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...
I remember 'You And Your Friend' by
Dire Straits, playing on a loop in the CD player... the sad and
melodious dialogue between the steel guitar and Mark Knopfler's
guitar…
*
I remember those I thought were my
friends... and who were not there for me... Only you, I missed…
*
I remember throwing myself fully into
work – like plunging into bed after a long day of physical work –
to avoid thinking about your absence…
*
I remember your phone
call to the company after your vacation; you had asked to speak to
me... Nothing had changed. Though we were far apart, we were happy to
find this intimacy between us, to chat... We had joked about our
non-marriage in Spain... You had told me that you were volunteering
at the hospital while waiting to work... Once again, we lost track of
time in each other's presence and we were still unaware of it; my
boss was giving me the evil eye, passing back and forth behind me; on
your side, your mother had invited herself over so that you would
free up the line... We had exchanged phone numbers…
*
I remember the joy and hope that
filled me when I hung up the phone...
*
I remember the subsequent phone calls
where I got your mother, leaving her messages for you...
*
I remember giving up... my ego
forbidding me from chasing you... If you wanted to contact me, you
just had to...
*
I remember that silence as heavy as a
sledgehammer, that incomprehension... and those days when, sometimes
so devastated, I stayed in my bed…
*
I remember supporting a sick friend
whose wife had left; we would go out to dinner together, listen to
jazz; I loved seeing his smile and joy of living reborn as days went
by…
*
I remember I was fed up with that
company...
*
I remember the resignation letter held
for a long time in front of the post office box... and the relief
felt when it fell into the slot…
*
I remember the commotion caused by my
departure “for personal reasons” to justify an incomprehensible
decision... How can I explain with the mind what comes from the
heart?
*
I remember those days preparing to
leave the company, feeling the end of an era and the beginning of a
new adventure at the same time…
*
I remember those lonely days in my
apartment; you were my cage...
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