You would have had to take two buses and a subway,
and you would have been late.
So you took a cab.
Around you,
the colours stutter.
It smells like water somehow.
That’s because – you don’t know it yet –
you’re about to go under
and you’ll stay there for a long time.
A long time.
going under
Five months later, things are better,
but they’re not “good.”
You’ve started working again. You’re functional.
You’re no longer just lying in bed all day, motionless.
You can finally swallow more than just soup.
You manage to sleep at night – not much, but at least a little.
You’re able to face people again.
The people around you are relieved to see the improvement.
They think you’re “cured.”
- Sophie!
Sophie, hi!
- Hey, Laura. Hi.
- You okay? - Yes, you?
They’re happy. Good for them.
Now that you’re out of the danger zone,
your case doesn’t interest them anymore.
- How did you like the concert?
- Fine.
But my favourite version of the Shostakovich is still
the one by Brigitte Poulin that we saw two years ago.
- It's those tempo choices, isn't it?
I’m actually totally on board with these ones…
You know Laura from university. The two of you studied together.
Like most people who’ve studied music,
she doesn’t really play anymore.
Three years from now, she’ll take a trip to Vietnam that will change her life.
She’ll settle down there with a Brit from Manchester.
- By the way, this is Anne!
Anne, this is Sophie.
- Nice to meet you. - Anne is doing a PhD in musicology.
She’ll be submitting her thesis any day now. - Nice to meet you!
Something about her is strange,
but you can’t tell right away what it is.
The stitching under her neckband.
Her T-shirt is on backwards.
- Your thesis is on Schumann’s writings?
Nice! Who’s your advisor?
- Bernard Williams… Know him?
- Bernard Williams! Of course!
We had him speak at a conference I organized last year.
He’s brilliant.
- Ha! I was at the conference!
Maybe we crossed paths without even knowing it?
- Mmm, I don’t think so. I had to drop out midway through the planning.
I didn’t go.
- Oh. How come?
- I was sick.
You’ll never see her again.
She’ll move to the Eastern Townships with her boyfriend,
in one year, two months, and four days.
She’ll live happily, then die of lung cancer at the age of 57.
She’s been a chain-smoker since she was 11
and she could never quit.
You smoke, too,
but you won’t die of lung cancer
like the girl with the backwards T-shirt.
You’ll die of something else.
You’ve been working for a concert booking company for two years now.
You fill out forms, draw up budgets,
write grant proposals, shake hands, look for donors…
The pay isn’t great, but it’s enough.
Of course, it’s not what you had in mind when you were studying music.
You’d always wanted to do research.
Like Bernard Williams.
Travelling around the world to give talks
on Liszt and Wagner...
But that’s not how things turned out.
- Did you receive my press release?
- Yes. I’ll get to it the second I’m done with this grant report.
- Perfect, thanks.
Oh, and don’t forget to CC Réjean.
- Of course.
Marc has a great smile.
His smile didn’t quite look the same
when he was talking behind your back two weeks ago.
With some of the others, around a table.
You’ve known each other for a while.
- If there’s anything, let me know.
- Okay.
Marc will change jobs often.
He’ll have two boys – twins –
and he’ll marry twice.
His second wife will have borderline personality disorder
and manipulate him until his death.
You tried therapy, of course.
But it got too expensive.
Besides, after eight sessions, you felt like it wasn’t really helping.
You lied to your therapist.
You said you were doing better,
you didn’t need to see her anymore.
Did something trigger all this?
Or is it just a neurological imbalance?
How come one day you woke up
and realized that your life is meaningless, irrelevant?
That you don’t matter?
That there is no future?
That the people around you couldn’t care less about you?
Or even worse, that they’ve been bad-mouthing you?
You didn’t want to try anti-depressants.
You’re afraid of becoming someone else.
Someone you’re not.
And so you found a different way.
Of course,
you know it’s not a solution,
but it makes things more bearable.
Most of the time.
- What?
You don’t remember?
You’ve gotta be kidding!
- I don’t remember.
- That teacher had zero authority over us.
One time, he totally lost it
and left the room to go cry.
Remember?
- I don’t remember.
- Poor guy.
I almost felt sorry for him.
- Yeah, well… Seriously…you’ve got to be a bit of a masochist or an idiot
to want to teach high school English.
- No kidding.
Laurent is a childhood friend.
An alcoholic. Depressed.
Suicidal.
You excuse his drinking.
You’re always stoned, so who are you to talk?
- Uh...
Uh, Laurent?
Laurent, I
uh
- Okay.
You worry about him constantly.
You’re scared he’ll kill himself.
That’s why you sleep with him.
There’s no other reason, since you don’t really feel like it.
He’ll kill himself in three years, eight months, and two days.
You won’t have been able to prevent it.
It was a tiny Pringles crumb.
- Okay, I just sent the last file.
If there’s a problem, ask Amélie.
I’ve explained it all to her.
- But you’ll only be gone for a week!
So, what’s in Québec City?
- My mother.
- The forecast looks great. Lucky you!
Pack some sunscreen and have fun!
Ciao!
- Ciao.
His suggestions go down like a big glass of saltwater.
You’re leaving for a week.
They’ll be able to talk about you all they want.
You wonder if they’d look through your stuff.
The boy’s name is Etienne.
He’ll be very, very rich one day.
And the baby – she’ll grow up to love orchids.
She’ll teach botany at university.
She’ll become a famous researcher.
That’s something you would have liked to be.
Your mother talks a lot
but she doesn’t listen much.
Which is fine.
You don’t know what you’d say to her.
You didn’t really come to Québec City to see her, but to get away.
Away from everything.
But even here, 230 km from home,
you can’t get away.
It sticks to you…
No, that’s not the word…
It’s suctioned onto you.
You’d give anything for a break.
You just want to stop thinking.
Your mother is out doing some shopping.
There’s just you in the house now.
- Hello! I’m home!
You don’t have to stop because of me.
- No, it’s fine. I’m done.
When you get back a week later,
your apartment is just like you left it.
At work,
the first thing you check
is the drawer handle.
Five months ago,
you were alone at your place
on sick leave, doctor’s orders.
Crying,
that's what you did with your days.
You’d dropped everything,
including the conference you had worked on for a year.
You had let down your team.
That day,
Bernard Williams was giving his talk.
It was happening on the other side of town.
And you were lying on your bed.
- C’mon
Get up
You’d always wanted to see Bernard Williams in person,
- Get up
you had read so many of his books.
You would have had to take two buses and a subway,
and you would have been late.
So you took a cab.
And then
you were about to go in
but you didn’t.
- I’m supposed to be too sick to organize a conference.
So I should be too sick to attend one.
You imagined the look you’d get from your colleagues.
- First she quits on us,
and then suddenly she’s well enough to come see Bernard Williams.
You went home, taking two buses and the subway.
The Pringles crumb is in the trash
and you get back to work.
What a beautiful day.
- Sophie?
Sophie, that’s your name, right?
You don’t recognize her at first.
- Do you live around here?
- Uh, no… I work here, actually.
- Hey, you might be interested…
Did you know that Bernard Williams
is giving a talk in Vermont?
The girl with the backwards T-shirt!
Her hair is tied back.
- Yeah, I heard about it.
- A bunch of us students are driving down to Vermont for the weekend.
There’s a spot left in the van. Interested?
We’d ask for a bit of gas money, that’s all.
- Hmm.
Want a cigarette?
- No, thanks, I don’t smoke.
- Oh. You quit?
- Quit? No.
I never started.
- So?
Want to come along?
To Vermont?
It would be really nice!
- Maybe.
- Well, here’s my card,
with my number.
- Okay, I’ll see.
- We’re leaving Saturday at 8 a.m. Text me!
Bye!
- Bye.
There’s that smell of water again.
It will linger for a long time.
A long time.
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