Garde du Nord Missed. Sunday. Hélas : 無料・フリー素材/写真
Garde du Nord Missed. Sunday. Hélas / SLR Jester
| ライセンス | クリエイティブ・コモンズ 表示 2.1 |
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| 説明 | We slept right through until just after midday. She got up to visit the bathroom, it stirred me and I remember looking at the time and thinking another few more hours would be perfectly fine. She came back and dropped beside me on the bed, cuddling in to my side and falling asleep moments later. Her breathing, the feel of it on my neck became hypnotic. It wasn’t long before I slipped into a deep and relaxing sleep for the first time in weeks.When I roused it was well into the afternoon. She was still beside me but wide awake watching me as I came to. She must have wrapped us both up in the duvet while I was sleeping. She had it pulled around her chest. Her arms across my chest, a gentle smile on her face.“You will have missed your train back” she said as matter of fact.I glanced at the time, I had missed my train by hours. It was likely already back in London and filling with passengers to make the return journey to Paris.She could read my expression. “Stay here another night and we can both travel back to London first thing?” she asked.A few hours later, showered and another change of clothes and we were both back at the bar at Rue de Lyon, where Friday night had seemed so glum, almost morbid affair. However with hindsight it had to run its course for the following two days to be as they were. She had been watching me closely since we had arrived, even in the taxi journey over from the Champs-Élysées I could feel her prolonged sideward glances at me as I watched Parisian life go past. We had sat there without saying anything for around thirty minutes. It was a content silence, had it been awkward at any time then one of us would certainly have made some passing comment. Quietly sat there drinking another fine red wine and smoking. Watching and listening to the city around us attempt to wind down for the Sunday evening.“I suppose we should talk” she said topping up both our glasses. With the bottle nearly empty she catches the waiter’s eye.Very wary of how to reply to this I watched her as she made sure the waiter got the right wine, opened the bottle without corking it. After he had emptied the bottle into our glasses and carried it away, she lit up another cigarette, rolling it around her painted red lips. Her eyes darting around for the first time I realised she was avoiding eye contact. She was nervous about something. I smiled and reached across the table for her hand.Le parfum sucré de vos roses s'évapore Et moi je composeVous ne m'aurez jamais donné Que le baiser du condamnéShe instinctively pulled her hand away a fraction, then resisted and I held her hand in mine. She finally looked at me and I could see the moisture of tears in her eyes. I moved around the table so I was sitting next to her and not across from her, putting my arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards me. She let her head rest against my chest and there we both stayed.When the waiter came back to top up the glasses and change the ashtray he looked down at us, I assume he asks whether we are both ok, face still buried in my chest she says she is ok. The waiter exchanged the ashtrays and left.“What’s on your mind?” I finally asked her.With a deep sigh she lifted her head and sat back up in the chair. Reaching for a cigarette, flicking her Zippo open and then puffing the fag alight. Her eyes now dry still wore the underlying redness around the lids. This was totally out of character for her. It had been years since she had broken down into tears in front of me and that was a result of her family’s rejection of her sexuality. That particular issue rolled on for years with biting and snapping going both ways between her father and Angel. It ended predictably with a hostile exile from the family home, and she has never been back. However the arrogance of her father and willingness to drop her simply because of her given sexuality created a stubbornness and relentless desire in her to achieve. To prove that she could aspire to great heights not only in her career but life in general. It has been this constant push behind her that has ensured her success.Something pure and wholesome emerged from the years of resentment.Now she had felt so worn down that only tears could flow. Dragging deeply and inhaling the smoke, she now looked away into the distant. It was hard to read her expression yet I felt I had to say or do something because deep down there was this emotional bond that I felt had been stretched with her over the last two days, and I had been pulling on it. Inadvertently I hasten to add.Standing up she motioned to the waiter and handed him a company credit card. She drained her glass and nodded to me suggesting that I should also finish my drink. Entering her PIN for the card she picked up her coat, drained the last of the wine from her glass and then held out her hand for me to take. Taking her hand and gulping down the rest of the wine we left the bar, I hoped it wouldn’t be the last time I saw it, or indeed ventured there together with her.“Tell me about her?” she asked as we walked up to the square. “This babe of yours” she added.“Nothing to say really” I replied.“That’s your polite way of saying to mind my own business isn’t it?” she fired back.“Yes” I replied smiling. “It is.”“Well at least tell me how the two of you met. You can talk about that, right?” she said getting slightly frustrated.“Sure I can. We met at the Swinging Witch in Stepford one night” I replied still smiling.A sideways glance, it meant nothing to her but seemed to appease her curiosity. In fact there were only two people who would understand the reference, I was one, babe was the other. We continued walking in silence until we reached the square. Instead of waiting to see what taxis were around she pulled me towards the Metro. As we approached the steps she stopped and looked at me. Searching my face for something that clearly wasn’t there.“She will break your heart you know that don’t you?” she stated rather than propositioned.I pulled her down the steps and hoped by the time were emerged at the other end this conversation would have been forgotten. She was doing it again, telling me the things I knew deep down were right but I would rather not accept. Not until it was far too late. The reality was so much colder than the warmth of an illusion. By the time we reached the apartment I had managed to deflect all of her questions. She had talked about how things had changed for her as well. Professionally speaking but she had only done so by questioning what she had accepted. She told me how I had reassured her, given the comfort and confidence to challenge herself on an issue which remained of great importance. The conclusion was already reached before she even asked the question. That is why she had cried. So much water under the bridge, mostly all of it polluted with the sedition and control of others she trusted and were supposed to be close to her. When she took me back to her childhood and her growing up, the things that became so fundamental in her life seemed perfectly reasonable given what she had to shoulder on her own.Malcolm McLaren’s voice softly drifted over the evening air educating the uninitiated that Paris and jazz were inextricably linked, entwined like new lovers. She poured us both a large glass of brandy and we sat, the balcony doors open watching the evening sky. She appeared to be much happier in herself now. I would like to say that I had a hand in helping her through a very dark period of her life but this is simply not true. She had come to her own conclusions, I had merely provided emotional support had she needed it. Which she hadn’t.She padded around picking up clothes, clearing away glasses and emptying ashtrays. Finally she closed the doors on the balcony, yawned and made her way to her bedroom door.“Goodnight” she saidI raised my glass to her silhouetted outline. “Good night, sleep well Angel.” I replied.By the time the haunting tune of the ‘Revenge of the Flowers’ came on I had finished my brandy and was getting comfy on the sofa. I heard footsteps across the floor next door. Hurried, then the sound of her door opening.I sat up now worried that she was going to be sick but she didn’t make her way towards bathroom. She came over to me and stood by the sofa. I could see she was smiling. She pulled me up off the sofa and held me by the waist. Her mouth hovered by my lips. I could smell the expensive wine on her breath. She then pulled me across the room to her bedroom and kicked the door shut after us.I had no need to say anything. (‘three nights in Paris’ excerpts by Jack Hargreaves © 2013) |
| 撮影日 | 2013-10-11 17:21:45 |
| 撮影者 | SLR Jester |
| 撮影地 |