"...Alors, donc tu fais tout
ça..."
(So you play all that...)"Et ça?" (and that?) I pointed to the bottom half of the first piece, titled Gigue, and my teacher said yes. We played pretty much all of my audition music, but I still had to, of course, go home and practice it, hoping to Gosh I would remember the rhythms. I actually liked the piece; it was fun to play, even if there were lots of dynamics, you had to play the notes short and it had some high notes. I said bye and left the trumpet lesson, the French evening not let plunged into that deep blue panic. My mom said to meet her at Charly's Pub, the local bar (well, pub obviously) in St. Genis, the town where I took lessons and in which our friends had lived a few years ago for their year in France. (By the way: reference to the title- we once did a skit with those such friends entitled Catastrophe at Charly's Pub, and it was pretty much the best skit ever.)
There were a few adults hanging around outside on the red, mostly tipped-over chairs in front. From their throats came billowing white chemicals, resembling several small, old, frail white hairs rolling and tumbling, constantly forming edges and imaginary spheres. I groaned inwardly at the sight and my brain brought up the sadly familiar memory of the smell of cigarette smoke. Some of the people turned to look at me, mostly men. I must have looked strange; a kid carrying a trumpet with her music folder walking around a pub, apparently looking for someone. I squinted my eyes and raked the scene. No mom. I muttered a mild swear word under my breath and looked down the street. No one resembling my mom was walking up. Nor a car that looked like ours. I took one last look at the outdoor pub area and walked back to the car, thinking maybe she had already gone there.
I wasn't sure if the car was actually down that street, but further examination revealed that it indeed was. I passed my teacher walking to his car and after a nod of recognition he started whistling. There was not, however, anyone in the car when I finally got there. I didn't bother to stifle my groan. "Where the #@*%*& is she?!" I glared, I groaned, I let out puffs of air angrily.
Basically, that whole scene happened twice. On the second time, though, I actually checked out the windows of the pub much to further stares. And on my way back to the car, of course my music had to fall out. The third time I went, I decided to actually look inside the bar, on the chance that she actually went in. For some reason I didn't think she would, but obviously if she was at the bar and not outside... she was in.
But you see, bars just do not strike me as the kind of place a kid would want or could go in, you know? So needless to say I was a bit hesitant. Already 20 minutes had passed since the end of my lesson. But I gathered up my courage and risked a few quick glances in the doorway. There was your stereotypical bar counter with bartender leaning against the wood, perhaps offering advice to the drinking customers, leaning against the counter with those tall chairs. Other people to the left at tables, and to the right a bit. A few people looked at me, which was to be expected. No mom either this time.
I went back to the car, friggin' mad now. I figured this was the final destination, persay for both of us, and I couldn't find her at the pub. I leaned against the car and took out my music to do fingerings.
After going through both pieces, finally I noticed a small figure up the road walk down towards the car. I thought she recognized me, but turned left to go to the lesson place. I groaned, picked up my trumpet again and ran over.
Needless to say, we were both annoyed. It was 8:40 by the time we got home, and my lesson had ended at 7:45.
But besides that, I guess it was an okay day.
Today is my 299th day in France/Europe and I've been thinking. Well, we all know how much I hate it here, and how much I want to get back, right? We also know that although I hate(d) it, I also am sort of liking it, and have mentioned my confusion with the fact that maybe I.. well, like it. The mountains are real, they're not pictures from a National Geographic magazine or on the computer and made of pixels. I've climbed some, still want to. French can be a pretty cool language, if a few hours of it isn't injected into your head every day. I have some really cool awesome friends over here, and yesh, the food is great. The cars are smaller, barely anyone at school wears Aerocrombie and Fitch, Hollister, or any of that other stuff. The school sucks at most things, but somethings it's sort of okay and different. I get to have English lessons with real English people, and am actually having tons of classes. I may have two math classes and not be learning algebra or geography, but at least I'm getting the experience, right?
Whoa. Had to cut myself off there. This is getting too corny/expected and should probably wait till the very end. What I was trying to get at is, well no duh I'm going to miss it but I think I've done my time. I've earned the airplanes rides back and am going to coast the next 65 days. Yes yes I know... I've mentioned this a thousand times. I've even mentioned that I've mentioned it a thousand times a thousand times. But it like actually is coming to an end. No, and I mean actually.
Oh. Well when I come back probably my life will be boring and there will be nothing interesting, so no one would read this anymore. Well that sucks. But then again, who knows if I'll need this? We'll see. We'll just see.
Fine; I'll see.
I hope to do Chapter 2 and/or a complete re-write of Chapter 1 tomorrow... no seriously I actually have an idea now.
66. Soixante-six. Sixty six.
