He’s a little late and I’m waiting for him under the glass roof of the station, hoping he hasn’t forgotten me. I hear his voice on his answering machine just as I see him running out of the parking lot. I slip my phone into my pocket and readjust my mittens. He smiles when he sees me. We meet halfway up the stairs. He hugs me tight and I whisper to him, you were right, we won’t be able to live apart for too long, you’ll have to quit if… He says I know and hugs me even tighter.
Arrived at the car, I wedge myself on the chair and lower the back of my seat a little. The city lights go by, blurred by speed, I breathe softly. Bon Iver sings for Emma, softly, to say how he loves her, when she no longer loves him. That sweetness in that voice. How might I wait until I was 35 to discover this album. Or maybe it was the right time for me to appreciate it so much.
These two days of training were tough. The chest pain didn’t let go, it just lessened when the tears came out. Too many memories and too many sufferings resurfaced from the memory where I had conscientiously tried to bury them forever. Memory is weird.
My body slowly relaxes. I let myself be lulled by the regular movement of the car, on this recently resurfaced highway. I feel the burning in my chest fading little by little.
It was trying. I was not ready and did not expect this. It was just supposed to be training. Like another. And it was so much more than that, it stirred up so many feelings, so many memories.
He places his hand on my thigh. Our eyes meet, he tells me you cried a lot, huh. I make a small face. He gently squeezes my thigh with his fingers before sliding them back onto the steering wheel.
Do I really have to relive all these memories to finally move on, why now, why does this octopus with burning tentacles sometimes take hold of my chest, why is it not controllable, how to live with it.
My eyes get lost in the reflection of the moon on a lake. In the distance, lights illuminate the ski slopes. The snow has already melted a lot. The mountains stand out once morest a not-quite-black background. The stars are already shining.
A tear runs down my cheek. He says by the way I saw my father, he wanted to reassure us, when we come back they will be able to accommodate us. I look at him and we both burst out laughing, visualizing with anguish a possible cohabitation.
I slide my hand around his neck and caress him, before pausing, reminding myself that he doesn’t like it when he’s driving. I sigh sorry. And he says no, you can continue.
He looks at me, smiles. He says it will be fine.
Yes, it will be fine.
I returned to port. The octopus stays on the high seas.
