Time, Like Honey
Excerpts from Maurice's Youth
18 June, 2016 |
Pau, France |
| xx | Maurice had spent the majority of his childhood in awe of those around him. He didn't care much for himself. He was fairly average, small and wonderous like most other five years old, watching the world from afar and attempting to find a place to squeeze in amidst all the chaos. Mostly, Maurice loved his sister. Sabine was like an untouchable goddess to the small, pitiful frame of the youngest Andrieux. Of course he liked his other sisters, but he positively adored Sabine. Coralie was too organized, and Thea was too disorganized, and Sabine was a perfect blend of the two. She was the portrait of stoicism and rebellion, two things Maurice did not yet know the name for and nonetheless admired about her. Needless to say, he spent most of his time in her company. When he wasn't tethered to the confines of daycare and finger-painting, he was resting his head on her shoulder and listening to her strum away at the guitar, or accompanying her on her strange trips to town to pick up records or buy new clothes or stand on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette. Maurice liked it, this repetition void of monotony. He liked not knowing what each day would bring, but not having to make the decision of what would add variety to their lives. Most people found it odd, this strange little boy that went scurrying behind Sabine wherever she went. She had connections, and those connections often had mixed reactions when she would suddenly show up with a blonde-haired five-year-old who could hardly string together coherent sentences. Sabine didn't seem to mind, though. She would ruffle his hair and keep his name far from her lips, allowing him to exist as a silent spectator in her busy life. It wasn't until one day, just a few weeks from Maurice's sixth birthday, that he was shut down for the first time. Sabine had woken up an hour earlier, and Maurice had been standing impatiently by the front door, chewing on a piece of raw bread. When Sabine finally emerged from her bedroom, clean and awake, she smiled sadly at Maurice and patted his soft hair. "Sorry, Mary. Big girl business today." Maurice didn't like that nickname. It sounded too girly and short, but so did Maurice. His mother always told him it was elegant, like the kings and queens that once ruled over the nation. He just thought it sounded pathetic. Sabine didn't care, though. She was good at that. Doing what she felt like. This strange new event was startling to the young boy. He had never been formally denied like this, especially without reason. Words fell short on his tongue, curling back into his throat and making his eyes sting. Sabine picked up on this fairly quickly. She sighed, kneeling down so they could be eye-to-eye. "Things are staring, sweet boy. Big things. Big changes. And we need to change with them. Is that okay?" Maurice stared at her, fighting off the ache in his throat and the quick thump of his heart in his little chest. He swallowed thickly, which inadvertently caused his lip to quiver, and that was when he knew he was done for. With an undesired sniffle, he whirled around and hurried up the stairs, managing to just barely escape before his eyes welled with hot tears. Denial was a profound and new feeling in Maurice's heart, and he didn't like it one bit. The door clicked shut, and the house was once again overwhelmed with a silence that burrowed in the walls and made Maurice far too aware of the static that came from nothing. He shut the door to his bedroom as quietly as possible and curled up in his bed, pushing his face into the pillow until he could drown in the humid warmth of his tears and thin sheets. He didn't cry for long. Not long enough for it to matter, really. Eventually, he rose from his bed, wiping his face with his sleeve and sinking to the floor. Beneath his bed was a box of cassettes, and he carefully popped one into the cassette tape his sister had gifted to him for Christmas. Slowly, his mind calmed, the sound of soft guitar and quiet singing lulling him into a shallow sleep. Eventually, he learned that this was just the way of the world. People flew into his life like stray leaves in the breeze, and left just as quickly. It was easiest to not expect things. Sabine would always hold a special place in his heart, but he knew better than to ask for any more than what she was willing to give. He could expect things of himself, and that was all he could do. |
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PC: Charlotte Winfield
Time, Like Honey
Excerpts from Maurice's Youth
21 April, 2019 |
Pau, France |
| xx | Maurice had been raised on faith. It was a strange statement. One could not really be raised on faith, but rather raised into faith. Sabine had made a point of this fact throughout most of their shared childhood, emphasizing to Maurice that true religion could not be rooted in obligation. She always spoke of this "true religion", but never told him what this was, only what it entailed. There were many facets of "true religion", many freedoms not allowed by the Catholic church. Maurice always wished there was such a church for this faith, where he wouldn't have to sit for an hour and listen to boring songs and kneel on the hard floor below. Relais Saint Jacques was the name of the church the Andrieuxs attended. It was beautiful, inside and out, and some Sundays he would pretend it was his home and everyone else was just visiting for mass. Often his thoughts would drift away from him during the long sermons and readings, and he would simply stare at the stained glass windows that reached up towards the ceiling in great spikes. He began memorizing the patterns of the geometric scenes depicted on the glass, and would trace them in the dust of the pews until his mother slapped his hands away. Sabine had grown out of her faith quite quickly. That is to say, she had been opposed to the ideologies of the Catholic church at a very early age, and Maurice hadn't taken much notice of it until she had finally stopped coming to church with them after her eighteenth birthday. He had mourned her loss quite vocally, but his mother quietly informed him that Sabine had chosen her path, and they had to respect that. He still took note of the dangerous lilt in her tone and the tenseness in which she maintained herself for those next few Sundays after Sabine's departure. He opted not to press on it. Maurice did not have much to say about his faith. Indifference wasn't the right word, as it was hard to be indifferent on something one had devoted every year of their life to. The fact was, all that devotion had not been his own decision. He didn't know exactly what to believe, and that was because everything had been planted right in front of him on a silver platter. He did not have a special moment of profound connection that brought upon him a kind of miraculous faith. He did not see the Lord in the stars. His interactions with religion were limited to his reactions: discomfort from the scratchy Sunday dress, boredom from the long service, pain from the hard floor under his knees during prayers. His first communion, he hadn't even had a proper suit. Of course his sisters had all gotten the same puffy white dress passed down from their mother's mother's mother, but when time came for him to get all dressed up for the big day, they found there was nothing for him to wear. He ended up stuffed into a thrifted black suit that yawned out around his ankles and wrists. His sister had been home that Sunday, and when she saw him trying on his suit, she had barked out a laugh and knelt down to fix his cuffs. She had immediately picked up on his red face and stiff frame, and did her best to remedy the situation. "It's nice. No really, it is," Sabine insisted through a laugh, rolling up the ends of his sleeves and buttoning his dress shirt, "Look, at least you're not wearing a sailor suit. About half the boys at my communion looked like Edmond Dantès." Maurice gave a little giggle despite himself, and Sabine smiled triumphantly. Giving his hair a little ruffle, she sighed thoughtfully. "You don't have to stick with it." Maurice looked up at her, confused, but her expression was meaningful. "If it's not for you, I mean. All this. I didn't." Maurice was young, but he wasn't a fool. He picked up on what she was suggesting pretty quickly. Maybe it would be nice to get away from the hard floors and the scratchy suits, but Maurice couldn't shake the feeling that this was a part of him. It completed him, fulfilled his life, like the Pastors and the Priest and the Lectors always said. What would he be without this? And what would his mother think? He knew what the preaches said about those who denied faith. He knew where he was destined for if he did. He decided not to worry Sabine too much with all that talk. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Mum would be mad." Sabine gave him a sad smile at that. She stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, before flattening down his dress shirt and standing slowly. "Better get you off, then. Mass starts in an hour." |
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PC: Charlotte Winfield
Time, Like Honey
Excerpts from Maurice's Youth
18 June, 2016 |
Pau, France |
| xx | Maurice had always known that he wasn't quite normal. It was easier to ignore when he was surrounded by the absurdity of his family. His mother, a devote Catholic with an impossibly idealistic view on life. His father, a struggling history teacher who always seemed to be carrying more than he let on. Coralie, the family's shining star, unique only because of how her success contrasted so vibrantly with the rest of the family. Thea, upcoming high school dropout with a far-away look in her eyes. And Sabine, who was actually quite normal, all things considered. Ambitious, warm, intelligent. And then Maurice. Strange in ways that children were not typically. It was hard to place, that certain air of curious intensity that always surrounded him. It was perhaps a perk of his parents' negligence, an allowance for him to do as he pleased with his time unbothered by the nagging of a mother and father. Sure, his dad had pushed him into little league baseball when he was six, but it hadn't really stuck. By the third black-eye and second concussion, his parents were sure that this had been a mistake. But Maurice had insisted that he liked it, so they let him stay. Really, he just liked the idea that he was finally doing something that other kids did. Normal kids. Sabine always gave him trouble for it. She'd always give his hair a quick ruffle and tell him he just wasn't cut from the same mold as all the others. Surprisingly enough, though, it wasn't Sabine who gave him comfort in this fact. It was Coralie. Coralie and Sabine were similar in odd ways. Sabine was more honest, more willing to cut others down if it meant also, eventually, raising them up. Coralie, however, knew how to twist and construe things to perfectly fit into the right narrative for comfort. She could take all of Maurice's troubles and find a way to reshape them into positives. When she caught wind of his alienation, she was the first to pull him aside and give him comfort. It was after one of his first little league matches of the Spring, and his team had won on a landslide. Despite that, Maurice was far from thrilled. He had discovered only ten minutes after their win that all the kids were getting together for a pool party, and it seemed his invitation had been lost somewhere along the way. Coralie had come to pick him up, as his parents were working and his other sisters were off on their own respective excursions. Maurice was not a chatty kid, but he had held a sort of heavy silence the entire walk back home that Coralie had easily picked up on his unease. "Mary," she had said softly at the foot of the stairs to their small townhouse, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Are you going to tell me going on?" Maurice had been imagining this dramatic confession the entire walk back. He would be angry about it, cross his arms and deliver some vague but cutting line that would startle her into silence. But as soon as the words were geared up and ready to go, he crumbled. His throat tightened and his eyes stung, and all of a sudden he was hiccupping like a mad-man. Coralie at first looked shocked, unsure what to do with the small crying boy right in front of her. Once she came to her senses, though, she rushed forward and pulled him into a tender hug. Coralie had always been the best at hugs, better than Sabine and even their mum. She seemed to envelope whoever was most in need in an all-encompassing basket of warmth. Maurice recalled still that feeling of overwhelming misery. He was young then, young enough that something so small as exclusion was enough to send him to his knees. He had collapsed into Coralie, staining his lovely white blouse with tears and snot. She didn't seem to mind, though, and stayed with him until he felt settled enough to slowly pull away. Coralie had raked a hand through his soft blonde hair, flicking away the little bits of dirt and grime that had gotten stuck in his locks during the game. Then she cupped his cheeks with her warm hands and looked him in the eyes. "I don't know what this is about," Coralie said, her voice so soft and warm that Maurice knew the words were for his ears and his ears only, "But I do know that you are so much greater than wins and losses. You cannot get so caught up in the bad that you forget about all of the good." Maurice knew she was trying her best with a limited understanding, and he felt this childish desire to steer her in the right direction. Quiet as a church mouse, he whispered, "They didn't invite me." Coralie's brows knit together slowly, before understanding passed over her face. There was no hint of anger or resentment in her eyes. If she were more like Sabine, she perhaps would have marched right back to that pitch and given each and every kid an earful about their disrespect. But Coralie knew that that wasn't what Maurice needed. And so, with that same gentle expression, Coralie replied with the most simple, effective comfort she could find. "Fuck them." |
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PC: Charlotte Winfield