THE CITY OF LOVE ❁ PHAN

deux

"Do you have your passport, sir?" the man behind the desk muttered, busily tapping away at his keyboard, a grim and bored look painted on his face as he worked.
"Uhh, yeah," I fished out my little booklet from my bag and set it on the desk for the man to see.
"Here's your ticket, you're free to sit anywhere for the time being before the flight is ready to leave," not once did he look up at me, his eyes were trained determinedly at the computer screen throughout the exchange.
"Thank you," I said quickly, then made my way over to the row of uncomfortable cyan sofas that were lined across the edge of the room in front of a wall that was made completely out of windows.
The wait was a few hours, but it felt like days. I couldn't tame my wandering thoughts about my parents and the good friends I left behind. Those friends wouldn't miss me, they would get over it and forget about me soon enough. I'm starting a new life, that's what I had to keep on my mind. I tried my absolute hardest to do just that, but the drifting childish feeling of missing my parents kept escaping my grasp, taking me to the bathroom to let my tears drip on to the tile floor only so that I sit on the same couch afterwards as if nothing had happened. I didn't let that stop
me from boarding that flight though, I was determined to get to my destination, my new life.
I sat down in my assigned airplane seat, shifting to get comfortable and fastened my seatbelt as the hostess told. I was hoping I'd sit alone.
My luck died as a man toddled down the idle, a brown leather suitcase in hand. His hair was tasseled with his gingery roots on show, his eyes looked tired and sad, yet he had a quirky grin plastered on his pink lips.
"Why hello," he giggled, hopping into the seat next to me, a card in his hand, "Is this seat 42B?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, going back to my previous position with my head resting on the wall so that I could watch the clouds fly by when we launch. We were both silent for a few minutes before he finally spoke up and broke the more than awkward silence.
"So, what's your story?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious and concentrated on me, it was only then did I notice he had an accent different from mine.
"I don't have a story," I almost scoffed, even if I did have one I wouldn't just tell it to a stranger, I had just met him and it was none of his business. I just wanted to stay on this flight in peace and get to Paris.
"Yes you do, everyone does," he explains quickly, his eyes having no mercy on me as his vicious stare burned into my skin, taunting me to meet his gaze, "Like for instance, I'm going back home because my wife divorced me and now I have no where else to go, so why is a cute and young British boy on his way to Paris?"
My cheeks burned as I turned to him in surprise, "You're divorced? You're french?"
"Yes, I believe I am," he slumped back into his seat, his fingers pressed against his bottom lip as if in deep thought, "I also believe you should answer my question, British boy."
"I'm running away from my parents," I grumbled, my words reminding me of the sheer reality of what I was actually doing. I couldn't help the curtain of sorrow that blocked my view of the goodness that would actually come out of this.
"How old are you?" the french man tilted his head at me, his blue eyes shining like the sky we would soon be soaring through.
"Seventeen."
"You're too young to be running away from your parents," he murmured, "You still need to learn about the world before you can do that, where the hell are you going to stay?"
"I have money, I can buy a flat," I scoffed, did he think I was really too incompetent to survive in this world? I was smart, I knew what to do and how to do it. I knew how to get a job and I can pay taxes just as I need to.
"Can you speak French?"
"What?" I hadn't thought of that.
He grinned, "You can't, can you?" the man chuckled and folded his arms, eyes filled to the brim with amusement.
"Bonjour," I chuckled lightly, my voice shallow.
"Je suis un enseignant," he spoke, teeth showing in a cheeky smile.
I tilted my head, "I only speak English."
"I'm a teacher," he explained, "Or was." I was never going to get used to his thick French accent.
"Was?"
"I was a French teacher in Britain, now I am leaving there," he answered thoughtfully.
"Please fasten your seat belts if you haven't already, and shut off any electronic devices! Prepare for take off, everyone!" the hostess announced through the PA system, drawing everyones various chatter to an end as they anticipated the oncoming lift off.
"You could teach me French," I whispered almost begging as the man flashed one of his seemingly signature teasing glances.
"I dunno, my pay is quite high, you know," he said softly, a hand over his mouth as if he was telling a secret.
"I have money," I insisted.
He took out a notebook with a fancy looking pencil and scrawled down something on the page, then loudly ripped the paper out and handed it to me before stating, "I'm taking a nap now, if you'd excuse me."
I could only chuckle and nod, folding the phone number and shoving it in the pocket of my trousers.
For the rest of the flight, the man only dozed on and off and I was busy listening to music, day dreaming of my life in France. My parents were the last thing that I was thinking about. That man seemed to peek through my curtain of sorrow.