Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Blue (10/08/09)
TITLE: Only If You're A Smirf
By Kelly Jacobsen
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Finally forcing herself away from the thoughts pounding in her head, she took a sip of her tea and glanced around the café. It was very quaint, though at the moment a bit crowded.
Then she noticed, a man stood; eyeing her with curiosity. Fear swooped in on her. She looked away. Who was he? Why was he staring? Was there something in her teeth? This is awkward. She didn't know anyone in Paris; let alone France. All of whom she knew was at the school. Well, she did know the language, but maybe not as fluent as she had wished.
A few moments went by. Was he still watching? She moved her eyes non-chalantly in his direction, pretending to look to the other side of the small café. Yep, he still watched. Okay, this is getting way too creepy. There has got be an explanation for this. With one swift motion, she stood up from the booth, turned in his direction and with one raised eyebrow, "Bonjour?"
He chuckled, apparently amused by her. He spoke back in almost perfect English, but with a thick French accent. "Well, 'Bonjour'. What brings you to France?"
Dismissing his question she asked, "Do I know you?" She had no time for manners right now, who was he? And why in the world did he act so...mysterious?
"I believe not. My name's Piérre, and you?" He extended his hand.
"Susanna." Thrusting out her hand she accepted his.
"So, are you enjoying France?"
"Wait. How do you know I--"
"Your accent." He laughed.
"Oh." She blushed. "I arrived two weeks ago. So far it seems quite nice."
"Oh, good! Welcome to France then! First, may I ask you a question? He peered into her eyes.
"G-go ahead." She stuttered, what would his question be? There was something in her teeth, wasn’t there? She had to get to a mirror.
"Why are you blue? I mean...I hate to pry in your personal business. But you don't look blue."
"Excuse me?" She elevated her voice a bit. Her eyes bugged out. What was he talking about?
"Oh, I'm sorry Madame. I didn't mean to--"
"No, no, it's fine. I'm not sure I understand your question exactly." She was confused. Hopefully he'd explain himself.
"Well, only moments before, I had come in this café. You see, I come in here every Thursday and...Well, you're in my spot. I walked over here, and you said say something in French. 'Je suis bleu.' I recall. I don't mean to pry…but it confused me."
"Oh!" Her hand flew to her forehead in realization. She had spoken it, hadn't she? "You don't say you're blue in France?"
He laughed aloud, "Not unless you're a Smirf."
She blushed, "Oh, well in America, we don’t mean that you’re literally 'blue' persay, it's kind of like, an emotion. Sadness. It's just one of those days for me. I didn't think anything of it."
Understanding filled his eyes. "Ah! I get it. Well, it makes sense to you Americans...but here, we have no such expression."
"Oh. That stinks." She said aloud. No expression for being sad?! What kind of place is--?
"Oh! Never mind. I should be more cautious of my words, I am new to the French language, I must admit. Would you like to join me? After all, this is your spot and I have no previous engagement."
"Well, sure, if I am not disturbing…" He looked around, but his attention primarily on her.
"Oh, no. You're not." She smiled broadly. He had already stepped in her space like, seven minutes prior. Another half-hour wouldn’t hurt.
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