Chapter Two
Dawn dusted the sky in shades of dusky rose and gold, spreading quickly across a sleepy sky. Amber dappled light brushed across Emmy's disheveled auburn hair. She was sprawled across an air mattress, the bed she had ordered not having arrived yet. All around her were boxes that had been shipped months before, all packed and stacked. Her parents had come a few months before to get everything set up while she finished the last days of her second year at Mills University in California.
She had taken a two year course on Art History and Appreciation at Mills. That was following a year of Modern Art classes at Indiana University. Now she would be doing independent study for a year and then return to the States for another two years at Mills to get her degree. It was imperative, she told herself, that she saw the Louvre Museum, the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Eiffel Tower. She had to visit the art capital of the world before she could finish college for good.
At first her parents had been skeptical of her decision, especially her father, Bernard Martin. Living in France for a year was going to be expensive, especially since she would not be going to a school, but living on her own. In the end it was her enthusiasm and deep desire to go that garnered her parents' support.
Their only requirement for her expedition was that she get a job to help support herself. Her French was nearly perfect after six years of study, so finding a job would be easy. All of her work papers were in order specifically for that reason. Not all of her time here would be fun and games.
Eyelashes fluttered over stubborn chocolate brown eyes. She wanted her day to begin, but the sleepy sensation of jet-lag refused to let her move. Slowly, she opened one eye to glance at the clock next to her. It was nine o'clock in Paris. At home she would've already been up by now, eating breakfast with her parents and preparing for another day. She wasn't home though, so she could sleep as long as she wanted. Only, she didn't really want to sleep, there was so much to see, so many adventures she wanted to have and they all awaited her outside of the apartment.
Mechanically she stretched, a foot bumping into a box and a curled fist hitting another. She stood as if she was several years older than twenty-one, a moan escaping pale pink lips with every crack and pop. The sun was shining brilliantly now, flooding the apartment with warm golden light. She stopped in front of the glass doors leading out to her balcony, disheveled and in awe. A desire to paint what she saw came screaming from the depths of her soul. She could paint and paint until what she saw had been sufficiently created, but today was not for that. Today was the day of moving in fully, unpacking boxes and settling in.
Tomorrow she would paint anything and everything. Tomorrow her bed would come and she would set it across from those double doors and do nothing but paint. But today she was resigned to fixing up her apartment. She glanced around her, smiling at her mother's delicate handwriting describing what was in what box. Today she would begin with the kitchen as her stomach began to growl angrily at her.
The only food in the cabinets was canned goods, ones that wouldn't perish before she was able to eat them. She stuck out her tongue at them, grudgingly grabbing a can of Chef Boyardee. She glanced at the label, Spaghetti and Meatballs. Opening up one "Kitchen" box she discovered a pot and in another she found a spoon and can opener. Breakfast was going to be disappointing, she realized, if she stayed home.
Another glance outside and she forgot all about the boxes and food. From her balcony she could see the glinting of the sun off of the rooftops, beckoning her to them. She opened the doors and the smell of baking below her staggered her. Sweet smells of coffee and crepes floated up to her on a deliciously soft breeze. Without hesitation she changed into her jeans and long sleeved cashmere sweater, hastily pulling on shoes, grabbing her keys and camera. Tomorrow would be today, because she could not wait inside while the world passed her by.
She had breakfast in a tiny café across the street from her apartment. The coffee was lightly dusted with chocolate shavings and tasted strongly of hazelnut. A pastry and two more cups of coffee later she sat on the steps of a church photographing couples snuggled on benches and birds flocking to bread crumbs thrown by elderly women. The sky was so blue today, much bluer than it had been the night before; then again, she had seen it darkened yesterday.
"Bonjour," said a deep voice behind her. She looked behind her, a quick smile gracing this stranger. He was wearing a black turtle-neck and black slacks, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. His blonde hair was at a rakish angle, giving him the appearance of just getting out of bed. A pair of black sunglasses covered his eyes and a walking stick was under his arm. He didn't seem to be looking at her however, it was almost as if he was staring through her.
"Bonjour, monsieur." She replied, standing. "Parlez-vous Englais-pa?" He was still not looking at her, but a smile widened his lips, revealing two straight rows of pearly white teeth.
"Oui. Yes, I speak English. May I ask where in the English speaking world you are from?" His voice had a slight accent, not like the French characters in movies, but a soft lilt that entranced her ears.
"The United States. A state called Indiana, have you heard of it? It is a rather rural state, pretty though. Not nearly as beautiful as your fair country, but still pretty. Je m'appelle Emmy, by the way. What's your name?" Her own voice sounded crass and completely unsophisticated. She hoped that he would not hear it the way she did.
"Sebastine, Sebastian in your English I do believe." He held out a hand to shake. His hand was warm as she grasped it, a happy shiver running down her spine. He smiled again, removing his walking stick from under his arm. Using the stick he tapped on the steps, carefully going down two steps and then sitting down. He patted a place beside him for Emmy. She smiled as she sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek against one denim knee.
"Sebastine is a beautiful name." She remarked, another smile graced his lips. She stared at them for an instant, a momentary longing to caress them with her own lips startling her into silence.
Sebastine tilted his head up, allowing warm sunshine to bathe his face. The glare off his sunglasses caused her to turn her head. She looked down at her camera and thought about taking his picture.
"Welcome to France, mon ami." He stretched his arms out as if to embrace a ball, she leaned back so that he would not accidentally hit her. "How long have you been in the country? How has your visit been so far?" He turned his face to her, again seeming to gaze past her.
"Well, I have only been here since yesterday afternoon, but I can tell you that so far I am in love with everything I see. I should really be at my apartment unpacking, but I couldn't resist the outdoors."
"Ah, and what do you see?" He seemed genuinely interested in her as she looked ahead.
She could see two couples on two different benches, entwined in romantic poses. A flock of pigeons were parading the sidewalk, pecking at scraps of dried bread. The sky was still a silky blue, puffy clouds playing tag across its face. Every tree was dressed in crimson and honeyed gold, gracefully drifting in the playful breeze. There were so many things that she could see, how could she describe them all?
"There are two young couples, kissing one another. They are lost in their own reality. There are birds everywhere, prancing up and down the sidewalk. There is a mime climbing an invisible ladder just down the street, he is standing next to a vendor. The trees are in their best autumn fair and the heavens are bright and happy." She couldn't help but smile as she spoke, she was so happy here. Even beside a stranger.
"So everything is perfect for your second day in Paris. Though I am sure your camera will not do what you see justice." He gingerly searched out her hand with his. She pulled herself to a standing position before she fully clasped his hand in her own, helping him to his feet as well. Again, he extended his walking stick, then he held out his arm as if to escort her.
Carefully they picked their way down the stairs of the church. They decided to go to a café to grab a cup of coffee and possibly a pastry. If she had been anywhere else in the world she would never have gone anywhere with a stranger, but she felt as if this was the beginning of her existence. She had not been truly born twenty-one years ago, she had been birthed the moment she had escaped the womb of the sky into France. And this newborn was willing to have coffee with a stranger. After all, how else were relationships made?
Dawn dusted the sky in shades of dusky rose and gold, spreading quickly across a sleepy sky. Amber dappled light brushed across Emmy's disheveled auburn hair. She was sprawled across an air mattress, the bed she had ordered not having arrived yet. All around her were boxes that had been shipped months before, all packed and stacked. Her parents had come a few months before to get everything set up while she finished the last days of her second year at Mills University in California.
She had taken a two year course on Art History and Appreciation at Mills. That was following a year of Modern Art classes at Indiana University. Now she would be doing independent study for a year and then return to the States for another two years at Mills to get her degree. It was imperative, she told herself, that she saw the Louvre Museum, the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Eiffel Tower. She had to visit the art capital of the world before she could finish college for good.
At first her parents had been skeptical of her decision, especially her father, Bernard Martin. Living in France for a year was going to be expensive, especially since she would not be going to a school, but living on her own. In the end it was her enthusiasm and deep desire to go that garnered her parents' support.
Their only requirement for her expedition was that she get a job to help support herself. Her French was nearly perfect after six years of study, so finding a job would be easy. All of her work papers were in order specifically for that reason. Not all of her time here would be fun and games.
Eyelashes fluttered over stubborn chocolate brown eyes. She wanted her day to begin, but the sleepy sensation of jet-lag refused to let her move. Slowly, she opened one eye to glance at the clock next to her. It was nine o'clock in Paris. At home she would've already been up by now, eating breakfast with her parents and preparing for another day. She wasn't home though, so she could sleep as long as she wanted. Only, she didn't really want to sleep, there was so much to see, so many adventures she wanted to have and they all awaited her outside of the apartment.
Mechanically she stretched, a foot bumping into a box and a curled fist hitting another. She stood as if she was several years older than twenty-one, a moan escaping pale pink lips with every crack and pop. The sun was shining brilliantly now, flooding the apartment with warm golden light. She stopped in front of the glass doors leading out to her balcony, disheveled and in awe. A desire to paint what she saw came screaming from the depths of her soul. She could paint and paint until what she saw had been sufficiently created, but today was not for that. Today was the day of moving in fully, unpacking boxes and settling in.
Tomorrow she would paint anything and everything. Tomorrow her bed would come and she would set it across from those double doors and do nothing but paint. But today she was resigned to fixing up her apartment. She glanced around her, smiling at her mother's delicate handwriting describing what was in what box. Today she would begin with the kitchen as her stomach began to growl angrily at her.
The only food in the cabinets was canned goods, ones that wouldn't perish before she was able to eat them. She stuck out her tongue at them, grudgingly grabbing a can of Chef Boyardee. She glanced at the label, Spaghetti and Meatballs. Opening up one "Kitchen" box she discovered a pot and in another she found a spoon and can opener. Breakfast was going to be disappointing, she realized, if she stayed home.
Another glance outside and she forgot all about the boxes and food. From her balcony she could see the glinting of the sun off of the rooftops, beckoning her to them. She opened the doors and the smell of baking below her staggered her. Sweet smells of coffee and crepes floated up to her on a deliciously soft breeze. Without hesitation she changed into her jeans and long sleeved cashmere sweater, hastily pulling on shoes, grabbing her keys and camera. Tomorrow would be today, because she could not wait inside while the world passed her by.
She had breakfast in a tiny café across the street from her apartment. The coffee was lightly dusted with chocolate shavings and tasted strongly of hazelnut. A pastry and two more cups of coffee later she sat on the steps of a church photographing couples snuggled on benches and birds flocking to bread crumbs thrown by elderly women. The sky was so blue today, much bluer than it had been the night before; then again, she had seen it darkened yesterday.
"Bonjour," said a deep voice behind her. She looked behind her, a quick smile gracing this stranger. He was wearing a black turtle-neck and black slacks, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. His blonde hair was at a rakish angle, giving him the appearance of just getting out of bed. A pair of black sunglasses covered his eyes and a walking stick was under his arm. He didn't seem to be looking at her however, it was almost as if he was staring through her.
"Bonjour, monsieur." She replied, standing. "Parlez-vous Englais-pa?" He was still not looking at her, but a smile widened his lips, revealing two straight rows of pearly white teeth.
"Oui. Yes, I speak English. May I ask where in the English speaking world you are from?" His voice had a slight accent, not like the French characters in movies, but a soft lilt that entranced her ears.
"The United States. A state called Indiana, have you heard of it? It is a rather rural state, pretty though. Not nearly as beautiful as your fair country, but still pretty. Je m'appelle Emmy, by the way. What's your name?" Her own voice sounded crass and completely unsophisticated. She hoped that he would not hear it the way she did.
"Sebastine, Sebastian in your English I do believe." He held out a hand to shake. His hand was warm as she grasped it, a happy shiver running down her spine. He smiled again, removing his walking stick from under his arm. Using the stick he tapped on the steps, carefully going down two steps and then sitting down. He patted a place beside him for Emmy. She smiled as she sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek against one denim knee.
"Sebastine is a beautiful name." She remarked, another smile graced his lips. She stared at them for an instant, a momentary longing to caress them with her own lips startling her into silence.
Sebastine tilted his head up, allowing warm sunshine to bathe his face. The glare off his sunglasses caused her to turn her head. She looked down at her camera and thought about taking his picture.
"Welcome to France, mon ami." He stretched his arms out as if to embrace a ball, she leaned back so that he would not accidentally hit her. "How long have you been in the country? How has your visit been so far?" He turned his face to her, again seeming to gaze past her.
"Well, I have only been here since yesterday afternoon, but I can tell you that so far I am in love with everything I see. I should really be at my apartment unpacking, but I couldn't resist the outdoors."
"Ah, and what do you see?" He seemed genuinely interested in her as she looked ahead.
She could see two couples on two different benches, entwined in romantic poses. A flock of pigeons were parading the sidewalk, pecking at scraps of dried bread. The sky was still a silky blue, puffy clouds playing tag across its face. Every tree was dressed in crimson and honeyed gold, gracefully drifting in the playful breeze. There were so many things that she could see, how could she describe them all?
"There are two young couples, kissing one another. They are lost in their own reality. There are birds everywhere, prancing up and down the sidewalk. There is a mime climbing an invisible ladder just down the street, he is standing next to a vendor. The trees are in their best autumn fair and the heavens are bright and happy." She couldn't help but smile as she spoke, she was so happy here. Even beside a stranger.
"So everything is perfect for your second day in Paris. Though I am sure your camera will not do what you see justice." He gingerly searched out her hand with his. She pulled herself to a standing position before she fully clasped his hand in her own, helping him to his feet as well. Again, he extended his walking stick, then he held out his arm as if to escort her.
Carefully they picked their way down the stairs of the church. They decided to go to a café to grab a cup of coffee and possibly a pastry. If she had been anywhere else in the world she would never have gone anywhere with a stranger, but she felt as if this was the beginning of her existence. She had not been truly born twenty-one years ago, she had been birthed the moment she had escaped the womb of the sky into France. And this newborn was willing to have coffee with a stranger. After all, how else were relationships made?
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