you?”
“You know it is cooler outside.”
“I am comfortable here. Without the jacket I will cool down. You are scaring me – why are you looking at my mouth so much?”
“Your lips, Sindi.”
“Do I have something on them?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“They are beautiful. Like I can eat them or something.”
She smiled and performed her shy-girl routine when I came closer.
“Wait! Let me wipe off this gloss first.”
She retrieved a tissue from her handbag. A sequence of nibbling, tongue, nibbling and pause ensued.
“I am not going home. My mother is already on to us. She called the friend we said we were visiting. We might as well face her in the morning. I know Ma – she will be cooler then,” Sindi said.
Smooches graduated to something more ferocious. The leather squeaked as she straddled me. Ebony women and their bottom-heavy shape seem to complement jeans. We nibbled on, breathing into each other beer, cider, cigarettes and the remnants of lip gloss – a faint strawberry flavour. Sindi removed my hands when I explored between her legs.
“Don’t rush; we cannot do everything in the open like this,” she said.
I cooled down, content with kisses because I was sure to score. Even if I had been blind, the signals did not come clearer than that.
Deep in the groove of kissing technique exchange, we were disturbed by a knock on the back windscreen. It was a guy with gold teeth, the first one to spin in the red BMW.
“Sorry, bro, I thought you were Musa. Where is he, by the way?”
“Somewhere by the silver 7 Series up there,” I said.
Sindi moved aside, rolled her eyes and tugged playfully at my T-shirt when I stepped out to attend to Gold Teeth.
Gold, gold and more gold. Hoops for both earrings, for each alternate tooth, a large chain around the neck and thick bracelets for both wrists. He was about my age and dressed in a Versace shirt. Trousers, belt with oversized buckle and shoes were all Hugo Boss. In his hand he clasped a clump of crushed weed.
“Do you have rolling paper?” he said.
“No, but maybe Musa does. He is coming this way; you can ask him.”
Musa was jovial, hand in hand with his chick. When I looked at her, I saw the unnerving resemblance to Sindi as they sat next to each other in the back seat of the 325is.
“Vusi, where is my M3?” shouted Musa.
A smile from Gold Teeth.
“You will get it, Musa. Do you have rolling paper?”
“I blame this weed. Rolling paper, rolling paper? It has been three months since I placed my order, Vusi. Just say if you can’t get it and I’ll place my order elsewhere.”
“You won’t believe this, Musa, but I have had three already. One even had a Rob Green conversion. But the thing with all of them is, they go dead within five minutes. And you know with these helicopters they have now, I have to split.”
“Well, this money will not wait long for you. Get me what I want.”
“For sure,” Vusi said.
“Rolling paper is under the ashtray. Any beer left, Sipho?”
“We are out,” I said.
“It’s late, time for Johnnie anyway.”
Vusi rolled a fat, cone-shaped blunt. When it was my turn to hit it, I turned to smiles and expectant eyes from the back seat.
“Do you want some?” I asked the girls.
Synchronised nodding of heads. I passed it on to both girls. Musa opened the Johnnie Walker Black. I remember taking the first sip, and Sindi snuggling next to me in the back seat. Then, from the top of the convoy, a black cloud in attack formation headed straight for us, smothering me.
* * *
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the blue wall. Then Musa on his phone. He puffed a cigarette and pissed into the concrete channel.
“I blame Vusi and his weed,” Musa shouted over the phone.
“Where is Sindi and your chick?”
“She is not my chick. Just some girls I met in town yesterday and bought them lunch. They both blacked out like you. I dropped them at N Section – cousin’s house or something.”
“That was strong weed, Musa.”
I was struck by the faint blue of dawn when I stepped out of the car. The clock read 4:17.
“Is this the right time?” I said.
“Yes.”
“You kept your promise, Musa. You got me drunk on my birthday. Catch you later in the day.”
“Sipho, wait. Here is the cash for fixing the car, although the way you were spinning it you may have to fix it again soon. All the crooks were asking about you.”
“These cars were made for spinning, Musa.”
“What will you do with the money, anyway?”
“I want to buy a phone.”
“I got a spare phone. You can take it; then I’ll only pay like a hundred rands or something.”
“Musa, you are Mr Money but always bargaining.”
“This is a good deal I am giving you. Take a look behind the gear lever.”
“I’ll take it, thanks, Musa. Call you when I get a SIM card. Anti-hijack system.”
“Go sleep, Sipho. You are mumbling now.”
“No, Musa. Anti-hijacks. What makes M3s go dead within five minutes are the anti-hijack systems. Someone came to see my father with a similar problem. The anti-hijack in his car was going haywire, so we disconnected it.”
Musa came close with a seriousness I did not know him to possess.
“Can you override them? Can you disconnect them?” he said.
“Yes, I can do both,” I said.
I pissed on the blue wall. In the mirror in my room, I saw myself drunk. On the small table by my bed I picked up the birthday card left by my girlfriend, Nana, sixteen hours earlier.
It read, “Happy Seventeen, Sipho, I luv you.”
2. Flirting With the Game
2
Flirting With the Game
I woke later that morning to my father’s impatient knocks on my bedroom window. Before I’d gone to sleep, I left the window open just a peek as I never could stand the pungency of overnight alcohol breath, even my own. When my father tapped on the window, the aroma of his coffee slid through the gap and provided a welcome change of odour in the aftermath of a hard night’s drinking. I recalled Nana’s words, the ones I always heard whenever I tried to kiss her while drunk. The way she laughed at all my jokes yet squirmed when I came closer: “If your breath smells like this, imagine your insides, stomach and everything. I am definitely not kissing you.”
“You have visitors. Why are you still sleeping so late?” Dad asked.
I heard him first as a distant echo that amplified to jolt me out of slumber.
I took a minute to scrutinise the room and confirm that all the landmarks were there – the stained ceiling, mirror, Nana’s birthday card. I moved the curtain – made by Ma on her sewing machine before