COUNTRY ESCAPE
I watched the umbrellas pass by in front of the laundromat window. Blue, purple, green... I clung to these splashes of color skipping along an invisible horizontal line. It had been raining for several days in Paris, and everyone continued their frantic hyperactivity, trying to ignore the general gloom. It was the day before the weekend, but every day felt like Monday.
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I dragged my laundry basket up the dark stairs of the building, cursing, and stood in front of Jérem.
Sitting uncomfortably on the arm of the shabby couch, he was completely absorbed in his phone. Apparently engrossed in writing an urgent work email, he paid me no attention. In two steps, I was in front of the closet, grabbing my yoga bag and stuffing a sweater and a toothbrush inside. In our ridiculously cramped, one-room, all-purpose 23m² apartment, Jeremy scrutinized me, frightened, taking in my determined expression and my packed suitcase. |
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I had made my decision a few minutes earlier, smelling the scent of clean laundry. I was short of breath in Paris. The appalling weather made it hard to live, yet time continued to fly by. I wanted to hit the road, turn on the windshield wipers and the heating in the old 205 to erase my melancholy. My tall, dark-haired man understood, noticing my wry smile. The idea wasn't to spend a fortune on hotels and activities. I just wanted to let myself go, deconstruct the everyday, and enjoy the simple things. |
We would spend the night at Grandma Yvette's, less than an hour from Paris. Between the Formica kitchen and the living room with its floral wallpaper, it would be a timeless Saturday. I could already smell the indescribable scent of the cast-iron radiators and hear their clicking, which reminded me of a sailboat in a storm. If you accidentally leaned on it while the heater was heating up, you were guaranteed to get a gasp of surprise. My grandmother found it amusing.
"It's to remind you that you're alive, my dear."
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After braving the weather without hurrying, we arrived in front of the golden oak-paneled garage door. Jeremy kissed me tenderly. The downpour had stopped, but we remained gently embraced in the Peugeot like tired old people. It felt good to do nothing in the silence of our peaceful breathing. |
