Elena Jacobo
Fiction
Sofía:
Norah rainchecked on me. Lola Rosa?
It was noon and Sofía had yet to take a shower. The sunlight crawled through the bedroom window and tempted her with the touch of its golden fingers. Era had her own reasons.
ÉraseUnaVez:
I did my makeup so yes
any progress forgetting her?
Sofía thought of the Gros-Horloge that had collapsed in her kitchen. A souvenir from Rouen she dared not throw away. The precise spot in her desk drawer where she buried it was a burn-in on her mind.
Proposition 42.
Nelson tries and fails not to think of her grief, her loss, during class.
She breaks down on the word Heartbreak. (Too on the nose? Note: Look up what is spondee.)
Was that it? Was I too blue?
Letting go is not something you do once, but rather a series of small acts you do every day. It had been 46 days.
#
Kananaskis
Lundi, 8 Septembre — Jour 1
LES MONTAGNES !!
Elles apparaissent au loin comme sorties de nulle part, bleues et immenses.
Nuit au refuge du lac Barrier. Feu de camp avec d’autres campeurs,
DEVINEZ il y a une Bretonne. Vous êtes partout, mais nous Normands aussi, non ?
The week before Sofía had to cancel her plans with Norah. She had woken up well in the afternoon, disoriented, but in her own apartment. Her limbs were made of lead and mercury ran through her veins. It took a conscious effort to keep her eyes open just enough to find her phone on the nightstand. Without any recollection of how and when she had gotten herself to bed, it was impossible to say how much she had slept. Sofía was achingly aware of the number of hours she had been awake before then.
Nori:
OMG Sofía! a full weekend???
Don’t worry! Go to bed and rest, we’ll do it another time
That manic weekend full of bad decisions, like any other, started on a Friday evening.
Shortly after Sofía matched with The Argonaut, an old memory rose to the surface borne downstream by the river of strangers’ portraits on Tinder. The same photo of The Vampire Sofía recognized from years before was mixed with a handful of more recent ones. Following her bad habit of swiping right on every person she knew, Sofía waved off the insecure fantasy of her first hookup seeing her profile and dismissing her. Again.
Why was Sofía, over and over, drawn to women who did not want her?
Meanwhile, concluding a short and effective conversation, The Argonaut asked her out on a coffee date later that weekend.
Sofía went to bed like any other night and set the alarm without suspecting it would remain unused. Her phone lit up with the notification of a new Tinder match. The Vampire had sent her three sentences. An exclamatory greeting, a compliment of how cute Sofía seemed in her pictures, and that there was a poetic beauty in how she had described herself in her bio.
Sofía sent Norah a brief description of who The Vampire was and what had just happened.
Sofía:
sometimes i have this irrational fear
that to those who are meaningful to me i am insignificant
maybe it’s not that irrational
Following Sofía’s first sleepless night, Norah’s response came with the first tints of morning-blue outside the bedroom window.
Nori:
Block her now!!
She seems like a bitch who will treat you badly again
Norah was right.
Sofía:
hey! thx, you’re pretty cute, too
Bad decision number one.
Sofía stayed home all Saturday, working on her doctoral thesis. Afternoon came and went, but hunger never did. Then it was night. Sitting on her desk chair, every couple of hours Sofía would look down from the screen and glance at her antipsychotics. When morning arrived the prescription bottle remained untouched.
Bad decision number two.
The sunrise pulled Sofía away from work. Caffeine perhaps could fuel her body that had started lagging behind her running thoughts. She had run out of coffee beans. Sofía kept interrogating the clock in her microwave, impatient, waiting for the closest café to open. The numbers changed without logic. Sometimes they even went backwards. The time came. Sofía put on shoes and a jacket and headed outside.
Bad decision number three.
The grey morning gave the city a bleak and oppressive hush. Dancing shadows and sharp noises kept startling Sofía as she walked. Buildings crouched over her. Behind every alley whistled danger. All faces turned her way, sights accumulating until she felt the weight of a hundred eyes on her nape. Strangers’ voices taunted her with whispers of her name, old and new, one outgrown and one chosen.
Back home, with the bag of coffee she had risked her life to buy, Sofía locked herself in and leaned against the closed door. She would have to go back out there, where she wasn’t safe, to meet with The Argonaut. She left the sealed bag on the kitchen counter and got into bed. There were still six hours before the date she could use to rest.
Despite her best efforts, Sofía couldn’t sleep.
The Argonaut texted to confirm their plans. A sudden lack of coordination made it almost impossible to use the keyboard. Sofía couldn’t fathom cancelling without an explanation and wouldn’t admit to the impaired state that made her believe she owed a reason at all.
Bad decision number four.
The plan was simple. Head out, make it to the café, hold a normal conversation for an hour without raising any suspicions, and get back home.
The Argonaut was already inside. Sofía tried to ask if she had been waiting for long, but her words stumbled. They walked together to the counter. Sofía asked for a hot chocolate, conscious enough that caffeine would be yet another bad decision.
Most of the date slipped Sofía’s mind. They must have gone over the same topics and stories of any first date. The only thing she could recall about The Argonaut was that she had written a thesis about autofiction through the works of Nelson and Barthes. Sofía must have told her about her photography, since later she would find a note in her phone with The Argonauts and La chambre claire titled To check out.
Her plan had been successful, a relieved Sofía inferred when, in between Norah’s messages, came one from a new contact.
L’Argonaute:
Hi Sofía ! I had a lot of fun meeting you & would love to see you again
#
Outside Place des Arts the afternoon was bathed in a late summer’s amber warmth. Era wrote she had gotten distracted during her walk, but she was almost there. Sofía found a spot to read under the sunlight. The tapping of people’s footsteps crossing Quartier des Spectacles and the murmured fragments of their conversations lulled her into a dreamlike calm.
Era’s voice from behind gently took Sofía out of her trance.
“Whatcha reading there?”
#
Banff et Bow River
Vendredi, 12 Septembre — Jour 5
Journée sur la rivière Bow. L’eau d’un bleu presque violent.
Des wapitis femelles traversaient devant moi, elles nagent définitivement mieux que moi.
Toute seule face aux montagnes, c’est pas ça la vraie vie ?
Last Friday Sofía got an email from the library. Having received many of these notifications, she skimmed the familiar text. The book from Maggie Nelson she had reserved was ready for pick up.
Going to the library was a timely opportunity to leave her apartment. Sofía had hidden herself at home while she recovered. Her sleep had gone back to normal, but crying would still come and go in flashes. Out of nowhere and without reason a fleeting grief would thunder and bring her to tears. Working among strangers in the library felt safer than potentially exposing herself to her colleagues.
Proposition 92.
Crying in front of a mirror is not for self-pity, but to witness our own despair.
Does the first half (sharing about her weeping) relate the two
—others vs ourselves as company?
When I cry in front of the mirror it’s not for pity nor compassion. It’s something uglier.
Nelson wonders if reflection can be a witness. Is mine a judge?
(Have I ever photographed myself crying?)
On the last rows of shelves at the back of the library, the reserved books were resting on their spines. Each one had a slip of paper poking out from between their pages. Sofía traced the numbers on these tags up to the five last digits that belonged to her.
In place of the book about queer love and motherhood Sofía expected, she pulled out Bluets. She couldn’t remember having reserved it. After reading the blurbs on its back cover, Sofía realized she must have done so a month before.
#
The hostess warned the two women of it being wasp season. Sofía and Era insisted on sitting outside. They were the only people on the terrace. The one from the neighboring restaurant was full of life. Sofía kept her eyes from crossing over the fence towards the pizza place where she once planned a date that never happened.
— Anglais ou français ? Their waitress asked holding two sets of menus.
— C’est pareil.
Era followed Sofía’s lead and ordered her meal and drink in French.
“I’m counting my calories, but I won’t today. I’ve been walking a lot.”
Her curiosity triggered, Sofía scrolled through her phone. “I guess I have, too—fourteen thousand steps on Saturday! What did I do that day?”
Sofía’s question had been to herself, but Era answered. “I think you had your date.”
#
Banff et Johnston Canyon
Samedi, 13 Septembre — Jour 6
Trop de monde à Minnewanka, changement de plan.
Détour aux Ink Pots — des mares aux couleurs impossibles.
Je me greffe à un groupe pour la montée parce que 1) ours 2) la nuit tombe.
Maintenant je connais toute la vie de Jen, mais bon, aucun ours ne m’a mangée.
It was almost a year since Sofía’s second date with Céline, the last time she had gone out with someone who wasn’t a stranger. There was a particular pressure in facing a woman that wanted to see her again.
Inside the empty café, sitting by the window, Sofía continued reading Bluets. With each passerby, she would glance outside to follow their steps. Eventually one of them turned left and the bell above the door chimed.
“Thank you for waiting.”
Sofía remained seated watching her date pull out the chair and place her backpack on it. Neither woman showed any intention of initiating a hug.
“I’ll go order now.”
From the table Sofía eavesdropped on the order. The barista asked whether the espresso would be regular or allongé.
A few minutes later, a small mug and a tall glass with an orange cold beverage arrived at the table. “That doesn’t look like an espresso.”
“No—I did get one, but I got this, too. I need the caffeine. And I am also thirsty.”
Indiscreet, Sofía stared into the blue eyes in front of her. She could have sworn they were green when they first met.
“Just wanted to say, before anything, I really appreciate you agreeing to see me.”
During her sleepless weekend, Sofía had been intrigued by this new old person who had forgotten about her. But, it turned out, that wasn’t entirely the case.
Any chance we went on a date like 3 or 4 years ago?
The Vampire apologized for leaving without an explanation. Her emotional state at the time, she explained, limited how connected she could feel to anyone, despite the nice time she did remember spending with Sofía.
“It’s funny,” said Sofía. “You said you were going through something back then, those years ago. So was I. I’d just been diagnosed bipolar after getting obsessed with a French woman. Then I met you, we had sex, and you left. Not only did I not get fixated on you, I barely cared—no offense.” She was the first of all the women who would fuck Sofía and leave her right after. “I didn’t miss you. I didn’t ache you.”
Sofía waited for a reaction, but The Vampire gave her nothing.
“Anyway, a couple months ago I stopped seeing another French woman. And, again, here you are.” Sofía raised her glass and flashed a smile laced with aggressive irony.
The Vampire smiled back. “I don’t know if I should feel happy or disappointed about that.”
Little by little she disarmed Sofía by making her talk about photography and the novel she was writing. She brought up a friend of hers who was also writing about her life.
“I don’t believe that only famous people should get to write about their lives.”
Perhaps there is a particular beauty in creating art from complete strangers.
“I’ve been wondering a lot about that recently. Someone I know told me she felt uneasy with being written about in my journal. It was like hanging out with a journalist, she explained, painfully mindful that everything she did or said would be documented—she talked of this constant pressure to start any conversation requesting her words were kept off the record.”
“You know, I personally like the idea of being written about.”
Sofía recoiled in surprise.
“It’s this sense of being made aware I had an effect on someone. Doing something meaningful enough that warranted being saved for later, documented, remembered. To see how my actions, or myself even, are perceived.”
How much had Sofía written about The Vampire those years before? And would she let her read it?
Proposition 193.
Here, Nelson relates writing to a childhood photograph,
in how it eventually replaces the memory it intended to commemorate.
She goes from grieving the erasure of blue things
to celebrating emptying herself for new blue.
With my writing—am I preserving, exalting, or erasing her?
“Would you like to walk outside for a bit?” The Vampire interrupted Sofía’s thoughts.
The two women walked through Mile End in circles. Their conversation moved from everything to anything to nothing.
“Can I hold your hand?”
Nobody had ever asked Sofía before. Did she prefer it this way, being warned?
“Yeah, sure.”
The Vampire grabbed Sofía’s hand as a mother would her child’s. It didn’t feel right, so she tried something else. Sofía’s arm now in front, she reached her hand from the back. “Better.” They weaved their fingers.
Throughout their walk, a beating in Sofía’s abdomen kept distracting her. It rushed and grew warmer and deeper with every step. The threat of an explosion that never arrived.
#
“Remind me,” Era took a sip of her white sangria. “Why The Vampire?”
“Because, back when we had sex, she left a hickey on my neck.”
Throughout her years in Montréal, Sofía had picked up the custom of avoiding using the real names of the women she dated. It gave her a useful distance. Abandonment hurt less, she came to realize, when it was veiled in anonymity.
“Robin,” said Sofía. “The Vampire’s name is Robin.”
#
Lake Louise et Lake Moraine
Dimanche, 14 Septembre — Jour 7
Lake Louise, Lake Moraine. Mes jambes me détestent mais c’est tellement bleu
que je ne sais plus si j’avais déjà vu du bleu avant.
When Sofía told The Argonaut the story of the unexpected book, she had written back some days later she hadn’t read it, but the premise seemed interesting. Sofía promised she’d be the first to know about her thoughts after having read it.
Sunday morning, having finished it, Sofía texted her to share she had loved it so much she’d go over it again to annotate her favourite propositions.
No matter how hard she tried Sofía could not recall the colour of The Argonaut’s eyes. Was it hope or fear that made her wonder if they were also blue?
Sofía:
hey Robin this is my number
maybe we could watch Waking Life sometime
Proposition 35.
Nelson wonders if the world is bluer when seen by blue eyes.
One of my earliest memories is from kindergarten.
A boy asked a green-eyed girl if she saw everything tinted green.
Later that same day, The Argonaut wrote back.
L’Argonaute:
Cool ! I’m excited to hear all about it next time we meet
But next time didn’t come and whether her eyes were the colour of morning or night remained unanswered.
#
“I know I’m using these women as a distraction,” admitted Sofía. “I guess it’s working—I haven’t been feeling as sad as before, but still—”
A couple of weeks before, Sofía had gone on a forbidden profile. Careless, she opened a story about a road-trip. At the bottom, there was a link to a website Sofía had never heard of before.
“Did I tell you about Banff?”
Era nodded.
Proposition 36.
Goethe describes blue as disturbing,
to which Nelson ponders if loving blue is to love a disturbance, or a disturbance in itself.
I smiled at the ironic choice of words when she wonders
what kind of madness is to love something incapable of loving you back.
—In my experience, I would argue for F31.81.
“It’s not only that. She keeps coming back to check my profile and see my pictures. I know it.” Sofía started explaining her deductions from the patterns she’d been tracking. She stopped herself when she recognized in her words the same manic logic that had brought her to a psychiatrist years before.
Era listened and said nothing.
Several wasps flew in circles inside the empty bottle of ginger beer next to Sofía’s half-eaten bowl of fries. Were they trapped in there, seduced by the sweetness of what was once inside but was mostly gone?
Proposition 37.
Right after, a single question—refusal?
But, are you sure it cannot love you back?
My smile faded.
#
Beauty Creek
Mardi, 16 Septembre — Jour 9
Wifi au refuge ?? J’aurais préféré une douche mais bon.
La Icefield Parkway — la seule route vers Jasper, entre montagnes et glaciers.
Ce soir dans un vrai lit au bord d’un ruisseau, je crois que le ciel sera incroyable cette nuit.
Sofía and Norah were settling their plans to pick up their postponed dinner, discussing potential vegan places, old favourites and new ones to discover together.
Petirrojo:
That’s a great idea, I’d love watching it with you
what about Thursday? would you come to my place?
The fantasy of sitting close together somewhere in Robin’s apartment, fingers meddling in her hair, under her clothes, pulsed red and hot in Sofía, almost burning.
#
The waitress brought the terminal to their table and the two women, in turn, paid their bill. They both refused the copy of their receipts.
“I’m not much of a dessert person, but do you wanna get some ice cream?” proposed Sofía.
Every time they were around the area, Era would bring up Chocolat Favoris being her dad’s favourite ice cream place. Sofía never said she remembered, always careful not to spoil the sweet comfort of hearing Era share that small piece of her life.
#
Fin de la route, Lac Maligne et Jasper
Jeudi, 18 Septembre — Jour 11
Dernière nuit dans la voiture !
Derniers kilomètres vers Jasper — des paysages post-apocalyptiques, arbres calcinés sur des milliers d’hectares. Puis les premières couleurs d’automne, et le lac Maligne, immense, l’eau pas si froide.
Coming out of the shower, as she tamed her dark curls, Sofía wondered about the last time she had put on makeup. It must have been back when—months, she concluded; it had been months.
From her closet, she picked several potential outfits and modeled them in front of her full-body mirror. The fantasy of Robin’s soft touch pressing the bare skin of her thighs made her settle on a short pleated skirt.
The pharmacist told Sofía there had been a mix-up and she’d have to wait a couple of minutes before they prepared her prescription. She used this time to browse the unexplored aisles of the pharmacy. Together with her medication, Sofía bought a set of extraordinary items. A new mascara, an eyeliner pencil, and a box of condoms.
Sofía:
i’m going to head out now
can i bring you something? like to eat or drink?
Petirrojo:
Excited to see you soon!
I’ve eaten so unless there’s a snack you’d like, I’m good 🙂
1917 Avenue des Érables. Appartement 2.
Sofía inhaled and slowly let the air out before ringing the doorbell.
A shadow appeared behind the fogged glass of the lobby door. Robin opened it. She was wearing loose navy blue pants and a white cotton t-shirt. Her hair was tidied up with a colorful headband. Sofía followed her down the stairs and stopped by the entrance to take off her converse sneakers.
“I couldn’t decide between something sweet or savoury. So I got both.” The bag of chips and the box of cookies would remain on Robin’s coffee table, untouched.
Robin had her head inside the fridge. “Do you want some cider?”
Sofía walked towards the kitchen and stood on the other end of the bar separating them. “I’m kind of not drinking right now.”
“Water instead?” Robin filled two glasses before hearing Sofía’s answer.
Proposition 136.
From a self-help book Nelson reads that drinking while depressed is akin to
“throwing kerosene on a fire.”
She’s offended by the author relating depression to fire.
I agree. Depression is water—a dark-blue-almost-black ocean in which I drown.
“I set up the projector inside my room.”
From the living room Sofía looked towards the open door. Beyond was nothing but darkness.
“But before that—do you want to go outside for a minute?”
They each took a chair of the set of patio furniture. There was an open package of cigarettes and a used mug on the table. Sofía had asked once about the French stereotype of smoking. Céline confirmed it was a cultural thing.
Café-clope.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” With a tilt of her head Sofía pointed to the abandoned Marlboros. “I find it funny, the euphemisms they come up with sometimes. They’re very creative.” The thin box had a coiled cigarette curved in flaccidity.
“They’re my roommate’s. She quit, not too long ago. But I guess she fell back.”
In her early 20s, Sofía would accept the offered cigarettes from friends at parties, but smoking had never stuck. “I have my own share of addictive and self-destructive behaviours.” She thought of the website in her phone she’d made sure to leave open, accessible. With the last travel entry, one of the pictures was of the photographer’s feet submerged in the blue waters. Above the left foot, through the wet sand, Sofía recognized her gift. The red anklet she had bought in Coyoacán, almost a year later, kept hugging her skin. “Fortunately, smoking is not one of them.”
Proposition 177.
Nelson talks about her ex carrying an old letter from her, everywhere, always.
She never meant for it to be a talisman; she wrote it because she had something to tell him.
(On my second read I caught her ex carried it unopened.)
Is the red anklet the talisman or is it the black, faceless magnet still on my fridge?
“Have I told you about my partner?” Robin dropped the ex prefix she had used before.
“Here and there; bits and pieces.”
They had sorted things out. He was out there, somewhere, meeting with another partner. Robin explained she usually didn’t mind it when things were going well between them. But, since they weren’t, that wasn’t the case.
“We briefly talked about this.” Robin’s blue eyes were back on Sofía, “still, I want to check again—are you OK with this?”
“Yes. I don’t mind at all.”
“Good.” Robin returned the smile and the ocean’s waters in her eyes were calm and welcoming. “Do you want to go back in?”
Proposition 91.
Nelson brings up an old meaning of Blue-eye: a blueness or dark-circle caused by weeping.
Would that make three of us, then?
Almost as soon as the movie started, Robin asked “are you OK with cuddling?”
There was no way Robin could have known Sofía had felt her stomach turn upside down countless times whenever she imagined precisely this moment. She tried to hide it anyway, as if there was a possibility Robin could notice how desperately she wanted her close.
Robin reached over Sofía’s shoulders. Sofía took up the silent offer and laid her head on Robin, who coiled back her arm and dug her fingers into Sofía’s tied-up hair. With murmured caresses, Robin freed up the curls one at a time. A stirred Sofía pressed herself further to the body next to hers.
The whole purpose of being there, with Robin, was to watch the movie, yet Sofía kept closing her eyes. The man projected on the screen was talking about lucid dreaming. He stopped when he flicked the switch on and off and the lights of the room didn’t change.
Robin’s fingers glided on Sofía’s skin. Thank you for trusting me, and coming here, they confessed in a silent dance. I appreciate the second chance of meeting with me again—especially after what happened.
Sofía crossed her arm over Robin’s stomach. I won’t lie. This scares me, the tips of Sofía’s fingers and her breathing answered. This desire feels unsafe, but I cannot move away.
Robin went up higher through Sofía’s arm and reached her neck. Don’t. Don’t move away. I want you closer.
Sofía raised her face towards Robin. Her sight was ahead on the couple lying on a hotel bed and talking of how reincarnation in an ever-increasing world population meant dissipation of the human soul. I want you to look down to me almost as much as I fear it, Sofía’s racing heart admitted in staccato.
Eventually Robin did look down. Halfway through the movie, Sofía dared to approach Robin’s face. Or maybe it was Robin who pulled Sofía’s chin to close the space between them.
The animated characters continued philosophizing while the two women succumbed to their attraction. Sofía pressed her body on Robin’s, unsatiated, their skin in the way. Kissing her neck became not enough. Sofía opened her mouth wide, her teeth bare, and pushed them down hard. She pressed her thigh between Robin’s, who rubbed herself on Sofía in a rhythm in dissonance with her whimpers—both accelerated in their own tempo, and both intensified when Sofía bit down. Robin gave in to her soft screams at the same time Sofía choked down a savage urge to devour her.
Predator and prey tumbled over each other in circles on the bed as the credits rolled on the wall, unwatched.
#
The next morning Sofía woke up to Norah’s text that her car had broken down and together with work, she wasn’t doing a great job handling the stress.
Nori:
Our mental health will align next time I promise
Sofía:
Norah rainchecked on me. Lola Rosa?
# # #
Elena Jacobo is a writer and photographer based in Montréal. She is completing her first novel, Palimpsesto, a multilingual autofiction. This piece is adapted from that novel.
Photo Credit: Tracey Dean Widelitz is a published writer, poet and photographer, and is a proud member of The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. She is the author of the published children’s book ‘A Heavenly World’. Her personal experience of pet loss would later become her first children’s book ‘A Heavenly World’. Her poetry and photography have been published and featured in various literary publications, and her Dragonfly photography was featured at Agora Art Gallery, New York City, for the ‘New York, I Love You’ Exhibition October 2025.
