Terrify Me...

Chapter 2: Moving Day.

“Alexandria! Are you ready?!” My mother cried out from downstairs. I sighed, blowing my bangs out of my face.

“I suppose,” I murmured, knowing very well she could hear me. Our house was rid of furniture, and all of my clothes and belonging were packed in boxes, already being shipped halfway across the world.

As you can guess, we’re moving.

My mother came from a long line of royalty, and decided I should live the same way she had. In a huge and gorgeous manor on the outskirts of Paris. She was married to my dad named Wendell Thompson.

At this point, I felt awful. I was leaving what few friends I had, my school-I’ll admit I’m a nerd, I love learning-and my sun.

Oh the warming, bright shining sun, I would miss you so.

I never complained or acted out. I always behaved, listened, and was usually a quiet person. And I wasn’t, as some would say, boy-crazy. I didn’t have time for irrelevant, useless, and petty behavior. I love, yes, but I show that love towards my family and friends.

The only things I hate are people using my full name-though my mom insists on it-and being afraid.

I exhaled roughly, letting my eyes drift across every crack and corner of my room, excuse me, my old room, for the final time before picking up the last of my boxes and bags, closed my eyes, turned sharply on my heel, and left.

I left behind what used to make since, I left behind the simplicities, the easy days, the calm atmosphere, and the undrama-filled life; and headed toward my new, more complicated, and rougher days ahead.

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When we landed in Paris at the airport, I felt time American/Louisiana time trying to catch up to me.

I stood up slowly and swayed dramatically as a wave of vertigo knocked me into a short, balding man. I spun around, my hands flew up like I was stopping traffic, and immediately began my string of apologies. But he wouldn’t have it. His face turned beet red, and he had begun flailing his hands, poking my shoulders, and getting his face close to mine while he was yelling profanely in a foreign tongue I could only recognize as French.

My French wasn’t accurate, but I’m smart enough to know what he was telling me was not anything like ‘It’s absolutely fine!’ or ‘Oh! You have such beautiful hair!’ not even ‘Your shoes are to die for! Wherever did you get them?’

When he was done he crossed his arms, shifted his weight, and smirked at me. I could tell his thoughts were along the lines of She doesn’t even understand a word I’m saying, I win. Stupid American…

I bowed my head, realizing we had attracted a great deal of attention from the other passengers, and softly murmured, “Je suis désolé de perturber votre vol, monsieur, et je suis désolé que tu sens si fortement vers moi. J'espère que vous avez une bonne journée.” The man’s eyes widened beyond belief, and a faint splash of blush colored his cheeks. He realized I understood almost every word he had said to me, and I had responded back with fluent French as well.

Translation: I apologize for disrupting your flight, sir, and I’m sorry you feel so strongly towards me. I hope you have a good day.

I gathered my bags and left off the plane, leaving the gaping man standing there in shock. I tried to apply the saying ‘kill them with kindness’ in almost any situation. I eventually caught up with my mother and dad, and we hailed a cab.

　

The funny thing is, I really can’t speak French all that well.