Leaving Madeleine - Part 2
After our sport, Madeleine went to the bathroom to take a shower. I went back to sleep. She woke me about an hour later to say goodbye and remind me of our dinner plans that night. She smelled the way women do and wore tight grey jeans and a black, scoop neck tee-shirt. I assured her I hadn't forgotten. She kissed me on the forehead and left for her morning class at La Sorbonne. I lay there staring at the ceiling a little while, letting the sun pouring in from the bedroom window warm my face. It was very comfortable under the giant duvet and I always had a rough time. Nevertheless, I extricated myself from the bed a few minutes later and made my way to the shower. Once clean, I ate a breakfast of eggs and sausage, washed the dishes, put on my own tee-shirt and jeans, and left for the Châtelet station.
The walk through le Marais was as pleasant as ever. I resisted the smell of chocolate croissants and spinach and cheese paninis and arrived at the metro without incident. I got on the number four heading towards Porte d'Orléans and found a seat near the back.
It was not until Cité that I caught a Japanese girl, twenty or twenty-two at the most, staring at me. There was something in the way she was looking that got my attention. It was not to flirt, although I am sure there was a sexual element to it, but it was more as if she had found something interesting. As casually as I could manage, I glanced at my reflection in the dirty metro car window, thinking maybe there was something on my face.
There wasn't.
When I looked back and caught her eyes a second time, I realized it wasn't a catch. She had never stopped looking. The look was slow. A way really. I wondered if that's what I liked best about it. Not that she looked dumb, more, she wasn't in any kind of rush. She seemed like she would take her time with just about anything. We shared the space between us until she got off at Odéon. I noticed her clothes. Tight black jeans with gray short boots and a loose-fitting, white tee-shirt (it must have been that kind of day). The neck of the shirt was so big it hung off her shoulder revealing a black bra strap. She was thin, but not without shape.
I thought about her for the rest of the day.
The walk through le Marais was as pleasant as ever. I resisted the smell of chocolate croissants and spinach and cheese paninis and arrived at the metro without incident. I got on the number four heading towards Porte d'Orléans and found a seat near the back.
It was not until Cité that I caught a Japanese girl, twenty or twenty-two at the most, staring at me. There was something in the way she was looking that got my attention. It was not to flirt, although I am sure there was a sexual element to it, but it was more as if she had found something interesting. As casually as I could manage, I glanced at my reflection in the dirty metro car window, thinking maybe there was something on my face.
There wasn't.
When I looked back and caught her eyes a second time, I realized it wasn't a catch. She had never stopped looking. The look was slow. A way really. I wondered if that's what I liked best about it. Not that she looked dumb, more, she wasn't in any kind of rush. She seemed like she would take her time with just about anything. We shared the space between us until she got off at Odéon. I noticed her clothes. Tight black jeans with gray short boots and a loose-fitting, white tee-shirt (it must have been that kind of day). The neck of the shirt was so big it hung off her shoulder revealing a black bra strap. She was thin, but not without shape.
I thought about her for the rest of the day.
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