Une petite braise. After all this time...

Réflexion sentimentale, sur fond de Véronique Samson.

How queer:  You think you have folded an old love story and placed it firmly at the back of a trusted steam trunk that will keep it both placatingly away (out of sight, out of mind) and preciously cherished (as well it should be) for all times...  Till death reveals all. 

Ah, well; time to admit it, despite my best effort, there is but one man who has somehow kept a secure place in my heart, beside my amazing father and my no-less amazing son.  You must be pretty special, Leslie M.  

So.  Somewhat bored with healing sleep meditations, I have started dabbling in lucid dreaming meditations and, lo and behold, first night: First lucid dream - and a very pleasant one at that, thank goodness!

Consequently, I am spending the day fending wave after wave of warm romantic memories and, tempted to check our last exchange, I find this, dated 2019, sent to my old French Facebook messenger inbox:

    To judge from the written material, you are the young lady I had exchanges with when you were assistant with the School of English. A lot was said at that time. I am delighted to see so active in several sphères. Greetings from a very retired former prof.     Leslie M.

  Seems to me our paths crossed some years back

Indeed, Sir, they did. I am now having to consider that in fact they merely keep on doing so, unbeknown to either of us, only to light up our skies by occasionally colliding in the ether, rarely but rather powerfully.

I find it reassuring to see that I, like others in fact, have a

'love of my life'.

For what else would you call a flame that, despite being doused determinedly every decade or so, somehow self-reignites,

totally by surprise?

Perhaps now is the time to admit that, in spite of my desire to be

emotionally free, I do love.

I love, not just my beloved offspring and no-less beloved companion animals, but also a man; a mere man, for whom I have had exponential respect and admiration for what I may deem the majority of my life

(it is this month exactly thirty-five years since we first spoke).

It has taken a fair number of hours, but I have decided to put you in my confidence, which you are clearly such an intrinsic part of.

This email, sent earlier, was promptly returned, marked undelivered, by mailer-daemon. So, perhaps Facebook will deliver more securely:

Well, it would seem that "the very retired prof" will simply not leave my dreams; get off, will you, sir!

Seriously, it has happened again, just like it did in October 2012, a very vivid dream which I was sorry to wake up from... A brief outline: Last night, in my dream, I was hanging out with my bestie, Catherine, when I spotted you chatting with a colleague or friend on a park bench by a fence; I sneaked behind the fence to ensure that it was you and, in the blink of an eye, we were looking for somewhere to go that we might have privacy... Interestingly, you suggested that Frances Williams might let us borrow her place! As if... Terribly amusing, but somehow we ended up in some old haunt of yours, suitably authentic and bohemian that I should feel at home there. A very comfortable place indeed. Sadly, as luck would have it, I soon woke up. Too soon. Still, it was nice to 'see' you. I do hope you are taking good care of yourself and send you some most heartfelt hugs. With best regards, Annie Ozanne PS: Should you wish to correspond (I do miss good old-fashioned letter-writing), my current address is as follows: Anne Willson 7* ****** Street Sidmouth EX10 **J (Please let me know you still breathe!)

It is quite possible that you may be blithely unaware of how much I owe you, so let me recall the various milestones that punctuate our 35 years of esteem for each other; you admitted back in 2012 that you were indeed entirely unaware of the torch I held for you all the time that I was your devoted student, so it would ensue that your role in my escape and survival may well have escaped you.
July 1988, having passed the Baccalauréat with flying colours (Union Jack colours, of course!), I visited the UER d'Anglais, hoping to gather information on this university course on which I had decided to enroll: LCE d'Anglais (Foreign Literature and Culture -English). I waited my turn for an opportunity to chat with one of the lecturers scattered around various rooms, to meet and greet the new batch of prospective students. I then sat opposite a bright blue-eyed prof, casually dressed in a baggy tourterelle cardi, who proceeded to quiz me on my Bac results, insisting that many endeavoured to obtain a degree in English but failed, simply due to not having the required entry level... Oh, sir, did you know that such a challenge was exactly what I needed then? I understood instantly that your off-putting demeanour was aimed at filtering out the masses of 'tourists' who simply chose to enrol on a University course (any university course) in order to stay off the dole and live on the eductional grants instead; I told you of my grades in a very matter-of-fact fashion, not put off at all, quite the opposite - I'll show you! It gave me an untold intense gratification to see your eyebrows raise appreciatively and your discourse become a lot more encouraging. Three months later, I was privileged enough to end up in your Personal Tutor Group and benefit from your inspiring, if a tad cynical, teaching for the next three years! Only months after starting my first year, having completed my assignments for you on what I expected my professional future to hold, I sat in our small departmental library to knuckle down as usual (I was totally absorbed by my new life as a student of English!), when my destiny revealed itself to me out of the blue. Some leaflets in English were scattered in the middle of the table where I sat to read and jot down notes... Ever keen to devour any authentic English, whether spoken or written, I scanned them and my attention was drawn unswervingly to a pamphlet extolling the merits of Exeter, Probably The Best University In The World. Hook, line and sinker. Thunderstorm in a jar. I knew then that I must go there, somehow, some day; I must find a way.

I immediately made a bee line for your office in order to ask you about any possible exchanges which I could apply for. Who else would know better how to go about this bright new goal that I had set for myself? You were after all the head of department, as well as my personal tutor and I never asked for anything, never failed to complete my assignments, was in fact a model student... You were bemused by my enthusiasm and explained that indeed you were working with your overseas colleagues to bring into effect an Erasmus exchange betwen the twin universities, but your combined efforts were not expected to bear fruit for another two or three years... "I'll wait." I shall work hard till then and come back to you as soon as any such exchange is announced on the notice board; thank you, sir. 

Over the next few years, our paths crossed as tutor and student and, although my friends used to tease me for my flame was obvious to them -yet you never noticed me as anything more than an assiduous student who never missed an opportunity to enhance her chances of progress. When I applied for the part-time job at the library, you interviewed me and appointed me. When I offered Mrs Racinet to redesign the logo for the Club d'Anglais, you approved the drafts and complimented me on my artistic flair. When I made a cake to share with the office staff at the pot-luck lunch we organized to celebrate the end of the 1990-1991 academic year, your humour and warmth were palpable; so much so that your secretary did mention it to me with admiration because apparently, you were not an easy man to impress. Well, the cake was obviously a winner, because you still remembered it in 2012!
And yes, when at last the long-awaited exchange with Exeter University was announced, I applied for an interview and saw my perseverance and enthusiasm rewarded when I secured a place on the year abroad, despite being past the intended level for it; so, instead of spending my second year in the School of English, I went there to complete my fourth! Frankly, I was very grateful to have an advanced level under my belt in order to cope with the massive leap in expected standards. I never counted on the easy excuse that I was a foreigner in order to gain some leeway and obtain some indulgence; this was tough but oh, so enthralling! My dream had come true and I was from then on forever grateful for this opportunity to live it! When I completed my dissertation and decided to find a job in order to remain in Exeter instead of coming back 'home', I still hoped that some day, we would meet again when you visited your good friends and colleagues at the university. It was not to be. Instead, I met up with Nicole Vigouroux, André Rannou and Goulven LeCam wen they came over for a lecturing exchange - what an adventure that was, when I ended up giving everyone a lift in my commercial pick-up Renault 5! Epic and memorable. Even more than the cake, surely...  
We exchanged a few letters, as I also kept in touch with Nicole and André, as well as Paul Guéguen. You all received a photo of your student with her beautiful toddler in her arms in 1995... Little did you know that you had not only changed my life, but saved it. Thanks to your belief in me as a successful student, I was presented with a unique and unmissable opportunity to move abroad, somewhere where I was appreciated and accepted for just who I was, with no power struggle constantly undermining my mental and physical health. Oh, the problems did not just vanish, but at least I was safe from harm from an abusive family that had only let me go because of the promise of succeeding in my studies... And did I succeed! My adopted country has its downsides, I would be foolish to overlook them, but if I had not found refuge here, I likely would not be alive today. So, thank you.

As every relationship failed to flourish, I eventually faced the music: Life as a couple simply was not for me; I considered myself VHS (Very Happy Single). God knows I tried... But then I finally saw the light when Covid wiped out my libido at the same time as my central nervous system went haywire and caused accrued osteoarthritis symptoms, chronic fatigue and relentless gastro-intestinal issues. At last, I was free to look at the small matter of my love life with a clear mind, devoid of any urges that may have otherwise tempted me to accept the advances of yet another unsuitable suitor. Plenitude comes at a price but I gladly embrace this new life. Now I see that my life was not devoid of love; I had plenty of small samples and one enduring, unconsumed, lasting love. I am surprised to see that it took me so long to rejoice at this unconsummated attraction. What I had originally considered as a helpful crush (it did give me plenty of incentive to work hard and succeed) has in fact turned out to be the one constant in my ever-loving heart. I wonder... Might my repeated attempts to repress it turn out to be the very reason why it endured? It never had a chance to flare up and end in a subsequent puff of smoke... I have nothing to add, for now. No funeral notices bear your name online, so I can only hope that your health is holding up and perhaps, very soon, we shall speak again.