Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow (12 page)

Leaving, I felt a little like in the scene-before-the-end in a film, when the heroes have kind of solved the problem and it's time to construct a conclusion. Except for me, my conclusion, it's going to be longer and harder than the one in
Jurassic Park.

For example, I still don't know what I really want to do in life. Because hairdressing, let's say it's something you do while you're waiting for something else to come along. A little like Christian Morin. He was the host of
Wheel of Fortune
for years, but his real calling was the clarinet...

Yesterday,
I got an unexpected visit. Nabil the loser came over to my place while Mom was out. I opened the door. He was there, leaning against the wall, recently shaved and smelling good. He took off his baseball cap, smiled at me, and said:

"Hi, how's it going?"

I spent a quarter of a century staring at him and not saying anything, as shocked as those people who win the Casino supermarket annual lottery draw. Then, after a quick moment of serious reflection, I decided I could let him in. We went to sit down and we talked. About his vacation in Djerba, the last book he'd read, his last year at school ... He explained that he had
taken his
baccalauréat
last year but didn't pass. Obviously, it was a total nightmare for his mom, much more than for him. That ***** (I'm censoring myself again) told him he was spending too much time at my house, and he was helping me out too often, as if to say that's what stopped him from doing his own work and studying for his exams. So it's my fault now?

Yeah, we really talked about everything. Even about ... that thing that still made me a little ashamed. You know.

Nabil said he was sorry he kissed me without asking and that he hoped it hadn't upset me too much. I said no. So he started again. Except this time it was better, more skilled, like he knew what he was doing. He must have been practicing at his vacation club in Djerba with some seventeen-year-old German girl, a tourist over there with her journalist parents who work for the Bavarian tabloids. She was probably blond with green eyes, was named Petra, and had big boobs.

Anyway, he didn't jet afterward. We watched TV, him and me, and kept talking. He even stroked my hair (luckily I hadn't put on any Zit Zitoun this time). I told him lots of things about me, my family, and other stuff he didn't know ... I told him about
Hamoudi, my memories of him reciting Rimbaud's poems in the hallway of number 32, and that's when Nabil caught me by surprise again. He starts giving up "The Orphans' New Year Gift" by heart and he didn't even stop as often as Hamoudi, no, he was really belting that poem out. It was beautiful. Except at the end, he kind of ruined it all because he looked at me with this sly smile and went: "Impressed, huh?" I said no, and he laughed. There you go, I made up with Nabil and I think also ... I really like him. Wednesday, he's supposed to take me to the movies. I'm too happy. Last time I went to the movies, it was with school to see
The Lion King.

I also ran into Hamoudi,
Lila, and Sarah again this weekend. I was going to the shopping center for Mom when they honked their horn at me. It took me a minute to turn around and realize it was meant for me. Normally I never turn around when I hear a horn or someone whistling because it's always for the fat tramp behind me in her short candy pink top and tight jeans. Except, this time, there wasn't any other fool there. So I got in and went to the shopping center with them.

They were reeking of family bliss. I realized that this is the best thing to happen to Hamoudi since I've known him. I also noticed Hamoudi's changed cars
again. This time it's a red Opel Vectra. Exactly the same as the one that social worker had jacked from the parking lot below our apartment. But OK, I'm not asking any questions.

Speaking of Cyborg Services, she's been transferred down to La Vendée, down on the west coast, because Mme DuThingamajig's back from her maternity leave. She finally gave birth to her shrimp. Of course, when she came back to see us, DuGizmo had gone to all the trouble of bringing baby photos. So we had the good fortune of seeing Lindsay (that's what she named her ... no comment) still covered in placenta in her mom's arms (don't know how DuWhatchamacallit managed it, but her blowout was still looking perfect after the birth), Lindsay in the bath, Lindsay with her dad on the Ikea sofa, Lindsay going to beddie-bye in her cradle ... Lindsay at the Pecaros, Lindsay in Tibet, and finally Lindsay and the Castafiore jewels. Our mannequinesque social worker looked pleased to pieces with her little Lindsay, already right on track to star in the Pampers ads in a few months...

Mme DuThingy noticed a "definite change" at our house. She said she'd try and squeeze a little more money out of social services so we can go on vacation next summer, maybe to the sea. Well ... I was amazed. Maybe Mme DuWhoozit's actually the sister of Mother Teresa and Abbé Pierre and Sister Emmanuelle, she's generosity made flesh ... Suddenly, I liked our dear beloved social worker. The seaside! If this isn't the best thing ... I take back everything I said about you, your husband, and your baby DuThingy. I'm sorry. Maybe you're a nice chick after all.

So, anyway, to get back to Hamoudi and Lila, while we were out shopping together, they talked to me again about getting married. They both want a traditional wedding. It's weird, I wasn't expecting that from them. But at least Lila's parents will be pleased. She told me how she'd made up with them just a few days back, after they hadn't spoken for five years, in fact not since the day Lila decided to marry Sarah's dad. Hamoudi's mom, she's shouting from the top of
all the towers in the neighborhood that her youngest son's getting married. According to Rachida (always a reliable source), lots of people are viewing the marriage badly because Lila's a divorcée and she already has a child by a full-blooded, born and bred French guy. But the soon-to-be newlyweds, they don't give a shit. And that's the point.

While Lila was trying on shoes
in André, that cheesy shoe store where everything's fake leather, I gave Hamoudi the lowdown on Nabil. He looked really happy for me, like something amazing had happened. I was hoping he'd react that way. I know him super well, and Hamoudi's not the type to jump to conclusions and think if a girl's seeing a boy, it makes her a Well, you know what I want to say...

"So you want to beat us and get married first? Is he good-looking, this Nabil of yours? I'd recognize him, if he grew up around here, right?"

"He's got big ears but he's very nice and smart and..."

"Oh! That's it, so it begins ... It's over, no more 'kif-kif tomorrow' like you used to say to me all the time?"

It's true. I had nearly forgotten. But Hamoudi remembered. When he said that, it made me get crazy close to breaking down in tears. It's what I used to say all the time when I was down, and Mom and me were suddenly all on our own: "kif-kif tomorrow," same shit, different day.

But now I'd write it differently. Spell it "kiffe kiffe tomorrow," borrow from that verb
kiffer,
for when you really like something or someone. Oh yeah. That one's all mine. (That's the kind of thing Nabil would say.)

Maybe they're right, those people who say all the time that the wheel keeps turning. Maybe the effin' wheel really does turn. And maybe it's not such a big deal if Jarod from
The Pretender
is gay, because Nabil told me Rimbaud was too ... And it's not important if I don't have my father anymore, because there are lots of people out there who don't have fathers. And, anyway, I have a mother...

And she's doing better. She's free, literate (or nearly), and she didn't even need therapy to get it all
worked out. All she's missing is a subscription to
Elle
and she'll be a real lady. What else could I ask for? You thought I was going to say "nothing"? Ah, well, no, I'm still missing lots of stuff. And lots of things need changing around here ... Hey, that gives me an idea. Why don't I go into politics? "From highlights to high offices: It's only one step..." That's the kind of slogan that sticks. I'll have to think up some more along those lines, like those quotes you read in history books in third grade, like that joker Napoleon who said: "All conquered people need a revolution."

Me, I'll lead the uprising in the Paradise Estate. The headlines will say:
DORIA LIGHTS UP THE TOWERS
or maybe
THE PASSIONATE HEROINE OF THE PROJECTS IGNITES THE POWDER KEGS
. But it won't be a violent revolt, like in that film
Hate
that doesn't exactly end happily ever after. It will be an intelligent revolution, with no violence, where every person stands up to be heard. It's not just rap and soccer in life. Like Rimbaud said, we will carry in us "the sobs of the Infamous ... the clamor of the Damned."

I have to spend less time with Nabil, it's giving me serious democratic fever...