A couple of years back, a dear friend of mine challenged me into writing a book, based on an anecdote of hers. If you are a regular in The Cove, you know I am always up for a challenge, especially if it involves playing with words.

So I spent a little over six months writing daily, and came up with “M”, my first novel. I don’t take myself seriously at all, but I do take pride in the fact that I wrote a book just a little under 500 pages long.

Suze was the first Guinea-pig for my translation of “M” in English (it was originally writen in French). I still owe her the rest of it. I haven’t forgotten, Suze, I’ll get back to it, I promise… I just can’t promise when 😉

It is quite a leap of faith to publish the first bits of it in The Cove, to see what people will think about it.

It was, in a way, the origin of The Cove. It was the same friend who convinced me I should try blogging, after the completion of “M”.

I really hope you’ll enjoy your read.

Tuesday morning. Is there anything less exciting than a Tuesday morning? At least, at night, you can expect a rebate at your local movie theater, but in the morning… Sure, Tuesday morning is the time to get rid of my weekly recycling. Oh the fun and rejoicing of coming back at night to find out that my bin has been carried two or three addresses down the street… So, yes, Tuesday morning…

Since I have no “let’s-skip-Tuesdays” machine, and I don’t really have anything to hold against this day that only makes my week a day longer, I get up, aware that I am up for one important, but uninviting appointment. So I pull myself out of bed for morning’s little routine. Strong coffee, two toasts, cat food for my two furry tornadoes Fiou and Mireille… Finally, a hot shower and the last minute check list before I leave home.

I am (have things ever been otherwise?) more than an hour ahead of my schedule when I activate the alarm system and lock the apartment’s front door. In the parking lot, my car is giving me the eye, and almost gets me to hesitate. But the thought of all the time lost downtown, circling around like a stressed out vulture, hunting a parking spot as if my life depended on it… Parking spot that would cost me way more than two subway tickets… The thought of the liters of damp sweat that would stick my cute curls to my neck and shoulders… The thought of the bumper to bumper ride back home… Bye bye! I’d rather take the subway!

Thanks to my handbag, I could easily survive a week in any wild land. But not too wild though, let’s say mildly wild. Of course, in my hurry to go spread my legs wide at the clinic (it is my annual gynecologist’s appointment… Yay!), I forgot to bring my book for the ride…
*Viau station* It’s funny, the subway voice lady sounds like she says “Bio”, which is pretty convenient since we are right under the Biodôme… Just saying…

I have a thought for the clinic’s secretary who already postponed my appointment twice this year. Because she has the weird habit of trying to fit in too many patients for each working day… Bad time management, incompetence… Tomato, tomato (pronounce “tométo – tomato”, otherwise it just doesn’t make sense) I am starting to think that she knows someone who’s secretly working on a day-stretching machine that is not quite tuned yet… Someone’s boss will be thrilled to see how visionary she has been! While we all run around, wondering what to do with those two or three more hours in a day, the clinic will run smoothly… At last…

*Frontenac station* I have lived on a Frontenac street back in my childhood… Maybe I should challenge myself and try to live on streets named like every station of the green line… Can’t wait to stay on Monk street, I like Monk, he’s a funny fellow. My god, my brain is running on useless thoughts… At least I know it!

While scrolling through the people that are piling up gradually around me, I notice how very eclectic Montreal is. Between the different skin colors, rubbing against each other more or less intentionally, and the different styles and ages fighting for the best spots, there’s enough to keep your eyes busy for quite some time… I mentally hum “Black magic woman” after analyzing a big black mama who most probably plays the witch and casts spells on her free time, when I notice a weird man, at the other end of the coach, staring at me for some time now. What if someone could read my thoughts right now, like what we sometimes see in the movies?
And if that person was Mr Weird, leaning on the the glass door, his eyes fixed to mine?? I suddenly feel a little anxious. Odds are that he can’t hear me… But what if… I concentrate and send him a mental “if you hear me clap your hands once, if not, clap twice!” No reaction, I am relieved when the subway doors open in the Berri-UQAM station, letting him fade into the crowd, the wave of bodies transiting from inside the wagon to the dock and vice-versa!

Only a few more stations to go and I’ll get to my destination. I’m almost sorry that my doctor’s brilliant secretary hasn’t called to postpone once more. It is a beautiful day today, and I would have preferred doing pretty much anything to having my old doctor scrutinize my breasts, and being inspected with a Q-Tip as if I were a crime scene…

Once in front of the building, I sigh, and make my way in. I nervously go up the eleven floors in the elevator. I hate those metal boxes. Nothing on the walls says the maker promises to bring you where you want to go safe and sound. My brain takes that omission as a discharge in case of an accident… Accident, that is not a word anyone should be thinking about in an elevator… Do not think about elevator accidents… Under no circumstance… Eleventh floor, at last!!