“I struggled with my emotions. I didn’t know what I could do to resolve this uncertainty in my life. I would try to put it all out of my mind and just concentrate on work, or maybe on some projects. But then I might find myself sitting in the living room listening to some of my music. I especially favored the album by Michel Legrand, “ I Love Paris.” I would stare at that album cover with the fat man in the beret carrying something to the market. I imagined that I had seen him once when I lived there. The songs like La Vie en Rose or the theme from the Moulin Rouge, just resonated with me, a lot of sadness, nostalgia and, of course, some happy memories. When I started playing my Edit Piaf records, it was more than I could take and I would have too much heartache and tears for one day or night. Music can be of comfort at times, and sometimes it brings back old dreams and wishes that maybe never were or at least never would be. I knew that I had to resolve these things in my mind or I might as well just stay sitting in the house every day like my father. Not accepting the truth of the circumstances of my life. Paris, Patrice, France, it all must be kept in the past if I was going to be able to live in the present. That was why I never was able to share any of this with anyone till now. I had no close family or good friends to talk about this. Most of my acquaintances were from work or some of the neighbors that I knew. They knew little of my past other than that I lived in France for a few years and came home to help my father. Some considered me, as a bit strange or stand offish. I couldn’t help it. I was so engaged in helping my father and running the store, that when that part of my life came to an end, I really was a stranger to most everyone.”
She smiled and laughed : ” You probably think I really am a kook or something, but when you stopped today to look at my books and showed your interest in my book about Paris, it was an impulse that I just had. Maybe this was the person, this man who doesn’t even know me, and I might share this strange story with him. Your face was kind and I felt something in my heart that told me, that you were someone that I could reveal this whole thing, my thoughts and even the special events from my past and there would be no danger. You would listen and understand. If not, at least I have finally unburdened myself finally. I hope I have not embarrassed you with all this.”
I told her that this time that we had spent together and this beautiful story of her life, touched me, and made me think that I was now a small part of her life. These were things that I would remember always. I said : “I wish there was something that I could do or say that would make this all resolved and with a happy ending. But please be sure that you know that I thank you more than you can imagine for sharing this with me.”
We turned down a grassy alleyway and I could see that now in the heat of the day, Claudine had slowed her pace of walking as had I. We stopped at a wrought iron gate, and she said “Here we are, back home again.” As she struggled to open the gate, I helped her pry it open. She now was the Claudine that I had first met earlier today. Was it a dream or something else, I didn’t know. I had just gone along with the events of the day, not really stopping to think what was real and what was something else. We walked up the path behind her house and slowly climbed up her back steps. “Why don’t you come in for a minute and you can have a drink of something and then take your book with you.” She opened the back door and we stepped into her kitchen. It was a well lit and clean room with brightly colored pictures of flowers on each of the walls. There was also a framed poster above the sink, there were words in French and had a picture of a large, old building, which might have been a museum possibly. She noticed that I was staring at the poster “that’s a museum near the cafe where Patrice and I would meet for our coffee and pastries. We spent many hours there, just talking, sometimes making plans for the future and sometimes just laughing about life, our past lives, the people we knew. If our talks got too serious, Patrice would always be sure to turn things to lighter topics and make me laugh with his imitations of the stuffy clerks at the museum or even of his old uncles. We never seemed to have enough time together.” She turned around to look at me again, : ” Oh, enough about all that old stuff, you must have more important things to do today. Why don’t you sit down in the living room and I will get you a drink and then you can be on your way.”
In many ways, I didn’t want our time together to end. It had been a magical experience. I sat in the chair again and began to look at the book about Paris and France. My mind began to wander and I tried to collect my thoughts. Once again, I seemed to nod off for just a minute. When I looked up from the book, there was Claudine bringing me a cup of tea and it was like I had just come in the front door. She smiled at me and watched me drink the tea. It was very refreshing and had a fragrant taste, something that I knew I had never had before. I told her that I really enjoyed her tea. She said: “Glad that you liked it, I only drink it on special occasions and today was one of those days. Now, you will be going and I must get back to my table outside. Sandy will be wondering where I am. We walked out the front door and down the large, stone steps of her house. The streets were crowded with people of all types, old ladies being trailed by older men, young kids running up the street looking for maybe something to eat and younger women looking for bargains. Nothing much had changed since we had gone into the house. I had a little trouble figuring out what had happened and what was real and what was a fantasy or maybe a dream? It seemed like only ten or fifteen minutes had passed since we went into the house, but somewhere in the back of my mind, it seemed like we had been gone for hours and maybe even back into time. Or something. Claudine was smiling and laughing with her friend Sandy. It seems that she had sold a couple of trinkets for her while she was gone. Claudine looked over in my direction, “You had better get moving and try to catch up with your wife.” She laughed and then smiled and her eyes met mine, her red hair seemed to glisten in the afternoon sun, and I realized that we had experienced, shared a moment in time, that was hard to explain. Maybe it would help her to be able to now live with her past, and better live the rest of her life. Her story was real to me, but the other parts I could not explain. What it was, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to leave, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. She seemed to understand and just said “maybe I’ll see you again next year at the sale. We can speak again of things.” I just gave her a half wave and a little nod, smiled at her and started on my way. After almost a block, I looked back and I saw that she was busy laughing again with the other ladies at her table. The spell had been broken and I hurried to look for my wife.
Bravo! You have a good way of pulling this reader into the story. : )
Great story Billy! 👏🏼👏🏼