whistles over the engine sound. I pushed it to metal to drown them out. When it clocked, I put it into first and second with double taps all the way down to the end of the convoy. The smell of burnt tyres and weed smoke gushed in through the windows.
“When am I showing through the sunroof?” shouted Sindi.
“I’ll tell you when we get down there,” I said. Third, fourth, back to second and handbrake. The car turned a perfect one-eighty degrees.
“Now!” I said.
Sindi balanced her legs on both seats. She had ample space on both because, as I started to spin, the force of it all meant I was pressed against the leather of the door and used only half of my seat. I turned the 325is three full circles while she swayed through the sunroof. I peeked up: her face had the expression of a scream but I heard nothing over the engine. At the end of the last circle, I saw that the crowd had gathered around the 325is. I went full throttle in neutral. Every time the engine clocked Sindi banged her hands on the sides of the sunroof.
“Sindi, get down, I’m parking,” I said.
“One more, please,” she pleaded, with childish glee.
“Maybe later.”
I parked on our spot. Cheers and whistles as we opened the doors. Sindi was out of breath.
“How was it, Sindi?”
Musa gave me high fives. Sindi had no words – just both thumbs up and an accusing smile directed my way.
The next car went full blast, only to hit the pavement on a turn. Both wheels on the impact side gave way, crumpling completely; the car nearly tipped over.
I was low key for the remainder of the night. While Musa paraded his girl around, I was glued to the back seat with Sindi. She took off her jacket. My hand was frozen from the futile search for beer in the cooler box – only ciders remained.
“You guys can drink. Twenty-four beers just for the two of 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
