I'm Still Sadie

A Pie Chart For My Awfulness

A PIE CHART FOR MY AWFULNESS

With me alone in the bedroom, I was graced with fatigue, which later evolved to annoyance. Pretending to speak French in the moment was, without a doubt, thrilling, but that didn't change the fact that this was stupid.

I took good care of Clarke, so why wasn't I him? Why was I being bounced around to another body like a pinball?

Today wasn't going the way I planned, (though to be fair, yesterday and the day before weren't either) and when found I myself in such situations, I just wanted to go back to bed. The thing stopping me, however, was the fact that sleep was the one to do this to me in the first place.

Who was I? Where was I?

"Sacrebleu!" someone shouted from the streets outside, as if they were trying to immerse me into French culture. However, I wasn't someone on a foreign exchange trip, nor did I speak the language. That left nothing more for me to do than to stop and stare at my surroundings.

Considering this was France, I happily obliged.

From the bedroom, the rest of the house (or apartment, I'm still not quite sure) was gorgeous. A floor to ceiling window greeted me as I walked out into the combined living and dining space.

My face pressed to the glass as I searched for any famous landmarks. The Eiffel Tower was nowhere in sight, and neither was Notre Dame. My heart sunk a little, and a fear creeped inside of me that this wasn't France after all.

"Amelie?"

I turned my head to see the man from earlier. He was behind the kitchen counter, rummaging through one of the cabinets. Part of me wanted to take this opportunity to ask him what was going on with me; maybe he knew something. Anything would be helpful to me at the moment, though there was a pesky language barrier in the way.

Using whatever he had just said to me as a guide, I deduced that "Amelie" meant...I didn't know what it meant. TV never told me that much. And so I wondered what was going through that man's head right then. My best guess was that it was something along the lines of: hon, hon, hon, ratatouille.

I sat myself at a bar stool on the other side of the counter, but I didn't know what to do after that. Then, I spotted a television on the opposite wall. Quickly, I grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels, hoping for something. Answers preferably, though any entertainment would be appreciated too.

Then I landed on a basketball game. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but the squeakiness of the players' shoes was like music to my ears. I played basketball myself, and if I was remembering right, I was at my game the day before I suddenly found myself as Tegan.

Did that have something to do with my conundrum? Right now, all options were on the table.

I sat perched on a bar stool, watching the players in awe mixed with confusion. The latter developed because of my situation, that was bizarrely not a dream, and also because of the jumble of French words swimming around the air. The basketball commentary was just noise, as was the next question the French man asked me.

I did my best to ignore him, choosing to nod and mutter out "uh-huh" a bunch of times, but that didn't count as a two sided discussion. The sole fear I had was that he was questioning if I was a serial killer and nodding my head was just falsely confirming it.