9. PACKAGE
Three weeks had passed. The old house in Washington had been sold. I was getting into a routine. My apartment was filled with everything I needed, Fred from the French class had gotten me a job as assistant in his studio, I still continued attending the French classes, I became very good friends with the group I met on my first day there, Gemma; the woman Sandy had described as 'une salope' (which turned out to mean 'a slut') had a new boyfriend who worked at a car dealership and got me a discount on an already cheap car. I was already driving, trying my hardest to get used to the wrong side. Vanessa and I were the best of friends, breakfast became a daily activity for us, sometimes we'd meet up for lunch, other times one of us would just go over to the other's apartment to hang out. Routine felt great, it kept me busy and happy. Of course I still thought about her but now that I had good and understanding friends, a lifestyle that I felt was a good crack at 'starting again', and Uncle Jake who also began to mention her more often, it was not as hard as it had been at the start.
Today was Tuesday. I had returned from work and Fred told me that we were planning on having dinner before the French Class. There was a knock at the door while I was getting ready.
"Yes?" I said as I opened the door, it was a delivery man holding a cardboard box. Uncle Jake had told me he was sending some more things over but he said he wanted to leave it as a surprise. I figured he just didn't want me saying that it was not worth it and that I didn't need whatever he was planning on sending.
I accepted the package and sat down on the sofa to open it. Photo albums, I should have known. He kept trying to force me to take them, but I refused, knowing that it would be too hard. But I was stronger now. Surely it would do me good to look at them. I was about to pick one up when I noticed an envelope stashed into the side of the box. I sighed as I went to try and get it out, wondering what sort of things Uncle Jake had written to me. However when I finally got the big yellow envelope out, it felt as though it contained more than just a letter, and I saw Uncle Jake's handwriting on a note stuck to the front.
"Alice,
The people who moved into the house found this under one of the floorboards of your mom's old bedroom, I haven't opened it. Please don't ignore it sweetie. Call me if you need me.
I love you. Uncle Jake. "
I felt tears come to my eyes as I imagined her, in her old bedroom hiding an unknown package from her father. I never took her to be the sneaky type and it was solely my curiosity that compelled me to open the envelope. I didn't know what I was expecting it to be but what was inside came as a surprise. I tipped out the contents, my confusion growing with each object. Why would my mother hide these things? There was a CD and a few photographs. I didn't want to look at photos, not just yet, but I felt that it would be the only thing that could explain this mystery treasure. The first photo was of someone I couldn't recognize at all, I laid it to the side. The next one contained two people, one of which was the boy in the previous photo. I looked closely and recognized my grandfather, young and handsome, but his looks were dimmed by the god standing next to him. I hadn't paid attention to the first photograph, but I looked closed now. His beauty was almost impossible to comprehend. He had messy bronze hair, his facial features were perfect and angular, his eyes – a colour I couldn't put my finger on – stood out so brightly, yet there was something oddly pained about his expresion. I could have studied his glorious face for days. It was a beauty that no one else's could compare to. And then I thought of someone who could. It was an odd thing to do but I began noticing the similarities between my French teacher, Louis Cullen, and this mystery boy in the photograph.
I went to pick up the next photograph but I glanced at the watch on my wrist and realized I was about to be late for dinner.
As I ran out the door, my hand reached out to my coffee table and grabbed the CD. I'd listen to it in the car, maybe it'd have some sort of clue as to who the boy in the pictures was.
As I put my key into the ignition after the French class the CD came on, playing a beautifully composed lullaby on the piano. I had to admit, I was pretty disappointed when that had first come on after I shakily inserted it into the player. Just like with the package, I was unsure of what I was expecting, but this piano piece had come as a shock. I only got to listen to a tiny bit of it before I was at the building for the French class but it had been enough to hear how beautiful it was.
Fred had explained to me how to get to the restaurant that we were having dinner at, and as I was about to drive away, with the lullaby as my background music, a figure appeared next to my window. I jumped at how unexpected it was and then saw that it was Louis Cullen.
"Umm, bon nuit?" I said as I rolled down the window to see what he wanted.
"Bon nuit Alice." He began, his face was an expression I had never seen before. It was confused and shocked and very, very curious.
"Is everything alright?" I asked when he didn't speak.
"I was just wondering where you got the music you're listening to from." That question caught me off guard. It was as unexpected as it was out of the blue. And I wondered how he had managed to hear the music from where he was standing, especially since my windows had all been rolled up and I was only playing it softly.
"Uh, my uncle sent it to me." I stammered as his intense gaze burned into my eyes, trying to find something that wasn't there. He opened his mouth to ask something else then thought better off it. He said a stiff "Au revoir" before quickly walking away. I sat in my car, staring in the direction he had left for a few seconds, before turning back to the steering wheel and backing out of my parking spot.
On my way to the restaurant I listened to the lullaby harder than ever, as if trying to figure out some sort of a secret message. Something deep inside me told me that strange was going on, and I was sure it involved the beautiful by in the photograph, the music I was listening to and my French teacher, Louis Cullen.
