Through Adversity To The Stars

Chapter 9 - The Rebel Of Our Side Of France

It seemed as though the sun in the sky in France never died or took a rest for the rain and dullness to set for once. Its whole self shining through the branches that split, making shadows appear on the pages of my book.
Why did I feel the need to count down the days of pure torture without seeing, hearing or accidentally touching Alexander? I made it clear to myself that one could not miss someone you aren't close to, who you don't have feelings for so why did it feel like I was missing him? The fact that he was playing Mr Knightley stopped occuring to me and also Andrew - Alexander was just Alexander as you tore one layer back. I kept finding myself stuck in a constant blank, imagining what it would of been like to know him more and let him pull more than just a layer back of me. My simpleton ways were far different than his, the rebel of our side of France. Alexander was laid back, more or a do-er than a watcher.
"You still seem to admire him whilst he's away," Remy interrupted not to even care to look up from my book he had borrowed. The statement had me taken aback as he pressumed my thoughts were lingering around Alexander still, even two days passed.

I rolled my head round to him, lowering my book out of politeness of the conversation. The sun was far brighter than any of the other days before as I acknowledged the spot where Alexander would sit and read also. "Who?" I made it sound as convincing as I could, even leaning towards him slightly too.

Remy's eyes looked up and then closed as if through with my acting already, not even a callback, "I'm serious, Elizabeth. Don't waste your time on him, I'm sure he can manage on his own, he's a 23 year old man, for Christ's sake." The way he mumbled it, the way his eyes directed towards the page, the way he sat with ease knowing that he had unsettled me. It was all set up as a joke but letting me know that in everyone's eyes - he said what he thought, whether or not taking my emotions into account, as if he needed no evidence to prove what he thought I was feeling. But what I believed I was feeling had not come close to his assumpsions, even letting my concious state drive myself away from his prediction, I couldn't let it get to that, just like he said. The built up sense of want and lust for someone so out of reach was pathetic, pathetic of me to even consider that thought - of me and him, him and me; ridiculous to say the least.

I nodded, pretending to understand and let him know I wasn't considering trying to talk to him more, or that I was missing him. "You shouldn't worry about stuff like this," I tried to convince him, "I'm just interested in how he is as a person rather than an actor."

Silence, for only a second but it still made it more clear that whatever I would of said, Remy would of disapproved. I watched him over my page, as if that would reveal the answers of his thoughts, so I could have responded easier. Before he could answer, another trotted down to our spot in the garden with a glass of white in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Classy is what anybody would describe my mother by, I'd say lonely. "And what might you two be speaking of?" Eyes flickered to her even though the sun seemed to blind, "Alexander?" I looked back towards my book, not wanting to continue the conversation on him further. However, Mother carried on without noticing nor mine or Remy's discomfort. "He brought a lot of smiles and contentment, I understand. Your father is missing him dearly too," Mother perched on the bench, sipping her wine. I cleared my throat, looking back at my book, urging for Mother to get the hint that me nor Remy had no interest in talking about Alexander; a waste of speech for someone who would leave. "Mrs Saunders will be round for dinner every night until Alexander returns, I insisted. How could one let a mother such as Mrs Saunders eat on her own for possibly 3 weeks? She's such a lovely woman with an energy nearly similar to her son's." Mother regained her control and stood, twisting her hand that held the cigarette to observe her watch, "Madam Natalia préparera le dîner à 19 heures. Au revoir Remy, et informez vos parents que nous attendons leur compagnie à nouveau."

"Jusque-là, Èlènore," Remy only then cared to move and get up once she had left. He brushed off as I watched him fumble with my book he had hardly read anything of. "Take into account what I said, please?" I nodded even if he had already made sense in my head about the situation at hand. He awkwardly hobbled over trying not to disrupt my stacks of books we had collected for myself from the book fair in town. Remy's lips touched my forehead gently before turning into a small smile.
Before completely out of sight, his eyes met mine before reaching the exit of our garden, "je vachement déteste les livres français!" I let myself smile back at him even if I disagreed with him severely.

Once he disappeared into the wavering hot distance of France, I flung my head back even if the sun did blind me.
Seventeen was a complicated age to say the least; everything is blurred with feelings and endings of childhood and freedom. Having to come to terms with the real world, real feelings and real brutal people. Unfortunately, I managed to discover the last one much quicker than what I had expected. The Summer before 2003 seemed to make me realise that fairytales were rather impossible. Yet I surrounded myself with them because it was better to except the fact that true love and best friends that lasted were possible. And perhaps it was more bearable to try drown memories with a Summer of two months in France.