never come to any of my parties. It’s my twenty-fifth birthday! You must come!” she pesters him while he tries out a few strings on one of the Gibsons. “And, obviously, all your friends are invited, too!” she continues as he checks if all the amps are working correctly. “Even Viha, yes, we made peace. I’ve forgiven her for slapping me and she told me she was sorry for calling me a whore,” she adds solemnly but he stopped hearing her fifteen minutes ago. The wors are falling into one ear and going through the other. His head is empty as he goes from one instrument to the other and verify all of them are good to be sold.

And it goes like this for the rest of the afternoon. At one point, he mumbles something along the lines of “Alright, I’ll talk to them” but it’s more so he can hear the customer he’s talking to than anything. The guy asked him twice for the best kind of pedals to use and he couldn’t say anything because she never stopped chatting in his ear. And even after that, she goes on and on about the dress she’ll be wearing, the kinds of pastries and cakes they’ll be eating and what gifts she wants. He can feel the frustration growing in his gut but he keeps on a polite face and does his work. It’s either that or he loses his job because of a girl and that’s not an option.

Thankfully, Salwa leaves the store early. She has some kind of appointment or something. He can finally enjoy the peace and quiet in the little store. There’s always music playing in the background but it’s nicer than having someone constantly rambling around you all day. Atef and Barnabé work like that, in silence, for a few minutes. One is adjusting the store-window while the other’s tidying up the shelves.

Barnabé’s been coming here almost every day since he was sixteen. Working a few hours at first and then full shifts. Now, he works whenever he can. It’s not like their career is really time-consuming, anyway. It’s Atef who introduced them to Fiona, the owner of a nice music avenue downtown, who’s also organizing many events for little, unknown bands and musicians like them. She helped them a lot in the past but is far more demanding of them now. She thinks they’re old enough to get their shit together and produce good songs. She’s not wrong. They should be getting better but something is always pushing them back down. Always at the starting point again. They’re tired but he refuses to give up. He thinks about their earlier talk. Francesca and her wish of going back home. He thinks about his aunt and how he hasn’t send her any e-mail in a while. Truthfully, he forgot to check his mailbox. They’re so broke, he can’t even afford a fifteen minutes slot at an internet café.

“Hey, big boy, come here,” Atef is standing outside on the pavement, looking at the storefront. It isn’t big but they’ve been slowly updating over time to showcase their latest items or the rarest ones. Currently, they’re working on a summery theme. Barnabé joins him outside and glances at the staging. It’s so corny.

“Why are there guitars sitting on beach chairs?”

“Because it’s summer!”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods as if that made perfect sense. It didn’t.

“I need you to hang this inside, please,” Atef hands him a cardboard sun wearing sunglasses and tied to a fishing line. Barnabé looks at the monstrosity but goes back inside without saying another word. It’s not his store. He has nothing to say about Atef’s questionable tastes. Even if he really wants to throw this thing in the bin. After tearing it in two to make sure Atef don’t pick it up ever again.

The next ten minutes are spent going back and forth about the perfect place for the cardboard horror until Atef is satisfied enough and Barnabé’s drenched in sweat. He even got sand in his shoes. Next year, he won’t let his boss put real grains of sand in their storefront. He’s always the one sweeping it up.

“Thank you, B-boy,” Atef smiles widely at him and Barnabé shrugs, drinking his fourth glass of water in ten minutes. The older man waves his hand, motioning him to follow, “Only one thing left and then you can go.”

They walk into the back of the store where they put the stocks and Atef’s computer. It’s a small room where the two of them barely fit. Barnabé stays behind and watches his boss as he rummages a bit around the room before taking something out of a box. Atef turns back to him and push the thing in his hands.

“Here, a little gift. My cousin, Hassan, you know him, right? Well, he made this for you. I asked him, obviously. I thought it’d be great for you guys to have this, like an uniform!” Atef beams at him while Barnabé unfold the things in his hands. It’s a t-shirt. A t-shirt with a picture of the band on the front and his face in the back. It’s horrendous. Not worse than the cardboard sun but close enough.

“Wow, you shouldn’t have,” he says, trying to sound like he likes it. He hates it.

“There are one for each of you! My favourite band in the world!” he gives him three other black t-shirts with the same patterns. Band on the front and their face in the back. Ersheen is going to lose their mind over it. That’s exactly the kind of stuff they love.

“Thank you, Atef. You’re too kind,” Barnabé offers him an awkward smile. How is he supposed to react to that? His boss doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort and, just like his sister, starts blabbering about his cousin Hassan and his t-shirt factory startup. He even has a blog now! You should follow him! He’ll give you a discount! And it’s only after a while that Barnabé realizes he’s waiting for him to try it on. So, he reluctantly puts it on over his other t-shirt and turns over. Atef coos and keeps on smiling as if it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“It’s perfect! You should keep it on! Never take it off!”

“Sure. Will do,” Barnabé nods and tries to smile. It only comes out as a distorted frown. But he doesn’t take it off, even after leaving the store and saying goodbye to his boss. He goes back home with his ugly t-shirt on and, as expected, Ersheen is a huge fan.

“No fucking way, man!” they scream and immediately put it on, turning on to show the two sides to everyone.

At least Hassan and Atef’s gift made someone happy. Viha is dying on the floor, laughing too much to get up. Her howls are way too loud and the neighbours will probably complain but she can’t care less. Francesca is crouching by her side, trying to make her shut up but she’s also laughing like a maniac. The picture on her t-shirt might be the worst of them all. Barnabé doesn’t even know where they got it. She looks like she was mid-sneeze and her bangs is sticking up at a weird angle.

“I’m kinda jealous I didn’t got one,” Anton pouts. He stayed after the writing session to eat pizza and was about to leave when Barnabé got home.

“You can have mine if you want. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever wear that again,” he starts taking it off but Viha jumps and shakes her head.

“No! Wait! We have to take pictures of our perfectly splendid t-shirts!”

“She’s right. We have to capture this moment,” Francesca’s smile reaches her eyes and she sticks her tongue out at Barnabé as Viha is looking all over their tiny living room for her camera.

Once she finds it, they all stand next to each other with their t-shirts while Anton takes a few pictures of them. First the front and then the back. Viha and Francesca swap theirs and take a lovely shot of them kissing and laughing. When Ersheen glances over at Barnabé, wanting to swap their t-shirts too, he gives them a cold stare and shakes his head. He finally takes off the abomination and throws it at Anton.

“There. You can put your own face on it. I never want to see this ever again.”