A Heart Among Ink and Flames

Part 9

      "Sam!" She heard her brother's high pitched shout of insistence.

      "What!"

      "Where are you?"

      "In here!"

      "That doesn't help me- "right here you moron." She had wheeled herself out of the coding genre and waved him down. "What do you want?"

      Out popped the words that she was least expecting, the words she hadn't heard out of her brother's mouth since they were fourteen,"would you want to write slam with me?"

      "I mean sure-but why, why now after all this time, you weren't so keen about it whenever I asked." She hadn't meant to sound so pouty, but she was a little pissed. He had never written with her after they had stopped performing, even after he knew that she wasn't doing so well with trying to figure herself out. She didn't love slam like Louis loved it, and didn't love it anywhere near to how she loved the sax; but it was something that took her mind off things and something that she could do with her brother. Now they usually stay far away from the topic because they have a much better relationship without it, but some things can't be ignored forever.

      "Look- Sam, I'm really sorry, okay? I know I was a real asshole my first year of Uni and now that I'm saying this you're probably going to think of me as a bigger asshole when you hear the reason why. But I promise, I really do want to do this with you." He looked imploringly honest, but Sam had learned not to fall for those eyes over the years.

      "Well, spit it out then."

      "Okay, for my class- "Really!" Sam said. "You go on and on about how you're different than when you started university, but the first word that pops out of your mouth is related to your class, sometimes I can't believe you!" She goes to leave but Louis blocks the doorway. If he doesn't move, she is going to ram him out and make him write about how she slammed him in his slam.

      "Please" he whispered, "I need this, I could honestly care less about the grade; I do want to write this with you and there is absolutely no one else who I would want to write it with." Pausing for breath he added,"I know that we aren't exactly the closest of siblings, but I love you Sam, you'll never have to worry about that."

      Of course this is what finally does it, her brother talking about love and poetry makes her cry like a baby. He gives her a hug and she presses her face into the space where his shoulder meets neck.

      "You're still ugly" she sniffles, "and don't you forget it."

      "I sure won't," he laughs.

      "Do you want to start now?" Sam asks, excitement now coursing through her, "I already have a notebook and a pencil, that's all we really need."

      "Why not," Louis grins and sits down at a small table that Sam swears wasn't there a second ago, but hey, bookshops work miracles. She grabs her paper, wipes one last stubborn tear, and starts off by asking, "what do you want this to be about, it obviously has to be powerful, create a voice of its own; but what should be the underlying message, theme?"

      "I honestly haven't brainstormed at all, but I was thinking of possibly having two intertwining stories, and each line alternates between the two; you could choose yours, and I could choose mine. When we reach the end, we would connect them and create one final impact, one final boom." He imitated an explosion with his hands. "How does that sound?"

      "Actually, pretty good," she responds, scribbling some notes down. "I'm definitely going to have mine be on Islamic Feminism, but not just about the harassment stereotypes that most people show awareness about. I also want to shine a light on how we don't even know how Muslim women are being treated in prison, and also how by undressing and banning women their right to wear the clothes that they feel comfortable in, such as a hijab or burkini, is just as sexist as forcing you to dress a different way." Besides playing the sax, Sam also loves going to activism rallies; her favorite being Islamic Feminism. She learns so much about topics that she needs to educate herself more about and the beautiful strong women that share their stories inspire her to great heights; they also explore new thoughts and go beyond the typical.

      "That," Louis said, pointing his pencil at her, "is perfect."

      "Merci, do you know what you're going to write about?" 

      "Oui, I'll probably do racial equality, and how we can better educate ourselves about race, which now that I think about can fit nicely into your topic.

      "Awesome," Sam wrote notes furiously down and started the outline for the slam. "I think we should start with two completely different stories and then the protagonists come together in some way or another; maybe a traumatic event occured, or they run into each other and become friends."

      "Great, so should we get started?" Louis smiled at her.

      "Yep." They didn't do much outlining; they never do much outlining, that's the way it has always been. Instead, they just let the words flow from deep inside their soul to the ink, and finally onto the paper. Their first draft always looked like it had gone through hell and back; with words crossed out and erased multiple times, different colors of pens and pencils that only Sam and Louis know the meaning of. The paper is usually all crumpled from when somebody (usually Sam) gets frustrated and throws it in the trash, but then fishes it out and re-smoothes it when she realizes the potential. When they finally finish a poem, Louis will hold it up triumphantly and read it loudly and proudly.

      They write in silence for a few moments before it is shattered by the sound of Louis already crossing something out. When they were kids, the rule was that the person who erased first had to go without lunch for a week. Looking back, it didn't seem so funny anymore. Sam's smile slowly dropped from her face and out of the corner of her eye, she knew that was what Louis was thinking about too.

      "This feels so weird, just sitting down and writing with my sister."

      "Yeah, if you have time in your busy schedule, we might even be able to write again," she remarked rather pointedly.

      "Sorry, I had that one coming."

      "You really did," she smirked, sometimes, her brother just wasn't the brightest. They kept writing for a few hours before Sam arched her eyebrows and knew that she was just about to make her brother very uncomfortable. 

      "You also need to tell Remy." This statement meets silence for a moment.

      "I will, eventually."

      "You need to speed up your 'eventually', it's been waiting for years."

      "Fine you know what, if you're so adamant about it, then I'm going to do it now, right now; I'm going to feel that main character energy." He stands defiantly, hands on hips.

      "So, do it" she says to the awkward silence that arose. "That 'main character energy' ain't goin' anywhere."

      "Ok, I'm going, see, I'm walking out the door, I have walked out of the door, turned the corner, ..." Sam smirks at her brother's sad attempt to be his own self narrator.