The teaspoon hangs in the glass bottle, effortlessly. It’s been put inside the open mouth of the bottle and dangles there making a wind chime sound as it taps the sides of the hollow glass; it’s almost calming — pretty even — like a symphony. A woman’s fingertips hold a sugar cube. She presses it into the espresso in the tiny coffee cup she holds. The espresso soaks the sugar cube little by little, slowly inching its way to the edges until it’s brown like wet sand and then plop, it’s been tossed in. Coffee splashes. Juliette Binoche stirs the espresso with a dainty metal spoon carved with roses at its tips before pouring the liquid into a glass of vanilla ice cream scoops. The sun hits her face in such a way where half her features are in shadow and the other half is illuminated. She opens her hands and admires the blue crystals she’ll save forever. The crystals are dark blue, rare. They look like the sea.
My heart’s pounding. I can hear it within the spinning cycle of my thoughts. The grocery bags I’ve carried up the stairs have fallen onto the floor as I walk into the apartment. I look at my reflection. There’s a violet-grey color embedded into the pockets under my eyes. I attempt to rub them away but fail. They’re there like permanent marker. My hair looks like the “Before” photo of a Pantene Pro-V hair ad so I throw it up in a pony tail.
So this is what it looks like. It’s dawned on me that I’m trying too hard to accomplish too much too soon. I’ve jam-packed my week with short films, writing, and photography (while working a day job almost full time) so much so that I’ve forgotten to do the basics. Like shave my legs. During a workout session last week, my friend looked at my legs and said:
“Do you not shave in the winter?”
I was in the middle of an awkward sit-up (one leg straight in the air, the other bent halfway and twisted around my hip) when I glanced at my legs with embarrassment.
I have to make some changes. I need a few nights off. So I’ve begun watching French films and after Last Tango and Girl on the Bridge, I put in the film Blue starring Juliette Binoche. This was the first film I cried – not because of the storyline (although captivating) but because of the artistic shots director Krzysztof Kieslowski used in the film. I feel like I must be going crazy to cry over cutlery. But so what, right? After all, it is my night off.
It’s OK to work towards goals, and it’s also OK to have some nights off to — oh I don’t know — cry over a spoon dangling in a bottle.
Alice can be reached at AliceActress@yahoo.com