Peintures vivantes - Joseph Descamps

Vos lunettes

I look at Descamps' glasses in my hands, sitting in my chair in my room. Before class ended, I went to talk to Lamaziere. I politely asked him for the way to his friend's residence so that I could return his glasses to him. "They are broken anyway, what do they need them for?" replied Lamaziere to me.

Effectively, his reasoning made no bones about it. The glasses were as good as broken and beyond repair. But something inside me was telling me to go to Descamps' house to give them back. Surely, he will not understand why I will give them back to him. Also because, that won't be the real reason for my visit to his house.

"Romy...may I?" whispers Marion as she enters the door to my room and settles herself at the foot of my bed. I nod and give her a faint mocking smile. She smiles back at me, and I almost feel naked in her eyes; she always understands everything about me, even when I lie to her.

"Your story at dinner upset Mother enough to send her to bed very early," she says, laughing. "Where is Clotaire?" I ask her.

Marion fiddles with the pompoms attached to her nightgown. "He stayed for dinner at the Dubois'. You know he's been hanging out with their oldest daughter Lèa, don't you?" she urges me. I nod as vehemently as before. My brother Clotaire: the perfect guy, smart, charming and sarcastic. All him...

"I think I'll go the day after tomorrow and return these glasses to their rightful owner." I admit, squeezing the temples between my fingers. I feel my sister's gaze weighing on my back. "It's only fair," I continue, trying to convince myself that this is the right thing to do.

"Yes. I support your idea. If not to give him the broken glasses, to see how he's doing." Marion replies, seeking my gaze. "And tell me...what's he like?" she asks me in a cheerful tone, starting to mirror. "Him?"

"Yes, him. The rightful owner of these broken glasses."

"A bully with an unnerving manner, that's what he's like." I answer dryly. Inside, a small energy wanders through my thoughts. Looking down at my glasses, I'm reminded of the glint in his dark eyes. I wonder if they still shine after yesterday's incident.

"I know that look," my sister says, interrupting my thick thoughts.

"is that I'm sorry. I mean, it's not good to end up in the hospital with the risk of losing an eye." I sigh. We both know my attitude is false.

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For two consecutive days, no sign of Descamps at school. I admit that I am beginning to worry.

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It's Sunday. I should be immersed in Latin and history homework, but my mind wanders elsewhere. His glasses are carefully resting on the corner of my nightstand. I stare at them for an indeterminate amount of time and decide it's time to close the damn books. "What's the point of studying anyway if I'm not focused," I huff bitterly. I put the Latin book back in the third shelf above my desk and stretch my legs.

I go back to looking at my glasses: what, am I going to become obsessed with these damn glasses!!!

I open the diary, and pull out a small sheet of paper, where three days ago I had made myself write down the street where Descamps lives. Lamazier writes bloody badly, sounding like Arabic. After a good minute, going by intuition, I figure out the street.

"Not even that far away, come on." I say to myself, trying to lift my spirits. I dress as simply as possible, wearing proper shoes for walking, tying my hair in a ribbon and combing my bangs. After taking one last look in the mirror, I shift my gaze to my glasses.

I take them and carefully place them in my handbag, wrapped in a cotton handkerchief. "All right, ready to go!" I charge my spirits, and leave the house with the excuse of going for a long walk to relieve tension.

Heading to the street of Descamps' house, I congratulate myself for making my mother drink the lie of the walk. Lying to that woman is not easy mail, because she is very suspicious. Without even noticing, I stand in front of the house number written on my slip of paper. I look around, and notice with amazement the beauty of the neighborhood.

"Rich..." I snort.

I muster an enormous amount of courage, and without much thought, I cite to the doorway. I wait a few moments, trying to mask my anxiety. Opening the door for me is a lady about my mother's age, very thin and with a very fashionable haircut. She gives me a confused look, trying to understand why a strange girl had just quoted her home on a Sunday morning.

"Hello ma'am. I'm Romy Seyedoux, a classmate of your son Descamps." Idiot! I don't even know his name, I should have asked Lamazier days before. I freeze with anxiety and the lady sketches a smile.

"Hello, I am Joseph's mother." The lady replies. Joseph, name of the four-eyed man.

"That's...I," I start to stammer. I hate stuttering.

"Who is it?" roars a deep male voice from down the long hallway. The lady turns toward the house. "Come honey, she's a classmate of yours, she says her name is Romy." She responds gently to the voice.

"Romy?" the voice is very confused. I admit to feeling awkward and inadequate to the situation, cursing myself for leaving the house. To hell with the glasses!

Footsteps approach Mrs. Descamps, and a few moments later, out of the half-light of the house comes he, Joseph. I hold back my emotions, a mixture of astonishment, sorrow and sadness. I watch his face carefully, trying not to be rude. He has a surgical bandage covering his left eye and part of his eyebrow. He has a large purplish eye under the healthy eye.

The glint is gone.

I smile at him, but quickly realize I've sketched a rather odd expression. "Nice to meet you Romy." His mother dismisses me, disappearing into the dark hallway. Joseph, after squaring me from foot to head, comes down a step and leans against the wall beside the front door.

"Hello..." I greet him, trying to hide my agitation.

"Hello to you...Romy." He greets me in turn. Even his voice has lost its sparkle.

I gather all the courage in my body, and rummage through my bag, pulling out the handkerchief with his glasses inside. I hand him the loot satisfied. He extends his hand, the same hand I was shaking a few days ago, full of dark blood.

"I found it right to bring your glasses back. You know, they were left in the classroom after...well I mean..." I stammer, smiling. He, still silent, opens his handkerchief and scrutinizes his glasses. After a few moments, he returns to look at my eyes. Seeing his dull gaze causes a terrible feeling in me. "I am very sorry Joseph..."

"So your name is Romy. Like...Romy Schneider the actress?" he asks me, in a raw tone. I admit I smiled at his question. Silly!

"Yes! My mother loves Romy Schneider. And my father too." I answer him, trying to sound cheerful. I notice a slight smile at the corner of his lips, but he immediately hides it. "Well...thank you Romy." He thanks me.

What an awkward situation, goodness gracious! I adjust my bag on my hip, looking away. "I don't understand why you brought my glasses back. They're broken now." He wonders.

There. I had imagined that. That's right, what's the point of bringing his broken glasses back.

"Well here, I also wanted to see how you were doing, that's all." I admit. My heart begins to beat furiously in my chest, shortening my breath. If before a slight smile was etched on his lips, now they are arched in a pout. Oh God, what have I done wrong now...?

"See you at school, Romy." He brutally condemns me, shutting the door in my face. I widen my eyes, my heart still racing. I rest a hand on my chest to try and manage the strong emotions.