Ada

*
The train stops all of a sudden and I'm jutted forward in unnatural motion and my teacup scatters and my pearls fumble with full, glossy sounds.
Fuller than brassy notes of evening.

Not lush but with luxury.

You understand of course. You understand. I was asleep when the train traversed Bretagne, dipping along the beautiful skirts of Normandie, the hesitant waver north of Orleans, and then finally into the beautiful Ile de France.

My companion in the compartiment de train was this middle-aged gentleman who kept a flask loosely opened and smelling of scotch.
He shows me his older maps and explains "comment les voies ferrées sont installées ailleurs depuis l'epoque dernière. Comprends?" He smiles and shows me with his finger.

My palms sweat and I don't know how to answer and I don't really want to anyways. I struggle with the distance and Ryan.
I am struggling with the distance. Every step is further into an adventure and a track away from him. I wonder what he's tasting now. I imagine his hands tearing at bread. Dip into sauce. Open a beer. Arrange lights on set, light a cig, do a line, do a line. I imagine his hands fiddling with the baggie.

Take a long drag, mark the set, reposition Nina. "No, not like that babe. Turn your face" Nina giggling. She's beautiful.

I am staying with my aunt in Paris and I see her at the station. She's daddy's favourite cousin with her red hair and green eyes and curious luminosity that she shines into the family. She's like an older version of me. She congratulates me for the semester abroad. Matter of factly. As if it was inevitable that this would happen. That the grades I worked for half as hard as I could have would have eventually led me to Sanctuary, to the doorsteps of the Sorbonne, begging and begging for a classical education.
"You will have classical education"

Enter some statues.
---------
I imagine Joce. She's smoking. I imagine her eyes, her hands. Her face and her curious luminosity. I want to tell her my favourite part about her is that part I cannot touch.
I want to dominate her thoughts and set her free. I want to dominate her thoughts. I want to dominate her. I want to unclothe her. I want to remind her she's just like the rest. I want to remind her she's not like the rest.

-------

My room is cold and there are golden embers in the old fireplace in my room. I fall asleep on the fur by my bed. I don't wash my hair. I don't wash my hair. Tomorrow she said we'll visit Les Tuileries.

-------
Ada is fighting with the tiny ghost of a white perfect dog. "Ahh mais P'tit Blanche, pas de patience!"
His flimsy lean body refuses to fall asleep.

Ada, her red hair
she swallowed men like air
herself -  bare
bare bare bare.

----------
I ring him. The trailer, the offices. The busy busy film crew phone, burried under coffees and wigs and makeup and film. So much film.
An angry little twerp answers.
"llo?"
"Hey it's Jocey. Is Ryan there please?"
"Oh hey Joce!" He makes french noises to me and asks if I tried snails.
"Not yet. Where is he?" My heart - a million miles a minute.
"Yeah sure, jeez Lah-ouiisee" I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. I like how my insides smell. My ribs extending into the rough wool, the necklace digging into my collarbone. Cold crisp and absolutely unaware of my bend
"Joce"
Ahhhhhhhhh
The high. The monosyllabic constellation of perfect arrangement. The insignificant moment in space and time when I know that this man loves me.
I resume nonchalance.
"How's it going?"
"Great. Joce! Perfect light today. The sun was so good to us baby. We got the river scene and then the moon did a fucking number and it was full did you know? How's Paris? Are you grumpy and wearing black?"
I don't blame him for this. I just miss him.
"Oh good. Full moon so Nina got her head chopped off without the dark side...of the moon? What the hell is the movie about anyways? Vampires or something?"
"Chainsaws, Nebraska, the disturbing quiet. Unquiet quiet"
God, horror movies. What people don't know is how organized a horror movie set has to be to achieve the chaos.
 I miss him so much.
"Oh right. I like that. I'll write the first review. Publish it for my school or something. When I'm back. New England studying Canadian filmography in the Midwest. Fucking North American. Through and through"
"Yeah okay baby. How are you? You sound so tired"
"No, I'm okay. Did you figure out the date?"
"Yeah let me wrap up the first set. I'm doing a million things and it's good work. I'm clean"
"Promise?"
"Promise"
"I love you"
"I'll be there before the leaves fall"
"You need to see leaves on trees on this continent"
"I need to see you"

The rest is all the same. I ring mama. I miss Daddy.
Much is fading.
There are moments when I'm standing on the corridor of memory. Minimized by the long shadows and heavy pieces of lived moments. I try to lift an experience. It cripples me. I try to lift a scent. I fall down into its siren's promise. I fall down.
When I resurface it's better than before.

*
I remember a long time ago I wanted to write about Orpheus. And his Eurydice. There was always a better story. About Orpheus and Jason. Jason was trying to do his job and be a hero but couldn't pass the sirens without Orpheus.
So he took Orpheus on the journey to sing. To sing a better song.