Because everytime I see you,
Memories that I buried
Away like a hearse
Come with the eloquence
Of an invitation
To a wedding
Hosted by Hades.
-Excerpts from Cara Follet's Journaux pour le soul.
May 19th : Second first meetings, a language I hated, and broken promises.
I was shit at French.
You on the contrary were fantastic at it.
The words rolled off your tongue like wine, succeeding in giving everyone in the class an inferiority complex. Madame Claudine had a permanent smile on her face whenever you did so much as utter a syllable.
And Madame Claudine never smiled.
"I'm half French." You finally revealed to the class with a cheeky grin, and I swear the entire female population swooned.
And I? I rolled my eyes.
I disliked the language. I disliked the class. I disliked the idea.
The only reason why I even put myself through the torturous three hours per week was because of the ridiculous amount of credit it gave.
So when I found out I was failing it, and Madame Claudine told me that my inaptitude at the language would most definitely destroy my grade, she assigned her spawn Theo Archer to tutor me.
It wasn't the first proper interaction we'd had. It wasn't even the second. You and I had known each other for a long time but we never bothered to get close.
"Yo Archer." I grinned as I saw you engrossed in a copy of Atlas Shrugged. You looked up, your green eyes twinkling as you grinned back in return.
"Bonjour Follet." You greeted me as I sunk into the seat next to you. We were in the library as we had agreed. As I took my notebook out I eyed your book.
"Ayn Rand?" I asked, and you looked surprised at my capability of knowing the author. I stifled the slight surge of annoyance.
"You know her?" You asked a quizzical smile playing on your face. I rolled my eyes before nodding. You gave me a slight nod and then we started the session.
Let me state a fact; I hated French with a passion.
It probably had something to do with the fact that my Dad had run away with a French girl half his age. Haha, just kidding.
That wasn't entirely the reason why I hated the French. The reason I hated them was their unnecessary need to pay attention to detail.
They cared far too much about being correct, to remember to be liberal.
Look at that, my habit of generalizing just kicked in.
The only thing worthwhile the French ever did was rebel. And that was something Cara Follet's soul could appreciate. If I had one that is.
As you patiently explained to me the differences between some tenses I couldn't help but zone out. You seemed to sense my boredom because you pushed the book away for a little while.
"Let's take a break." You said, pushing your Black Tumblr-esque on the perch of your nose giving me a slight smile.
"Thank God." I muttered as I pushed the notebook away from me. "How the hell do you even like this?" I asked him with a frown.
"Hey, It's a beautiful language." You laughed taking you glasses off and looking at me and as your eyes met mine.
"I disagree." I shook my head. "It's awful as fuck."
"I thought sex was supposed to be good?" You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively making me roll my eyes. "But on a serious note, it's actually a pretty mellow language."
"Oh really?" I challenged him, and you nodded.
"Yes really."
"Prove it."
You got a slight smile and you leaned in slightly, your green eyes focused on my brown ones.
"Raison d'etré."
You rolled your r's with such fluidity I forgot my alphabets for a while. "What does that mean?" I asked sounding uncharacteristically in awe for a word that sounded suspiciously about dried fruit.
"It literally translates to reason for existence,"You smiled. "Now tell me Cara Follet, if I said the same word to you in English would it have the same impact?"
"That's extremely superficial, and a moot point." I shook my head. "Yugen." I replied.
You gave me a confused look. "What does that mean?"
"The speechless you feel when you you think about the universe." I smirked. "Now tell me, Theo Archer, would it have the same impact if I said that in French?"
"La voix que vous ressentez quand vous pensez de l'univers."
I raised my eyebrow. "I think it just did." You chuckled slightly. "French, I would like to believe is a language that aims for perfection. It believes in order."
"Perfection doesn't necessarily mean order." I quietly supplied. "Chaos is beautiful too."
"I never denied the beauty of chaos. But sometimes order is much better than anarchy." You smiled. "And just when J thought being pretentious was my forté."
I chuckled as you put your glasses back on, flashing me a grin that made my stomach flutter slightly.
"Okay you've successfully managed to distract me, Miss Follet but it's time to work now." You flipped a page of the textbook open and I groaned.
You poked my forehead with a pencil. "Say what, you finish this chapter and I'll treat you to coffee." You grinned cheekily. I rolled my eyes but the offer got me interested.
Caffeine and I were soul mates, after all.
"This isn't a ploy to get me to finish and leave me hanging on a broken promise, right?" I jokingly nudged you.
"The one thing you should know about me, Cara," You said leaning in slightly, your tone changing to the frustrating kind where your words are playful but your eyes were serious.
"Is that I never break my promises."
You lied of course.
Not regarding the coffee, you did actually buy me a mocha. But yes, you lied.
I think it ought to be noted that you tried very hard to get me to love the language, you went to great extremes that too.
You rented out Noir Blanc movies with beautiful french ladies, you made me listen to French Hip Hop. And how can I ever forget the countless trips to the nearby French Café.
But I never did. Love the language.
But the reason why I even remember this incident, the reasons why I'm writing it down, is because of what happened after that day.
A friendship begin.
And even after what followed, I can still remember the way my heart forgot to beat when you first told me three words in a language I hated, but three words that for a second, made me love what I hated.
The resounding Je t'aime still echoes in my mind every time I buy a Mocha.
