A Dancer in the Infinite - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Room at the Holiday Inn CDG

Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame! – William Butler Yeats

The ancestral deed is thought and done,
And in a million Edens fall
A million Adams drowned in darkness,
For small is great and great is small,
And a blind seed all. – Edwin Muir

     The room at the Holiday Inn at the Charles De Gaulle Airport was considerably nicer than the one in the Motel 8 in Gibbstown.  No surprises there.  It was even clean, and there was no trace of mold.  This wasn’t something she could let herself get used to.  She had used their last few hotel rewards points to pay for this room.  Apparently Roger’s tastes for travel had been good for something after all.  But she thought that it was worth staying someplace nice after the long flight from Philadelphia to Paris.  She had the room for two nights, so she should be able to get some rest.  Her stay even including complimentary breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which was a real plus for someone in her position … trying to stretch out her money as far as possible.

     Now, if Roger looked into things, he could figure out exactly where she was.  It was worth the risk.  After all, she was across the ocean, and France was not some place her husband had ever entertained visiting, and even if he came up with the money to fly there, she would be long gone without a trace by the time he arrived.  So, she finally felt safe and free.  And it was a very good feeling that poured over her in waves of increasing frequency and amplitude.  She stretched herself and pulled her laptop and power cord out of her backpack, plugged it in, set the computer on the desk and sat down in front of it.

     She pulled up her web browser in order to access her email account.  Before she could do so the daily quote popped up.  She was starting to hate that thing, but occasionally they were inspiring; today’s, though not so much.

     God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

“Fuck that noise,” Marie said aloud.  She pulled up her Word program, and quickly wrote out the following, the words flowing from some source that she barely knew was inside her:   

"Give me the courage to change things that others accept...and the wisdom to understand that everything changes..."

     She smiled defiantly, as though she had won some secret victory against the smug bastards who decided which quotes to use on any particular day.

     “That’s better,” she declared.  That other shit is a killer of the human spirit.  It’s resignation of the worst kind.  She had done too much accepting things she had believed she couldn’t change for far too long.  She knew the serenity prayer was loser bullshit.  She had already changed things by simply not accepting them.  Sure, the Quote Bastards would point to the “wisdom to know the difference” bit but they were missing the point.  That’s all human beings did, wasn’t it?  That was our defining characteristic; changing shit that no one supposed previously could be changed.  She was in the Holiday Inn at CDG quite simply because she refused, finally, to accept the status quo.  It’s a mistake to believe that everything has always been so, and will ever be.  Change was the defining characteristic of not just humanity, but of the Universe itself … from nothing to everything in just a few billion years or so … 15 billion as she remembered from The Big Bang Theory theme song.

     She pulled the cursor over the words she had just written and right clicked “Copy” and closed the file.  She opened her email program and selected “Compose” and dropped in her sister, Karen’s email address.

     “Dear Karen,

     Sorry to have worried everyone, but I couldn’t let anyone know what I was doing or where I was.  I am fine.  I left Roger.  I’m not coming back.  Please look in on Dad for me.  And know that I am safe and that I will keep in touch.  Kiss the kids for me.

     Love,

     Marie”

     Send.

     Just as Marie hit send, the happy email voice cheerfully announced the arrival of another piece of mail.   “You’ve got mail.”  At first she assumed she had somehow screwed up Karen’s addy and was being so advised by the mailer deamon.  But no, it was not from Karen.  It was addressed from Lawrence@ChateauMerveilles.com .  Subject line:   Accepted Barter Application to Chateau de Pays m des Merveilles.  Her heart began to race.  Accepted.  Accepted.  She opened the email shaking.

     “Dear Ms. Brabant.” It began.

     Roger had hated that she kept her last name. 

    

“Dear Ms. Brabant,

     “We are pleased to inform you that your application for an indefinite barter retreat stay at the Chateau has been accepted.  Please advise when you will arrive at the train station in Carcassonne so we can make arrangements to pick you up there.  Please feel free to ask any questions you may have.  Otherwise they will be answered in you orientation.  We are excited to have you stay will us and look forward to meeting you in person.

     “Best Regards,

     “Lawrence Kingson,

     “Operations Manager”

     She could scare believe the words she was reading.  They had accepted her application.  She wasn’t going to be an itinerant trobairitz after all.  She had a place to go, to live:  A beautiful place in the South of France, as she had always dreamed.  She hugged herself in glee and spun herself around the room.  As she passed the window, it occurred to her that she had not yet checked the view from her room.  She stopped her impromptu dancing and lifted the curtain and sheers off to the side so she could get a good look.  She was on the third or second floor by European reckoning.  She was pleased that a row of tall maples blocked the airport from her view.  She glanced down by the street and her eyes went large.

     There he was.  The Indian man, dressed all in black, from the airport.  He was leaning against a Porche reading a paper.  He had added sunglasses to his look, making him look like a federal agent, or so Marie thought.  What is this guy up to? She wondered.

     There was a knock on her door that jolted her.  She dropped the curtains and turned in surprise.

     “Ms. Brabant, are you in there,” called a voice with a mild Philadelphia accent.

     Marie stared at the door, saying nothing.

copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt