Le Plaque: Un Reve Revisité
Winter in Montreal can be so beautiful yet so annoying she thought as she made her way out of the warmth of the mall through the parking lot to her car.
The snow had already covered the tops of the cars in fluffy white hats and was still coming down slowly in large, lazy wet flakes in the gathering purple darkness of the late afternoon. But she smiled, feeling happy to have found the perfect gifts for her two young nieces and for a special little boy she had befriended at the children's hospital. She would go home, put on some nice smooth jazz and wrap the gifts in some festive Christmas wrapping paper she had found in one of the specialty shops. She would have a cup of piping hot English tea or perhaps a nice glass of chilled Pinot Grigio. She would see what she was in the mood for later.
"Tabernac!" she cursed, going completely ass-over-teakettle on a patch of slippery ice hidden underneath the fresh snow, her bags scattering all over the place. "And now I've cracked my jupe!" she muttered under her steaming breath. But then she laughed, as she got herself up and gathered up the bags, remembering how her English co-workers at the office teased her endlessly for her creative use of the English language—often mixing it in unique ways with her native French. "To hell with them, I know what I meaning!" she thought to herself laughing even more at her reflexive habit of using the English infinitive. She was in a very good mood, remembering her bi-lingual upbringing in this very French city and her delight in the magic of the Christmas season. Her heart was light today in spite of her fall and the ripped skirt.
She had just finished putting the packages and her now wet winter coat in the back seat of the car and was checking her skirt to see how badly it had ripped when the yellow beam of a flashlight washed over the side of the car and over her body. She almost jumped out of her skin in surprise and fear. The semi-dark parking lots were favored locations for the nefarious activities of criminals at night. Robberies, assaults and rapes were not unheard of. A young woman could not be too careful.
"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, is this your car? " a deep voice in back of the flashlight called out. She turned and immediately recognized the uniform and stance of a police officer, quickly assessing the pertinent visual cues in microseconds: Older man, tall lean body, clean shaven, policeman's uniform and hat, leather belt, night stick, holster, handcuffs, badge. Neatly put together. It all checked out. She was safe.
Her heartbeat was still racing from the adrenaline surge, but she replied as calmly as she could, "Oui officer, I have just been shopping and I am going to drive home now. Is there a problem?"
The policeman snapped off the flashlight and approached closer.
"Why yes, there certainly is a problem, Miss Bernier" "How do you know my name?" she said in surprise "Your license plate, mademoiselle: Ms.Bernier
"Of course", she thought and made a mental note to change the plate to something less personal next time the registration came up for renewal. "Zut!" Just then she remembered that the registration renewal was up the previous month, it expired on her birthday and she had forgotten to renew it.
"You have a few problems, Miss Bernier. First, you were observed speeding while entering this parking lot. Second, your registration may have expired, and third—you are not properly parked in the space. Look at your rear wheel! It is clearly over the line!"
She quietly choked back the urge to laugh. The "line" was nowhere to be seen with all the snow, and furthermore—it seemed ridiculous that the police would even bother with something so minor as this when surely there were better and more important things for them to be doing—like catching real criminals! But-- better to be polite and play along and maybe get by with a warning, she thought.
" May I see your license and registration please?"
"Yes, Sir" she heard herself say as she reached into her handbag and quickly produced her license.
"The registration is in the glove compartment though" and she opened the passenger side door to get it out. She became vaguely aware that the policeman was eying her, in the way men do, when she bent over to dig the registration out. The realization sent a small shiver up her back, not unpleasant. Or was it a shiver because of the coldness of the evening air? She handed over the document.
