*All French will be translated in the paragraph's comments.
June 16th, 1965
''For your next assignment, I want you to write a letter.'' Asked Eddie, standing up from the long Victorian couch and laying down her small wooden-framed slate and dulled piece of white chalk on the coffee table in front of her. Sitting on the floor before this same table was a young girl perched over her fresh handwritten notes from the lesson she attended to for the last hour. She laid her fountain pen down and brushed back her blonde hair cascading in front of her face as she lifted her head up to her teacher, giving her a dubious pout.
A single giggle left Eddie's lips as she lowered herself onto the minimalistic-print Art Deco rug, concealing almost the entire floor surface of the room they were sitting in. The woman smiled at the girl. ''Letter veut dire Lettre. Je veux que tu écrive une lettre.'' She explained. Her English roots still betraying her with a hint of a brit accent, although is was not as thick as when she first set foot in France. She had made great efforts to conceal it since then. By any means she wanted to pass as a French native, but she enjoyed blending in with the locals, saving herself from unsolicited questions about England, demands to say a certain sentence in English or straight up insults from people hating on England for some reasons. Her nationality was of a great help to convince parents to let her give English lessons to their kids...or even themselves. Eddie found great proud in seeing the surprised expressions on strangers faces as they find out she's not French at all. She scoot forward and swung her legs under the table on where she rested her elbows.
''Who can I write to?'' Questioned the girl slowly, thinking carefully about every word she uttered. Her head tilted to the left, awaiting approval or correction of her sentence.
Eddie nodded slightly at the girl, making her smile widely. ''Mais à qui? Je ne connais personne qui peut lire l'anglais, mademoiselle!'' The girl added, shrugging.
Eddie's shoulders raised, copying her 9 year-old student's movement, thinking of a quick solution to this rather minor inconvenience. ''Well, Maude, we can translate this letter. On peut la traduire à la personne à qui tu veut l'écrire. Ça peut aussi être destiné à quelqu'un que tu ne connais pas. On peut prétendre...we can pretend!'' She smirked, translating her last sentence. Her eyebrows rose, satisfied with her proposition.
Maude bit the top of her pen, looking up to the white ceiling, focusing on the mouldings decorating the majority of it's surface. Her eyes then wondered to the crystal chandelier hanging from a circular medallion. Eddie looked up, following her student's gaze. The young girl had taken a habit in analyzing the patterns of the ceiling's elegant accents. Eddie was quite impressed by it herself. She never thought she could ever call a place like this her home...for the moment at least. She had moved so many times in the last 4 years, she could hardly think she could be settled for longer than a few months at a time. The woman was woken up from her small daydream by a gasp from her student.
''I know! Je peut écrire aux Beateuls. C'est mon groupe préféré.'' Maude suggested with a smile stretching from each sides of her face. Eddie scoffed, repeating the girls' words with the thickest British accent she had uttered in years. ''The Beatles?''
Maude nodded with sparkling eyes, making Eddie understand it may was the best idea she ever had in her short life. ''Oui! Ils seront à Paris la semaine prochaine.'' She informed tapping the tips of her fingers rapidly on the table.
Eddie closed her eyes and retained a sigh from escaping her throat. Maude was right. The second visit of the world's most popular band to France was fast approaching. How could she have forgotten? How could she? She recalled the force her heart pounding in her rib cage when she found out the news, the same she felt in December 1963, seeing the lads faces of a poster. This time, she was listening to the radio as she swept the floor of the café she works the evening shifts at. The loud thump of the broom hitting the tiled floor scared the few patrons left in the establishment. She remembered all the heads turning to her, showing their displeasure in the disturbance of their late night unwinding. The waitress' racket was not what they sought after to accompany their refreshments on a quiet Monday night.
YOU ARE READING
Eddie ~Paul McCartney Fanfiction~
Fanfiction-1961- Unlike her older brother, the 18 year-old Eddie is shy; result of years of being overprotected by her brother and her aunt. The only thing she wishes is to spread her wings, see other parts of the world, to express her emotions without shame...
