Memories while cooking pork belly…

“Hi mom”

“Hello Emile. I’m in a meeting right now. It’s not a good time”

My mom is a primary school teacher and was working that day.

“They are going to send me to jail mom. I have to pay a traffic fine and if I can’t come up with the money before three then they will lock me up”

“I’ll be there, just hang on and wait for me my child”

My mother approached me and the police officer standing next to me in the police station. She paid what monies were owed. She saved me. In the train on the way back to our house, she didn’t say anything to me at all. I could tell that I let her down. She had to come to a police station for me, after all. She loves me…

We were in a half built up area. Only the roads were laid out and tarred but there were no houses yet. It was up on a hill, overlooking the town down below that we grew up in. The only sign of life was the yellow street lights that you could see stretching away for many kilometers into the distance down there. Even for as far as Table Mountain, some 40 kilometers away or so. We hung out there as teenagers at night. It was perfect. No mothers or fathers, nobody there but us, alcohol in abundance and whatever drugs we could score on the day.

But that night we were there without the usual crowd. We were fucking. I was with my good mate’s sister. She was many years older than me. We had an affinity to each other but hid it well. And I was lucky that it was so, with that good looking being. She has long black hair and Latin features. She was beautiful. It was a fuck, but I was also very into her. I asked her if we could get out of the car and do it while overlooking the lights down below. She knew it was a fantasy of mine to shag on a car bonnet. I told her that many times before then. She spread her jacket out on the hood. Penetration. But not even for a minute… I couldn’t keep it up. We spent the rest of the night talking about life and its absurdities. Giddy and happy. Those times must be a figment in her imagination right now. But I cherish it all the same. I think I was in love with her (like a fat kid likes cake). She was only infatuated with me…

I love my two sisters. I don’t live in the town where my friends and I partied on the hills any longer, so I don’t see them or my mother much. But when I fly the 9000 miles or so to visit I’m proud of the persons my sisters have grown up to be. I’ve been away from them for a long time. They respect me as their older brother but I don’t subscribe to ancient gender roles. I just want their respect. I show them the same. They love my mother and treat complete strangers with the same respect as mentioned a sentence ago. A lesson my late father taught us by his actions, rather than words. I love my sisters and they love me…

Excuse me while I ramble on…

CO