Chapter Text
There is no hurry. Here, in Serena’s heart, time doesn’t matter. Usually, the only concern related to time is the short period between life and death. In the normal course of events, this is aging. Or, when one works in a hospital, it is the disease. Or, as an unfortunate, it is a fatal accident.
When time has already removed a loved one from the world, disregarding the law of the children surviving their parents, nothing matters. To live in weightlessness, in meaningless mornings, because fatality becomes familiar, something seen and experimented. Living as a sleepwalker, in slow motion, without appetite, without desire, without destination. Surviving the death of one's own child is equivalent to wandering, trying to redefine oneself with words that do not exist. Serena thinks it is no longer useful to worry about the passage of time, the flow of her own life. Time is a thief, people say. I will try to avert it, to hide under my own cloak of invisibility, at least for the next few years, because I would not survive another fatality hitting a loved one.
From now on, because of being childless, it is space that becomes important, inevitable, essential. Serena must move away from the bullying and Jasmine, far from Hanssen's tender care, far from Jason's stupor, far from sick bodies and medicine. Far from all that is a reminder, an evocation of Elinor. That's why Serena crosses the Atlantic, without a return ticket. Her stay will be of an indefinite duration, because once again, time does not matter, it is space, distance, dimension that counts. And on unknown ground, without reference, without relation, fatality can not strike.
The plane lands in Montréal. Serena takes a deep breath and hopes to never look back. There is a new world to explore, at her own pace. Not too far away, she knows there is an unexplored Serena, waiting to be discovered, somewhere over the rainbow.
Her destination of choice had to meet specific criteria: being a metropolis open to LGBT culture; had to have a second official language other than English; needs to provide great freedom of travel by public transport; had to propose a large cycling network and year-round cultural activities and festivals. And the most important thing: everything has to be foreign, without any memory. So, Montréal.
Quietly, the passengers get up, gather their luggage from the overhead lockers and queue to leave the plane. How strange, to be surrounded by people who speak both English and French. Serena progresses behind a family who is visibly native from Québec. Its vernacular, everything is a matter of dialect, emphasis on vowels and shortening of certain words. These people actually speak French, yet it is so different from the one Serena learned and heard in France. Discovering a familiar yet new language will be an excellent distraction, she thinks, inwardly smiling to herself.
The moment her foot touches the stilled ground, fatigue strikes her instantly. As if her journey in time and space had just caught up with her. She promises herself not to let any emotion reach the surface, she just wishes to get to the apartment safely and rest. Grief is never too far away, anyhow.
Serena crosses customs without difficulties. She picks up her suitcase, packed with practical clothes, basic sanitary products, a few official papers and brochures and tourist guides about Montréal.
The airport isn't busy, surprisingly. There are a lot of people walking in different directions, she feels like she is the only one taking the time to look around. That feeling of sleep-walking again, as if everything around is surreal, detached from her.
She settles in the large hall, looking for a specific paper in her handbag. She unfolds a document she had printed before leaving. These are the instructions to get from the airport by public transport to the apartment she will be renting for the next three months. More practical, she thinks, to print everything instead of depending on her cellphone, in case the wireless connection fails.
As for the neighborhood, Serena opted for diversity, a change of scenery and anonymity in the city. The chosen apartment is in the heart of the gay village, near the Old Port and the buildings dedicated to the most popular provincial media - the heart of the action. She re-reads the confirmation message written by the landlord, Bernie Wolfe.
Serena
Here are the directions to get to your new apartment, located at #413 rue Jeanne-Mance :
From the airport, take shuttle #747 to the Lionel-Groulx metro station. Take the green line all the way to the metro Beaudry, there is only one exit that leads to your new favorite street: Saint-Catherine. As it’s the summer season, it's currently closed from traffic and dedicated to pedestrians, street artists and restaurant terraces. A word of advice: try not to wander too much, there are plenty of things to see and time will become abstract to you. From there, street Jeanne-Mance is two blocks to your left.
As agreed, the key will be hidden inside the mailbox. You will find some frozen meals in the freezer, to help you out if hunger calls. I know how exhausting it can be to travel alone and finding something to eat should be the last of your worries. Don't be shy to knock on my door if you have any questions, I'm just below at 411.
While waiting to meet you, I wish you a nice stay in Montréal.
Bernie
The conviviality of this letter warms Serena's troubled heart. Interestingly, in anonymity she likes this familiarity, to be called Serena by an unknown person instead of Ms or Doctor Campbell. This is not the first-time Bernie and she have exchanged words over the website dedicated to renting furnished apartments. This man, Bernie Wolfe, seems to be a versatile and caring person. In this emotional numbness where Serena hides, she fails to understand why it affects her so much. He’s only a landlord, after all.
The bus route is stiff and tiring. What is striking her so much is the humidity. The oscillation between the sun and grey clouds during a single day doesn’t destabilize her, of course, but the humidity! In May? When she looks outside, she often jumps, struck by the realization that the bus is moving on the wrong side of the road. I'll definitely have to get used to that. The landscape linking the rest of the world to the airport is just a highway with warehouses, and orange cones scattered along the way. Nothing exciting. Fortunately, after passing the motorway junctions (in a pitiful state, wait, orange cones again?!), the bus sinks into civilization. The view is sublime on the highest bridge, Serena can observe the various neighbourhoods delimited by the water canals and the wide-ranging type of buildings; the various church bells that point to the sky; the eclectic architecture; and the mountain, Mount Royal. While doing research for her journey, Serena had not noticed that part of downtown was built on the juncture of the mountain.
The bus arrives at its destination, which is the Lionel-Groulx metro. Serena stands on the pavement with her bag and suitcase and observes the surroundings. The street intersection is busy, as much by cars as by buses, cyclists and pedestrians. This is clearly an important junction that leads from one neighbourhood to another. Fortunately, the metro is located in a lovely small park, where tulips are looking bright. Here, her heart speeds up its beating. Finally, life, other than her own, awakens her senses. She can hear sounds that are familiar that aren't from home, back in England. She can distinguish languages that she understands, but that are not quite similar to what she usually hears. She can see comparable ways of doing things, which she does not yet fully master. The air feels dusty. She can smell the newly green grass after a harsh winter, but she also notices the perfume of fruits and vegetables. Very close to the subway entrance, there is a biological farm kiosk. Serena decides she will make her first purchase, and opts for a single apple. Having made her choice, she addresses the saleswoman in French. Smiling, the woman wishes her a pleasant stay. Is it the mixture of the suitcase and her British accent that give the impression that she is travelling? Or maybe it's my tired face, she ponders.
Not surprisingly, the metro is just as uninspired as the trip from the airport, and its also very dirty, but very convenient for travellers and well indicated. After decoding how the metro actually works, Serena understands that she must take the green line towards the final station Honoré-Beaugrand, but she needs to disembark at Beaudry, as planned. The trip is relatively short and Serena notes that some stations are an awful lot more crowded than others. The one before Beaudry is called Berri-UQAM, and as it is noted on the metro map, Berri-UQAM is the central point of the stations. It's also the most crowded, the noisiest and, strangely, it also has its own orange cones indicating construction. Politeness is genuine here, people who are waiting to enter the coach are standing on the sides of the doors, letting people out before entering.
Tiredness becomes heavy to wear. At Beaudry, where Serena gets off the subway, a dozen people have come down at the same station as her, except that she walks significantly more slowly with her suitcase to drag along. She climbs the few stairs before reaching another landing which has so many staircases that there is now an endless long conveyor belt that sweeps up. This station is bloody deep in the ground! Fortunately, she only has to put her feet on the travelator and it takes care of slowly progressing up to the exit. Other people prefer to walk on the travelator instead of remaining still, as if they are in a hurry, What a relief, this moment of quietness.
Elinor.
No, no, no. Serena pushes her in the back of her mind, refusing her for now. She desperately needs to get to her apartment before allowing any personal thoughts to infiltrate her psyche.
As the exit approaches, Serena hears music and the joyful racket of voices. Distraction, yes.
When she steps outside, it’s not the sun that hits her first; it's an explosion of colours, all the possibility of the spectrum.
She would never have imagined such creativity, nor so much animation. The lampposts are adorned with gay pride flags that float in the wind, multicolored flowers baskets also adorn the sidewalks, and amateur musicians have their groups of admirers. Immense walls are devoted to street art. The restaurant terraces, set in the middle of the street, are crowded with diners. Most surprisingly, there is a set of thousands of plastic bubbles, suspended from right to left across the street, miles away. It’s as if Sainte-Catherine Street lives inside some bubble gum. Yes, gay villages are colourful, yet nothing prepared her to believe that it this particular one would be bathing in a rainbow. Sainte-Catherine is clearly a street of restaurants, night life, fun and little shops.
Right, like Bernie mentioned, no wandering. I could stay here for hours. Its wiser to find my new home first. Eventually Serena finds Jeanne-Mance, and she is reassured to see that the perpendicular streets are quieter and softer. These are inhabited streets, where people come to rest from their activities and live their personal lives. Surprisingly, old trees with huge trunks also reside here and their shadows create silhouettes on the cement and on the grass. It refreshes the air and soothes Serena's skin.
As in all the cities of the world, the greyness of the bitumen goes alongside the spring green of the trees planted along the pavements. The brick houses, whose range of colours glides from red to beige, fills the horizon of the passer-by. The iron and wood staircases that decorate the facades, in various shapes, straight, curved or spiral, are omnipresent in the urban setting of Montreal. The exterior stairs, more or less worn out, unveil the age of building and the neighbourhood. Serena can hear the noises from Sainte-Catherine fade behind her as she walks up the street to her door number.
#413. As expected, her apartment is on the second and last floor and she needs to walk up a dozen of steps in the exterior spiral staircase, which is complicated with a heavy suitcase and a tired body.
Arriving on the level of her porch, she now has a better point of view to observe the street. I'll eventually spend some quiet time here, she promises herself. A silver maple standing in front of his building offers enough privacy and shadowing.
She turns around and faces the mailbox, plunges her hand inside to retrieve the key in a small envelope. She enters her new home. Her impersonal, noiseless, lonely, temporary home.
Elinor.
Sshhh, she winces. She has things to do, needs to settle in.
The interior is fortunately cooler, since the curtains were kept closed. In the entrance, Serena observes that everything is exactly like what she saw on the website where she made the reservation. The ceilings are high and feature old ceilings, with filigree. There is a long corridor with beige walls which are separated by horizontal borders made of beautiful varnished wood. To her right is an open area, furnished with a shoe-holder, a hook, a cabinet with drawers and a lamp. The first door to the left, also tinted with varnished wood, gives access to the bedroom where the bed is made of freshly washed white sheets and quilt. Serena lets out a groan of contentment at the sight of her bed. An immense window with stained-glass painted in yellow, orange and green diamond-shaped offer diverse shades inside the room. It is very serene, the presence of these soft colours. She leaves her suitcase in this room and goes to visit the rest of the apartment.
Serena takes the corridor leading to a 2nd room on her right, the bathroom with a skylight for natural lighting. Still in the corridor, she opens a third door, this time in front of the bathroom, which leads to a small office equipped with a chair, a lamp and a library where there are a few books. Most are tourism books, others focus on the history of Québec or the LGBT community. There is also a flyer on the various services offered by the neighbourhood community center. After going around this room, Serena heads to the last room, the kitchen, which is not very spacious but very comfortable. All the necessary items (ie stove, refrigerator, pots, cups, glasses, plates, utensils) are provided. The table with two chairs is placed directly next to the large window that leads to the alley.
The rear door also has a large window. From this side of the building, there are fewer trees, Serena sees mostly galleries, fences and stairwells, but she can also see some small improvised gardens on the individual porticos. She leans her head to look at the yard belonging to # 411, downstairs. The yard is delimited by a wooden fence, coloured in grey. The grass looks healthy. There is a chaise longue, a fountain for the birds, but Serena can not see the rest of the courtyard which is hidden by her own gallery. Serena unlocks the door that leads to the backyard, but she can not remember if Bernie had given her access. She does not know if she is permitted to go down the little staircases leading to it.
Serena turns and leans on the door as she contemplates her new home. She feels comfortable and calm. This will do.
Fatigue, on the other hand, is quickly taking over. Serena decides to go back to the bedroom. She undresses, removes all her clothes and plunges under the blankets and forgets everything about time, relieved to have all this distance between her body, her mind, her heart and her past.