Maxou's existence
When he could barely talk, Maxou was already telling lots of stories and asking plentiful questions. "What is your house made of?" he would turn to me while we watched the psychedelic Québécois children's series Passe-Partout -revived all the way from the 80-90s. "Brick, stone or wood?" He was two when Sophie and I took him to Marché Jean-Talon and though he didn't see me again until he was three, he clutched onto that memory and the chocolate covered bananas we ate at the market like some ethereal doudou. Our crush, you see, was simply mutual.
Before Maxou and Romane ever existed, Sophie and I were biting into burgers and fries on Avenue du Parc. It was summer 2005, we were on an escapade from the Rebel Music Americas tour and its opening night concert at Kola Note. "I don't feel any biological clock ticking. Mayo?" She was planning a trip with JP to Mexico and why not, perhaps to Turkey. Free. Carefree. No squeaky objects on the floor in their living room. No taking turns sleeping, diaper changing, day care pick ups and enough space for three adults at the back seat of their car.
But who else than Sophie could have had Maxou and Romane, sparkly little humans with giant imaginaire? When Sophie was seven, she and her cousin invented a story about their grandfather who died: he was inside the white little spot of light that faded to black when the TV was being shut off. Remember those bulky, plywood-y TVs that used to make a popping sound just when you turn them off? They still leave them outside on garbage days, chunky dark boxes of a fading epoque. Remember how all the images gather as one abstract light in the middle, at the very end? That was where Sophie's granpa lived.
No surprise, then, Maxou tells me the following, as he shares his éclaire with Romane:
A: Can you explain to me what you just explained?
M: It's that when Romane and I didn't exist, we met and said to each other "We'll be brother and sister."
A: That was when?
M: When we weren't born yet, when we didn't exist.
R: I want to taste it.
M: This is chocolate...She drools so much.
A: Is that all the story? Before you were born where were you?
M: We were in the land of toys.
S: Land of toys.
M: It's like a land...it's like, say there's a house and it is a toy, everything is made of toy, mommy, the knives are toys so we can cut ourselves and it's OK cause they're toys...
R: I'm going outside.
S: Bye.
http://vimeo.com/30158428
Before Maxou and Romane ever existed, Sophie and I were biting into burgers and fries on Avenue du Parc. It was summer 2005, we were on an escapade from the Rebel Music Americas tour and its opening night concert at Kola Note. "I don't feel any biological clock ticking. Mayo?" She was planning a trip with JP to Mexico and why not, perhaps to Turkey. Free. Carefree. No squeaky objects on the floor in their living room. No taking turns sleeping, diaper changing, day care pick ups and enough space for three adults at the back seat of their car.
But who else than Sophie could have had Maxou and Romane, sparkly little humans with giant imaginaire? When Sophie was seven, she and her cousin invented a story about their grandfather who died: he was inside the white little spot of light that faded to black when the TV was being shut off. Remember those bulky, plywood-y TVs that used to make a popping sound just when you turn them off? They still leave them outside on garbage days, chunky dark boxes of a fading epoque. Remember how all the images gather as one abstract light in the middle, at the very end? That was where Sophie's granpa lived.
No surprise, then, Maxou tells me the following, as he shares his éclaire with Romane:
A: Can you explain to me what you just explained?
M: It's that when Romane and I didn't exist, we met and said to each other "We'll be brother and sister."
A: That was when?
M: When we weren't born yet, when we didn't exist.
R: I want to taste it.
M: This is chocolate...She drools so much.
A: Is that all the story? Before you were born where were you?
M: We were in the land of toys.
S: Land of toys.
M: It's like a land...it's like, say there's a house and it is a toy, everything is made of toy, mommy, the knives are toys so we can cut ourselves and it's OK cause they're toys...
R: I'm going outside.
S: Bye.
http://vimeo.com/30158428
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