Free Go: A Surrender by Jane Nin

convey
that I needed a table for one.
     
    They sat me on a banquette against the wall, from which
position I could survey all the other patrons coming and going. I ordered soupe
à l’oignon and a glass of wine and commenced to feeling sorry for myself,
all alone for my first meal in this famous lovers’ town.
     
    Loneliness makes for quick eating and quicker drinking, so
before long I’d paid my bill and set off back for the hotel. It was completely
dark now, and to me it seemed there was nobody left on the streets except couples
in love. I was glad Jack would be rejoining me soon.
     
    At my hotel, though, the desk clerk waved me down. Another
message. This time saying he couldn’t make it till late the next morning.
     
    I was terribly disappointed. I checked the clock. It wasn’t
quite 9. But tomorrow wasn’t so far away, was it? After all, I could sleep a
good chunk of that. I went back upstairs to my room and readied myself for bed,
though I still didn’t really feel tired. I showered and turned down the covers
and then laid down in the bed and listened to the happy voices out on the
street below—I could hear them, even with the balcony doors closed—and in that
fashion I failed to sleep, for hours.
     
    At early light I was wide awake again and feeling sheepish.
I resolved to go out for a walk again, a braver one. This time I went in the
opposite direction, not wishing to be reminded of my silly fearfulness the
night before. I zigged and zagged my way from block to block, memorizing the route
back. Then I turned a corner and poking out behind the next row of buildings
was the leg of an enormous spaceship.
     
    It was so strange and so startling that for a moment I just
looked at it, unable to move. And then I was unable not to go toward it.
     
    Of course, as you’ve probably guessed, it was no spaceship.
It was the spectacular foot of a flying buttress, and when I got clear of the
buildings that blocked the view I could see the whole thing: Notre Dame
cathedral, perched weightlessly on the surface of the city like a water-strider,
soaring and otherworldly.
     
    As I gaped at it, drops of water hit my cheeks and I
realized it was beginning to rain. I took a last longing look at the ancient building,
then made haste back to my hotel, miraculously managing not to get lost on the
way.
     
    You’ll have divined what was waiting there when I arrived,
particularly if I tell you it wasn’t Jack.
     
    A third note:
     
    Won’t be able to make it to Paris—work emergency in Iceland. Tix to Reykjavik @ airport; fly today; I’ll meet you.
     
    Eager to not cry in front of the desk clerk, I hurried up to
my room, note in hand, and shut myself away inside it. Though the communication
had been there, the arrangements made, Jack’s failure to arrive had set off the
panic I’d been keeping at bay since what had been my last day of work. He was
right, I thought, I had been rash—people didn’t just throw away good
jobs in this economy, and it was, despite its annoyances, a “good job.” Or had
been. What the hell did I think I was doing? And the way I’d left,
barring any chance for a positive recommendation. For all I knew, back in Houston, the story was front-page news. Of course I knew, rationally, that it couldn’t
possibly be… but since I hadn’t been home and hadn’t been in touch with a soul,
my imagination was free to concoct every catastrophe.
     
    I felt like I’d blown up the little boat that was my life to
climb onto a bigger and more glamorous boat, and only now was I realizing I had
no idea where this other boat was headed. Didn’t know if it was haunted, if it
had engine problems. If the crew were all ex-cons. Everything in my life was
suddenly unknown, and with his failure to arrive Jack seemed to become just an
idea, some crazy, reckless notion. Where was I? What was I doing? I felt like I
didn’t know anything. I sat on the bed, crumpled the note in my lap and began
to sob