French Lover; Antoine Griezmann

Chapter Six

The train was late. We were left shivering on the platform with ten minutes of numbing quietness. The gentle clunk of a lipstick stained lid and my cup of smoothie lands in the bin with the flick of my wrist. I picked at my golden hair as we waited. Antoine was unusually quiet. I looked around as I noticed a rogue page of yesterday's newspaper is chased by the wind like a pigeon with wings fluttering with feathers of rhetoric and melodrama.

The raucous, metallic shriek heralds the arrival of the decrepit carriage, standing in defiance of its condition - all corroded iron and tacky upholstery. The doors reluctantly eased open with the force of a stocky station guard, as if gripped by age, the handles stiff with arthritis. There was only one advantage of taking train rides at 11pm and that was the almost empty train, where everyone deserved their own quiet space. Settling into my seat, I unravelled a 470 calorie cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel, humble in its crumpled paper bag.

"Here's yours," I said, handing Antoine's his food.

Crumbs rain into the crevices of the grimy moquette fabric as I attempted to swallow the taste of regret. Should definitely have ordered that salad instead. The train takes a plunge, inching forward at an excruciating pace. It rocks back and forth, its relentless whining and groaning comparable to a resident of any nursing home.

"It's sad that I only have two weeks left here," I said.

"Well, I'll do my best to make it the best last two weeks here," Antoine replied.

"How long is the train ride anyway?" I asked.

"About an hour. It wouldn't be too long considering that you've took a nap, right?" he turned to face me.

"Oh, of course you didn't," he rolled his eyes.

"I was-"

"Writing? Yeah, that's believe-able." At this point of time, Antoine sounded annoyed and angry. It was as if something had pissed him off and he was putting up quite an attitude.

"What is wrong with you?"

"I really think you're neglecting the important thing right now and that's to live the moment. You're just doing this for your work and you're not really paying attention to the surroundings aren't you?" he said.

He clenched his jaw and looked out of the window.

"I actually haven't brought anything work related along tonight," I replied.

He still haven't turned to look at me.

"Even my journal," I added.

The train suddenly jerked, and the bagel dropped out of my hands, as it rolled away,  underneath someone else's seat.

Antoine broked the silence with laughter. I turned to look at him finally smiling. His dimples were visible whenever he smiles and his eyes almost couldn't be seen.

"The train sure doesn't want me to eat," I said, before I yawned.

"You should get some rest instead," he replied.

I leaned my head closer to his shoulder and rested it on them. I slowly closed my eyes and based on how quickly I fell asleep, it was obvious that I was tired.

We reached the destination about forty-five minutes later. As the city came out of the darkness of night, we crossed the Seine in silence. Without the traffic, we walked right down the centre of the street and not far away lay The Eiffel Tower, like a skeleton of metal projecting up into a sky that was rapidly becoming blue. A night like this should be foggy, misty at the least, but in contrast to our mood it looked determined to be a story-book, perfect day in Paris - only without any parisians energised enough to leave their homes. Perhaps we should be be sleeping too, but we weren't.