Pages Ripped Out
He’s sitting, eyes closed, in the meditation hall at École Supérieure. She hasn’t seen Gerard since they met at a seminar in Munich two years ago, tentative kisses in a hotel hallway. Trim beard, dark hair and eyes, his English shaky, her French wobbly, a language muddle, until she understands he’s moved back to Paris from Algeria, is teaching biology, though university jobs are hard to find.
The friend Leah’s traveling with shakes her head, but moves to another room leaving them alone. Gerard doesn’t seem embarrassed or apologetic, assumes lying is sometimes necessary for sexual courtesy.
Back in Cambridge Miguel’s smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, charming, infuriating, stubbornly predicting pot’s climb toward quasi-legality, brushing off Leah’s fears that sooner or later one of his escapades might get him arrested or attacked by a dubious associate.
She tells Gerard she’d consider a move to Paris if she could find a job teaching ballet, but he replies, “Pas pour moi,” sensing it’s puff-ball fantasy, as they don’t know each other well enough to be sure it’s something either of them might want. He tells sour stories of his childhood, a cold punitive mother who said she’d rather raise a goat than a boy, then reaches for her, attentive, sensual, playful.
A week later she’s on the plane to Boston trying to meditate, writing journal notes about Gerard like a postcard sent only to herself, struggling to reframe things as if she’s learned something, though no idea what.
Months pass, back to teaching ballet, arguing with Miguel about dealing pot while holding him close, when a letter arrives from Gerard saying he’s on his way to the states, hopes to stay with her in Cambridge, maybe travel together. She replies that he can stay, but Miguel will be there, too.
Strange to see Gerard unrolling his green sleeping bag on the living room floor while chatting with Miguel who’s on the couch. Leah’s alone in a small room, a light sleeper easily disturbed, especially by snoring. In the morning they shower, chat over coffee in multiple languages, as Miguel’s first language is Spanish.
Leaving for work, Miguel whispers, “How’s your boyfriend enjoying his trip,” as if he smells it, feels it.
Blurring truth and lie, she says, “Gerard’s from my meditation group, met him in Munich and Paris, a biology professor on a tight budget,” as if being a biology professor cancels sex.
Gerard’s curious about historical sites, the Bunker Hill monument, The State House, wants to see the USS Constitution in the harbor, the pond in the park, museums, Harvard yard, their chatter bilingual and ambivalent. She’s attracted, but their kisses are light, maintaining emotional distance. He says he’s leaving soon, “Et toi?” wanting her to join him.
She considers packing a bag, but it’s a non-starter as her ballet teaching schedule resumes in a few days, and she’s still entangled with Miguel. Though curious, she doesn’t ask Gerard about his girl friend probably waiting in France while he tastes what it’s like to be with someone else. He rolls up his sleeping bag, later sends a note which she answers just as briefly to his Paris address.
Years later, in Denmark for another meditation gathering, she sees Gerard standing outside the cafeteria, smiling at her. She’s holding her three year old daughter’s hand, about to take her to the bathroom, no time for more than a few words. He’s not as lean as he used to be, looks tired, dark hair streaked gray.
She assumes he’s doing a similar time/age scan of her, not sure she’ll be able to tell him about Miguel’s illness, the misery of his death, how hard it was adopting her daughter or anything else. The man she’s been seeing is about loneliness, not love, making her feel off-balance, unsure where her foot will land next. Whatever might have been with Gerard, it’s probably too late, pages ripped out of the book.
- © Nina Rubinstein Alonso 2022
Nina Rubinstein Alonso’s work appeared in Ploughshares, The New Yorker, Ibbetson Street, Wilderness House Literary Review, BluePepper, Taj Mahal Review, Broadkill Review, U. Mass. Review, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, etc. Her book This Body was published by David Godine Press, her chapbook Riot Wake by Cervena Barva Press, and another poetry collection and story collection are in the works.
