Leftover dame blanche

Giselle finds herself in an existential conversation via logistics and a sensual film, while devouring a dame blanche with a friend.

To save money, I have already eaten at home and now I am sitting in this restaurant watching the food. Plates of mussels and steak pass by. Further along, I see heterosexual couples at tables eating oysters. I am sitting on a bar stool, my back against the bar and my legs crossed. My foot dangles in the aisle, getting in the way of the waiting staff as they walk past me from the kitchen to the floor and back again.

I am drinking prosecco with gin with one of the few economics students I know. We have not seen each other for far too long. She has a genuine passion for the financial aspects of logistics, which I can never quite reconcile with her talent for full glam make-up. She tells me that in a few months she will be moving back to her home country.

That was reason enough for her boyfriend to break up with her. After a few romantic months, he panicked at the prospect of her not always being nearby and immediately ended it. We try in vain to understand his line of thinking.

My left eye is glued to the TV screen where a man hits a woman with a branch. Meant to be erotic, I think? My right eye wanders to the mirrors on the wall. I see myself straighten my back.

My friend runs a hand through her bob and says jokingly: “I’m going to die one day anyway?” I turn my eyes back to her face and see a small frown between her neatly shaped eyebrows. Her gaze drifts over the oyster-eating couples and she reflects. “I want to fill the time I have with the people I love. I know there will be a goodbye, that is what makes what comes before it special.”

We order a dame blanche: vanilla ice cream with warm chocolate sauce, and ask for two spoons. A boy places the large glass dish between us. My friend stops me before I can take my first bite to take a photo of me. Now I am smiling for ever in her phone. Between small spoonfuls, we keep chatting. A thin layer of ice cream remains at the bottom. Neither of us finishes it.