And then, like that, suddenly, we found ourselves visiting CEGEPs for our 15-year-old daughter, who wears a size 9 and is now a few millimeters taller than me. Between a song by Lana del Rey and a competition of cheerleading, she dreams of becoming an editor. On a trip to Chicoutimi to see the art and media technology pavilion at Cégep de Jonquière, renowned for the training it offers in the field of communications, we take the opportunity to take a look at the residences.
Well, how can I put it… It’s a very small room with a neon light on the ceiling, a small space that looks like a military bedroom with a built-in desk, mini fridge, washbasin and a bed with drawers. It’s beige and brown, clean… Correct, nothing more.
“At least there’s a window,” I say as I step out.
A student walks by with a convenience store sandwich under his arm and a big bag of crisps.
— We’re going to prepare frozen meals for him and fill the freezer, adds his father.
“I’m going to put up Christmas lights, posters of Lorde and Lana, and decorate it to my liking!” said Charlotte with stars in her eyes.
She is at the age when you start dreaming of more independence and that inevitably means taking a little distance from your parents and the cocoon of comfort that you know by heart. A hope, the desire to discover. At his age, I dreamed of leaving my suburbs to go live in Montreal, where I put down roots. Charlotte grew up in the city, she’s an authentic Montrealer, and for her, the ultimate change of scenery would be to settle in the regions, even if the ambient cold almost makes her eyelashes curl, we joke as we head towards the small room Côté-Cour to see Dany Placard and Julie Doiron in show.
I think of paper towns, the beautiful and great little novel by Dominique Fortier. Through the portrait she paints of the life of the poet Emily Dickinson, the writer introduces her personal reflections on the places where we take root, these houses, rooms and spaces that we inhabit and which inhabit us. These places are imprinted on us, shape our memory.
We slept that night with a friend, who had been living in a magnificent ancestral home in La Baie for a little over a year. Marika left Montreal to return to where she grew up. She welcomes us with her cat Françoise, a big generous smile and a beautiful accent with stretched vowels that she finds while crossing the Saguenay park.
Built in 1876, the house is large and spacious, nicely decorated for Christmas, comfortable and warm. “I was looking for a chalet during the pandemic, I didn’t mind going quite far from Montreal, because my parents and my brother still live here. Seeing the house on a website, I knew I had arrived home. »
Upstairs there are four bedrooms, one of which is wood paneled with a pitched roof that resembles a bedroom for elves or pixies. The window in Marika’s bedroom overlooks the fjord in the distance. “I’ve been more contemplative since I’ve been living here. »
I notice that unlike others I know who have left the city to settle in the countryside or in a village, Marika does not break sugar on the back of Montreal. No hint here of an orange cone or looking for a parking space. “I am both Montrealer and Saguenéenne; I have both in me. When I miss Montreal, I take the car and go there. It’s not that far, four and a half hours drive. »
The advent of remote working since the pandemic brings endless new possibilities. Marika imagines living here with her retired friends. We live in Rosemont, close to where she lived for twenty years and raised her son. We think we could make exchanges. She will come and take care of our cat Moka while we take care of Françoise by going to visit Charlotte… We chat while devouring the crabapple jelly she prepared with her own fruit trees on the bagels we brought back from Montreal .
Under the table, Françoise devours with the same delight a little gray mouse who is a little too reckless.