“Whoosh est dans la douche.”
 

          It’s been a strange day or perhaps it would be better to say a strange couple of hours.  I think that I’ve got a few more minutes before she comes out of the shower so I might as well update my “blog” while this is fresh in my mind.  I still have difficulty believing what just happened so perhaps entering it in this on-line journal will allow the late afternoon’s happenings to sink in.
          I granted my last class at the university an early dismissal, this being the last day in session before the Christmas break.  A lot of students had decided to take make a premature exit anyway so I did not feel very guilty.  I gathered up some papers to correct over the holidays and slipped them into my briefcase.  I dropped by the faculty lounge to extend my best wishes to some colleagues.  I walked out of the modern languages faculty office and headed for the bus stop.  There were several buses lined up but, with the university essentially emptying, the bus that I finally managed to get on was very crowded.  All the seats were filled and I felt like a kernel in a corncob.  That's not good for me.  I feel uneasy when there are too many people around.
          After some moments I noticed that I was sharing the post that I held on to with a woman.  She had a knapsack and I assumed she was a student.  I am not particularly outgoing but when she smiled, I could not very well ignore her.  I smiled back.
          She spoke.  “You’re a professor at the university aren’t you?”
          “Yes, I am actually,” I replied. “How did you know?”
          “Well, you are aren’t you?”  And she smiled a mysterious smile not unlike that of the Mona Lisa’s which has perplexed so many for so long.  Why did I think of the Mona Lisa now?  She did not look at all like her.  I felt a bit nervous.  I am really not one to make small talk with strangers but something about her, and I have to admit I don’t know what, made me want her to go on with the conversation.
          “What’s your name?” she demanded.
          Taken aback with this forward approach with which I am completely unfamiliar, I stammered a bit but answered, “Gerald.  Gerald Audray.  Most people call me Ger.”
          “Audray,” she said.  “That’s French isn’t it?
          “Yes,” I replied.  “My parents were from France actually.
          “I know that,” she said.  “My name is Whoosh.”
          I tried not to show my reaction but I really was beginning to think at this point that she was having me on.  I almost started to panic.  I cannot stand the thought of being made a fool of particularly not by a woman for whom I was beginning to develop some early feelings of attraction and besides, women easily intimidate me without even knowing they’re doing it.
          “That’s an original name,” I managed to say.  “Whoosh who?”
          “Just Whoosh,” she replied.
          I smiled stupidly not knowing what else to say.  I was still trying to figure out if she was being serious.  Her facial expressions did not give much away.  She did not strike me as a beautiful woman in the sense of a fashion model or a movie star but she was most definitely very attractive in the way she came across.  There was an undeniable aura about her which was almost palpable.
          My stop came and went.  I thought that I would stay on until she got off and take another bus or a cab home.  She began asking me all sorts of questions and I continued to feel more than a bit silly because she seemed to know the answers before I gave them.  I don’t know how many times she said “I know.”
          The bus arrived downtown at the end of the line.  Now I truly felt like a fool.
          “You don’t live around here do you?” she asked.
          “No. I missed my stop.  I live in Killarney Heights actually.  What about you?  You live around here?”
          “No.  I was hoping you would tell me where I should stay.”
          Well, what could I say?  The whole event was too unusually unlike my daily routine.  So without thinking, which is not at all like me, I took a chance.
          I did not know what to say so I mumbled, “Okay then.  So.  All right then.  Well, if you have no place to stay, you’re welcome in my home.”
          I couldn’t believe I’d actually said that but she gave me no time to ponder and she did not appear at all surprised.
          “I accept with pleasure and I am grateful,”  she replied.
          We took a cab to my place and she asked if she could use the shower.  I think she’s just about done because she stopped singing.  She’s got a great voice but I can’t recognize any of her songs.
Here she comes.  Whoa!?!...
 

          "Whoosh est sortie de la douche."

EXIT BLOG: 12/01/03 6:11 P.M.