Friday, April 26, 2013

Jama and Marco

Taking the pieces apart and then putting them back together. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

I dunno how many times I didn't get it right. Wrong sides together. Opposites ends. But there were days to practice. Days, that I honestly wondered how I got through.

Of course, Marco would look at me. Maybe it was me gazing at him. What could I say? He was the only thing interesting.

Maybe he was just like Jules. He never met a girl he didn't like. Or bo,y for that matter.

Yes, I'm clearly old fashion, but I'd never let Jules know it. As if I had time to think back on us now, it was more truth or dare than anything else. And he always got the last laugh. Leaving me blue. Miserable.

It got me no where with my studies. Not exactly, in good graces with my father who ran the Black Cat pub, either. He didn't stop me from going to Paris. Of course, he barely gave me anything to help me get set up, either.

I was basically waiting for a paycheck that I hoped would get me out of that miserable hostel. Different strangers every night. I really didn't feel safe. Honestly, if Miss L would have me, I would have slept on the floor where I worked. It wasn't as easy as I imagined.

Besides, there were cracks in the walls where I stayed. It was so ancient. This was such an old city. Yes, it was a gathering place of rich beauty, but the streets were so thin and winding. There were times I felt claustrophobic just walking to work on the busy streets. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this, but I didn't want be that girl everyone knew back home. The slapper who was good for nothing just because I thought I was cool once. Hanging out with the likes of Jules.

"Parles-tu fran├žais?"

I shrugged, not wanting to attempt, anything. It was best to remain silent. Possibly, I could go days without speaking. Maybe it would be a new challenge. Keeping silent.

"You, English?" Marco winced as if that was completely disgusting.

I went for coffee. Ignoring him completely. I knew my place. Maybe I thought of this job as being an indentured servant. The less I said. The better.

He babbled in French under his breath.

I think he called me a snob.

"What is..your problem?" He festered a squint.

"I can't speak French, well." I finally cradled my coffee cup, thinking I really wanted to be left alone with my breakfast. This was the only place with food. I didn't like going out for food. It seemed no one ever got it right with the pastries I'd point too at the shops.

Suddenly, I felt absolutely naked. As if he knew my existence was nonessential. But here I was.

"Come back, at six. A drink perhaps? We?" His smile was sharp.

"Sure. I mean, we." I sucked in a breath. Maybe it was a date.