Frehel Diaries: Boiling Point
Boiling Point- Temperature at which the vapor pressure of a liquid exceeds the atmospheric pressure and the liquid begins to boil.
He drops me off and assures me he'll be back soon. But minutes stretch into hours. While I manage to distract myself for a while, I've been sitting alone in the hotel room for five hours. I keep thinking I should go to the creperie next door and order some dinner, but somehow I don't actually get up. I keep sitting there getting both angry and scared. After all, I do need him as I have no idea how I would navigate my way out of this town on my own. And dependence makes me resentful. Time ticks by, I write in my journal, I listen to music, I think about leaving. Not just this hotel room this evening, but the whole thing. Over the last few days, he has shown less and less interest. I didn't cross an ocean to be forgotten in a one star hotel room. Finally, I think, "Fuck it, I've had it sitting here waiting." I load my my phrase books into my pocketbook to go downstairs and have dinner or at least get a drink, when he arrives. He drops his bag and kneels in front of me kissing my face, but there is none of the passion that there was before. Has he changed or have I? Is holding back because he can sense I am upset? Or is he no longer interested in me?
I'm very good at reading people with whom I share a common language, but here with so much unknown, with so much at stake, it is too difficult for me to read. He grabs my hand, "Come," he says. "A surprise," he says. "Another surprise?"
We get in the car and he drives and drives and drives and drives. Now I'm hungry and cold and tired and annoyed. I ask him where we are going again. "England," he says. I close my eyes and think "Christ, I fucking wish." What wouldn't I give to be in an internet cafe or a bar like Harry's American, where all the American expats go. To be in a place where I could be understood, where I could again feel in control.
Finally, we arrive at St. Malo. St. Malo is a walled port city that was powerful near the end of the 17th century. From the outside of the walls, the city is nearly invisible and thus I couldn't believe we had come all this way, but once inside the walls it's like a little Paris-a jazz band is playing in brightly lit cafes, which are packed with chatting customers, the artists are packing up their unsold paintings, even at this late hour. And I think "He's taking me to dinner here" which would actually get me to forgive him, but no, it's coffee at St Malo.
By now it's almost midnight.
After coffee, we walk around the entire city on the top of the wall. He walks ahead of me, as usual. I keep stopping to see if he will notice, but no he keeps on ahead. Now, there is no daughter as an excuse. There is no reason for this continental divide. I try and catch his hand and lure him in for kisses, but he seems disinterested except to take my picture by random edifices like this statue for Jacques Cartier. Although he claimed the photo as "perfect", you can see my general mood.
After walking around the entire wall of the city, the Sauvage asked me if I had a cigarette. I did, but it was my last one, and I didn't want to give it to him so I said I didn't. He kept asking and asking. I knew he had taken a few cigarettes from me earlier in the day. Not a huge sin, but I was beginning to feel like I was getting less consideration than the family cat. My presence was only noticed when he needed something, sex, cigarettes, actually now that I thought about it, that was all he really needed from me. And now it was just cigarettes.
Being a real Medea kind of girl, I lied and said no and thus had to be dragged around the streets and into bars of St. Malo as he looked for a cigarette. He kept asking me periodically if I had one. This annoyed me even further. I said no, I wasn't going to change my mind. Now his concern for a single cigarette was even greater than for me. And for that reason alone, I wouldn't give him a cigarette even as he dragged me into yet another bar. Finally someone gave him a cigarette. I dozed during the long drive home which meant I didn't have to speak to him or disguise my anger. I didn't even bother to think about sex as I crawled under the covers that night.
I did, however, have enough energy to wonder how I was going to make it through another five days.
Bad Bunni posted at 3/10/2008 08:24:00 PM