A moth lands in my can of sardines. It’s four in the morning and I’m fifteen years old. I’m lying in my neighbor’s grassy yard. I don’t want my parents to see me like this. I drank half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and I planned everything: eat a little snack before going home. I am dressed in pajama bottoms and a green shirt. I hear a door open behind me. My heart is pounding: “Jean-Christophe? How are you ? » It’s Denis, my lawyer neighbor. My shirt is covered twigs of grass stuck to my back. The song of a cricket resonates like a train. My empty can is lying next to me. I have pieces of sardine between my teeth. I stammer: “Hey Denis, yeah, don’t worry, I’m resting. » I’m fifteen and I’m drunk. He approaches me, barefoot in the morning dew. His pajama bottoms are already soaked. He bends down and picks up the small metal container full of oil. A feeling of uneasiness runs through my fingertips: “Forget it, I’ll take care of the sardines!” » He ignores my request and helps me get up. The moonlight illuminates the left half of his face. A slight pity mixes with a palpable affection: “Go to bed before your parents see you the same…” I return, staggering, towards my house. Then, I hear his voice again: “Jean-Christophe…” I turn around, my chin coated with sardine oil. The can shines like a precious stone in his hand. He said in an immensely soft voice, “Can you stop hiding cases of beer in my cedar hedge?” »
***
I have worked in a park for seven years. I plan to quit my job to devote myself to writing. A roll of the dice. Someone threw their feces at the walls of the restroom in the men’s section. My boss pats me on the shoulder: “I know someone who’s going to clean up some shit today!” » I grit my teeth… then I grab him by the collar and throw him several meters above the ground. My employer is against the wall. He looks like a fly caught in a spider’s web. Head upside down, he begs me to get him out of there. I answer him: “It depends… Are you going to increase my salary? » I smile stupidly into space. “Yo, are you listening to me? The mop is in the locker over there…” I am alone and scrape off the dry poop with a small razor blade. Then I take a look at my cell phone. Denis wrote to me that he loved my new novel. He took the opportunity to send me an application about boats. My parents told him that I liked watching cargo ships during my work hours. I can see ships in real time all over the globe. That impresses me. I almost forget the excrement on the walls.
***
Several years later, I left the Radio-Canada tower. Raining cats and dogs. Denis writes me a long, touching message to tell me that the poem I read on the radio shocked him. He tells me that Suzanne, his wife, has died. I am in shock. Suzanne, for me, is: the woman who always reads a book on her deck chair. I ask him to tell me everything about their romantic relationship.
***
Several years pass. Or pile up. It’s snowing, it’s freezing cold. I live alone with my parents while they go on vacation. Denis knocks on the door. I’m happy to see him again, but his face has changed. He looks tired. He breathes in short, jerky bursts. He asks me if I can help him restart his car battery. Outside, it starts to snow. I bring my parents’ car closer to his. I open the hood of the vehicle. Denis is trembling, I help him put the pliers in the right place on the engine. He whispers to me: “Thank you, Christophe…” The street is deserted. All my friends who lived on this street are long gone. But I’m still here. And Denis too.
***
It’s spring. My mother calls me while I’m shopping at Dollarama. She tells me that Denis has left. I asked him stupidly: “Where did he go?” » She answers me: “He is dead, Christophe. » When I hang up, I’ll see if I still have the boat app. She’s there. I click on it, I look at all the cargo ships that leave from the Old Port of Montreal. I’m trying to see if Denis left me a secret, coded message. I see nothing. I spend part of the night on the field outside. I hear the song of spring peepers. They give the impression of presenting a big concert to which no one is invited. I haven’t drunk in years, but I want to go and hide a crate of beer in the field in front of my house. For what ? To see if Denis will come out barefoot to come see me.