Saturday, March 29, 2008
nostalgias
Earlier this morning I played my Edith Piaf songs to my friends Jenny and Jessica, but now, I'm avoiding doing my taxes by sitting here sipping a glass of pink Cava, listening to Barcelone, sung by Boris Vian. I'm remembering last summer in Barcelona, getting my ass pinched in a crowded bar. I'm remembering getting tipsy riding the boat on the Seine and then getting subsequently lost in the streets of Paris with Anthony. Now my iTunes are spinning Ne Me Quitte Pas by Jacques Brel. I'm remembering the bicitaxi trips in the middle of the night in the potholed streets of Havana. I'm remembering the last time I saw Alexei, saying goodbye, not knowing when would be the next time, not realizing that it might be the last (or perhaps somehow I knew). I'm remembering the tears, clutching his skin, the taxi patiently waiting for us to let go. I'm remembering sitting down in the seat and closing the door, seeing his face through the window, cracking the window so I could hang onto the sensation of his touch for as long as the taxi allowed me. I'm remembering the sound of the revving engine as the accelerator was pressed down, and how our fingers were forced to separate. I'm remembering the last image that I have of him becoming smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror, until the taxi turned the corner and he was gone.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
a painting put together with words...lovely
Merci!
I like the Jacques Brel version better than the Nina Simone version. I remember he was pretty popular in the early 90s with a cynical, forlorn and rather portly French couple living below me in Kigali. I think they were humanitarian relief workers with ICRC. Two gay lovers who had broken up with their boyfriends. They weren't together. Just friends, they said. But I distinctly remember hearing them knocking around the bedroom at 3am like two star-crossed bulls in a China shop. (True story I swear.)
Prolly you don't want to sing that song to your friends with Mr. Accordion though. It would kinda kill the mood.
Hey Steph! How goes it?
Ne Me Quitte Pas is one of my favorite songs EVER! If I can learn how to play it on the accordion, I will! (Currently seeking the music sheets.)
Hello Lonely Trader...you are?
Jason from Tam
I forgot to mention that the lovers were women. Sandrine and Tamara. They really loved Brel and I still have one of the cassettes they gave me. Moo.
See, Brel always conjures nostalgia... good or bad (or ugly). ;-)
Naw. I make fun of Sandrine and Tamara, but they would do the same to me. I feel kinda nostalgic for those days. Brel conjures that emotion. But I'm a bore. A sappy, snorey bore. Which makes me the ideal Brel fan. (And who also makes the occasional politically incorrect reference.)
And I had a thing for Sandrine's sister...but alas, she liked girls, too. Never could forgive the lesbian community for that. Just one of the many issues I have to work through when I get back to the States.
Eniways, I don't think I have had one single relationship as an adult that wasn't in part transatlantic. It's very hard on both the body and the psyche, pining away the hours like that.
And on those few occasions when you can be together, it's almost like being diagnosed with a terminal illness and you just wanna squeeze every last drop of life out of the moments you have. The goodbyes are like the final hour, before the lights dim. Come to think of it, I abhor the thought of doing that again. It's no fun. Who needs it? Ish.
That's why I was usually drunk during the last final hours. LOL! ;-)
There's nothing easy about long distance relationships, and few benefits. Still hard to let go though. It's like a special kind of egg.
Annie Hall will be at The Castro next week.
Post a Comment