A little spark in the dead of night…

Between planes, on the way home but still walking in this adventure we never come back alive…

It was during a very chilly night of October. On the way home, back from New-Orleans, that city where you leave behind a part of your soul and your liver, but that you must go visit again if you hope to have it back - A tricky deal I tell you -, I was frozen to the ground during a quick layover in Philly. I was sitting there, on the bench of an almost empty boarding room, it felt like purgatory, like I was the only soul in transit but backward. You never leave the Afterlife to go back home. Well maybe if you are Jesus or a Zombie. ..or a recurring character in a soap opera. The bright neon was getting on my nerves as well as the waiting. I had too many red bulls and I felt the urge of snorting coffee.

And then she walks by. An old and classy lady all dressed in black silk, with one of those big hats you can only see during a Royal wedding and make fun of. Outrageously ridiculously big. I wondered if she was the one blocking my Wi-Fi signal at that moment. I was talking on the phone with Caroline and Jasmin, friends I left behind with my soul. She stare at me behind her stylish glasses mounted on a pearly frame and I smile back like a kid watching a Disney movie — she was so classy, I wanted to be her for a moment — and I finally had to hang the call. I notice the black and translucent net covering a part of her moon-ish face. She brings her purse to her knees with both gloved hands and asks me, with a delightful southern accent — Obviously southern, we are always in good company — , “in which language were you talking young sir?”.

— It’s french Madame. Is there something I can help you with? She seemed surprised. Well, Canadian French. She nodded, visibly less surprised.

— Oh really? That sounds so fresh and new! I know a few words! Voulez vous coucher avec…

She saw the terrified look on my face, that grin I tried to hold back a moment, but it turned out very funny for her as she laughed out loud, trying to hide her mouth behind her gloved fingers.

— So you are heading back to Canada young man?

— I nodded, amused that she made fun of me.

— I’m heading to see my lover, Gordon, in California. Los Angeles.

— Why so far from each other? I dared to ask.

She gets up and take her luggage by the handle, ready to leave. I doubt she heard my question. The she look at me.

— We wanted to travel, we wanted to love each other, so we travel to love each other. Long story short.

— That is beautiful…

— Have the stars bright up your night young man. She winked, and left.

When I say she left, she clearly vanished in the night, in a cold gust of wind invading the terminus. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why me in all this empty space. Definitely the world felt a bit safer now knowing people like her exists.

Before leaving I noticed a signet on her seat. The kind of bookmark they give you at funeral home. I took a look at it. In the loving memory of Seth Gordon Neil. Leaving behind his wife and best friend, Camille Neil…

So her name was Camille.