shams
“This is the world you have made yourself, now you have to live in it.”
Dear Anias,
More cream than caffeine. Dry skin. Warm, red-tiled floor. Grey sky, a blue bird on the terrace. Sunless and still shining. Today, I am buoyant.
Yesterday evening, I went for a wee hike in the forest and discovered a tree with cascading purple flowers at its center. Usually, I don't walk toward the middle paths because it's a dog park with too many people standing shoulder to shoulder. Pups of all sizes race without a leash. People with small packages strapped to their chests. Wait- that's a child!
I amble along the outer rim and watch between the boughs. Women with their hair combed in plaits. Men in dark sweaters. Couples kissing on the wooden benches. Sigh. It's delicious to wander this way, unseen.
I had the park to myself once the sun began its slow decline. So I walked into the middle, where the trees left a bit of room for the dogs to play and there was this gorgeous bush, so much taller than me, with tiny indigo petals and a yellow stamen at each center.
I reclined in the grass and looked up at the half moon, like a child being tucked into bed, the blankets drawn up to its chin. It's the first quarter phase of Cancer, so I'm considering my lover or lack thereof. I am content with the absence. My body burns with such a dark heat every evening and I'm forced to reckon with its release. Writing, dancing, dreaming between the cold white sheets. I turned the temperature down because the landlord grew cross about it. It's winter, Clara said; of course, it's cold. The floor is warm and the contrast is delicious. This stepping from hard, heated earth into the soft, cool bedding.
In the light, everything appears flat. Darkness reveals more dimensions.
I lounged in the grass and watched the swallows flit overhead, sweeping in wide arcs to catch the bugs. I counted four consistently, though there may have been more. Two girls sat on the hill overhead, playing music and laughing. Whispering to each other in French. I could smell marijuana and knew a man was in a dark hoodie somewhere with a roach pinned between his finger and thumb. I'd seen him through the thicket. As the sky purpled and faded, the birds bustled and bikes flew past. People were leaving the park. It became very quiet. I could just hear my breath moving in and out of my body. Hands-on my belly, I relished this sweet silent moment with myself.
The moon became so bright and the sky was black that even the birds disappeared; I stood up to leave. Many paths and staircases wind up the hill within the park. There are at least three children's playgrounds within the twists and turns. I made it to the largest staircase that spins in two distinct directions, one toward the swan pond before I realized I'd dropped my phone. I hiked back up to the purple tree and my patch of grass and found it where I'd been resting. As I collected the phone, I heard sirens wailing for about five minutes. The noise stopped, and I took the opposite path toward the stone ruins, a cave where children play in daylight. It was vacant.
The gates were locked at this side of the park, and so I walked to the main gate by the fountain. It was also locked. I could hear music, though there was no one within eyesight.
I turned around and walked back to the swan pond and across to the entrance I'd come through to enter the park. The gates are each fifteen feet or so high and boasted thick metal bars with pointed tips at the top. I saw it was also locked when I arrived at the final gate. A heavy metal chain that I rattled with my hands.
A group of boys in their mid-twenties were a few feet away, laughing and smoking. They looked over at me as I shook the gate. There were seven of them, and none moved as I said hello. Do you know how I get out?
No one answered me. They looked away.
Odd, isn't it, the degree we can avoid what is right in front of us?
I smiled, panic had set in and my heart fluttered. I took a deep breath. I pushed my feet into the earth. You've got this, I whispered to myself; you can figure this out.
Hello, I said again to the young men, how does it work if I'm locked inside the park?
You have to swim out! One of the boys called back. Jump into the canal and swim; that is the only way.
The group laughed. There were perhaps seven of them sharing beers and cigarettes.
I don't want to swim; is there another way?
No! You're stuck! Another one is called, you must sleep there, or swim!
More laughter.
I took a step back from the gate and looked around. Considering my options. There was no way to swim; that was ridiculous. And the gate was so high; I could not climb it. My only option was to walk back to the main entrance and wait for someone to walk by on a stroll with their dog. To ask someone else and hope that they cared enough to assist me.
The boys walked over.
You speak French, one asked.
No.
Their English was not good, hence all the laughter. Two teased me, one translated on his phone, two ignored me and smoked, one made a phone call, and two provided me with an explanation.
Every night at sunset, the gates are locked. The sirens announce the security officer who arrives to close the park. Everyone in Nimes knows this.
Are you not from here?
No, I am visiting.
Ah, yes, you are locked in. There is nothing to do about it.
As I mentally prepared to sleep in the park, a man with a bicycle rode up behind me. He too lost track of time and was locked in! I was so relieved. He was from Nimes and spoke fluent French with one of the boys on the other side of the fence. The boy he spoke with was the most helpful and enduring. He had kind eyes, a cute smile, and long dark wavy hair.
There's always one kind heart in a group.
The boy with the bike turned back to me; there is a path out at one of the children's parks. The pathway through the park leads to another gate. It is not so high; we will jump the gate there.
As he spoke, the brown-haired boy set his feet in the gold circles between each thick metal bar.
I'll come; I'll show you the way.
Sticking his feet on the thin edges of each circle, he climbed the fifteen or so-foot-high gate, slipped between the sharp edges, and climbed down onto our side!
He leaped down from the final few rungs and landed beside me.
Here, follow me. I will show you the way out.
I could have kissed him! I was so happy and grateful.
The fence we were to climb over was only about ten feet high, though I still needed a boost to get my hands to the top bar and draw myself up and over. The boy with the bike took off, and I walked with the French boy to the canal, where we bid goodbye.
I enjoy the feeling of being protected. Of having someone take care of me. It feels good to be looked after in that way. It feels good to know that someone's strong arms are open to catch you should you fall off the fence. I want someone to catch me. I want to fling myself out like a rubber ball in a leather slingshot. I want to be let go without a specific target. I don't need to have that precision in my aim. Wherever I land, I know I can get up and keep going. I know I can manage the falls and the rebounds. I know I can sustain the rhythm and go with whatever obstacles and snarls I encounter.
I want to know that someone is there to receive me. I don't need it, though I desire it.
I need to go to Turkey and do my own thing. Abderrahmane and I will not stay together. We will not travel together. We will not be at each other's side. He is there to catch me, though he is doing it out of duty. I want desire. I don't need him. I never did. I want it to last; I want it to work out. However, we are pointed in two very different directions for the time being. He does not understand me, and it isn't the language barrier. He does not respond to my philosophical prompts or my poetic musings. I don't know what goes on in his head. Perhaps nothing. I ask him simple questions and he doesn't answer those consistently, either. He worries about me. He asks me how I am doing and where I am every single day. There is no heart in it. I feel it is out of a duty to perform because we are connected. There is a thread between us. Respect. Adoration. Kindness. We have a trip planned, so there is something to uphold between us. Planning. Preparation. I don't want it.
I'd rather be alone with my desire.
Photo source.
