Attention a la Marche. January 2008
So, we're in the midst of chapter three. Chasen is here and the three of us are getting comfortable walking around in our jogging pants or no pants, asking permission to turn the music up when someone has to use the can or help in the bathroom when the toilet paper is too far away. We're a little family already.
I spent the other night once again in a little hotel (thanks to our crowded living situation, this is truly the only solution for romance at the moment). Strangest morning ever, coming shortly one of the nicest nights I've had in Paris. Funny, I am saying this far too often. It's like, just when I think things can't get better, they do. I am living the life of a bohemian writer and I am happy. I was e-mailing back and forth with my French lover while he was at work. Finally I caved and asked him if he wanted to come meet me for a drink Au Chat Noir. I was having a great day with Romain. Stopped off to visit my Parisian dad and he seemed genuinely happy to see me. It is nice here, that things are finally becoming familiar and even though I am still persistently lost in the streets, no matter if I walk it once or seventy times, I enjoy the unknown and everywhere you look there is beauty. Desole that I can't share it with you all. I wish I could show you how the light through an iron doorway makes me smile, how the man playing the flute in the metro gives me goosebumps, how kissing for hours on a streetcorner can make me completely lose track of time. It's lovely, it truly is.
Anyhow, Michael came to meet me at the cafe and we had a couple beers and decided to venture into the city and check out some of the nightlife. First, we stopped off at my apartment so I could rid myself of my heavy computer and writing supplies: old journals, quotes, random notes and photos and pictures of all of you back home. A girl needs inspiration you know, even in Paris. We climbed up my six flights of stairs and I showed him around. Oddly enough he recognized someone in one of my renter's photographs. Small world, even out here in the big one. I didn't know what to think. We hadn't seen each other in about a week, since our infamous night in the hotel and I was a bit awkward about everything. My heart was warming up, though, little by little when he told me that the thought of meeting me for a drink was like an artificial paradise and I got a little warmer still when right after reading his e-mail, I looked up in my favourite cafe to find a big poster advertising an up-coming night to discuss 'le paradis artificiel' de Baudelaire. Timing is weird. Makes you think about the bigger picture, what it all means and all that crap.
Anyway, with our current situation, I didn't know if I had the right to kiss him or not. If rules mattered or if as usual I was over thinking. "Si tu as envie..." I should have said to myself, instead, I found myself asking him about wine and cheese, about sausage about ice skating and climbing the Eiffel Tower and then before I knew it we were late. It was time to go to this show at Theatre de Verre. We were meeting some friends of his beforehand and so this empty apartment and awkward situation would have to go to waste for now. Dommage, vraiment DOMMAGE! :)
We met one of his best friends, a girl I've met several times already, who I found myself repeatedly embarassing myself in front of. Each time we've met, I've been completely intoxicated and on the brink of humiliation. So, this time, upon entering her apartment, my first instinct was to apologize for being such a lush and my second instinct was to nervously start rambling about anything and everything in French. Maybe it was the pot. Maybe it was just my nerves, I dunno. In any event, I was having a great time and I was realizing that I really liked this guy a lot. I like his life, his friends, his ability to let the day slip away from him into total and utter enjoyment. I ask him about work and he tells me he hates to talk about work when work is done. I am thinking about him in a suit and he tells me about how people treat him differently when he wears one. I laugh. He makes me laugh a lot.
The theatre was great. Got a membership so I could see shows again in the future. The first was a man who made us all sing an African song in unison. It was a story about a black man who dove into the ocean and swam across to the other side only to come out white. He kept re-telling the story over and over again and I kept asking myself if I was high or just misunderstanding. In any event, it was great. Afterwards he heard some latin guitar and shortly thereafter witnessed a hilarious synchronized dancing session. We sat at a table together and laughed and smiled and I wanted to touch his leg but I didn't. I shouldn't. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
Eventually we realized that this may be the only place left in Paris that permits smoking. We walked over to the smoking area and started talking about this habit of ours. I said "I really should quit" and though we had had this conversation once before, this time he told me that he already has a pact with someone and it's starting in 2 days and that I should get in on it. So I begin tomorrow. Unreal. If I lose, I can't call him again, so now I've got serious incentive. He's a serious guy and it would be a real let down if I didn't follow through. On top of that, the loser has to buy music and language lessons for the other two, and well, God knows I can't afford that shit, so I'm going to take it seriously. I am going to quit smoking tomorrow. Holy fuck. I can't believe it. Oh well, it's all good. I've got myself a big pack of Marlboros beside my bed and a night of furious inhalation ahead of me, so be it! Bring it on. I can do anything, I think.
After the theatre, we left and as soon as we got to the bottom of his friend's apartment, he kissed me. I was so happy. I was dying to kiss him all night. Every time I looked at him smile, every time I saw him tapping his foot to the music, or taking a sip of his beer, or anything, really. I just wanted it. J'avais envie, VRAIMENT! So we kissed. Then took a couple steps and kissed again. And again. And again. The walk home had already taken us a good couple hours and really, we realized we didn't even know where we were walking to. I hadn't made out like this in a long time and it felt amazing. Every kiss a bit of a tease and it was like smelling the cooking onions at the hot dog stands on Front Street for days and never getting a single gout. He called his roomate to tell him we were coming over and we got the worst news we'd had all night. His house was full. There was nowhere to go. My roomates were home already. Fuck. Suddenly we are fourteen years old again and now we want it more than ever!
We go back to my place and I am contemplating everything I shouldn't be. The hallway, the vestibule, the stairwell...things get a little hot and heavy in the entrance of the apartment and we decide to get yet another hotel. It was a lovely, lovely night. Calins (French for cuddle), quiet conversation, laughing, more laughing and more cuddles. A little piece of heaven here in Paris and I was feeling happier than I have felt in ages.
In the morning, he had to leave for work and I stayed in the room until noon, sleeping with the heat on high and dreams that were blowing my mind. It was wonderful...that is, until the maid burst into the room, with me naked on the bed and inappropriate prophylactics par terre. She just waltzed right in and announced that it was time for me to go. Then, leaving me there naked, she decides, it's appropriate to leave the door wide open while I dress myself. I have never felt more like a hooker in all my life. As though my lack of a knapsack didn't make the evident evident enough...she knew what I was doing there and my lack of a partner at the integral moment made me feel kind of horrible. But I put on my clothes with the door wide open and my maid in waiting and made my way back home (still managing to get lost on the chemin, despite it being a block from my apartment) and listened to Bob Dylan and thought about the night.
NO THINKY NO TALKY. Fuck, man. Why is this so hard. Jay, I'm a strugglin' with the theory already! I am thinking. What to do now. Elsa suggests I tell this boy I would like to have a story with him. I am tempted but also afraid. I don't want to ruin what we already have, it's great as it is. But I'm not interested in seeing anyone else at the moment. And to be honest, if he does, it doesn't bother me in the least. What I have learned about this looking for love business is that it's important that it's a two-way street. I don't want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me. I want it to be a conscious decision, otherwise, what's the fucking point. You're bound to get hurt. You can't hunt 'em down, you just can't, nor should ya. Bad move. C'est mal. C'est horrible et deguelace!
I do remember a moment during the evening, though, when he mentionned 'next time', then stuttered, 'that is if you want there to be a next time', etc...so cute. Then he got all nervous and looked like he wanted to take it back. I hope there's a next time and a time after that and after that until there's a little story. This story of my life, it's writing itself day by day here and I am just sitting back and letting the tale tell itself for a change.
Have started working for a few really rich families here in Paris, which is a delight. Once the kids are in bed, I have the wonderful opportunity to enjoy the lovely homes in the 16th, to sit at the over-sized dining tables and right myself to paradise and there is nothing artificial about that. It's perfection.
Our house is now called "LA MAISON DE BONHEUR" and there is a little frame in here that says
LA BELLE VIE
QUAND ON VIT
I love it. So true. Attention a la marche, everybody! There are gaps but they are surmountable, if you've got your adventure boots on, or maybe you favour those flying shoes of Townes, whatever footwear you decide upon, just make sure the laces are tight and be ready for whatever comes your way. That's all the advice I've got for the day. I'm off. Heading to the Moose, a Canadian bar in the 6th to sample some drink that's chalked with Maple Syrup. Who knows. Talk to you soon, y'all.
Lots of love and of course, let's not forget the BISOUS!
Posted by Julie Jolicoeur at 9:42 AM