Your Mark on Me

Chapter 6: Claire de Lune

"It's okay. I just felt like making it clear."

He'd seen right through me. How silly I must have looked, a naive teenager with love hearts in her eyes, imagining she could seduce a man like him! I felt incredibly embarrassed and disappointed as I walked next to him on the way to the restaurant.

He must have noticed, because he seemed to put a bit more effort into the conversation during dinner. He was so easy to talk to when he smiled in that gentle, reassuring way, so it wasn't long before I forgot about my sadness and found myself engaged in conversation. I didn't really have any friends of my own age who shared my interests.

"I've never been to Europe, but I'd love to go one day", I said after the entrées. "The first one I'll visit will have to be France, I think. No offence to England."

"May I ask why France?"

"Many reasons. Ravel, Fauré...and Debussy, of course. I know it's an obvious one, but "Claire de Lune" was my favorite piece for a long time. Now it's "Ondine". I just love impressionism, I guess."

He chuckled. "Of course. In this case, you shouldn't miss Musée d'Orsay. They also have a Van Gogh gallery -  if you're anything like me you could spend hours only in there. I can stand in front of a single painting for at least twenty minutes if no one calls me on it."

I giggled. He smiled, then sipped his wine. "Paris can be a beautiful experience, especially if in the right company. I'm sure your music will bring you to Europe soon enough."

I couldn't help but be jealous of his memories of Paris, and wonder who had been the "right company" for him. None of us said anything for a little while, until he recited quietly, almost for himself:

"Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur

L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune

Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur

Et leur chanson se mêle au..."

He stopped, as if waiting for me to continue. I looked at him confused, and he laughed. "Claire de Lune", of course."

"What? Debussy?"

"No, silly. Verlaine."

I blushed profusely. "The poem that inspired the music. I knew that. I'm not stupid."

"I never for a second thought you were."

Great. Now I had to brush up on French poetry if I wanted to be worthy of a conversation with him.

"Sorry, I swear I don't usually assault people with poetry. It happens that I learned this poem when I was studying the piece myself, a long time ago, and you reminded me of it. I won't do it again, I promise."

I chuckled, but then another thought made my heart beat faster. Was he hinting that we'd meet again? I certainly hoped so, because, after tonight, I was out of excuses to.

Just then our steaks arrived - mine well-cooked, his medium-rare. The restaurant was full of other people who had been to the concert, all dressed up, chatting and clinking their cutlery and their wine glasses. I felt all grown-up, sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant with a man in smart clothes that had taken me to a classical concert. But then, the remembrance of his words rang in my ears, a bitter reminder that this was not what it seemed: "I'm not into children. I felt like making it clear."

During dinner I found myself talking about things that I didn't normally mention in conversations with other people, and that I would have never brought up, had I thought I had a chance with him. They were things I couldn't share with Chloe or any other friends or classmates, some not even with Mom.

I told him about how I only played the piano because it was the only thing I was truly good at, about how I felt bored and devoid of joy most of the time, how I thought life was meaningless and random and how I was afraid that, no matter how hard I tried, there was always the possibility that I would never make it to where I wanted to be.

I even told him about dad. I told him how lonely I felt and how scary it was to be on my own, and at the same time, how liberating to not have to see Mom's resigned face every day, even though I missed her, and there was nothing I wished more than for her to be happy and to find someone to fill the gap in her life.

He listened patiently and most notably, seemed genuinely interested.

When dinner was over, he offered to give me a lift.

"Thank you for dragging me out of the house", he said, before I got out of the car. "It was enjoyable."

"Thank you for today", I whispered. Now that the evening was over, my sadness was creeping back. I pushed the car door closed, but in a split second changed my mind and re-opened it.

"Can I see you again?" I asked, with a confidence I hadn't known I possessed.

He hesitated. "I don't think it would be appropriate."

"Why? We can just be friends. I really, really enjoyed talking to you. Did you not say it was enjoyable for you too?"

He squirmed in the seat, visibly uncomfortable.

"Look, you're quite interesting, for a teenager. But this friendship you're talking about... I don't think it would work; it would be too strange. You must agree."

He was right. I didn't even believe that there was such thing as mere friendship between people of different sexes. Even if it did, how could I contribute to the relationship? It was unbalanced; he was bringing too much, and me, not enough.

"I'm sorry. Take care, little one", he said and like that, he was gone.

I went in the house, changed and went to bed.

For a very long time, I wasn't able to sleep. Very late, when I did, I dreamt that I was all alone, enclosed in a huge white plastic cube in which, through a gap in the ceiling, a distant ray of pale blue light was making its way.

I tried to reach the light, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.