6 November 2011

G20

This week I had two dreams linked to the G20. It's not fully surprising as I like politics and live less than 10km away from Cannes.
What's funny though is how my 1st dream was about going backwards, which is pretty much what happened this week. Premonition?  Hopefully the second dream won't be.

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"I hope they'll send a strong message" I tell the girl standing next to me. Her glasses and anxiety makes her look older. Not older than me though. She's very pretty with her blond hair held in a ponytail and her suit fits her perfectly. "I hope so too" she whispers.
Stress and anxiety are on many faces around us. Everybody here hopes tonight will be a night to remember. The head of world nations are discussing about carbon emissions. I feel like I'm at the Ambassador Hotel waiting for Bobby.
"They've voted for 40%" shouts a friend rushing to me. He gets to us, bends holding his side and tries to catch is breath again. “They've just signed it”. The bullet hits me. "It's impossible, we were on 25%, they can't go higher, they were suppose to reduce it!" I explose. The statistics, the studies, endangered species, pollution, climate change, everything scrolls in front of my eyes.
"They decided to go back, they said they just can't do it" he struggles to add. "They're not trying!" I insist feeling helpless. Sadly, I'm arguing with the wrong person. It's them I really want to shout at, bunch of scared, greedy, idiots that they are. The girl's not saying a word, I can see tears in her eyes. I look around, despair is everywhere. Nobody understands. Who ever does? Is all I can think.
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I'm looking at the screen but I don't understand. The anchorman keeps repeating the same words :"Sarkozy has been re-elected". I turn to the old man standing next to me. "How is that possible, the elections are not before next year?". My voice vibrates under the weight of surprise and anger.  He looks at the coffee in front of him then at me. His face is blank and clearly, he has no answers. I turn to the waiter, he's young, and his colourful t.shirt stands out behind the white counter. "That's a joke right? April 1st?". "I'm afraid not" he replies. Like the old man, his face doesn't show any sign of surprise or anger. They just don't care. I leave the change in front of him and walk out, hoping I'll find somebody who does.

30 October 2011

Paintball


            My heart is racing (Ayrton Senna style), but my hand is not shaking. The others though, look properly terrified. I move slowly across the room to them. My eyes stare at the door, I'm expecting it to be opened any time now. I'm ready for them. I get to my girl friend. "Are you alright?" I whisper. She moves her head from left to right so slowly it's like watching a slow motion. I grab her hand and hold it tight. "You'll be fine, trust me". She looks in my eyes as if she's searching for something. Doubts? Maybe. She doesn't seem to find what she's looking for and turn her eyes to the door. I let go of her hand. I heard a noise. It's so soft I don't think the others heard it (I do have a great hearing). But they understand something's going on when I start moving to the side of the door. My finger on the trigger.
I'm the only one visible. The other three in the room are hiding. They're scared and I know I'm the only one dealing with the situation. I feel the fear but I force myself to breathe slowly so that my body doesn't show it.
The door is slowly opening, I can feel a breeze coming from the corridor and the hair stands up on my neck. Any seconds now, and he will see me. I don't have a choice, I have to go for it. I turn around, he looks down at me when he sees that something's moving on his side but he doesn't have time to lower his gun that I have shot him already. Three times in the chest. I'm a less than 2  meters away from him. He fall under the pressure of the bullets. He's out.
His hand opens and the gun falls on the floor. I grab both, pull them inside the room and closes the door. I'm fast but silent. I don't want the others to hear I got one of their guy.
I take the gun and give it to my friend. I check his pockets, he has more bullets. I take a few, refill the barrel of my gun and pass the bag to my mates. They go through the same process one by one. Open, refill, pass. We're all loaded. Good timing. We can hear the heavy steps of his team coming for him.
When the door opens, none of us is hidden. We're all standing up, ready to shot. Seeing me taking one man down really lifted my team's mood. They're more confident, stronger.
Again, we're way faster than the other team. The poor guy doesn't have time to pull the trigger, my bullet is already hitting his forehead. He lift his hand to the wound allowing my guys to shot his torso. It's a full hit. He quickly lower his hands again to protect himself. I shot him straight between the eyes.
"OUTCH that really hurts " he shouts at me. "Sorry are you ok?" I ask, quickly getting to him. The red stain of paint makes it difficult to see anything but I think it's more a "manflu" syndrom than a proper wound we should worry about. Regardless, I apologise again and hug him. We're all mates after all.

14 October 2011

Stopping the killers

The fog is surrounding the car as we are driving toward the isolated house. Through the passenger window I can hardly see the foot of the hill. W's driving as fast as he can but the weather's not helping. We get to the house, I start running toward the door. I want to warn him but  it's too late. They're already there, dragging him behind the house. He's trying to resist but they're too strong for him. W goes to his rescue and start fighting them but they outnumber him. He falls on the ground, punches and kicks rain on him. I need to do something but I feel helpless. I see some rocks at middle distance. I slowly go closer, making sure nobody can see me and hide behind them. I grab some stones spread around me and start to throw them. I hit a guy on the head so strongly that he falls down. I quickly grab another one and aim at another attacker. I miss him the first time but the second one is a win. I get the last two guys and run toward W to get him out of here.
-"OMG are you ok ??" I'm breathless
-"What took you so long?" he screams. That's only then that I see his face is covered with a dark green paste
-"What happened?"
-"They pooed on me!" he shouts while wiping the stool off his face. (1)
Clearly these guys had eaten too much grass I think, but don't say a word. We pick up the man and the three of us head back to the car and drive away. Mission accomplished.

(1) I would like to apologies AGAIN to my friend for dreaming that somebody was pooing on his face. He wasn't happy about it. I'm very very sorry. How funny though!

29 September 2011

Terror at school

I'm not relaxed. I should be. I'm not. My -non-existent- boyfriend and I are watching TV, my head resting on his shoulder. For some reasons, we're doing so on a covered basketball pitch. I'm not stressed because I think this is a weird place to watch TV (it's one of those things that seems perfectly normal in my dreams), I am stressed because I can feel something's up.
I hear noises. He looks around, there's nobody. Most of the time, I can't go to bed without thinking I'm going to get killed by something hidden in my room so we both think it's just my usual paranoia. We watch some more TV, he pulls me closer but I can still feel it. In my stomach, there is something wrong and I still hear noises.
I don't know if this has ever happened to you but it's truly annoying when you know something's going to happen but you have to wait and nobody believes it's going to happen (ok it rarely happens to me in real life but I expect people to actually believe me in my dreams)
Anyway, it happened. A bunch of guys wearing full black army-like outfit ran through the doors and start shooting at us! I roll to the right while my Edward (in memory of the very alive Edward Norton) goes left. Bullets are flying around us. I manage to get to the stairs and climb toward the first floor. A bunch of students are standing there wondering what's happening? And what the Hell they're supposed to do! Just when I reach them, a bullet hits my leg. OMG this hurts! (I have never been shot, but if it's anything like this, I would advise you to avoid it).
I fall down face first on the floor like a buttered toast. The bastard who shot me looks like Morgan Freeman. As we walk closer to me, I can hear people saying "he's going to do the pen thing, he's going to do the pen thing". I have no idea what the "pen thing" is but I have a feeling that it’s not good for me. Since I don't want to know if he's going to stick a pen in my eye or what, I turn around and start "sliding" backwards -very French snail attitude. Behind me, I can see other men have taken the students by surprise and one of them is now using his knife to paint a young girl's chest a red blood color.
Morgan Freeman's lookalike is now really close to me. I am not big on praying or yoga but for some reasons that's why I choose to do now. To be honest, I don't have many options. My main problem is that they have weapons and I don't. So in a very American movie style, I stuck my right foot under my left leg (obviously I can't bend the other leg, that'd be a bit too Rocky for me); put each thumbs with their neighbouring index fingers and in this half-yoga position, start praying.
It goes something like this (it was in French which answers the question "which language do you dream in?"):
"Dieu est grand et il me sauvera - God is great and he will save me.

La pureté de nos cœurs régnera - The purity in our heart will reign"
As I'm pronouncing these words, I keep my eyes closed very tightly. I know the situation is bad and whatever happens I want to do my best to ignore it. I am not sitting on a school floor, with kids being tortured behind me, a bullet in my leg and a guy ready to rip my eyes off or worst. I am somewhere else, I don't know where, anywhere.
To my own surprise, when Morganito comes to do his trick, I open my eyes;  grab the knife from his holder and slide it from the side of his jacket straight to his chest. He falls on his side, dead. I put my hands on the floor and say "thank you".
Seeing this, a woman from the bad guys gang jumps at me (which sounds ridiculous since I'm sitting on the floor). I lift my knife high and get her in the stomach. I pick up what she left on the floor. Stands up awkwardly and lift the gun now in my hand. I look at the students with a big smile on my face turn to two of the terrorist and starts shooting. Let the fun begin.

6 September 2011

Stuck in the car park

Ah here we go, finally found a spot in the parking. Two doors open, then another two, then the last one. We're all out. My aunt is there, we have a little chat about this cat which is not mine. My mum mumbles something and walks toward the exit followed by my dad.

I open the back door and start spreading semolina on the sit. I need it to dry it and this seems the best place to do it (1). I figure my parents won't be happy with it (2) but I have no choice (3). I could have put some paper under it...oh well...
The job done, I slam the door and leave the car park. While taking the stairs to the upper level I realise I have no idea where I'm going. My mum didn't tell me which room we're in and she has taken my bag therefore my mobile. As I emerge from the parking, two huge beige towers stand on each of my side. It's the hotel. The reception is on my left.
-"Hi, sorry, I don't know which room I'm in, could you check?" I ask the young lady.
-"Sure let me see your ticket" she asks. I pull from my pocket a tiny green ticket with a bar code and many inscriptions on it. She takes it and tries to get information from the code but the computer doesn't recognise it. -"I'm sorry it's not working" she apologies.
-"Ok but I need to know which room is mine; can't you find out some other way?" I plead.
-"No, sorry" she adds cutting the conversation  short. I make my way out. She doesn't wish me a good night, she knows it won't be.


(1) Surely preparing Couscous on a back sit is common in Africa…
(2) You bet!
(3) Everything’s relative

2 September 2011

Lunch break

The canteen is crowded again. It's always the same: I have to queue to get food; look for a table in this haystack and eat my hot meal cold. As soon as I sit in front of my colleague and start enjoying my tasteless meal, the reception calls me. I turn to the right where a girl in a green uniform is handing me the headset. On the phone, a client complains about his system not working. I haven't been trained yet and have no idea what she's talking about. Her high pitch voice is stressing me out but I can't do anything for her. Still, I decide to leave my meal, my colleague and the canteen and go back to my desk. Hopefully, I can figure out some bullshit to give her.
The sky is dark and it's pouring outside. People stand under the porch not wanting to move under the heavy rain. I have to go so I step under it. To my surprise, the rain is hardly touching me, I have quite a walk to my car but I stay dry.
The engine runs slowly as I'm driving through tiny streets. Some of them are so narrow; I wonder how can the car fit? I follow the cars in front of me, if they can do it, I can. The only difference between us is they probably know where they're going while I'm completely lost. Poor client's gonna wait a while...
I park in front of a little house. Some friends are there. The house's pretty much empty except for some paintings. A friend offers me to take one. It's a green& blue young man's face. The colour makes it inhuman and scary. I thank him and refuse.
I walk to my students. I'm a sport teacher (1). There's 10 of them, mainly girls. A black girl comes toward me and complains about the rain with a strong North London accent. "I can't stop the rain and we would train under a F*****G volcano eruption" I reply. (2) She's wearing a small short which looks more like some underwear, so in an amazingly diplomatic attempt to settle it all down I add: "If you were wearing proper clothes you wouldn't be cold" (3). At this moment, my obligations as a teacher come back to me and I apologies to the teenager. She rightly tells me to F*** o** and ignores my calls for forgiveness. Strangely, her friends take my defense, insisting that I'm a nice teacher  and they all like me (4) but she stays put.
So I decide to fold all the bags, ask the girls to take one each and walk to the director's office. They follow me while I explain how I will forward their complains to him. (5) I still apologies a few times to the girl who seems to be coming around it. The scenery’s very similar to the Pont du Gard, as if the river had dried up and you could walk under it... The office's somewhere under the arches but we never get to it.
I woke up (6).

(1) I should probably teach myself first...
(2) Yes, I did use to teach...
(3) Yes, seriously!
(4) Who doesn't?
(5) Pont du Gard, where I was a few weeks ago
(5) It's well know, teachers can't do anything about the weather but directors can.
(6) A shame for the end of this story, a good news for me :)

22 August 2011

The homeless Catwoman

The high ceiling & huge white bricks make it difficult to recognise it as a high school. It looks more like the white house than Hartley High.
Without paying any attention to the beautiful building facing us, J and I are laying on the soft green grass, studying. The sun is high but neither blinding nor burning, it's a perfect weather.
We are so focused, we don't see O rushing to us. I only lift my head when I hear her calling my name. "Come here" she repeats, spreading her arms as she's trying to fly off.
As I stand up, I see in the corner of my eye, a dark haired man crawling in my back, trying to steal my phone from my bag. I stand up, shoosh him away and start arguing with my old friend. "It’s always the same with you", I shout, my face burning with anger, "you just want people to look at you, think you are the best! Get a grip, get a life and stop worrying about what others think!”
Her face twist and the pride turns into long and desperate tears. "It's true" she weakly says. For some reasons (the main one being: I am a Masochist) I decide to do something for her. I walk up the long and silent corridors to the second floor; push the first door on my way and climb on the window sill. Surely, I sit on it (1). Slowly, I stand up and start screaming her name. She had followed me. I can't see her eyes but I can feel them on my back. "O, I am going to jump for you" I start screaming.  People start to chant her name. I turn to her, see the regret in her eyes, bend backward and fall to my death.
Somehow, I have fallen in a small back room. It's dark here, and has a warehouse kind of atmosphere. Nobody will come to find me, they think I am dead. Which I am. Or at least, until a little brown cat comes toward me and starts licking my fingers. It somehow wakes me up. I feel a bit groggy but my body’s fine. I leave by the back door and make my way toward the exit, first avoiding a camera then a man who doesn’t know me.
I walk up the American style, large main road to the furthest part of town and turn right in a quiet street. Houses built on rows of empty shops are falling apart. Nobody seems to live here. The slim blond girl from the agency's standing outside the house. She's not so keen on being here, even less on coming in but she has too. Her suit looks brighter standing next to the long leather jacket of the homeless looking man standing next to her. I've known him for a long time, the same has happened to him. The tour's quick. Nothing is covering the floor, there are no furniture. Nothing is covering the walls, there is no decoration. We don't care, we only need the basic. She soon comes back outside and point to a big black stain over the door. Bits of wall are falling. Regardless, this is the house we want and so, we move to the little white house.

(1) I am so scared of height I can hardly stand on a tool. No way on Earth, I’d climb a window sill!

18 August 2011

When the light is with me

The ropes are really hurting now. I can't move an inch without having skin scrapped off my wrist and ankles. I am lying on my sister's bedroom floor, paralysed. Bending over me, a young lad is going to give me the final blast. That's gonna hurt but what hurts more, is that I know my uncle's paying him to do it. The brown hair boy doesn't look happy with his doing so I beg him to let me go. "Please", "please", "please" and "pretty please" are flooding out of my mouth. "I am a big fan of yours, I don't want to kill you" (1) he says "but he will kill me if I don't do it". "I promise, you don't need to worry, untie me and I'll make sure we're all safe" I assure him. So he starts undoing the knots.
I run to my bedroom on the other side of the hall, he follows me. My parents are kneeing under the green flowers of the wallpaper. "You have to go through the window and save yourself" orders my dad. My bedroom is on the first floor, the house has a high ceiling so it's a good 7 meters high. My mum's comes; hugs me and insists I need to do it; I can do it. "It's time you learn how to do it" she concludes.
I climb on the window sill and without looking down, jump in the air. The fall is short, not even a second and I'm already being blown by the wind, flying toward the front of the house.
My uncle's standing in the garden. Next to him, my parents and the young boy are tied up together. (2) All the eyes are on me. It's the first time I do it but I know exactly what I'm suppose to do. I need power, I need to gain energy. I am still flying but I can't go very high, I'm only two or three meters from the freshly cut green grass. I can also only flight straight so it looks like two clothespins are holding me to a washing line. With difficulty, I move my arms on my side from top to bottom to gain few centimeters. It's a struggle but the higher I go, the easier it gets. I look at the sky getting brighter with every move I make. I gain strength. Their eyes are still on me. Wanting to save my parents give me strength, wanting to destroy my uncle gives me strength.  The sun is out now, the clouds have moved further away. I look up to the sky then down and the light follow my glaze. A huge and beautiful sunray burns the rope restraining my parent's and hits my uncle, sending him to the ground. 

I'm in space now, the chase is still on! With the help of other resistant, I’m shooting my uncle's spaceship. Oh crap, our little robot has just fallen on a space rock. I can see him struggling to fix his flying devise to catch up with us. Good, an alien woman comes to his rescue. Or so I think until I see her take his little ship away. We'll have to get him back once my uncle's down. 

What a day! Walking in my village, I am looking forward to get back to my house. It's early in the morning and the street is filled with music (3). I can't see any speakers, but I know where it comes from. I start to sing. Singing makes me want to dance and the more, I dance, the more the sun shines (4).  
I meet my mum at the corner of the old witch house. She's not in a good mood, the music woke her up. "It's A" I tell her, happily selling my sister up,” I know" she says, and I can see that my former bully's in trouble. The sun shines some more. We walk back home singing together.

(1) I have a fan! Yeah!! What do you mean? Of course a fan is a fan, real or not real, don't be so mean. I have a fan!! :)
(2) That was quick!
(3) Yes, THE street. It is a small village... lol
(4) I like how humble I am in my dreams...

10 August 2011

Life on the Riviera - The wildlife

#1 If you think the sea is great, so blue and sweet. You wrong.
No, this apparently calm and safe sea is full of creatures only waiting for you to pass by so they can pinch, bite or sting you. Particularly, sting you. A friend got sting by a jelly fish. Let me tell you, it's not pretty, her skin's falling off, I won't beat around the bushes: it looks like she's got leprosy. The Angels' bay they call it. Funny people they are...



#2 If you think you're more clever than mosquitoes. You're wrong.
The little blood suckers can smell you over 30m away. You can try to spray or cream your body, wear full clothing, put a nuclear field around your flat; the tiny bastards will always find a hole which gets from wherever they are to your veins. My legs and arms are covered with their bites and I can't stop scratching them. I try but I can't. So I look like a junkie running out of "good needle spots".


#3 If you think cicadas are lovely. You're wrong.
The male cicada, (tree cricket or cigales as we call them here) have tymbales on their abdomen which allow them to create a loud sound. The purpose being to attract female's attention (isn't it always?). A bit like these guys listening to loud music in their BMW coupé...Turns out cigales are as annoying as them. At the beginning, you think the sound is cute but then it drives you nuts. It can be up to 120dB and all day long you can hear it. Alllll daaaaayyyy loooonnnngggg. They even wake you up in the morning. Seriously!

Saving Tira & Mitsu

The party is over. People are slowly making their way home. The streets are covered with confetti and flat balloons.
My guinea pigs seem to love playing with them. They put it in their mouth as if they'd blow it, but actually, the balloons are blowing them. Mitsu, the most adventurous, does it first. She starts to inflate, inflate, and inflate. So much that she looks like a football. I'm afraid she might explode so I take it off her; the air comes out, she's back to her "normal size"(1). Annoyingly, animals are stubborn and often do as they like. As soon as I've taken it off her, she starts running toward another one, followed by Tira who has realised this is fun.
This goes on for a while: They blow; get huge; I take the balloons off them; they run to other ones; I run after them and so on...
Other guinea pigs join the party and at some point I am holding nine of them, looking for a box in which I can safely keep them. I go to my dad's butcher van where I find plenty of -previously filled with sausages, now empty- crate. I ask him to pass one over, which he does. I carefully put the guinea pigs in the box and immediately notice that the bottom panel's not strong and might not hold all the way home. Still, I don't swap, I just go home.
The flat is pretty empty. Few furniture, no pictures on the white wall (2). The only ornament is a brown fire place in the center of the living room. As soon as I put the box down on the wooden floor, the guinea pigs manage to get out and start running around, looking for places to hide. I start to run after them (again) but the doorbell rings.
The landlord has arrived with his wife and their teenager son. I let them in and offer them to sit near the fire place. As soon as they do, the man notices a strange smell. With the iron claw he pulls three burned guinea pigs out of the fire. They were so scared that they hid too close to it and were killed. I’m happy it’s neither Tira nor Mitsu (3) but still I am saddened by the little animal's death. I start to cry. The wife stands up and puts her hand on my shoulder. I turn around, see her eyes filling up, and wake up.

(1) My guinea pigs are not, what you can call, of normal size. This picture might make you think otherwise, but it's an old one.
(2) Nothing to do with my colorful and very crowded flat.
(3) Last thing I ate before buying them, luckily it wasn't a fish and chips ;)

9 August 2011

Landslide


A Landslide is running down the mountain. At the feet, the inhabitants of the village are standing gob smacked like a teenager's dad reading her phone bill. They're astonished. Something never seen before is happening. They can't believe their eyes. Neither can I. Is my mind playing a trick? 
It's getting closer, I cannot afford to wait and see if it is a illusion or not. 
I start shouting at my parents "Mum, dad, move away, here!" but they don't move. They stay at the feet of the brown mountain fixing the rocks rolling toward them. I look around me, trying to think, we need to get out of here. I turn around and can see my little sister's blond hair being blown away (1) I hurry toward her, grab her hand and push her away from the main slide. Stones are falling around us. We move as fast as we can to avoid them. I notice a more stable area on the right and decide to run toward it.  I protect her as much as I can but we both feel our heart sink as we see all the faces. Their pale grey skin, the fixed expression, the lifeless body., it is as we are running on a chest board. Every time the rocks touch somebody, they turn to stone. We hide behind some to avoid more rocks. The rumbling is horrific, but, so far, we're safe. 


We're at my parents. I'm sitting on my bed. My ex-colleague N and my sister A are buzzing around me. We've been out last night and they're trying to convince me into going out again. I'm not feeling like going out again. I can feel the soft mattress under me and it is not helping. I actually think it's calling my name, or maybe some invisible ropes are tying me down to it. 
They do manage to convince me to get change. I stand up and open my wardrobe. But there are no miracles inside, only horrible old clothes & thousands of underwear. I turn around, tell them I'm broke and sit back on my bed.


(1) I do not have a little sister, certainly not a blond one...

15 July 2011

A confusing family dinner

I could watch the landscape unroll but I can't keep my eyes open. As always, the train makes me sleepy and I can't stop my head from hitting the window, again and again. I know the landscape anyway. The green fields, the sheep and their wires, the small brick houses. It’s a typical English countryside. I’m on my way to a family dinner. All the way, I can't help wondering why this is happening in England when I am French and so is my family. Still, I feel I have to go.
The train stops at an empty station. A low red bridge over the rails allow pedestrian to get from one platform to another. I’m standing there, still. I should know the way to the house but I'm confused. I hope somebody's picking me up. I think they are.
As I get to the house, I am a hundred percent sure something is wrong. This is not the house I grew up in. Instead of the simple Normand house, I am facing a huge and beautiful Victorian mansion. Once open, the massive wooden door faces an impressive staircase set at the back of a beautiful white reception room with a high cellar.
I go up there to unpack my suitcases and funny enough; this is exactly like my parent's house’s first floor. The confusion gets stronger.
It takes me a while to get ready. I can hear the noise from downstairs, filling up the dining room. Glasses clattering, guests chatting, kitchen staff hurrying. My mum comes up to check on me. She tells me to hurry but I have to pack my suitcase now. I don't want to miss tomorrow's train and am afraid I will get lazy in the morning. My sister's friend is getting changed while she's scrutinizing the room. I am sorting my magazines by languages when she comes to me. I explain to her that some are in English, others in French and quickly summarise their topics which seems to satisfy her curiosity. They both leave me to complete my task. I know the dinner as started and I'm late but I can't get this done. It's taking me ages and the more I pack, the more I need to pack. The bag is full.
I'm nearly ready when I hear the door opening. I recognise the deep and soft voice saying "I have to go, have a good evening". It's M, one of my high school friend. He can't be leaving so early it's only 9pm! But I know he works shifts. I am so angry at myself for having being packing when I should have been with him, talking, laughing and enjoying his company. So I drop everything I hold and start running downstairs as fast as I can. In my hurry, I didn't think on putting proper clothes on and half the way down I realise I am wearing one of my sexiest black bustier and a string (1). This is not exactly a family dinner outfit. Never mind, I don't have time to go back upstairs and get changed. I grab a kitchen towel lying on the banister to cover my ass and keep running toward him. He laughs at my sight but he doesn't judge my outfit. I know him for a long time, he saw me looking much worst and (if possible) more stupid than now. He gives me a hug and apologies for leaving early. I apologies for taking so long (2). I can feel my family staring at us and more precisely at my bottom through the open doors but decide to ignore it. And wake up.


(1) Bridget Jones' style
(2)This is when I decide that we are definitely in England. Nobody ever apologies that much in France.

11 July 2011

The good old times

The weather is perfect. The sun is shining; the atmosphere is warm but not stifling. The forest (1) is bright green. The water fresh. It's spring.
Kids are splashing around, people chatting, walking up and down the path which follow the river. It feels very much like the river that runs near my home in Normandy. Where my friends and I use to swim in the summer. 
I actually am with some friends. We've been here for some time, playing around in the water. It's time to go. We get out of the water and start drying ourselves up. Suddenly, a shark storms out of the river like a jumping fish (2) and falls on the bank! His teeth are huge and everybody quickly steps away from him. Everybody but me. I can see the sharp knives that are his teeth and his exorbitant eyes but my brain is not processing this information. When it should be thinking "danger, danger, run away you fool, it's gonna eat you alive". I think "Surely, a shark is not supposed to be on a river bank but in the water. Therefore, if we leave it there, it's gonna die. So, we have to push it back into the water" (3). No need to say, my friends are in no way willing to help me. So I walk to the other side of the beast, the furthest to the river, and start pushing it. It's heavy but I manage to roll it up to the river and whoa whoa whoa! That's no a tail! Hold on! It's not a shark!! It's a Stingray! (4) Holy S**t! Ok now, I'm wetting my pants, I don't want to be the next Steve Irwin!!(5) Very, very slowly, I make it slide back in the water. Once fully immersed, the Stingray smoothly goes away. I can't believe it, my friends can't believe it.

 An hour later, I'm facing a wooden table and shelves. The furniture are dark and old. It's probably more 35th than 2nd hand. The flat is tiny. So is the window which gives on the main shopping street. I'm with a childhood friend in the town closest to my parents' village. She shares the flat with her boyfriend and their baby. The more I look at it, the more I wonder how they fit in here. We're chatting about unimportant matters. I feel more obliged to be here by politeness and my parents’ wishes than true will. I keep looking at my watch as I don't want to be late for diner. This is an excuse. My parents would understand if I wanted to enjoy my friend's company longer. Thing is, she's not my friend anymore and I'm not really enjoying her company. Out of boredom I look at the window, wondering which ugly view they will have on the street. I am not disappointed. There is one meter between theirs and the neighbour's wall. It's the narrowest part of the street, looking more like a back alley. However, the bakery is just on their left. I can smell its sweet perfume so I bend a little more over the window. That's when I see another of my childhood friend, loading bread in a car. His parents are the bakery's owner and he's off to deliver it. I wave at him to come up! He smiles and shouts "Later, I'm on deliveries!” I give him a thumbs up!

He walks in the shop with a big smile on his face. "My oh my, it's been years! So you're definitely back?" he asks. "It looks like it" I assert not wanting to give any definite answers. "This looks great" he adds before walking past me and in the shop located right under my friend's flat. The grey metal shelves are filled with hardware. Mainly MP3 players & headsets. Mainly blue and green. It looks like the objects have been chosen more on a colour criteria than for their purpose. I like it. It looks cool and fun.
The place is filled with people holding glasses. It's champagne for everybody tonight as I'm inaugurating my shop. One by one, all of them come to congratulate me. I smile and nod. I'm happy. This is cool. My mum's so excited I fear she's gonna break her leg to give me luck.
By the time the clock hits 10pm, my family has left. Quickly, we fall back in our old roles. Norbert becomes the victim of our friendly jokes; Anthony seats an inch higher than the other like an old wolf on a rock; Mathieu seats aback smoking a cheap cigarette; Sylvain keeps the smile he had on his face all day since I saw him from the window; Bruno checks out the girls. They, laugh at the boy's old routine. All these people that I haven't seen for years are the same. Still young, still silly. I am no different to them. Time has passed but we haven't changed (6).



(1) I do dream a lot about forest these days.... I haven't watched "Forest Gump" lately so that must come from the fact that I now live in a forest...
(2) Which it's not- a fish I mean. Well ok, it's not normally jumping either...
(3) I love how pragmatic I get in my dreams...All logic, logic, logic...
(4) Stingrays & sharks are related, so my unconscious is not so twisted...
(5) RIP Steve, I loved your shows...
(6) I wish!

6 July 2011

Out of place

 The night is very dark as I walk up the hill. The colourful pub's lanterns are the only lights guiding my path. It’s all very relaxing til I am suddenly stopped by a high pitched sound. Is there somebody calling my name? Yes A is running towards me like her arse is on fire! Her bottom is quite something and we've never been very close, even before the fall-out, so I can't help but wonder "what has gotten into her?" (2). Over her large back (which I'm not exaggerating is incredibly big compared to her skinny body), I can see A-L just getting to the top of the hill. My ex-flatmate's chubby body and curly blond hair is waving with her footsteps, from left to right. I am just about to turn around when A catches up with me. "Hey, *my real name- which is not Cixxi as I hope you have guessed* how are you? Such a long time!" I kind of want to reply "it didn't seem long enough to me" but decide against it. Before I can think of a better answer, she adds: "We're going to the pub, joining?". “We are on a dark hill with nothing but a pub, where did you think I was going?". Again, I refrain myself. "Sure, I'm meeting the Dragon" I inform her. She knows the nickname of my (formerly our) friend (3) and a wide smile spreads on her face. "Great!!" she concludes.

The three of us enter the pub and still I'm not comfortable. I don't understand how they can think we're all good just because time has passed when none of our issues has been dealt with. And when you threaten to sue your friend, I think it's quite a big issue (4). I spot the Dragon sitting at a wooden table in the middle of the pub. Her brown hair only tied at the front by two hairclips. No need to be an animal whisperer to understand that she's not happy to see my two "accomplice". As soon as the two girls sit down, she quickly stands up and follows me to the bar. We order two pints (5), which are quickly served, go back to the table but somehow we can't find them. "Oh well" say our dark eyes, we walk away.

I found myself in the kitchen with my nieces. We're preparing diner. The oldest is baking a chocolate cake. She wants to be a Chocolatier and definitely shows skills for it. They are not visiting, they're living with me. We behave and work as if we know the routine. This is our daily routine. L, the youngest, dips her fingers in the dough and makes a proper mess of her. Her light brown hair is stuck to her round cheeks. I give her an earful and order her to clean herself. M doesn't smile as she normally would, too happy for her sister to be upset, she calmly keeps on cooking. L comes back clean. I feel relax and believe they do too. They are safe, far from the adults' worries and I intend to keep it that way as much as I can. I wake up, and wish it was that easy.

(1)Actually, you can be both. You will notice, forgiveness is not my main strength. I am working on it though...
(2) Bonus point for those who answered: "Fire".
(3)You can read my portrait of the Dragon here
(4) Talking about that, please buy it as often as you can http://www.bigissue.com/
(5)Which is funny since the Dragon is a t-total...

5 July 2011

A-team and siblings lovin


I am in the street chatting with my two colleagues. You might know them. There is Face, the smooth operator and Murdock, the insanely funny pilot. Yes my friends, I am part of the A-team. The three of us are sitting outside a tall white concrete building. Face, wearing a grey jacket with a beige shirt and matching pants, is standing next to me. He's looking around with an insuppressible smile on his face. Murdock is sitting legs wide open staring at the floor as if he was awaiting something amazing to come out of it any minute. Sadly, I have no idea what we are doing or waiting for.

A moment later, I am no longer an army veteran but my old self. I am in the tiny street of an old town. Built with typical Southern yellow stones. I am not awaiting anymore, I am having a huge argument with my sister (1). She's insulting me, calling me names and spitting her anger at my face. Thing is, I actually haven't done anything wrong, she's just turning her anger on me (2) and I hate it. I hate it so much I can feel a ball of rage building up in my stomach. I could rip her head off after making her swallow her dirty words back. But I won't do it. "Never be as idiot as the idiots" my mum taught me so I keep it in, I keep calm and walk away. The anger in my eyes are like shotguns, no bazookas. I look at her one last time before turning my back on her and she stops yelling. Realising that she has hit it. The point of no return.
We are suppose to have a family diner. I slowly go to my mum, kiss her softly on the cheek and start walking away again. She asks me "what happens?". "I am not sitting at a table with this person, she has ruined it all" is all I say. My sister arrives, hoping that, as usual, I'll just let go. She is ashamed of herself and I make sure she stays this way. I raise my voice and apologies to everybody for not staying. I turn to her, my mother is standing between us two like the judge between two cowboys. I shot first. "I do not know you anymore, do not call me "sister", you can stay but I won't share my meal with you". My mum is bemused, tears are rising up. My sister is standing agash. She can't say a word. The ball is still sit in my stomach. I take it with me, hoping that every steps on the other direction will destroy it. Inch by inch.



(1) Anybody with siblings knows how mad at them you get sometimes
(2) As they often do