Matin Plaisir

written by Lila Mizzi,
illustrated by Léa Murawiec

“Wiz Matin plaisir, no more siz and teers at the brakfast tabel! Our new recipee maksse for a delissious and nutritiousse hot shocolate! Loved by all, it only costs…”

The announcer French accent was so terribly fake Vivian woke up cringing. She punched the alarm clock violently and the radio went silent. The insomnia was back and it was not pretty. She had not been able to fall asleep before the first lights of dawn, stewing in the August heat, and knew that for the next days or weeks she wouldn’t get much more than two or three hours of sleep per night.

She got ready for class, made herself a coffee so black her Mom would have called it a quadruple espresso, and left her dorm for the 9am chemistry class. It was going to be a long day.

“Wiz Matin plaisir, no more siz and teers at the brakfast tabel! Our new recipee maksse for a delissious…” Vivian jumped out of her bed, half-furious and half bewildered. It was the fifth day in a row that the alarm clock would get off exactly at the beginning of the stupid ad. After the third morning she had slightly changed the hour of the alarm but be it 7:55 AM or 8:03 AM, every time the damn announcer would enthusiastically start yelling in her ear. Maybe it was a sign she should videocall Maman in Lyon more often. Or maybe she was beginning to have auditory hallucinations from sleep deprivation. She only had experienced double vision before, at the end of a three-weeks strike of sleeplessness, but she knew about all insomnia symptoms thanks to late nights spiraling on the internet.

The 24/7 supermarket was eerie in the middle of the night. A few lost souls were wandering the aisles, mechanically pushing their carts under the patient watch of a reduced staff silently attending petty tasks such as turning all bottles so that the label would face the client. Vivian had gone to the farmer’s market on campus a few days prior as a splurge and didn’t really need anything, but she enjoyed the bright colors. She seldom shopped out of the discount aisle, but without anything else to do to pass time she started some roaming of her own. A few turns later, she was facing a cardboard display where a hearty cacao-colored liquid was splashing into a golden mug. The splashes had even been made in relief for better effect. Perfectly aligned on the shelves, boxes of Matin Plaisir were waiting for her.

On an impulse, Vivian grabbed one and went back to her sweltering dorm.

“Wiz Matin plaisir, no more siz and teers at the brakfast…” Vivian seized the alarm clock and aimed for the open window but it bounced on the screen and fell on the soft, carpeted floor where the ad went on, muffled, before she turned it off. Reproachingly looking at the cylindrical box she had left on the counter, she left without touching it to get coffee at the nearest Dunkin’. She was too tired to brew some of her own this morning, and had no desire to stand sweating in front of her kettle in the unabating heat when she could pay for a cup she’d wait for in another colorful, cool store.

The day had been very, very, very long, the classes interminable, the sun unrelenting, the humidity stifling. The night promised to be longer still, the thermometer stuck in the 30ºC. Vivian’s Dad had called her earlier and had heard in her voice that the insomnia was back. “If it lasts more than a week, you know you’ll have to take your medication again” he had said. She had lied on the number of days it had already been keeping her up. Dropping her backpack on the floor, she poured herself a glass of water and sat at the kitchenette’s tiny counter. The box was still there, expectingly turned front first towards her. It was a metal box, kind of fancy, with a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers on the lid. She read the instructions but carefully avoided reading the list of ingredients. She had decided to try it out after dinner, when the insomnia would act up once more, and wanted to pretend it might be somewhere close to how her Mamie Yvette made it. Which was not three tablespoons of a pre-made mix for every 20 cl of hot water.

As expected the insomnia was keeping her awake. Vivian conscientiously went through her exercises, noticing five sounds, four sensations, three smells, two tastes, one visual (black, the inside of her eyelids, like always). Around midnight, she turned the lamp back on and went to the kitchenette to prepare some “Matin Plaisir”.

There was a disappointing lack of charm in the process: after waiting for the kettle to boil by adding the three tablespoons of dark powder to a cup, she unceremoniously stirred until fully dissolved, as instructed on the label. Wondering at her own folly, drinking a hot beverage when she was already sweating, she went back to bed with her mug and Prancing With Dragons. The book was a thick tome she’d made good progress with, considering the extra number of hours she’d had on hand lately.

She settled on the pillows and drank a few gulps of the Matin Plaisir. It burned on the way down, slow to cool in the summer air. The stuff, however, tasted exactly like the chocolat chaud her French grandmother used to make for her and her brothers. Mamie Yvette would buy a box of Nesquik and one of Poulainc and pour an arcane proportion of each in the copper saucepan full of simmering whole milk until she had reached the perfect balance between sweetness and bitterness. Before she knew it, Vivian had finished her mug. She sighed with ease and started reading.

She was asleep before the end of the chapter.

© Lila Mizzi. All rights reserved.

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