Among yesterday’s forgotten mail, a postcard from Etienne. I knew he was thinking of me. I’m on the Riviera for a while. I leave the field open for you, and the bedroom too. What a Gypsy! I gave him so much and he stays away. With Etienne I wanted to erase the void left by the only one who ever mattered to me, but I haven’t had the courage to hold him back. What’s left between us? Nothing. Apart from this postcard, the continuous silence between his absences without any explanation. Is this a choice he made or is he seeing someone else somewhere else? What do I know? Coffee’s ready. Where is Chantal?
Her sneakers lie in the middle of the dining room. Her jacket hangs on the back of a chair. I find her in my bedroom, bending at the window, and peeking through the slits of the lowered shutters. “What are you doing here?”
She turns around and stretches, her arms pulled back. “I’m curious. It’s so Zen in your room, I love it. Empty walls, low furniture… as if you didn’t want to see anything when lying down.”
My irritation fades. That silence, that isolation, that calm, that proximity... my palms are sweaty. She raises her eyes, looking for her words. I can feel the warmth of her body, her face up close is out of focus, her thin lips move in slow motion, her voice echoes in my ears, “So, shall we drink that coffee?”
She devours her croissants and babbles at the same time. At first, I barely listen, the fatigue of the night gets to me. But Chantal doesn’t seem to be affected, she speaks at top speed, almost to herself, “It’s been so long since I had anybody to talk to.” She grows animated, wriggles on her chair across the table, telling me about her studies, the training in ER, “Yes, I noticed you too.”
At my second cup of coffee – I didn’t make it too strong today – I realize she’s playing with Etienne’s postcard which had been lying among the crumbs on the table, “That beach with those palm trees, and this water so blue! Like where I used to live. Makes me feel like traveling again. Can I read?”
She doesn’t wait. So uninhibited, again. How can I hold it against her?
She frowns to decipher Etienne’s handwriting, her lips move slowly. Then, she tilts her head, twists slowly a strand of hair, smiles at me. Finally she puts the postcard back down among the crumbs she fiddles with. “Your Etienne seems to be far away. But much less than my Boris.”
“Boris? Is that your boyfriend back home?”
She makes a vague gesture, “I prefer to talk about something else,” grabs the last croissant, “Wanna share?” and grins, “From the look in your eyes, this Etienne of yours isn’t just anybody.”
“Oh, you know...”
“No, I don't. What's he like?”
It's the first time someone has ever asked me about him. What can I say but the obvious? “He is a big guy. Rather slim, dark skin like an Arab. I spent a year with him in Africa, people thought he was a native.”
“Well, ok, but what’s good about him?”
“He makes love like a god…” Why did I say that to her?
She munches the last bits of the croissant with rounded eyes, “Lucky you. Go on.”
“Not an once of romance, he's just impulsive, always busy organizing things. So full of logic sometimes, it kills me.”
“But?”
“But he makes me melt. I’ve got him under my skin.”
“You live together?”
“Not really. He’s a biker. He’s often on the road.”
“With somebody else, eh?” Another grin. “Now I understand what he meant on the postcard. Is that why you invited me over for coffee?” She lowers her eyes like a kid feeling guilty for her frankness: “You don’t know what it’s like to be alone.”
“I do. Happened to me more than once.”
“Yes, but you have somebody in your life,”
“I don’t need anybody to have a life on my own.”
“Yes, but with him you have a different life. It’s not the same for me.”
“I have Etienne, yet I live by myself. I can’t tell how I would feel or who I would be if I was really alone.”
“Yes, but I imagine you always had somebody.”
“That’s true, somehow.”
“Yes, but you have somebody waiting for you somewhere.”
“We all have someone waiting somewhere. Be it now, in a week, a year, a lifetime.”
“Yes, but you don’t know what it is to be alone. All alone. Day after day, night after night!”
Yes, but… yes, but… The tone of her voice had been rising, more and more agitated, as if waiting for a satisfactory answer from me. Too bad, I am not obliging: a cat is a cat, “We are who we are.” If the coffee didn't awaken my energy, I feel like I should defend myself, “It’s a matter of choice.” I don’t know where I’m going but I am going at it lightheartedly, “Time affects the body, not the mind. One imitates oneself when one doesn’t change. Sometimes, it is better to be alone, as long as one knows why. And for my part, I do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You must have a good reason to be alone, no?”
“So what?”
“So what, so what… It’s up to you if you want to or if you must change your life. Or as the French expression goes, get a new skin.”
― You go too far.
I do not. She asked for it.
― Look, she’s nailed to her chair and you’re out of breath. Do something.
Chantal doesn’t give me time to react, she sighs with a prim smile, “Thanks for the coffee.” She gets up rapidly, slips on her jacket, “You’re right. I’ve been through difficult times and now I prefer to be alone.” She comes around the table, behind me and lays her hands on my shoulders, “No, stay put.” She leans to whisper, “You know, I like your frankness, and then…” She kisses my neck, “Well, actually you are the one at work who interests me.” She walks away, “The others do their things together, you stay aside, you don’t speak very much. I truly wanted to get to know you better.” At the door, she turns one last time, “I’m sorry about Etienne. I hope things will work out.”
What, she doesn't give me a second chance?
Should I run after her?
Shit, shit, shit!
***
The filtered daylight through the shutters floods the bed with a blanket of luminous dominoes. It is a bit cool in the apartment, the central heating is still set to the minimum.
I should’ve held her back.
I slip quickly under the duvet, curling up, my arms tight on my chest, sighing with pleasure as every time I go to bed in my bed since I bought it. I remember, the salesman was obsequious, “One piece mattress and box springs, Swedish design, extremely comfortable!” He didn't impress me as much as the bed. A bit expensive, but pleasure is not debatable.
I should’ve ask her to stay.
Besides Etienne, she would have been the first to share my new bed. I leave the field open for you, and the bedroom too, he wrote. He couldn’t have been more blunt.
Would she have stayed? Yes, I think so.
― Get real, will you?
She would sit at the edge of the bed, undress with her back turned. She would slip under the duvet. She would shiver and sigh. She would move her legs like scissor blades, laughing out loud. She would raise up on her elbow and caress my hair, “Is this the first time you've had someone in your room?”
I would remain silent to hide my timidity.
I like your clear laugh, Chantal. So different from the now mute echoes of Etienne’s low pitch voice. My bedroom is sacred, not everybody comes in that easily.
You would settle in here with your ruffled, street urchin joviality, your eyes of a woman in love.
No, you are not a lover, you are an Amazon.
You would examine me as a potential prey, and my timidity would fade. I would be lucid, I wouldn’t be afraid, I would be able to confront your look. Anybody’s look. And you would ask, “So, besides Etienne, I’m the only one, eh?”
― You are completely rambling.
Etienne. The past flashes in my eyes, my vision gets blurred. I am in two places at once. Chantal’s voice seems to come from the other side of a thick pane, like through the frosted glass of a dream, in that tangent space where exists an illusory reality. And Etienne is here, in my bedroom, in my bed, half-raised on his elbow, he bends over slightly to caress my hair, “So, besides Chantal, I am the only one, eh?”
― Stop fantasizing and go to sleep!
Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep… my heart beats too fast, Chantal. I wait for it to go away. It doesn’t. My arm becomes numb under your head. I pull free and you moan like somebody ready to fall asleep...
― Control yourself.
Beep-beep… I cover my eyes from the light. You move, you sigh again, an interminable moment passes...
Beep-beep… I don’t dare to look, you must be sleeping...
Beep-beep… my breathing is too short, my nerves are frayed...
Beep-beep… flash. Him again...
Beep-beep… arising from the depths of my soul, of my guts, he pursues me tirelessly...
Beep-beep… flash, Etienne, his living alter ego...
Beep-beep… the warmth of his eyes, the ballet of his hands. No, I have forgotten nothing...
Beep-beep… his fleshy mouth comes back onto my breasts, his weight on my body, his sweat on my tongue, his hair on my face, his legs between mine...
Beep-beep, oh mon Dieu! Beep-beep, it’s too strong! Beep-beep, I’m gonna pop! Beep-beep, I can’t handle any more!
― You need a cold shower.
No. I’m going to die without moving, I’m going to explode in slow motion, alone with my body bubbling in a thousand stars wanting to burst, alone with my mind full of him, full of madness and forbidden memories, full of flowers, pastel colors, foreign smells which soothe and give out a sweet fragrance, alone with my belly flowing finally free.
Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep.
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