Sunday, September 11, 2005
Delifrance
"There used to be a Delifrance there..."
They walked past Delifrance, into the foyer.
He had only ever known - and would henceforth only ever know - this building for the pleasant Indonesian restaurant on the second floor.
She was back on holiday, and they were on the way to dinner.
Something about a med-school "communication skills" project involving interviewing medical students.
They took the elevator up to her father's office and walked in.
He was still there. He remembers vaguely a pair of dark, watchful bespectacled eyes; a gaunt face, a man of height. Slightly greying.
They greeted each other rather perfunctorarily; she guided him into an office cubicle by the elbow as Her dad left. White; a lot of white.
He doesn't remember Her questions anymore, nor his answers. He wasn't really paying attention and his answers came almost automatically.
He remembers
the dictaphone on the table
her hand on the dictaphone
They watched each other's eyes, the corners of their lips twitching a little in tiny smiles, as the words ran from present to past, to nonexistence.
He remembers Her eyes.
Then they closed up, and left for dinner.
Wade through the fog back to the present : "Oh yes, now it's become a dessert place."
*****
A pleasant evening.
Dinner was excellent, and the company all around was enjoyable. He watched his two foreign friends experimenting almost tentatively with ? food... and then gradually relaxing into enjoying it.
Pool was strangely difficult that night though; his heart was simply not in it.
And afterwards, drinks - there's something to be said for rose champagne, even if only Moet et Chandon Brut Rose. Four or five glasses later he was actually enjoying the silly game they were playing.
He wondered what would have happened if they'd started writing a story instead... these four extremely disparate writers... now that would have been fascinating. He suspected they would have needed more paper though.
The drive home took an eternity after fatigue began to set in. His eyebrows weighed heavily, and once or twice he had to catch himself as he dozed off.
*****
"You enjoy the finer things in life, don't you?"
Unspoken : I don't think it's quite as simple as that. I appreciate the finer things in life. Age and leading a decadent lifestyle in a mature capital city have taught me how to.
He wondered what the question had truly meant.
If the question had been whether he only enjoyed the "finer things" the answer would have been no. Life is for the living, fine, and simple. All to be savoured and experienced, everything at the right time.
If the question had been whether crudity appealed to him - then the answer would have been an empathic no. Two years of toilet humour and... darkness - had reinforced what he had known all along.
*****
He watched them vanishing into the distance, the one tall, tanned and - i can think of no other word - curvaceous... the other lean, lithe and slightly fragile.
Two completely different individuals, yet sharing in common an easy grace on their blades.
He laboured on, learning to feel the ground beneath his blades and trying to find the courage to speed up... and not fall down. Trying to put out of his mind the fear of losing control.
She reappeared at his side and smiled wordlessly.
Spoken : "You came back!" (how inane)
Unspoken : Thank you.
Her eyes were green, in this light. Grey-green. He smiled.
*****
Interestingly he only ever did lose control whenever he was thinking about it, and when he did his body would automatically wrench control back from his mind and set him right.
It was only towards the end when he had finally mastered the courage to try sprinting - when aging and atrophied bits and pieces had begun to ache and the skin on his feet had begun to wear thin... that he finally fell over, his body failing to even raise a finger (let alone a leg... whimper) in his defence.
Get back up, get back up. Argh. I can't move...
Afterwards, they went swimming in the rain.
The water was cool against his skin, and pleasantly refreshing. He swam a little, then towelled off and lay down to read.
And was out like a light.
******
Get well soon, LMD!
They walked past Delifrance, into the foyer.
He had only ever known - and would henceforth only ever know - this building for the pleasant Indonesian restaurant on the second floor.
She was back on holiday, and they were on the way to dinner.
Something about a med-school "communication skills" project involving interviewing medical students.
They took the elevator up to her father's office and walked in.
He was still there. He remembers vaguely a pair of dark, watchful bespectacled eyes; a gaunt face, a man of height. Slightly greying.
They greeted each other rather perfunctorarily; she guided him into an office cubicle by the elbow as Her dad left. White; a lot of white.
He doesn't remember Her questions anymore, nor his answers. He wasn't really paying attention and his answers came almost automatically.
He remembers
the dictaphone on the table
her hand on the dictaphone
They watched each other's eyes, the corners of their lips twitching a little in tiny smiles, as the words ran from present to past, to nonexistence.
He remembers Her eyes.
Then they closed up, and left for dinner.
Wade through the fog back to the present : "Oh yes, now it's become a dessert place."
*****
A pleasant evening.
Dinner was excellent, and the company all around was enjoyable. He watched his two foreign friends experimenting almost tentatively with ? food... and then gradually relaxing into enjoying it.
Pool was strangely difficult that night though; his heart was simply not in it.
And afterwards, drinks - there's something to be said for rose champagne, even if only Moet et Chandon Brut Rose. Four or five glasses later he was actually enjoying the silly game they were playing.
He wondered what would have happened if they'd started writing a story instead... these four extremely disparate writers... now that would have been fascinating. He suspected they would have needed more paper though.
The drive home took an eternity after fatigue began to set in. His eyebrows weighed heavily, and once or twice he had to catch himself as he dozed off.
*****
"You enjoy the finer things in life, don't you?"
Unspoken : I don't think it's quite as simple as that. I appreciate the finer things in life. Age and leading a decadent lifestyle in a mature capital city have taught me how to.
He wondered what the question had truly meant.
If the question had been whether he only enjoyed the "finer things" the answer would have been no. Life is for the living, fine, and simple. All to be savoured and experienced, everything at the right time.
If the question had been whether crudity appealed to him - then the answer would have been an empathic no. Two years of toilet humour and... darkness - had reinforced what he had known all along.
*****
He watched them vanishing into the distance, the one tall, tanned and - i can think of no other word - curvaceous... the other lean, lithe and slightly fragile.
Two completely different individuals, yet sharing in common an easy grace on their blades.
He laboured on, learning to feel the ground beneath his blades and trying to find the courage to speed up... and not fall down. Trying to put out of his mind the fear of losing control.
She reappeared at his side and smiled wordlessly.
Spoken : "You came back!" (how inane)
Unspoken : Thank you.
Her eyes were green, in this light. Grey-green. He smiled.
*****
Interestingly he only ever did lose control whenever he was thinking about it, and when he did his body would automatically wrench control back from his mind and set him right.
It was only towards the end when he had finally mastered the courage to try sprinting - when aging and atrophied bits and pieces had begun to ache and the skin on his feet had begun to wear thin... that he finally fell over, his body failing to even raise a finger (let alone a leg... whimper) in his defence.
Get back up, get back up. Argh. I can't move...
Afterwards, they went swimming in the rain.
The water was cool against his skin, and pleasantly refreshing. He swam a little, then towelled off and lay down to read.
And was out like a light.
******
Get well soon, LMD!
