A/N: This is my first ever fic for Orphan Black, so we'll see how that goes.
I just used Google Translate for the French, so I apologize if any of it is wrong. Also, the translations are at the end of the chapter.
(2/2/14: I merged the first chapter with the prologue to make the story flow nicely.)
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, own nothing even related to Orphan Black.
All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Prologue
I was eight the first time I saw her.
I remember the day so perfectly clear because it was one of those rare new days, those days where something new is coming, some novel thing is growing, building, becoming great. I didn't know how important that day was way back then, in fact, I once considered it the worst day of my life.
The day was moving day. My family and I were to fly from our lovely home in France where all my friends and the rest of my family were going to stay and grow up together, without me, and move to some hilly city in America of all places called San Francisco.
I had never heard of San Francisco, I knew nothing of this place I was supposed to call home. But my father, he told me that home is where your life is and he told me that life is all about adventure, about taking risks and making tough decisions, and this journey across the sea was all that wrapped up in one pretty little contract from his company, a contract that spelled out thousands more for my father if he just agreed to make one small move.
Well, when he put it that way, eight year old me was nearly convinced.
The real convincing though wouldn't start until the unpacking began.
The first time I saw her, I was drenched in sweat, my hair stuck firmly to neck, my clothes clinging in all the wrong places, from the heavy August sun beating down on me while I did the best any scrawny eight year old can do when it comes to moving box after box into a house much larger than anticipated.
I had just dropped off a box of my toys in my room on the second floor. I thought I'd take a quick break and look out the window to really see where I was supposed to live for the foreseeable future.
I'll never forget that moment, standing on the tips of my toes just to see out of the window, looking at this new world where the sun might be unforgivable but the wind blows so sweet and the hills roll into each other over and over way off in the horizon where everything is new, where everything is still an adventure.
I fell in love twice that day.
First, with my new home buried in the steep hills of sunny San Francisco. Then, with a girl who quite literally stumbled into my vision.
She was short, tiny really, with brown hair and these big circle glasses that took up most of her face. The thing that really caught my attention though was that she had been pushed forward into my picturesque scene by some giant beast of a boy. But instead of crying or yelling for her parents, much like I would've done, she picked herself up, dusted off the grass from her pants, and with these scrawny little arms, she shoved that prick right back. This tiny creature had the absolute balls to shove a kid easily twice her size.
And you know what, it worked. That kid, whose name I never learned despite the fact he's lived next to me for ten years, fell right on his ass and started bawling.
Then, this girl with twiggish arms stronger than an oak bent over and hoisted up her bully just to wipe off his tears and wrap him up in a hug. The boy held his arms to his side for a second before engulfing this tiny, brave girl with his arms longer than her whole body.
She was amazing.
I was in love.
I remember being eight and having no idea what this warm, swirling feeling in the pit of my stomach was. It was like the summer ocean was crashing into my rib cage, an undercurrent was churning my organs, a whirlpool was circling my heart. It was like I was drowning and flying all at once.
I had no idea what this feeling was, but I knew I never wanted it to go away.
So I wrapped my arms around myself to keep the waters from rushing out as I ran out of my new room and down the stairs. I still remember crashing in to my mother and hearing her curse for the first time. I could barely believe it, my prim and proper mother shouting "Merde!" as she stumbled down a few steps and grabbed desperately at the railing to keep from tumbling down the flight of stairs.
But I couldn't stop and make sure my mom was alright, I was on a mission, I had to meet this brave little girl, my mother's shouting be damned. I continued on, bursting through the front door and running past the moving van, I was nearly to the street when my father called for me.
"Delphine! Delphine, éloigne toi de la route!" He had on his angry voice, the kind of austereness that only a worn out father can pull off.
My legs came to a screeching stop. Across the street, the little brunette looked up, her classes were so smudged with dirt I'm sure she couldn't see but a vague outline of my shape. She gave a little wave and went back to playing with that bully, without even waiting for me to wave back.
God did I hate that kid then. Why should he be the one allowed to play with someone who was clearly too brave, too kind to hang around him? I should have been the one across the street, kicking a ball back and forth with the girl who made the ocean rage inside me.
But, of course, there was no ignoring my father's angry voice. So, I turned around with slumped shoulders and grabbed the box from his outstretched hands, letting the swirling currents in my stomach pour out as I went.
It took two days for us to finish bringing in all the boxes. Two days where I was barely allowed out of the house let alone across the street. Two days I spent stealing glances out of my window at the pale yellow house, just waiting for her to come back out.
Once the moving van was gone, the neighborhood welcome wagon parked in its place. Every family on the street brought us something: flowers, pies, pastas, you name it. It was fantastic; I had never had so many sweets before and so many I had never even heard of.
Really though, I was just waiting for the family from the little yellow house with the brave little girl to show up. Of course, they were the very last family to visit. They came sweeping in with apologies for taking so long to visit and the sweetest apple pie I have ever tasted.
She didn't look anything like either of her parents. Her father was tall with slim shoulders, blonde hair, and an expensive-looking suit. Her mother was petite and she had strawberry-colored hair and these big blue eyes that pulled your attention right in.
She was little, tiny shoulders, chicken legs, she looked like a baby deer. But her stature was, and is, the only small thing about her. She spoke with this loud voice that would bump up an octave every time she was excited by something, and she was excited by everything, her eyes light up behind those giant round glasses, and she wore a constant smile that spread to everyone around her.
She was the one who rang the doorbell. I had been watching from the window, I saw them leave their house and when they walked in our direction, I bounded down to the top of the staircase so I could see them as soon as they walked in. My father opened the door and was greeted by a small hand reaching for his own. He laughed and crouched down to her height so she wouldn't have to reach so far.
She shook his hand and very proudly said, "Hello! I'm Cosima!" with a smile that would quickly become more familiar to me than my own.
He chuckled and said, "Well it's nice to meet you, Cosima. I'm Mr. Cormier." He stood back up to greet her parents and shake their hands over Cosima's head. Once my father stepped out of the way and gestured for them to come in, Cosima, brave little Cosima, came bounding in and ran right up the stairs, straight to me.
"Hello! I'm Cosima! Wanna play?" She stood with her hands behind her back while she rocked back and forth on her heels, ever the impatient one.
"Oui. Non, je veux dire yes. Sorry, yes!" I was new to English and I still stumbled over a lot of the words. But Cosima would always just smile and wait for me to figure out what I was trying to say.
"Good!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs and out the door, not that she had to pull very hard to get me to follow her.
Our parents shouted, "Be careful!" as we went.
She just turned and giggled before running across the street with her hand still firmly wrapped around mine.
Once we were in her front yard, she let go of my hand and with open eyes and a wide smile she said, "So, I've got a soccer ball, barbies, trains, and a barbie car. What d'you wanna do, um, what's your name?"
The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly there was no chance my barely-English-speaking brain would be able to keep up. I stood still for a second with my shoulders shrugged so high they were practically touching my ears
"Sorry, my mom always tells me I have to learn how to slow down because no one can understand me when I talk like a racehorse."
She had slowed down, just barely, but it was enough for me to pick up on the gist of what she was saying.
She tried again. "What's your name?"
"Delphine." I said quietly with my eyes darting down and hands wrapped tightly around my stomach, still trying to keep the water from spilling out.
"Well Delphine," she smiled, "we can play whatever you want, so what d'you wanna do?"
I had no idea what I was supposed to say, I didn't know what kids in San Francisco played or what Cosima liked to play. All I knew was that this tiny brunette's smile was the reason why every river in America was swirling in my stomach.
All I knew, at eight years old, was that I never wanted that feeling of falling and flying to go away and I would do anything, play any silly game, tell any stupid joke, anything as long as that tiny brunette never stopped smiling at me.
Translations:
1. Merde! - Shit!
2. Delphine, éloigne toi de la route! - Delphine, get away from the street!
3. Oui. Non, je veux dire yes. - Yes. No, I mean yes.
Good? Bad? Let me know if you're feelin' up to it.
Thanks for reading!