DO YOU LIKE SPICY THINGS / Dylan Whitman Waller
Nous
roulions depuis des kilomètres, sans rien dire. Nous avions laissé la ville
derrière nous et j’avais préféré éviter l’autoroute pour ne pas cautionner
l’escroquerie des péages. La route serpentait dans la campagne entre les champs
fleuris et ceux non encore semés. J’ai mis ma main droite sur sa cuisse et elle
l’a recouverte avec sa main gauche. Lorsque j’ai tourné la tête vers elle, brièvement,
j’ai vu qu’elle pleurait en silence, que des larmes coulaient sur ses joues.
J’ai un peu serré mon étreinte. Elle a reniflé. Nous savions que l’histoire
touchait à sa fin, qu’une fois rentrés à S. nous ne nous verrions plus, qu’elle
retournerait vivre avec celui dont elle ne pouvait se détacher. C’était comme
si nous partagions un conte tragique, une de ces aventures mythologiques au
cours desquelles, les héros ont beau se démener, c’est toujours ce qui était
prévu qui advient. Sans autre issue possible. Comme si, quoi qu’il arrive, nous
n’avions aucune prise sur les événements et leur enchaînement. J’ai hésité
avant de foncer droit sur un arbre et de défier le sort.
We had been driving for miles without a word. Having left the city behind I opted to avoid the motorway to show how I felt about the fraudulent toll system. The road meandered through the countryside between fields in bloom and some still bare. I rested my hand on her thigh and she covered it with her left hand. As I briefly turned to her, I saw she was crying quietly, tears just rolling down her cheeks. I tightened my grip slightly. She was sniffing. We both knew our story was coming to an end, that once back at S. we would not see each other anymore, she would go back to live with the man she could not part from. It was as if we shared a tragic tale, one of those mythical adventures where despite the heroes efforts, the resolution is inevitable. No other way is conceivable. As if whatever happens we have no control over the course of events and how they unfold. I hesitated before speeding straight into a tree in a desire to tempt fate.
We had been driving for miles without a word. Having left the city behind I opted to avoid the motorway to show how I felt about the fraudulent toll system. The road meandered through the countryside between fields in bloom and some still bare. I rested my hand on her thigh and she covered it with her left hand. As I briefly turned to her, I saw she was crying quietly, tears just rolling down her cheeks. I tightened my grip slightly. She was sniffing. We both knew our story was coming to an end, that once back at S. we would not see each other anymore, she would go back to live with the man she could not part from. It was as if we shared a tragic tale, one of those mythical adventures where despite the heroes efforts, the resolution is inevitable. No other way is conceivable. As if whatever happens we have no control over the course of events and how they unfold. I hesitated before speeding straight into a tree in a desire to tempt fate.
