Process

V is suggesting that for my May gift he’ll dig up something for me from the garage.

Part of the new year’s resolution to write a 365-word blog each day was his promise that for each month I made good on the deal, he’d give me a gift. So far I have received an ipod touch, a spa gift certificate, a book and a c.d. But he’s taking exception to my recent posts – the 12-part series of the short story Balance.

Now I admit, Balance is a story I wrote years ago and one night, when I was desperately trying to think up something to blog about, I was trolling though old files and came across some stories I’ve written over the years – and I decided to use Balance as a series.

Is this cheating? Is this an example of letter of the law vs. spirit of the law?

In my defence, turning a short story into a blog series is not as simple as cut and paste – esp since I have my precise 365-word target. I tried to find places within the story where a break could be inserted, and then either had to cut or expand the text to reach my target count. It was actually a very interesting way to edit and revisit old writing. I had to think more about what was essential to the story and shave away unnecessary words – or in other cases delve back into the characters to expand a conversation or incident.

Taking time to write each day is not that hard. Sure there are days when I am sick or tired for a long day at work and the last thing I want to do is turn on my computer and blog – but generally once I start writing I find the process enjoyable. The hard part is coming up with a topic. I don’t think my readers have any desire to read a laundry list of my daily tasks – or, to use another laundry metaphor, do I wish to air all that is dirty.

So forgive me if at times I revert to series of topics and previous writings. Would that my life were more interesting.

Short story: Balance (last segment)

Michael watched his cousin pull apart her croissant. She was still so guarded with him. They had spent months living on opposite sides of the world, but it was now that he felt farthest away from her.

“Claudia,” he said, then paused. “You and I, well, we’ve sort of gone in different directions since we left Canada.”

Claudia bristled, hearing his words first as a criticism. But she looked up to see his eyes smiling kindly at her. “I don’t think whatever you’re doing is bad,” he added. “If anything, I feel intimidated because you’re not afraid to be doing all sorts of things that I’ve never tried.”

“I guess I thought you were criticizing me,” Claudia said quietly, staring at the cup between her hands.

“Well, you criticized what I was doing in Thailand.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Claudia mumbled. “I didn’t really mean what I said.”

They were both silent for a moment; then Michael spoke carefully, cautiously. “Look, we’re both changing. And we’ve kind of being doing it at opposite ends of the scale.”

Claudia was reminded of the two of them as kids, riding on the teeter-totter. Stronger and heavier than her, Michael used to get her stuck in the air, kicking and protesting. Then, when she wasn’t expecting it, he’d suddenly push off with his legs so her end would come crashing down. If she didn’t stop herself in time, her seat would hit the ground with a heavy bump and he would cackle with laughter. ‘Use your legs, Claude,’ he’d call out as she’d vainly try to bounce him back.

Light from the skylight lit the table between them, a patch of lesser grey in the hazy half-light. Claudia smiled at her memory. With Michael facing her across the table, she could almost imagine him sitting on the opposite end of teeter-totter, only now instead of trying to bump each other, they were attempting a wobbly, uncertain stasis. Claudia held her breath, poised in mid-air. She looked at her cousin and was surprised to realize he was doing the same. They both let their breath out with a laugh and the light seemed to waver, but the balance held.

Short story: Balance (part xi)

The next morning Michael was sitting at the kitchen table when Claudia slouched in. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on since he first saw her at the airport and they were rumpled and disheveled; her black pants were dull with cigarette ash and spilled wine.

“Don’t you ever change your clothes?” Michael asked, meaning to joke. But Claudia glowered at him from her red, smudged eyes. “I’m kidding, Claude,” he said softly, but she remained tense, hanging in the doorway. After a suspended moment, she took a step backward.

“I’m going to have a shower.”

When Claudia came back to the kitchen twenty minutes later, her dark hair was damp, ruffled by a towel. She had changed her clothes, put on an old pair of jeans, a light blue sweater and soft scarf. Her face, though still tired, looked young and bare without make-up. Michael smiled when he saw her, as if recognizing her for the first time. She smiled back uncomfortably and ran her hand through her hair.

Michael pushed a warm, paper bag toward her. Inside were two fresh croissants. From the burner he poured thick, steaming coffee into a chipped mug.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching for a croissant. “You didn’t have to do this, Michael.”

“I know.”

He sat down at the far end of the table and they faced each other, weighing the words that needed to be said.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked, his voice even.

“Yes, and no.”

He nodded and the reciprocal, unspoken question hung between them till he pushed it aside.

“Claude, do you remember asking me if I was nervous about going back to Canada?”

She nodded.

“I am. I just didn’t want to admit it. You were right that we’ve both changed. Sometimes I think I’ve completely lost touch. I’ve spent 10 months living in rural Thailand, most of my co-workers were twice my age. Do you know that the movie on the flight here was the first Hollywood film I’d seen since I left? I didn’t recognize anyone in it.”

Claudia nodded absently, his kind tone made her feel even worse about the night before.

Short story: Balance (part x)

For a short time Claudia was able to forget about her cousin. The conversation was lively and she threw herself into it. She accepted another glass of wine and soon began to feel a welcome lightness in her head, a tingling in her thighs. But when there was a lull in the conversation she turned to see Michael’s pained face.

Claudia finished her glass and put her hand on Margrite’s knee. “I should go. Michael’s miserable.”

“Stay,” Margrite said. “Don’t worry so much about your cousin. He’s a grown man.”

Claudia smiled uncertainly and went over to her cousin.

“How’re you doing?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replied.

“Do you want to go back?”

“Whatever.” His face was like stone.

“Why do you have to be such a prick?” Claudia exploded. “Why can’t you just get off your high horse for once? You just sit there and judge me. What am I doing that’s so terrible? What?”

Michael said nothing, his mouth tight.

“This?” demanded Claudia, waving her cigarette in his face. “This?” she said, gesturing wildly to the wine on the table, nearly knocking over a glass.

“I never said you were terrible. Maybe that’s your own conscious talking.”

Claudia felt her face grow hot and tears filled her eyes. “Yeah, well I didn’t feel like this till you got here.”

Michael looked at her, his eyes smoky grey in the half light. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“I haven’t even started,” Claudia shot back. “If you don’t want to be here, go! Take my keys. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She tossed her keys onto the table in front of him and spun around, but her foot caught a chair leg and she lost her balance. Unable to catch herself she fell into Jean-Luc, who caught her with a laugh.

“What, drunk so soon?” he asked, steadying her. “Allez, debout.” He laughed and Claudia felt her face burn like a cigarette tip.

Her ankle smarted where it had caught the chair, but she refused to limp as she walked back to Margrite. She heard Michael’s apologetic good-bye to the people around him but pretended to be engaged in a conversation and didn’t turn to wave good-bye.

Short story: Balance (part ix)

The bar to which Claudia and Margrite led Michael was on a narrow street lined with small cafés and family-run restaurants. The inside was crowded and dark. The walls were covered with large abstract paintings and colored neon lights. Cigarette smoke thickly hung in the air.

“Come Michael, I’ll introduce you to my friends,” Claudia said as they threaded their way between tables. There was a large group clustered around some tables near the back and, upon reaching it, Claudia and Margrite began to circle the group, giving everyone a kiss on each cheek. Michael awkwardly followed suit. A waitress came by, Claudia and Margrite both asked for wine; in stilted French Michael said, “un verre d’eau, s’il vous plait.”

Watching him squeeze self-consciously into one of the chairs around the table, Claudia regretted brining her cousin along. She felt like she was 16 again and he was her chaperone, checking to make sure she didn’t drink too much or go home with someone. The longer she watched him, the more annoyed she felt.

When her glass of wine arrived she downed half of it at once and plucked a cigarette from Margrite’s pack. “I’ll give you one of mine tomorrow,” she said and kissed her full on the lips. Through the corner of her eye she saw Michael look, then turn away. “Do you want one?” she sang out to him, but he kept his head turned. Claudia sighed and leaned over so Margrite could light her cigarette. “He wouldn’t even want to know,” she said.

Blowing smoke into the hanging cloud above the table, she stared at her cousin with heavy eyes. He wasn't talking to anyone and was sitting as he had at the café with her the other day – facing away from the table and staring blindly into the room. She sensed his guardedness and even his discomfort, but at the moment she wasn't feeling very charitable. He didn’t have to come here, she told herself.

Finishing her wine she went to the bar and ordered another. She could feel Michael’s eyes as she came back to the table, but when she turned to meet them, he had already turned away.

Short story: Balance (part viii)

Michael woke with a start. It was dark outside and he was cramped and uncomfortable. He had fallen asleep reading and woke to find his books squashed between his slumped body and the wall. The spine was bent; the cover was folded back upon itself. Michael’s stomach felt uneasy and his head felt light; he got slowly to his feet and opened the door into the kitchen.

Claudia and Margrite were sitting at the table, a red light was burning above the sink and candles were lit on the table. Wet photos hung around them like oversized leaves of an exotic plant. Michael hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat.

Claudia spun her head and he thought he saw her blush, but he couldn’t be sure in the red light. Her kohl rimmed eyes seemed smudged, as if someone had taken an eraser and started to rub out the edges. “Oh, Michael,” she said and threw a quick glance at Margrite. She stood to turn off the red light above the sink and flicked on the bare white ceiling bulb. They all blinked and lowered their eyes against its sudden harshness.

“I thought you were out for the night,” Claudia said.

“What time is it?” Michael stood awkwardly, his six-foot frame filling the doorway.

“It’s after nine. Margrite and I were just talking about going to meet some of our friends, but I wasn’t sure if you were really asleep or if you were going to wake up.” She was studying him, trying to size up her obligations, her feelings. “Are you hungry,” she asked, not unsympathetically.

Michael shook his head. He hadn’t eaten much all day, but he still wasn’t adjusted to the time change and new diet. He felt vaguely hungry but had no desire to eat.

“If you want to go out, that’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Do you want to come?” Claudia asked. They both knew it was a gesture of politeness and the question hung for a moment between the two of them.

“Sure,” Michael said, attempting a casual tone; but the word came out tight and clipped.

“Great,” said Claudia without a hint of enthusiasm.

Short story: Balance (part vii)

When they reached the apartment, Claudia was relieved to see Margrite in the hallway.

“I have to do a roll,” she said, holding up the film. “Wanna help?”

Margrite could see the desperation in Claudia’s eyes and the tension between the two cousins who stood stiffly in the hall, so she nodded and followed Claudia into the kitchen. Michael went into the bedroom and closed the door firmly. He was exhausted and longed to sleep, but he was aware of his cousin in the next room and of her anxious voice seeping through the walls like water stains.

In the kitchen, Claudia and Margrite covered the window and the cracks of light around the door. Claudia switched on the red light near the sink and pulled a bottle of wine from the cupboard. “I need a drink,” she said and poured for each of them.

As she got her developing equipment ready, she described her visit to the gallery and her cousin’s patronizing barbs. “It’s like he thinks he needs to be my father, always sizing me up, criticizing me. And what did he mean by when he said he’s not hiding anything. Was he implying that I am?”

“You are,” said Margrite. She had a soft, lilting accent influenced by the many languages she spoke. But the voice that usually soothed Claudia only grated her further.

“I’m not going to come out to him if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she said coldly as she flicked off the light and began unwinding the film from its spool. She heard Margrite sigh behind her.

“It’s not just that,” Claudia said slowly. Her words seemed heavier in this darkness. “It’s the fact that my French isn’t perfect, that I don’t play tennis, that I don’t know where I’m going to work once I’m done school. It’s like I suddenly have my parents here. In everything he says I hear them, hear what they would think if they saw me here, living in this tiny apartment, earning money under the table.”

Claudia turned the red light back on. “I wanted my cousin to see my life here – but now I don’t like the way he looks at it.”

Short story: Balance (part vi)

After they left the café Claudia stopped to take photos of children chasing pigeons on a cobblestone street. “I sell pictures to tourist agencies,” she explained Michael as he watched her adjusting her lens. “They want conventional shots. Not the kind of stuff I really like, but they pay me and for now that’s what counts.”

“Is that how you support yourself?”

“That, and teaching some night classes to students wanting to learn English.”

“I thought you need a work visa for something like that.”

Claudia shrugged. “There are so many students who want to learn English that schools fill up quickly. It’s not hard to get work teaching if you have a university degree. Besides, it’s not a real job, it’s more like tutoring.”

Michael didn’t reply, just looked at her with knitted brow - an expression that made her think instantly of her father and she bristled.

“Look, living in Paris isn’t cheap. I have to pay tuition and rent, plus all the photo expenses. How am I supposed to pay for these things if I can’t work?”

“You should apply for a working visa.”

“Do you have any idea what a hassle that is? French administration is a nightmare.”

She turned the camera on him, attempting to distract the conversation, and he scowled at her. He had shaved his beard the night before and his white jaw contrasted with the dark, weathered skin of his cheeks and forehead. Through her lens, his childish scowl and raw skin reminded her of the boy she had been friends with years ago. She put down the camera and remained facing him.

“Are you nervous about going back to Canada?” she asked, purposefully softening her voice. He looked away and into the silence she volunteered, “I don’t know if I’d be ready to go back now.”
Michael sucked in a breath, bit his lower lip, then replied with a tight voice. “Why would I be nervous? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Claudia turned away, annoyed that she suddenly felt ashamed of what she was hiding from her cousin, from those back home.

“We should get back,” she said. “I have to develop this roll for tomorrow.”

Short story: Balance (part v)

Claudia took Michael to one of her favorite cafés near the Seine. She loved this place for the old photos filling every inch of wall space, for the well-worn tables and the clients lingering over small coffees and glasses of wine. But Michael seemed blind to all this and focused instead on the price of a small espresso and the drifts of cigarette smoke that irritated his lungs. He sat perpendicularly to the table, staring blankly across the room. Claudia sipped her espresso and studied her cousin’s profile. It was so familiar to her, and yet in this context it seemed foreign.

“Tell me about Thailand,” she asked, after waiting for him to break the heavy silence.

“We were developing irrigation systems in rural areas,” he replied with a tired voice.

“Is that what you did the whole time?”

“Well, I was part of a team. We were doing a variety of development and education projects.”

“Like what?” she pressed.

“Various irrigation projects for rice farmers, resources… that sort of thing,” he replied without looking at her.

Claudia was annoyed at his dismissive tone. “So who invited you to Thailand,” she challenged.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did the villagers say, ‘Come, help us, teach us your great western knowledge?’”

Michael caught the sarcasm in her voice and his face darkened. “The government invited our organization. It’s part of international trade and third-world development.”

“Third-world,” Claudia sneered. “I love that. Like they’re third class people.”

“Claudia, you know I don’t think that.” Michael swung abruptly in his chair to face her. “International aid is complicated; even the best of motives are never pure. So don’t give me some cliché criticism. You’re a photographer, you should know that nothing is ever completely black or white.” He stood up quickly and went to the bar to pay.

Claudia sucked in her lip. She had wanted him to see that she could think for herself, that she was learning to challenge ideas she had previously held. Instead she knew she’d come across sounding stupid and trite. She reached in her bag for a cigarette and lit it quickly, anticipating the look of disapproval on her cousin’s face.

Short story: Balance (part iv)

As she rode the metro, Claudia felt anxious and unsettled. Thinking about Michael made her feel guilty and embarrassed. She had planned to get up early, get croissants from downstairs and give him a map of Paris, recommend galleries and sites, make sure he would be okay his first day in the city. She groaned as she realized that she had even forgotten to give him a key. She decided to skip her afternoon classes and come back early, try to make it up to him.

It was around noon when Claudia came home, carrying a fresh baguette and groceries for lunch. Michael looked up with annoyed surprise.

“I thought you had classes all day,” he said. “That’s what your friend Margrite told me.”

“I did,” Claudia replied. “But I felt bad about not leaving you with keys or anything to do, so I skipped them to hang out with you.”

“You shouldn’t have missed classes. Margrite told me she would leave the door open and I was getting ready to go out,” he said.

“Oh.”

Claudia set down her groceries. The room seemed crowded with Michael at the table. “Well, are you hungry?”

“I already ate.”

There was a half-eaten baguette on the table and she set hers down beside it, noticing that hers was broken in two.

With forced cheerfulness, Claudia suggested they go to the Louvre. Michael agreed dully. Once inside, he spent half an hour inching his way through a thick crowd to get a close look at the Mona Lisa.

“I’ve never understood what’s so special about that painting,” Claudia huffed after waiting impatiently for him. “It’s so little and isolated behind that glass. I want art accessible, alive. The Mona Lisa is a small, dead painting - a pretty corpse on display.”

“It’s a classic,” he admonished, “one of the most beautiful paintings that exist.”

“Just because it’s a classic, doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she said. She was annoyed at her cousin for showing such interest in the painting. When she had shown him some of her photographs the night before, he had flipped through them quickly, indifferently. “So this is what you do,” he’d said.

Short story: Balance (part iii)

Michael woke before dawn. He was disoriented, shivering under a damp chill. An unfamiliar grey half-light came in through the window; a siren on the street below was foreign and threatening. It took a few moments to remember he was in his cousin’s room in Paris. He tried to ease himself back to sleep, but he his body was stuck on Thai time. The bed was uncomfortable and cold.

He groped in the dark for a light switch, accidentally knocking a framed photo off the wall. After finding the light, he reached to pick it up. A crack snaked across the glass making a fissure between Claudia and another young woman. They were standing beside a fountain, arms around each other, their faces happy but over-exposed by a bright light.

Michael touched the rough line in the crack and his finger passed over Claudia’s face. ‘She’s changed,’ he thought. Last night she had seemed skittish, nervous. She rarely met his eyes. When they were growing up she had been like a little sister to him. He was worried about the edginess and unease he saw now.

In Margrite’s room, Claudia woke with a start. She checked her watch and realized she’d slept in. She tried to sneak out of bed quickly, but got caught on in the blankets.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered to Margrite, who groaned and rolled toward the wall.

Claudia dressed hastily in the clothes she had worn the day before and quietly closed the door behind her. Michael was reading on her bed when she came into the room, forgetting to knock. They both jumped.

‘Oh, sorry. I forgot you were here,’ Claudia said. ‘I’m late for school.’ She darted around her room, grabbing a notebook and pen and stuffing them into her black bag. ‘I’ve gotta run. I’ll be back at 4:00. Sorry, Michael.... Um, help yourself to whatever you need. There isn’t much to eat, but there’s a patisserie across the street. I’m sorry. Are you going to be okay all day?” Her words tumbled out her mouth and fell onto the cluttered floor.

‘Stop apologizing,’ Michael said. ‘Go. You’ll be late. I’m fine.’

‘Okay.... I’m sorry Michael. See you later.’

Short story: Balance (part ii)

Claudia pushed open the door to her bedroom, a narrow room with a dirty window through which she could look over Paris’s hazy, grey skyline. Photographs covered the blue walls. A single bed with thin blankets was tucked against the wall, across from which was a small desk cluttered with prints and books.

“You can sleep here,” Claudia said to her cousin, who was standing uncertainly in the doorway.

“I’m going to crash with my flat-mate, Margrite.”

“I don’t want to kick you out of your room,” Michael protested.

“Well, would you rather sleep with Margrite?” she teased and a dark blush rose beneath his tan.

“It’s just... I could... well I could stay in a youth hostel or something,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it. Hostels are ridiculously over priced and Margrite and I are fine. Really, she doesn’t mind at all.”

Claudia didn’t add that this would not be the first time she had shared her friend’s bed. There were topics and ambiguities she was not ready to discuss, not with him, not with anyone. But swallowing words made her feel heavy and she felt a prick of resentment towards him, as if he were responsible for her lack of honesty.

That night she lay down beside Margrite and nestled into the arms that encircled her. She could feel the heat of Margrite’s skin pressing against her back.

“I was really looking forward to Michael coming here,” she said as a hand began caressing her back. “But he just makes me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious.”

Margrite didn’t say anything, but her warm hand traced lines on Claudia’s back, like she was writing in invisible ink.

“I wanted Michael to be happy for me here, but I find myself keeping things from him, lying to him, hiding my cigarettes, hiding you...” Claudia spoke in a low voice in case her cousin could hear through the thin walls.

“Why do you need to impress him so much?” Margrite asked gently. “What does it matter what he thinks?”

“You’re right,” said Claudia, rolling away from the caressing hand. “It shouldn’t matter what he thinks. This is my life and I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Short story: Balance (part i)

Waiting at the Charles de Gaulle airport, Claudia wondered if she’d recognize her cousin. It had been more than a year since she last saw him, before he left Canada to volunteer in Thailand and she came to study photography in Paris. But she knew him instantly, although his skin was darkly tanned and his face thin. Faded clothes hung loosely on his tall, narrow frame. Familiar blue eyes smiled above an unfamiliar beard. They embraced self-consciously.

“How was your flight?”

“Long. You’ve cut your hair.” Claudia’s hair, once long, was cropped close around her petite face.

“Yes.” She reached up to smooth it down. “What do you think?”

“I liked it long.”

Claudia lived on a six floor walk up and Michael was winded by the time they reached her door. “It takes some getting used to,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes I’ll climb all the way up and realize I forgot to buy milk or bread. I’ll go without rather than do the stairs again.”

“It’s just because I’m tired after my long flight,” he said. “You should be running up and down these stairs everyday for exercise. Then you’d be in good shape.”

Claudia’s face twitched but she held her tongue and turned to unlock the door. It’s true she wasn’t in shape anymore and wondered if he had already sized that up. She and Michael used to play tennis together; he had been a demanding coach and she was glad she did not have a racket here.

As she opened the door to let her cousin follow her in, she looked at her apartment with eyes she hadn’t worn in months. Paint was peeling off the narrow hallway walls like bark from a dying tree. The light from a single bulb seemed to drown in the dusty air. The bathroom, shared with two tenants, was basically a toilet in a closet. The half-size bath and cracked ceramic sink were tucked beside the kitchen. A skylight opened directly above the bath and she told Michael her flatmates joked that when it rained you could just open the window instead of turning on the shower. His mouth crinkled into an uneasy smile.