CarlaAnderson

My whole life, people have told me I'm serious.. And I am, until I am not anymore.. What happens is that people see the first layer and stay there, comfortably, without digging deeper: the woman who arrives on time, who greets with two measured kisses, who always orders the same thing and orders it in a low voice.. correct. Sage. Some might say it's a bit old-fashioned France.. And they're not entirely wrong, because this woman exists, and she doesn't shame me: I've spent half my life building her.. But there is a second layer.. And a third. And a fourth one that almost no one ever reaches..

I am going to say things that I don't usually say, because that's exactly what a personal space is for.. I am forty-nine years old, a wonderful age to stop asking for permission.. I look at myself in the mirror and I recognize myself, and that's already more than I could say ten years ago.. Some things have loosened, others have become more prominent, and it turns out that the seconds weigh more.. I am no longer afraid of silence during a meeting.. I no longer fill the silences with laughter that I do not feel.. I no longer stay in places where I don't want to be, simply because I was invited to stay..

You will see me wearing a silk blouse, yes, and with one more button undone than would be strictly correct.. Her hair is always up, almost always badly, done more out of haste than artistry, with a strand escaping that I push back without even realizing it.. A glass that I hold with both hands, as if I needed to hold onto something, and a voice that comes out lower than I would like, almost shy, because I still feel a slight discomfort inside when someone looks at me directly and doesn't look away.. I've only been here for a short time, and I can't hide it: it shows.. You can see it in my neck, you can see it in my hands, you can see it when I laugh and cover my mouth too late, as if the laughter came before the habit.. Yes, I blushed.. At my age, forty-nine years old and with a mortgage, I blush.. I'm telling you this now so that it doesn't come as a surprise later..

There is more. I like coffee in the morning and the silence until the second cup.. I like loud music in the car and soft music at home, and I don't know why these two things are exactly the same.. I read at night, I highlight with a pencil, and I write in the margins things that I don't dare to say out loud afterwards.. I cook well and slowly, and I enjoy watching someone eat what I've made much more than eating it myself.. I get lost in streets that I don't know, under the pretext of looking for a bakery.. I have a list of movies that I watch once a year, and it doesn't bother me at all.. I sleep on the side of the bed that faces the wall.. I set the table even when I eat alone..

I am not looking for a list of criteria.. I'm looking for a conversation that lasts longer than just the first drink.. Someone who knows how to be silent without it being awkward, who asks twice before taking something for granted, who does not confuse closeness with haste.. I like men who listen with their whole face, not just with their ears.. Those who laugh at themselves before anyone else does.. Those who smell good without anyone seeing the effort.. Those who know that saying "I don't know" is more appealing than pretending to have an answer to everything.. Those who do not compete with the server or with the table next to them.. Those who look you in the eye when they give a toast..

And then there's the other thing, the one that doesn't fit into a form or a profile description. When the lights dim and the conversation quiets down, this woman, so proper and so wise, remains in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, her glass already empty, and a smile that doesn't show her teeth. The one who spoke softly is no longer there. It's the one who decides who is there. Come in, sit next to me. And don't rush me..