“Hello?” I ask, as I hold my phone to my ear. There is nothing on the other line but indistinct chatter and dishes breaking, the sound like a million shards crashing to the ground. “Jeff, you there?” Surely he has to answer. After all, he is the one who called me. I wait for his answer on the other end, but there is nothing but the harsh-spear like pattern of the dishes crashing in my brain.
“Jeff, please answer me!” I say. “Are you there?” The sound of the glass breaking is going to give me a headache. It’s piercing through my ears and into my brain. “Why is there glass breaking? Come on, Jeff. Answer me.”
I am about to hang up when I hear that smooth baritone voice coming from his end, the sound like sweet honey flowing. My heart squeezes in my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him on the other end that for a moment, the entire world around me seems to fade away. No, girl. Get it together. He is not your fiance anymore. Get a hold of yourself, Corinne.
“Corrie?” he asks, slurring his words. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” I ask. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You called me, Corrie.”
“You called me, Jeff. Not the other way around.”
“No, I didn’t call you. You called me. Remember what we talked about? For you to stop calling me? I want you to stop calling me. It’s over between us. Over. Comprende?” He slurs his words and says something indistinct, perhaps to Bessie. It sounds affectionate. Different from how he usually speaks to me. He stopped speaking to me that way years ago. Pretty much after we got engaged.
“Jeff,” I say, walking away from the entrance to the French Market and facing the rest of Decatur Street, Cafe du Monde close in sight. “I didn’t call you.”
“Oh, I think you ,” he says, drawing out his words and then laughing.
“Don’t you dare gaslight me, you drunk asshole!” I scream into the phone, a small group of people brushing past me with concern in their eyes. “You called me. Look at your stupid call log when you’re sober and see for yourself.”
“I’m not the asshole, Corrie.” He scoffs, his breathing heavy in between chuckles. “So what if I’ve had a few hurricanes? It’s freaking Mardi Gras.”
There’s a strange crackling sound, and soon after, a soft feminine voice coos into the other line.
“Corrie?” the voice asks, sounding cheery as always. Bessie.
“Bessie.” I suck in a deep breath; my stomach contorts in a painful twist. Now I’ve got her on the other line. Just great.
“You should have known better than to call Jeff. How pathetic of you,” she says.
“I didn’t call him, Bessie. He called me.”
“Oh, that’s even more pathetic, girlie. You think I don’t know you want Jeff back? It’s pretty obvious. That pathetic poetry that you put on social media for everyone to see? Get a life. He doesn’t love you. He loves
Corinne, you are better than this. Don’t let the tears come out just because one bitch is telling you these awful things. Stand tall, just like Mom always told you to do.
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice laden with venom. “I don’t care. You’re just trying to get to me, aren’t you? Trying to cut me where it hurts and I will not stand for this bull. That so-called poetry you’re talking about isn’t even poetry. It’s lyrics from an opera by Marie Guidry, like you would even know who is.”
“Oh, so she even has Jeff’s last name? You are obsessed with anything that is connected to Jeff, Corrie. Get over it already. It isn’t my fault that you’re so bad in bed. Leave him alone, ok? Stop showing up outside his family’s house, too. They’re getting uncomfortable.”
I throw the phone on the ground, grunting as I pull on my hair. Stinging tears pool in my eyes. I don’t even know where I am. The last of the Mardi Gras crowds brush past me. I bring myself down to the cobblestone pavement and crawl, trying to reach for the phone that is just beyond my reach. Who is Bessie to say those horrible things to me? I don’t even care about Jeff’s family. I just love that home. It’s the reason why I always have to stop and stare at it every time I see it. I didn’t even realize that they noticed me outside. There’s something about it — something that pulls me in and keeps me almost as if I am suspended, entranced by it. It calls out to me every time. And the whole thing about Jeff loving Bessie? Stings. Does he whisper words to her like in a tender way? He never really did that with me. Each time it was done in an obligatory, almost robotic way. I try to keep the thoughts out of my mind.
When I retrieve my phone, I sigh. It’s cracked again. This time, it’s in the shape of a flower, at least that’s what it looks like to me. I look around, and notice that I’m standing right in front of Cafe du Monde. Did I really walk far when I was on the phone?
As I stand in front of the open patio of Cafe du Monde, a warm breeze brushes past against me like a gentle kiss. I close my eyes, letting the breeze envelope me. Why does it feel so comforting? The chatter of people begins to fade away, and I feel lighter with every breath I take. Until I feel practically nothing at all.111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYJkXF2hfBe
“Marie Antoinette.”111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡktqYddAlPG
I open my eyes. Did someone just say Marie Antoinette? I look around but no one seems to be speaking. I bring my focus back on the Cafe du Monde but it is completely gone. There is nothing there but cold, hard ground. Dirt. Cypress trees all around me. Silence. Sweet, languid silence that fills my heart with relief. It floods through my veins.111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnoG20mMhJT
“Marie Antoinette,” a voice behind me says. I turn around. “What are you doing here alone so late at night?”111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT53XCN4Gsh
“I am not sure,” I find myself saying. “I do not know what to do with my life now.”
The man standing in front of me, he seems familiar but there is a dense fog, which clouds my vision. He steps forward. Is it Nicolas?
“Of course, Office Moreau,” I say with a gentle nod. “I will make my way home now.”
“You do not wish to upset your husband,” he says. “Go home.”
It leaves me, the light, almost placeless feeling I find myself grabbing onto. What is this? I want this feeling in me forever but I feel myself slipping away further and further until I crash to the cobblestone pavement and once again, the familiar sight of Cafe du Monde stands in front of me.
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