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At The Train Station

It’s been three years since I last set foot in a train station. I, the nomad, have taken root. Naturally curious, I enjoy studying the characters that inhabit certain public places. Y et here, nothing has really changed: though the faces are different, I recognize them all. . * * * Sitting on a large duffel bag, leaning against a wall—there’s the student. He mutters to himself, eyes fixed on a thick blue binder, and despite all the noise filling the station, nothing could tear him away at this hour from his studies. A little further off, I spot a family waiting to greet one of their relatives. The father and mother chat together, glancing every five minutes at the clock. The children play, dart between their legs, circle around them, tap each other shouting, “Tag!” then burst into laughter; they bring into this hall the fresh, colorful breeze of youth. The father looks impatient, but on his face I can read a certain joy; he seems to be holding back a smile. As for the mother, however...
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I Remember - 3

I remember not being able to identify what I felt for you... It was clearly a strong friendship, and also something much stronger that I could not name…


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I remember one day, during a lunch break, when we were alone in your office and talking. I considered that this might be the perfect moment to tell you how I felt… At one point, you said: ‘If one day I get married, my husband will have to…’; I no longer remember the end of that sentence, only the tone, which I found deeply selfish and authoritarian, not to mention the fact that you talked about a commitment that intimidated me…


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I remember the day when you no longer had a computer, and I invited you to come and sit next to me to type up your report... and how challenging I found it to concentrate afterward…


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I remember that afternoon (squash, billiards), then that night (disco), which was particularly unpleasant... I had no desire to be with you in society… There, you seemed entirely different…


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I remember the next morning when our friends, you, and I had breakfast at my place, and the disparaging comment I made to you... Looking back, I understand that the anger I felt then was directed at myself because I was unable to confess my feelings to you…


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I remember that, wanting to avenge yourself for my disparaging comment from the previous days, you, like a child, had stolen the ball from my computer mouse when I wasn't attentive...



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