Under Chateau Lights | Complete

17 | Just Take a Shot

Now that Simone has agreed to help me, I have to sit and watch her while she eats. But she doesn't say anything to me, so the low hum of the people around me, and the chime of the bell above the door, are all I have to keep me company as I question my own sanity for coming here and asking a stranger for help.

Who am I?

"What are you looking to photograph?" Simone says, interrupting my tracing of the frost patterns on the window. She stuffs the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth with no regard for anyone around us and licks her fingers instead of using her napkin.

"I had a few thoughts, but I was wondering if you could give me some ideas, or just tell me something about the history of the places because..."

Her lips turn up in a smile and she stops me, placing her hand over mine on the table. "History, my dear, is all around you here. I know because I lived it. And also taught it for thirty-four years. We'll start at Petit-Champlain. Are you ready?"

No. I am decidedly and completely not ready. I don't have my camera. I haven't scoped out any locations or done any research. I have no idea what the light will be like.

But despite all that, I nod. I'm leaving this city in a week anyway. So if she hates me after this, we'll never have to see each other again.

"Yes. Let's go."

She really does take me up on the offer to pay for the sandwiches, tapping her cane impatiently as I do so, and berating a young man for not watching where he is going. Her impatience has me mess up my payment at least twice before I finally get it right, foregoing the receipt and dashing over to Simone who guides me out the door and into the frigid street.

We weave through tourists and locals, stopping only briefly to pet a puppy and cuss out a man littering. I did the former, she did the latter.

We can't be more than three blocks from where we started when she stops cold on the corner, despite there being no cars anywhere in sight, holding her cane out to stop me from stepping into the roadway. "My dear, what brings you out taking photographs with an old woman like me instead of being off with your spouse or siblings or friends or what have you?"

She catches me off guard so I stutter over myself, tripping over my words as I try to find an acceptable answer. "I'm just trying to get a portfolio set up. I work in IT right now and I don't want to do it forever, even though the money is good."

The words swirl around in the air, falling flat when they reach Simone's larger than life personality. "So why did you do it in the first place?"

She chooses that moment to step out into the street and if I want her to teach me about the place, I'm forced to follow her, despite the proximity of oncoming traffic. Somehow, I'm still dodging cars and passing motorists apologetic looks when I answer her.

"I guess it seemed like a smart move when I was in university. It costs a fair bit to go to school and I just thought it would be prudent to train in something that would return my investment."

"Those are not the words of an artist," she says, turning to face me once we reach the other side of the street. "Those are the words of an accountant or a politician."

"A socialite and a real estate tycoon, actually," I mutter to myself. But Simone's hearing is nothing like you'd expect from a woman her age.

"Your parents, I assume?" She picks up my hand and drags me along the icy sidewalk. "Keep up, will you? And you don't have to do what your parents say anymore. You must be at least thirty years old."

"Twenty-nine."

"See? There. You can think for yourself. You don't need to let your parents pick out your clothes and your dates for you, too."