BED & BREAKFAST

CHAPTER 10 - "Life is for fun, oui?"

Look. Marie was a fascinating woman, no doubt about it. She was, too, the epitome of every cliche in our once 'politically incorrect' past; every feminist's worst nightmare; every Brave New World antithesis. Yet she was also strong, assured, confident, prideful and damn sexy! None, not a single one of the negative traits associated with the imagery of 'barefoot in the kitchen'. (Despite her wearing an apron! )

There was also... no evidence of any mobile phones, tablets, laptops- I'd not seen either of them with a phone in their hand. No TV visible in my surrounds- the thought burst into my head suddenly and of course sent me down THAT path. The destruction of intimacy path. The everything out in the open path. The manufactured lives path. The myriad distractions path. (Okay, I allowed for the age thing- given they were of my generation. Yet they ran businesses necessitating use of technology between them! Huh.)

She had, too, this way of talking to me but always, always including him, engaging him, bonding him with every revelation offered up. And, in turn, his indulgence! I knew he would do anything for this woman. I also knew, without a doubt, she would kill (metaphorically) to protect their union. God help anyone who tried interfering or lodging between them. Not that there was any room-

And that be the Holy Grail for me: Two people so enmeshed there is no opening, no way in; no visible barrier for a third to breach, invade- how many decades had I sought this? Looked for it between couples in Rome and in Venice and Paris- traditionally 'high probability' spots. Looked for it closer to home, on tropical islands and spa retreats and romantic hideaways- crap, like this one!

(Notice I said sought it in others. I've spent a lifetime looking for an expression I've never had on my own face.)

Usually, as the "sister of " I am exposed to bothersome and most times faux flattery (and beyond... eeewww!) especially from men, and yes, often, very 'happily' married ones. Nothing like that from Daniel though; not one word or look that I could interpret as what we here call 'sus' (or unwarranted or sly). His eyes were for her. They passed to me but only as an afterthought or for a specific response. Rest of the time, he had that smile going. The totally contented smile and, always, eyes on her. This man was not going anywhere.

Nor was she. There was simply nowhere better. And it was this, this which befuddled me: How did they know? How were they so sure and so damn at ease within this certainty? They wanted nothing more than what they had right now, this moment. Never mind that I was sharing 'this moment', my passage through their lives- hell I was probably further testament to there being nowhere better! 

... I was meant to have checked out by 11.00am but 11.45 found me still seated at the breakfast table- according to the clock. Sipping my second now-cold coffee, and listening. Throwing in the odd question just so I stopped the incessant bobbing of the head and napkin to mouth- (terrible, terrible cough) as words poured from them and were absorbed by me- with increasing soupreezé.

Came time for goodbyes, and I was dazed. To date, I have no recall of returning to my room and packing the few last minute things. I didn't even think to take a final peek at the painting by the fireplace on the back of which I'd drawn our twin initials which would remain hidden there... That's about the only bit of romance I took away from the B&B itself, by the way. ("It may as well have been a drip drip tent, far as accommodation goes," I remember thinking this, turning to look at that B&B one last time, reaching the bottom of the path.)

Daniel had kissed me on the cheek after a quick hug earlier and wandered back inside. She, however, clutched me close and we'd swapped kisses European style, one on each cheek.(Her lips made contact, none of that kissing air bullshit.) Then she'd stood me at the bottom of the path where my car was parked. (By this I mean she'd held me at arm's length, her fingers firm on my arms.)

"Life is for fun oui? Even in a drip drip tent." This said to my eyes.

I'd nodded. I'd given in. I'd caved in. I just... How does one forge such a deep connection with another that they get within? So many times, I'd felt her in my head. Prodding. Predicting my emotions, anticipating my reactions; I'd felt like a puppet whose strings were being pulled and my attached (figurative) limbs flung this way and that- as per her inclinations?

I came back to the damn steps. Driving back along the winding, fern-fringed road, I thought about how always, in hindsight, I see the path. I see each and every individual step- whether progressing me along the same direction or digressing me, into another, and another... but always, always I see how each step had to be taken in precisely the manner it was- to get me here. Here being every particular circumstance; such as this overnight jaunt.

Here too, being a pause. Where I stand still and I look back. Study the journey. Like a labyrinth with the exit clearly marked, I see me following; the path obvious- but only, only ever by looking back.

"So why did you call your memoir STEPS?" someone had asked me, early on.

I had the answer. It was an honest answer: "To thank some people."

I know he walked away believing he understood. He hadn't.

You see, one day, I sat for hours. Thinking right to the beginning of time and how everything in recorded history and beyond, back to whatever created life... it had to have been just so. One pregnancy miscarriage, (sorry) one miscarriage of justice, even a mere poem left un-penned by the obscurest of poets, and, I wouldn't be here. The odds! That's what I looked at. The odds. And how every living thing before me had to have taken their necessary steps to lead me to here, to now. Mind-boggling stuff.

"Maybe we don't appreciate this enough," I'd concluded. The lives of those before us (even the monsters- their steps were just as vital to the creation of this now) all... lived in total ignorance of their importance. To future ME. Some may have died destitute, hopeless, disappointed, resigned, assumed failures... yet. Every single living being mattered. If not to me, then to someone else. And my, and everyone's now was directly linked to that first breath of life and every subsequent breath thereafter.

Of course, I couldn't contemplate something like the above without also attempting to look ahead and wonder whose journey I was in turn facilitating? I- despite my seeing no future in me, I could well see I too was taking steps for someone else. But who? Who would I matter to? In a hundred, a thousand year's time, who would look back and be grateful for me?

Marie... She, by inviting me into her world, also opened the door to mine. She walked inside my narrow dark passages and she shed light. On the good and the bad, the awesome and the nasty- she didn't discriminate. Mere hours and yet, not a moment wasted on irrelevancy to me, to my here and now. And this, unintentional. A set of unrelated circumstances leading to us meeting-

Did she know? The question plagued me. Did she know? 

I confess, at one point I thought her a witch. Not a bad witch but not exactly a good one either... somewhere in the middle?