Post by 都Tsuzuki筑 on Sept 22, 2008 21:23:33 GMT -7
France
Le 21 décembre, 1789
The village was cold and dark—a gripping, consuming dark which covered the land like a cloak. Chill winds blew dark clouds across the moon, it’s only image an eerie greenish orb glowing behind an otherworldly fog. Worlds away, back in the village, a young girl sat alone. She could not have been more than seven years old, her tawny brown hair matted and her clothes in tatters. Dark, liquid eyes peered out from a dirty, tear streaked face. That was the only part of her that seemed to still live—her eyes. The rest of her body was sickly thin, with dirty, sun tanned skin stretched over bone. The doe-eyed girl’s body suddenly convulsed with into a hacking cough; a force seeming to be too strong for the little girl’s frail frame. And it was.
Ill and afraid, the child curled up in the narrow alleyway in which she had been sitting. It was there, with her back pressed up against wall, laying in darkness and filth that the little girl’s breathing began to slow. She didn’t have to fear the dark anymore. With a shallow sigh, it stopped.
She had no name, no home, no family. There was no witness to her death, sans the stars in the heavens above. And most of all, there would be neither stone nor monument to mark her grave. Her fate was to be tossed into the ground with the rest of the orphans, the poor, the foreigners, more alone in life than in death.
N.Y.C
July 5th, 2007
“Awww, come on mom, do I really have to go?”
Jillian Marie Follet- Johnson crossed her arms and pouted as she followed her mother through the crowded New York City Streets, like a fish in a shoal. Like all city people, she was walking in her own little bubble… A bubble that was momentarily invaded by a homeless man, filthy and clothed in a heavy down coat though it was summer. He held out a tin cup and rattled it, asking for change.
“Uh, get the hell away from me, bum!”
Jill scowled at the man and quickened her pace.
“Yes, you do. This’ll be good for you Jill—I really think you’re going to enjoy France…. And, hey, be nice!”
Ms. Marie Silvia Follet was a tall, thin woman, with graying red hair and a face made severe by age lines. Like her daughter, Marie had very pretty, stormy grey eyes.
“But with Aunt Brigitte? You know she’s crazy! Are you crazy!?”
Jillian gestured wildly with her free hand as she spoke (one was of course gripping the handle of her rolling pink duffle bag), accidentally hitting a man holding a briefcase.
“Whoops! Sorry dude!”
But the man had already moved on, muttering something under his breath as he continued to walk.
“And you apologize to him, but not the homeless man back there who you were so rude to?!”
All the while, Ms. Follet had been rolling her eyes at Jill and wondering how in the world she ended up with such an ungrateful daughter.
“My sister is a little odd, but she’s not crazy. She has a daughter your age anyway! Trust me, it’ll be fun!”
This time it was Jillian’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Oh yeah. Fun. I’m sure…. I’d rather be going to camp with Anne and Matilda”, she muttered, glaring daggers at her mother.
Anne and Matilda were Jillian’s best friends since kindergarten—and eight years later, they were still almost inseparable. Except for when summer came. Anne usually was whisked off to Florida to stay with her grandparents for a few months, then up to Woodstock to stay with her father. Matilda spent most of her time taking dance classes or auditioning for dance camps.
Her mother ignored this comment and reached into her purse to pull out the keys to their little red Saturn—it was quite old, but it still ran pretty well. Jill loaded her luggage into the car while her mother started the ignition.
“I still don’t see why you can’t come too.”
Jill pulled the door closed and gave her mother an accusing look from the rearview mirror.
“I told you, I can’t take the time off from work! And it’s only for two weeks.”
“Yah, two weeks to long.”
Jill didn’t bother to wait for a response to that—rather, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her little, black, iPod. The screen was cracked and it always froze on songs whose titles contained the letter ‘J’ but, like the car, at least it still worked.
Marie Silvia Follet worked as the secretary for a general contractor in the city, and she couldn’t afford to miss work. The job paid pretty well, but not when you were trying to support a child on one income. Humming quietly to herself, she turned on the radio to a K.T Tunstall CD—one of her favorites. It was then, of course, that Jillian had to break into a chorus of KoRn’s ‘Evolution’.
“I'm diggin' with my fingertips; I'm grippin’ at the ground I stand upon. I'm searching for fragile bones…Evolution”
“Jill sweetie, you ever think that maybe not everyone wants to hear what you’re listening to?”
“And I'm sorry that I don't believe, by the evidence that I see, That there's any hope left for me…It's evolution, Just evolution….”
“Jillian, I know you’re mad at me, but can you please shut up!? We’re almost at the airport anyway.”
Her voice was partially drowned out by the drone of a plane taking off. In the distance loomed the large form of JFK airport, like a beast hiding the smog.
The next two hours passed without major event—they got to the airport fine, made it through security, and were now waiting at the gate for one of the flight attendants to announce boarding.
“Now remember Jill, be careful, call me every day, and don’t talk back to your aunt.”
“Uh-huh, Yah-uh, I know mom.”
Jillian rolled her eyes again, stiffening as her mother leaned over to hug her. Just then, a voice rang out over the P.A.,
“FLIGHT 708 TO NICE, NOW BOARDING”
“Okay mom, I gotta go now! Bye! I’ll miss you!”
She tried to make a beeline for the gate, but her mother caught her, hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Bye Jill! I love you sweetie! Have fun in France!”
With that Marie let go, tears almost in her eyes as she watched her daughter run off towards the walkway to the door of the plane.
Nice, France
Le 5 julliet, 2007
The flight was a fairly pleasant one. Jillian held the ticket to a window seat, so she only had to sit next to one stranger—a sweet old lady going to visit her son and his new wife in Nice. She didn’t talk much, but rather spent most of her time watching a Monk marathon on the Jet Blue mini televisions. Jill listened to her iPod, and occasionally peered out to take pictures through the window of what was below the plane.
Even the weather was pretty nice—it looked like it may start storming as they were flying out of JFK, but they hit minimal turbulence and the rest was clear blue skies over the Atlantic.
When they finally landed, several long hours later, Jillian discovered that not only had her luggage been lost, but she couldn’t understand a word of what the airport officials were saying. While her Parisian mother may be able to speak perfect French, Jill knew only the basics of the language. And even that confused her.
“Ummm….Je ne comprend pas…..”
Her very American accent was quite prominent as she spoke, but in this case that might have been a good thing. Her plight attracted the attention of a plump, middle aged woman with pigtails and a sunshine-yellow jumper.
“Jillian! Ma nièce! Ça va!?” she said, waddling her way over to the girl, and kissing her on both cheeks. Faire la bise. A customary greeting in France for family and close friends. “Oh, eetz been ages since I’ve zeen you!” While Jillian’s accent may have been obviously American, her aunt’s thick French made her a bit hard to understand.
To be honest, Jill didn’t even recognize Aunt Brigitte at first—she hadn’t seen her since she was about five, but she heard the stories. Aunt B was just a tad bit weird.
Speaking in rapid French, Brigitte got the luggage problem solved rather quickly. Within ten minutes, Jillian had her bag back and they were headed to the food court to meet up with her cousin Colette.
Colette was a tall girl, with reddish-brown hair much like Jillian’s. Though they also shared the same fair complexion, Colette had dark brown eyes and pointier features—still, the family resemblance was noticeable. And even better, Colette seemed quite a bit saner than her mother.
“Oh! Salut! You must be ma cousine Jillian!” She bolted up from her seat and ran over to greet her cousin in the same fashion as her mother. Jill, tired and a bit confused, just waved a hello.
Twenty minutes later, all of Jillian’s things were loaded into Aunt Brigitte’s big, light blue van, and the trio was on there way to the little village of Aufferville, where Brigitte and Colette lived. Colette, not a particularly shy child, talked nearly non-stop about what they would be doing for the next two weeks, where they’d have to visit, and which friends Jill would have to meet. Jill half-listened, occasionally nodding her head and answering Colette’s few questions, but she was more intent with what was going on outside the car windows.
All around them, the city was bustling. People scurried about like ants as they went about their business. Not to different from home, Jill thought with a sigh. She didn’t see herself as one to get overly homesick, but she did think she’d miss it. This was her first real time spent away from home anyway—her and her mother didn’t vacation much at all.
The sun shone brightly in the sky as the car made its way out of the city, through the suburbs, and into the beautiful countryside. For a girl who lived all her life in the inner city, it was astounding. Jill almost gasped audibly.
Planes of grasses and wildflowers rose into rolling hills, with the silhouettes of mountain ranges ever present in the background; eternal guardians of the land. Somewhere is this wondrous place was little town in which Jill would be staying—she felt better about this whole trip already.
Eventually (or rather, about another two hours later), they were finally (almost) home.
Aufferville was a little town, old, but in it’s own way charming. There was a school, a movie theatre, even a little inn for tourists—but the little blue van’s destination laid on the outskirts of the town.
Aunt Brigitte’s house was a quaint little… cottage, almost, something quite fitting for the town. It was painted a pale pink, with white trim, and yet somehow that didn’t surprise Jillian in the least—she expected worse.
The most amazing thing about the house though, was the gardens. Everywhere on the property there were flowers and plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It was one of those places that just radiated a happy aura. And for now, Jillian was happy.
Aufferville, France
Le 11 julliet, 2007
Jillian thoroughly enjoyed her first week in Aufferville. Colette was a wonderful tour guide, showing her cousin all the most exciting parts of town and introducing her to almost everyone she met. It dawned on Jill then that in a little town like this, everyone did know just about everyone—not like in NYC where everyone kept to themselves, and what went on in others lives wasn’t their problem. People were much friendlier here.
They went to the movies once, went out for ice cream and crêpe with Colette’s school friends—Jill settled into her new, temporary lifestyle better than she would have thought. She still missed her mother and her home, and spent a chunk of her night on the phone with her mother and friends, but she didn’t think two weeks would be a long enough time here. Time was flying by fast, and Jill wanted to stay longer.
That is, until what happened in the garden.
Aufferville, France
Le 13 julliet 2007
In the garden there was a little plot of dirt that had yet to be used. This was planned by Aunt Brigitte as a little memoir of Jillian’s first visit to France—she and Colette were to chose the plants, and do all the work involving planting and caring for them.
Jill was quite pleased with this idea, quite happy that she would get her own little spot in Aunt Brigitte’s glorious garden. Lazy as she was, she didn’t even mind the fact that there was work involved.
It was another sunny day, hot, but not humid. A light breeze kept the countryside cool, and its inhabitants comfortable. Colette and Jillian were in the middle of a wrestling match with the long, green, snakelike garden hose, which did just not want to cooperate with the duo. After some time spent uncoiling and unknotting the appliance, they we’re finally able to get it to run, and, after a brief water fight, the ground saturated enough to start planting.
The first to be planted were the rows of little purple and yellow pansies Colette had decided on—pretty, but not very original. Once those were done, Colette ran inside for a few minutes to help her mother make them some lemonade, while Jill started to dig holes for her plant— amaranth.
Jill was humming to herself, but her rhythm was thrown off by a dull thud as her spade hit something buried in the dirt. “Oh, maybe it’s buried treasure!” She muttered to herself, laughing. She knew it was probably just a rock, but hey—she was bored. Groping around in the dirt with her gloved hand, her fingers brushed something hard and smooth. Is this a rock or a pipe? She gave the object a sharp tug, pulling it free of the earth—it was much larger than she expected. Turning the object over in her hand and examining it, she came to find that it was neither rock, nor pipe. It was quite oddly shaped, full of holes and indents and it was colored a yellowed ivory, like the tusks of elephants… It wasn’t a rock, it was a skull.
Jill looked at it for a moment, fascinated, but then dropped it and screamed. Both Colette and Brigitte came running out of the house.
“What happened!? Eez everyzing okay?” Aunt Brigitte run-waddled over to where Jillian was kneeling, her face masked with worry.
“I-it’s a-a skull”, Jill stuttered, pointing dramatically in the direction in which she threw the object.
The older woman looked confused for a minute, then glanced at where she was pointing and gasped. “You and Colette go inzide and ‘ave some citron pressé.”
Jill could hardly hold her glass her hand was shaking so hard, but still listened to her aunt and tried to calm herself. All the while, Colette sat there quietly, before finally deciding to ask what happened while she was inside. Jillian started to explain quietly, but was interrupted by Aunt Brigitte—she came in and picked up the phone, though Ji couldn’t understand a word of what was being said. It didn’t take that long to figure out though—within the half hour, a couple of cop cars had shown up in front of the house. Brigitte spoke to them again and spent at least an hour out in the yard while Colette and Jillian went up to their rooms to occupy themselves.
Finally, after what seemed to be days of waiting rather than just a mere few hours, Brigitte came back in the house and called the girls down. She seemed a little flustered if anything, but not angry or irritated in the least—though she was not quick to anger, that was still a good sign. “Well, Mes filles,” she began, glancing from Colette to Jillian, “Eet ‘zeemz that our property iz part of an old pauper’s grave.”
“A….what?”
Jill raised her eyebrow and looked at her aunt. She didn’t know what she was talking about, but the word grave was usually never a good thing.
Colette jumped in here—her English was somewhat better than her mother’s, and she figured Ji would be able to understand better if she could actually understand what was being said. “A pauper’s grave was where they buried the poor and the unclaimed dead. It was for people without family or money to buy them a proper plot or anything else. They just threw the bodies into a pit and buried them.”
“T-that’s horrible!”
Jillian blinked dumbly at her cousin. “So they just threw them all in there? No headstone? No nothing? That’s awful!”
Both Brigitte and Colette nodded at her. There was a moment of silence before Brigitte added, “ Vee are going to let zem dig up a section of ze garten to ‘zearch vor more remains.”
Nice, France
Le 19 julliet, 2007
“Au revior ma nièce! Vee will miss you!”
Aunt Brigitte, now dressed in red galoshes and a bright yellow rain coat, came over to faire la bise Jillian again before her flight boarded. Colette, though slightly less emotional (she wasn’t crying), followed suit.
“Be sure to write often! And come back again next summer!”
The taller girl gave Jill one last hug before giving her a little push in the direction of the flight gate. “Say Hi to Auntie Marie for us!”
After the incident in the garden, the trip had lost a bit of its magic. The time spent in town was fun, but back home was swarming with reporters and a whole other manner of strange people. Jill wanted nothing more to do with her discovery—for days after finding the skull she still had nightmares about it.
But now all that was over, and she could finally go back home to her mother and the Big Apple. Sure, she’d miss France, but right now what she needed was her own bed.
New York City, USA
July 19th, 2007
Home, finally!
Jill walked out of the arrival gate, and made a beeline for the luggage claim—that’s where her mother was waiting.
After another teary greeting, the pair made their way back to their car, luggage and all, while Jillian re-told her mother all she could remember of her trip. Smiling, her mother paused every now and then to add in her own little comments, and the mood was cheery. Ji’s fears were all forgotten as their little red car pulled into the parking garage near their apartment complex.
But as they we’re walking to the doors, Jillian felt the most curious feeling of déja vu. Just to her right, there was a man in a winter coat holding out a cup for change. Ji froze for a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a few loose coins. She tossed them into the cup, listening for the clatter they made as the hit the other metal, then jogged to catch up with her mother.
Up ahead, Marie allowed herself a small smile at her daughter’s gesture. Maybe she wasn’t such an ingrate after all.
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