Nouvelles

First Alarm. Are you kidding me? It’s still black as death out there. Hit the snooze button. A few minutes, I can’t be late with a few minutes.

Second Alarm. Well the situation hasn’t gotten much better, still one of those tireless winter mornings that persist in invading an already morose spring calendar.

Third alarm. Now is the time to make a move.

After the daily ritual of a cup of green tea, it’s the fashion trial. The comfy grey sweater , top shelf, and funky leggings could do…but one quickly remembers, that among those three thousand students, looks do matter. Oh certainly nothing wrong with that outfit, but if you want to look like your having one of those snug days, it can’t be effortless.

Hair is the key, braids should do the trick.

One quick look at my phone tells me he answered. With a goodbye that remains unanswered in an empty house, I’m off. 8:28? That’s okay, supposedly…. it’s safe till 8:40, right? Wrong. With most it’s 8:31.All though it is undeniably disrespectful, who has it in them to rush?

The hustle and bustle of the street oozes past my headphones.

The clipedy claps from the glistening pavements accompany Cat Stevens, the fast beeping lights interrupt Dire Straits and the still cabs’ hum momentarily join the morning’s harmony.

We are face to face now. The dreaded blue gate and I. Enemies till university do us part.

I’m in for an extra fifteen minutes, until someone deems it a fit and most useful punishment.

Unfortunately laziness not being considered an acceptable reason, and since I can’t think of anything witty at the moment, “problème de bus” will have to do.

First row for good figure. Oh I don’t mind participating. What I hate are useless questions that lead nowhere, not the ones where someone is attempting to understand, but the ones where someone tries to give the illusion they are participating  and lamely attempt to show the little knowledge they may hold through an interrogative form.

After the first quarter she has already lost half the class. It’s not her, it’s the system.

The way we are taught often fails to captivate if you aren’t already passionate.

I do love it, but my mind is elsewhere.

Smoking hour strikes. I still fail to see what they all find attractive? 

Sure, when Audrey Hepburn or James Dean were at it, you could say it was sexy, daring, the thing to do.

Now, it’s unoriginal, dreadfully unoriginal and preposterous.

There they are “ taxing” and chitchatting about who was most hammered last Friday night, and the unforgettable upcoming exams.

The alternative would be the repulsive green préau with it’s two absurd empty pots.

I suppose outside, with half the school, but mind you, only the cool and popular half of it, is a better, at least more esthetic option.

What would he think if he were to see me now? With a fag at my lips.

A traitor, that’s what I would be. She died because of it, he knows that.

The bell tolls for us. Off to class again. No matter how hard I try, getting him of my mind remains impossible. A single word can summon him , an image bring him to mind and a thought keep him there.

Maybe a math test isn’t the most appropriate place to day dream? Granted it isn’t the most comfortable. Nonetheless, those aren’t things you can control. 

When you realise, it’s too late, they’ve already crawled under your skin and engrained themselves there, for pleasure like pain, worries like happiness and constant wondering. But right now, with him, I was happy. It seemed he was the only one to care, not by obligation but will. I guess that’s what does the trick, someone that listens, and is worth listening to. 

Your always going to get hurt, it’s finding the one that is worth getting hurt by that matters.

Corridor to corridor, wall to wall, class to class, desk to desk, sit to sit, poet to poet goes on till 6’o’ clock. After the best wishes for nocturnal homework, the rond point gradually empties. All those people whose name you will never bother to learn, head back to similar homes. Broken marriages holding by a thread, constant reprimand for nothing and anything, conversations that lead nowhere, a worrisome future that, slowly but surely, drags you in closer and closer by the minute…but he is there.

I run up the stairs, furtively look for my bag, grab it, unlock it, and smile as his name flashes onto the screen. I can’t wait to read it.

Perplexed, I stop midsentence; my eyes refuse to read on. I sit.

The words hit against my skull, their echo invade my every thought.

“In the city” resonates, “ accident” crushes it, “dead” chokes me.

“Dead”, “dying”, “gone”, that’s all I hear. That’s all I’ll ever hear.

Anonymous