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Remembering Montreal

I remember first arriving in Montreal and watching the streets pass as I made my way to my lover’s apartment. I remember arriving at the building just off the McGill University campus and thinking it was like returning home to Providence where I grew up off of the Brown university campus. My father was a professor there. My lover is a professor here, I think. Life is funny that way…
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I remember the brilliance of the light that came in through the bedroom window from the skyscrapers at night and how it was already getting quite chilly in Late September and we needed a wool blanket. I remember the wool blanket made me itchy, but I didn't really care as the itchiness was far less important than the happiness I felt lying next to this man. I remember how easy it was to take up daily life with a man I only saw occasionally and who I craved constantly.

I remember that first night, and the next morning, and how I was reminded of the way bodies so wonderfully rediscover one another and how the imprint of the one we love remains on the skin and that writing on the body is a novel written in chapters and how I was beginning a new one.

I remember that first day alone and how I strolled the streets of Montreal while he worked. I remember the rush of students around me and how once I got through the McGill Ghetto and moved on toward Rue St. Laurent the ages changed and as did the clothes. I remember taking notice of how some shops only spoke French whilst others only seemed to speak English, and how beautiful it was to me that both languages become a song everywhere I went as the two courted one another in and out of every place I visited.

I remember my first meal out in little café called "Frites Alors” on Rue St. Laurent and realizing that I was very rusty on my French, ordered the simplest thing I could find which was a chicken sandwich with French fries. The entire menu was in French with no English translation. I remember getting the significance of this when I spotted flags all over the city that signified the desire of those residents who wanted the entire city to be a French speaking one only. I remember being grateful for the restaurants and shops that were more neutral and bore signs in both French and English.

I remember the end of that first day alone with my lover. That night was a rather magical one…

There is more to remember, of course, but I think I’ll take it in stages. It was a week that was important to me, therefore I think I will let it be a week I savor slowly in the remembrance of it as well…

Comments (3)

Maria:

Memories like these are the ones we savour slowly, remembering in bits and pieces. Those that bring a small, sly smile that only we ourselves know the origin of. The scene that only we see when others say "you have that faraway look in your eyes". You are telling your story beautifully! Thank you for sharing this obviously wonderful time in your life, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of Montreal!

Shhh, don't talk to me, I'm waiting to hear more about Montreal and what happened next!

Kathy:

Maria,

You get it...

Leslie,

I'll make sure to whisper everything else then. ;-)

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