It's that time of the year once again and Montreal is a nice city in the summer, it really is. Matthew's out of school for a few months and back to working in that Portuguese take-out for the summer. Life is good, it really is, and maybe he did smoke a little bit more than he should have had. (That French guy Francis, who works with him, had been the one offering this time, and he hadn't found it in himself to refuse.) It's not really that bad, since his parents, being the old hippies they are, usually don't mind him smoking that much. They're a pair of those fancy-artsy types that live in an overpriced apartment not to far from Mont-Royal avenue. Being their son comes with its share of advantages and disadvantages, like the big plus of being able to bring home pretty much anyone he wants for dinner (even though there had been a few awkward moments when he decided that bringing his lunatic German ex-boyfriend was a good idea) or the annoyance of having to listen to Dad's endless lectures about separatism.
There's a problem, though. Matthew didn't really mean to come by and find that this guy was visiting. Alfred is not a bad-intentioned person; Matthew can't really say the opposite, even though sometimes he does these weird things like talking about baseball or asking him to teach him French because it supposedly sounds sexy. The thing is that Alfred is from South Carolina (or was it Georgia ?), speaks with a weird accent and is overall so conservative it is a miracle that Al's parents let him come to see his aunt up North in Commieland.
The ridiculous of the situation sort of hits him when Alfred is halfway through his speech about how well the church choir he's in is doing and how he's been implicated in his school in the anti-drug committee. He honestly hasn't been listening much to the first half, too busy looking at the Quebec flag used as a curtain in their kitchen with blood-shot eyes. It looks a bit stupid in their apartment, it really does, but Dad will probably never change his misplaced patriot ways, no matter how stupid Matthew thinks they are.
"You see, drugs are a hell today's teenagers keep falling in every day. It always, always starts small, you know."
Alfred is completely oblivious to the fact that Matthew is high as fuck, has been for the past twenty minutes, serving the both of them a glass of organic lemonade Mom made for his arrival. Matthew, at first, had hated himself for forgetting about his cousin's visit and choosing the worst moment ever to try Francis' weed. He had somehow managed not to let it show, but maybe he did snicker a bit when Alfred talked about singing because of the sound his voice made when he said "soprano". Alfred really has a funny voice, right now.
"We've been giving out pamphlets at school to inform teens about the dangers of supposedly 'softer' drugs, like marijuana. Did you know that sixty percent of teen marijuana smokers before fifteen move up to cocaine?"
Matthew tries not to laugh because of the way Al's glasses shine, he really does, hides his face in his arms over the kitchen table when it fails. He would like to tell him about how he will never get baseball and religion as a whole but he doesn't because his mouth feels weird and he has to stop himself snickering first. His cousin is already too far gone in his speech to really care about it. He keeps on talking, eyes shining as he does, not even really conscious of whatever reaction he's getting out of Matthew.
"Marijuana is a public danger that we, as good citizens, must work to eradicate. Countless boys and girls decide to try it just once, out of peer-pressure, and end up in horrible situations, like crime or prostitution. It told them that, if they had any... Matt ?"
Matthew doesn't hear Alfred anymore. He's asleep, dreaming of dark pretty Latino boys dancing with unicorns now. That, Al doesn't know about, and hopefully never will.
Alfred looks at him for a moment, shrugs, empties his glass of lemonade with one long gulp. Matthew's always been a bit weird, with his lax liberal upbringing and the weird, French accent of Matt's dad. He really doesn't get his aunt, really, choosing to leave the states for an endless wasteland of frozen tundra, but it doesn't mean they're not family anymore. He leaves to get his things unpacked, unaware of the smell hanging on Matthew's clothes and hair.