now.”
She closed the door and I stood in the center of the room, in the dark, in the blowing wind, listening to her footsteps fading as she descended the stairs, and when I couldn’t hear her any longer I walked to the open window.
There were a few people left sitting at tables in the yellow light of Bar du Marché. Marie came out onto the street, passed in front of the café and walked fast toward boulevard St. Germain.
It was nearly dawn and she was alone. I could hear her shoes clicking against the pavement. I wondered where she was going and how she’d get there. I hadn’t asked and as I saw her vanish around a dark corner, I felt a quick sense of dread.
MARIE
I ’d spent the entire summer lying in the sun thinking about him. I barely ate. I was so tan. Everyone told me I looked great. When my dad showed up for a few days he kissed me on the forehead and told me I was beautiful.
Even my mother. The first day of school I’d come down wearing a loose black embroidered top she’d bought for me from Isabel Marant. And I had the bag she’d given me too, not a backpack, but a woman’s bag, a pretty leather Jerome Dreyfuss sac which was totally unrealistic and just like her.
I came down the stairs and she turned around. Oh Marie , she said. She had her hands at her face. She was beaming. Oh Marie, qu’est ce que t’es belle, ma chérie! Mon dieu, qu’est ce que t’es belle. I thought she was going to cry. And maybe she did a little bit. She came over and kissed me. Oh la la, Marie. Oh la la. T’es belle. I was so happy that morning. We sat together and ate our tartines with coffee and it felt as if everything would change, like we were celebrating together the rest of my perfect life. Now I was beautiful. And at school, waiting for me, was this man, this man, this tender man.
* * *
Over the summer I began to masturbate. Not just nervous experiments. I’d take a bath then lock the door to my bedroom. I’d get into bed and with the lights off and the windows open, listening to the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, I’d close my eyes and think about him kissing me. I felt completely in myself. As if in those evenings there was no separation between my self and my body. I was just there. It was as if I were drunk. Soon I learned to make myself come. There was no going back. All summer was like a love affair.
So walking downstairs that morning, seeing my mother look at me like that, I mean for the first time in my memory just completely satisfied, and sitting with her eating breakfast together and knowing that I’d see him. Oh, it was like everything was laid out in front me. As if finally, finally, I don’t know, something had changed.
It was pathetic. What was my plan exactly? But at the time, it all made so much sense.
* * *
At school it was as if I didn’t exist. I did everything I could to run into him, to pass him while he was eating lunch or in the hall when I knew he was on his way to class. Of course he wanted nothing to do with me. He wasn’t rude or even cold. He just treated me like anyone else, like any other student. He’d smile, maybe hold my gaze a few seconds longer than was safe, but that was it. It ruined me. I was so surprised. Then I was angry at myself for being surprised. How could I have been so stupid and all that. But those first few weeks, the first month, all of September I was thrown, and everything seemed to get worse and worse.
I’d planned to cut myself off from Ariel, to pull away from her, just kind of drift. Nothing dramatic. I’d be strong and passive. But when I realized that he wasn’t going to do anything at all, that he wouldn’t take a step, I went back to my old life. It felt like such a defeat but there I was at Ariel’s apartment on Friday nights. She pretended to feel sorry for me but it was clear that she was thrilled. What’s worse is that she was in his class and got to see him every day. She’d tell me what a great teacher he
She closed the door and I stood in the center of the room, in the dark, in the blowing wind, listening to her footsteps fading as she descended the stairs, and when I couldn’t hear her any longer I walked to the open window.
There were a few people left sitting at tables in the yellow light of Bar du Marché. Marie came out onto the street, passed in front of the café and walked fast toward boulevard St. Germain.
It was nearly dawn and she was alone. I could hear her shoes clicking against the pavement. I wondered where she was going and how she’d get there. I hadn’t asked and as I saw her vanish around a dark corner, I felt a quick sense of dread.
MARIE
I ’d spent the entire summer lying in the sun thinking about him. I barely ate. I was so tan. Everyone told me I looked great. When my dad showed up for a few days he kissed me on the forehead and told me I was beautiful.
Even my mother. The first day of school I’d come down wearing a loose black embroidered top she’d bought for me from Isabel Marant. And I had the bag she’d given me too, not a backpack, but a woman’s bag, a pretty leather Jerome Dreyfuss sac which was totally unrealistic and just like her.
I came down the stairs and she turned around. Oh Marie , she said. She had her hands at her face. She was beaming. Oh Marie, qu’est ce que t’es belle, ma chérie! Mon dieu, qu’est ce que t’es belle. I thought she was going to cry. And maybe she did a little bit. She came over and kissed me. Oh la la, Marie. Oh la la. T’es belle. I was so happy that morning. We sat together and ate our tartines with coffee and it felt as if everything would change, like we were celebrating together the rest of my perfect life. Now I was beautiful. And at school, waiting for me, was this man, this man, this tender man.
* * *
Over the summer I began to masturbate. Not just nervous experiments. I’d take a bath then lock the door to my bedroom. I’d get into bed and with the lights off and the windows open, listening to the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, I’d close my eyes and think about him kissing me. I felt completely in myself. As if in those evenings there was no separation between my self and my body. I was just there. It was as if I were drunk. Soon I learned to make myself come. There was no going back. All summer was like a love affair.
So walking downstairs that morning, seeing my mother look at me like that, I mean for the first time in my memory just completely satisfied, and sitting with her eating breakfast together and knowing that I’d see him. Oh, it was like everything was laid out in front me. As if finally, finally, I don’t know, something had changed.
It was pathetic. What was my plan exactly? But at the time, it all made so much sense.
* * *
At school it was as if I didn’t exist. I did everything I could to run into him, to pass him while he was eating lunch or in the hall when I knew he was on his way to class. Of course he wanted nothing to do with me. He wasn’t rude or even cold. He just treated me like anyone else, like any other student. He’d smile, maybe hold my gaze a few seconds longer than was safe, but that was it. It ruined me. I was so surprised. Then I was angry at myself for being surprised. How could I have been so stupid and all that. But those first few weeks, the first month, all of September I was thrown, and everything seemed to get worse and worse.
I’d planned to cut myself off from Ariel, to pull away from her, just kind of drift. Nothing dramatic. I’d be strong and passive. But when I realized that he wasn’t going to do anything at all, that he wouldn’t take a step, I went back to my old life. It felt like such a defeat but there I was at Ariel’s apartment on Friday nights. She pretended to feel sorry for me but it was clear that she was thrilled. What’s worse is that she was in his class and got to see him every day. She’d tell me what a great teacher he
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