Thinking About Cassis

How can I get to Cassis, without running away? I have been asking myself this question over and over and now it is Monday, August 11, at 4 pm. My mother won't drive me there. Alan Phoenix won't drive me there. I did not ask Luke Phoenix because the rented car has no insurance for him and so he does not drive it at all. I can't run there and I can't walk there.

Then suddenly the answer comes to me. I can take a bus. There is a bus stop at the end of our lane, and a schedule on the wall of the shelter. I can bike to the shelter, read the schedule, figure out the appropriate time to be there for the bus to Cassis, and then make a careful plan about what time I need to leave here if I am to be in Cassis for aperitifs. This is what a smart person would do if she wants to go to Cassis and her mother will not drive her.

"What's wrong with your toenail?" I can hear Alan Phoenix asking my mother. They are in the living room and it is time I went down there and told them my plan. If I don't tell them, it is like running away—and I am finished with running away.

When I go down there, Alan Phoenix is sorting through the art books and my mother is sitting on the couch with wine glass in her hand.

"Don't ask," she says to him. I don't know why she would say that.

"It happened because of the pedicure," I remind her. I don't look at Alan Phoenix when I tell her this. He has not been very helpful about Cassis, and so I just look at my mother. She has not been helpful either, but because we are related I have to talk to her now and then.

"The damaged part caught inside my shoe today and part of it peeled off," she says to Alan Phoenix, after she inspects her foot. "Never mind. It'll be fine. That's why I've been sleeping with my socks on. Because I knew it would gross you out." To me she says, "You should try some of this supermarket Bordeaux. It's very good, and so cheap here!"

"Your toenail looks like pictures of toenail fungus I found on the Internet," I say.

"Never mind!" she says, and now her voice is in the red zone. I have noticed that on this trip the voice most often in the red zone is hers. "You could get busy around here and help out, Taylor, instead of not minding your own business."

I take a deep breath and say the thing that I have been practicing to myself. It is better than running away, and it is better than doing nothing.

"On Friday afternoon, I am going to Cassis. That is four days from now. I will go there on a bus and I will be back in the evening. I will be able to do my work with Martin in the morning, as usual."

There is a sharp intake of breath and I think it is my mother's.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't just run off by yourself."

"I won't be by myself and I'm not running. I am going on a bus with other people. I know that there will be at least one other person on the bus and that is the bus driver."

"You cannot go there on your own, Taylor. Even if you got to Cassis, how would you find this old woman's house?"

"What's her name again?" asks Alan Phoenix. He has not been paying good attention. I told him her name yesterday when I asked him to drive me. When he refused to drive me he explained that he did not want to get between me and my mother. I do not understand what he meant by that.

"Adelaide. Her name is Adelaide. But it's ridiculous to go all that way for tea. Taylor can just give her a phone call."

"It's not tea. It's aperitifs," I say. "And as long as they are not pigeon eggs I will eat them."

"You're not going, Taylor, and that's final!" says my mother. She gets up from the couch and goes into the bedroom she shares with Alan Phoenix and slams the door. It is not good to slam doors; it is hard on the hinges. At least now her door is closed, so she will not be tempted to slam it again.

I hear the bang of the oven door.

"Suppertime!" calls Martin Phoenix with the voice from his Tango.

"Come and get it before we eat it all!" says Luke Phoenix, carrying a casserole dish outside through the patio doors.

"You shouldn't slam the oven door," I say. I also want to tell my mother not to slam doors, but she is having a meltdown in her bedroom and probably wouldn't hear me. If she learned to put her anger into the soles of her feet she would function better. I decide not to think about my trip to Cassis just now. Sometimes, it's better to not think about things all of the time when you can think about them only some of the time and be calmer.

I watch Luke Phoenix carry more food out to the table. Luke Phoenix isn't hot but he does have nice red hair that is curly and wispy around the back of his neck. He has stopped wearing corduroy pants and for the first time he is wearing shorts. His legs have a lot of hair sprouting out of them.

It suddenly occurs to me what my mother meant when she told me I should hang around with other young people. What she meant was that I should not collect Luke Phoenix as my next boyfriend. This is embarrassing advice. Luke Phoenix is my friend. He is not someone I think of in that other way. I am glad my mother is in the bedroom having a meltdown. I wish she would stay in there.

The table in the backyard has a lot of food on it. While I go out and count things, I hear Alan Phoenix going into the bedroom. First he closes their window, pulling in the shutters that open onto the table where we are going to have dinner. Then I hear quiet voices talking, but I can't hear what anyone is saying.

In a little while, he and my mother come out and sit at the table.

"You fellows have done a good job," says Alan Phoenix, waving his hands over the table. "What kind of meat is this?"

"Lapin," says Martin Phoenix, turning up the volume on his Tango so it sounds as if he is announcing to a large audience.

We all look at the table. There are small bowls of salad. There is a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese. There is a plate of meat on its own bones. There are big bowls of croissants. I sit down and pick up a croissant. It is filled with chocolate.

"What is lapin?" asks my mother.

"Uh … it's rabbit," says Alan Phoenix. "Is that what you boys got at the Vaugines market?"

"Yeah, lucky we got there before it shut down. They close at 1 pm, you know," says Luke Phoenix. "It was the last rabbit they had. There was this lady who had her eye on it, but we got there first."

"Rabbit?" repeats my mother.

"You didn't push into line with Martin's chair, did you?" asks Alan Phoenix, pushing his lips out into a puckered frown.

"His chair has to be somewhere," Luke Phoenix says.

"I don't want to hear about you using Martin's chair to your advantage," Alan Phoenix says. "That's wrong and sets him a bad example."

I try to listen but I take a bite of the croissant. It is delicious.

"Chocolate pain is the best," says Martin Phoenix with his Tango.

"It's not pronounced 'pain,'" says Alan Phoenix, laughing.

I take another bite of my croissant. I like it a lot.

"It's a pain to see it and not eat it," says Martin Phoenix and he makes his laughing sounds.

Luke Phoenix eats an olive and spits the pit at his brother.

When the pit hits Martin Phoenix in the head, Martin Phoenix wiggles and Luke Phoenix says, "Hot cross buns!" and Martin Phoenix uses his Tango to say, "You are a poop." I still don't understand why Luke Phoenix talks about buns. Could this be a script that just means "Gotcha?" People should just say what they mean.

I try a little of the sweet Bordeaux. It isn't bad. It isn't good, either, but at least it doesn't taste like fish. I am happy that it only cost three euros.

I decide to keep not thinking about my trip to Cassis right now. Sometimes, it's better to postpone thinking of things until later. What I do think about is my mother and me. Who has responsibility for my existence? I wonder. I remember Jean-Paul Sartre's little gray book and think: How can I be free if I don't make any decisions for myself?

I take another chocolaty bite. She can tell me not to go all she wants, but my mother isn't the boss of me. On Friday I am going to Cassis whether she likes it or not.