L'Etoile Rose

Chapter 2

The hostel offered basic comfort, the large dining room with its three wooden tables covered with blue or yellow plastic tablecloths, and a seating area that gathered around the piano a few sofas and worn-out armchairs, then two separate dormitories, girls and boys.

Nevertheless, from the first night, Julien had slept with Anne, in the girls' dormitory. My bed was not far off and I heard them whispering. It was strange to me: I would have been afraid in their place to break so obviously the rule. It bothered me to see them as a couple; Anne seemed to me in that regard so much more mature than I was that she was almost inaccessible. I had been shy from the very first moment with her, more than with Sophie, who was also two years older than me, and had the look of an experienced woman.

My parents had accompanied me by car, a little worried probably to leave me alone for this month of internship. They had spoken to Madame Dupeigne, the housekeeper, who had extinguished her cigarette to nonchalantly pronounce some reassuring words, while flattering with a fair hand her two dogs: Ill be around, I'll be here for her. A lot of young people who loved sports, the boat, the sea...The course was well supervised and she was always there at the hostel.

When my parents left me, my mother was worried: "Are you sure you want to stay?", my father ,on the other hand, had said "goodbye", as the southerners say when they leave, but it almost felt like a final goodbye. And I watched their car disappear in the distance, like in movies.

Then I went to the dormitory. There was no wardrobe for storing clothes. I had placed my bag on the floor, beside my bed, and my toilet bag on the bedside table, with the novel I had picked, big enough to last me a month, it was Aurélien, by Louis Aragon. Sophie, who occupied the next bed, had a book with a more colourful cover, a prince for Sandra, which she said she would lend me, when I had had enough of mine.
 
I had brought a little notebook and some pens, which I kept hidden in a side pocket of the bag, in case I wanted to write. Or rather, in case I suddenly knew what to write, because, desire, never left me. I only brought a few clothes with me, two one-piece competition jerseys - I was a swimmer, I didn't wear a bikini - two jeans, a few t-shirts and shorts, a sweater, pyjamas: almost nothing intended to make me beautiful. It wasn't my style, I was always dressed the same, in the sporty style. And then, I didn't really need it, I was rather pretty anyway, in fact, it was the only thing I was certain of.

In the girls' toilets, in the morning, I had looked at myself in the mirror. Sophie was taking a shower, Anne was combing her hair and I was washing my hands while staring at myself in the mirror and I was seeing objectively, as if it were to another one, that I was particularly pretty that morning, pure eyes and rosy cheeks. Anne smiled at my reflection in the mirror:

"You coming to eat ? You've gotta get yourself some strength, you'll have your first boat trip this morning, you're gonna need it!"

"And you, aren't you going to need it?"

"No, I came here to write my thesis, I'm not here for the sailing course. I'll go out with you from time to time, to accompany Julien, but not today."

"And what's your topic?"

"I'll tell you later, otherwise, if everyone finds out what my topic is, it'll ruin my observations."

"Oh ok. So you're here to watch us!"

"Yes, that's it, but don't be telling anyone!" Anne had asked me, laughing. 

There was no risk of me talking about it. Around the tables, where breakfast was served, everyone was discussing this and that, while I remained silent and shy, eating my jam sandwich and drinking my coffee, not a word. If I could talk to Anne one-on-one, I didn't know how to speak to a group of people. The three masted boat of the nineteenth century in the fury of the waves, as was presented in the hanged painting in front of me, had caught my full attention, until Dominique entered. He had settled at my table, participating loudly in the general conversation, while smiling at me from time to time, without ever speaking to me directly. He had talked about music, explaining that he was part of a band that was performing in the cafes and restaurants of the seaside in summer. He was a guitarist and singer, and the band also included a saxophonist, a bassist, and a second guitarist. Laurent had shown interest, he was also a bass player, he had spent his entire final year of highschool playing his instrument rather than working on his math and philosophy: he had made good progress! Everyone around the table laughed.

"Well, we will have the opportunity to play together soon if you want," had suggested Dominique as he stood up. "We practice every Thursday with my group". Laurent, delighted, had risen too. He wanted to continue the conversation, but then Dominique turned to me and, lowering his voice, spoke to me for the first time: "come if you want, I'll help you choose a bike to go to the beach ".

All had followed to the shed, in a merry buzz of conversation, to try the bicycles out. "Come on, little girl, on the saddle!" said Dominique after quickly inflating the tires of a blue bike. I had climbed without hesitation, and with a last smile had started, sounding the bell of my bike to signal departure, and also to say: "Hey, he talked to me, he noticed me!"

A few bicycles had rushed after me on the little country road, while Dominique remained behind with the bicycle pump in his hand. The first day of training had started.

"Farewell!" he smiled at me as he got back in his car. The word had slammed in the evening air. Madame Dupeigne had then recalled her dogs, who pretended to pursue the car. Then she came back to the inn smiling, sneering, it seemed to me. Her makeup and huge earrings associated with her eternal cigarette had made her seem to me disturbing and hostile. I was speechless and petrified as the car drove off the small road.

But on that same road between the water and the fields, that morning, the sun was scintillating the scene and I was on the verge of excitement, advancing on my bike with ease, attentive to the landscape, here, the small boat an oyster farmer at work; there, a horse grazing in the shade of an oak tree. I pressed the pedals easily, holding the handlebars with one hand, hair in the wind. The very image of happiness ... A feeling of freedom and beauty inhabited me so strongly that the impression of a meaning had come to me, as if I was advancing towards my destiny.

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At 16 we're more sensitive to others and to feelings, do you guys agree?

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