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where her husband had been run over. Where, jogging, in his shorts, with music in his ears, he’d blundered across the street. Made the ultimate blunder. She would stand on the curb and watch the cars go by. Why not kill herself at the same spot? Why not blend the traces of their blood in a final, morbid union. She’d stay a long time without knowing what to do, tears trickling down her face. Especially in the days following the funeral, she came back to this place. She didn’t know why she needed to hurt herself so badly. Being there was ridiculous, imagining the brutality of impact was ridiculous, wanting to make the death of her husband concrete in this way was ridiculous. Perhaps, deep down, it was simply the only solution? Does anyone know what to do next after such a tragedy? There aren’t any instructions. All of us read what’s written by our bodies. Natalie was giving in to an urge to be there, to weep at the curb, to drown in her tears.

Nineteen

    John Lennon’s Discography If He Hadn’t Died in 1980
    Still Yoko (1982)
    *
    Yesterday and Tomorrow (1987)
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    Berlin (1990)
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    Titanic: The Soundtrack (1997)
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    The Beatles: A Revival (1999)

Twenty

    The Life of Charlotte Baron
Since the Day She Ran Over François
If it hadn’t been for the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, Charlotte Baron certainly never would have become a florist. September 11 was her birthday. Her father, who was traveling in China, had sent her flowers. Jean-Michel was climbing the stairs, not yet knowing that the times had just been turned upside down. He rang and discovered Charlotte’s pallid face. She couldn’t pronounce a single word. Taking the flowers, she asked, “You heard?”
“What?”
“Come …”
Jean-Michel and Charlotte spent the day together on the couch, watching replays of the planes crashing into the towers. Living such a moment together created a powerful bond. They became inseparable, even had an affair for several months before concluding they were more friends than lovers.
Somewhat later, Jean-Michel started his own flower delivery company and asked Charlotte to work with him. From then on, their life was about making bouquets. The Sunday the accident happened, Jean-Michel had prepared everything. The customer wanted to ask his girlfriend to marry him. When she received flowers, she’d get the message; it was a kind of coded signal between the two. Having the flowers delivered that Sunday was crucial, because it was the anniversary of their meeting. Just before leaving, Jean-Michel got a call from his mother: his grandfather had just been hospitalized. Charlotte said she’d take care of the delivery. She liked to drive the van a lot. Especially when there was only one stop to make and there was no hurry. She was thinking of the couple and the role she was playing in their story: a secret factor. She was thinking about all of this, as well as other things, when a man crossed the street haphazardly. And she hit the brakes too late.
Charlotte was devastated by the accident. A psychologist tried to make her talk about it, to make sure she recovered from the shock as soon as possible, so the trauma wouldn’t eat away at her unconscious. Quickly enough, she wondered, Should I get in touch with the widow? She finally decided that it wouldn’t do any good. At any rate, what could she have said? “I’m sorry.” Do you apologize in such cases? Maybe she would have added, “It was stupid of your husband to run like that, without caring how; he’s screwing up my life, too, are you aware of that? You think it’s easy to go on living when you’ve killed somebody?” Sometimes she had genuine outbursts of hate for thatman, for his thoughtlessness. But most of the time she kept quiet. She sat around in a state of blankness. The periods of silence linked her to Natalie. Both of them were floating in the anesthesia of a path of least resistance. For weeks during her recovery, without knowing why, she thought