".A love that will live forever. The end." After typing those last few
words, Christian relaxed in his chair and stared at the paper. He had told
their story and now there was nothing to do. Absinthe had been his
companion for the cruel months after Satine's death, but he had weaned
himself off of it for the time that he was writing their tale of true love.
What could he possible do to occupy his thoughts?
Shaking his head, he began to write a letter to his father, informing him that he was ready to come back home. The letters just seemed to flow onto the paper, as if they had been waiting to form those words forever. Christian was going home, but he did not know to what. Would his family still accept him? Would he be able to come home at all? When the letter was finished, it was sent and Christian fell asleep thinking about the past, present, and future.
Christian awoke to the sound of someone loudly knocking on his door. "Your rent was due yesterday, you lazy bum. Pay up." Shouted his angry landlady. Christian stumbled out of bed and grabbed a metal box. He opened it, scooped up some bills and coins, and handed it to the loud woman. Sleepily, he grasped his pocket watch and peered at the date and time. He had been asleep for three days! He changed his shirt and stumbled down to the café for some coffee.
The café was bathed in the beautiful mid-spring sunlight and a local musician was strumming a sad song on his guitar in front of the establishment. Inside, the walls were covered with alcohol advertisements and posters from the shows at the local moulins. One of those posters was for "Spectacular, Spectacular!" with Satine in her Hindi costume. The poster was a bit faded and was torn in places, but it still made Christian sigh longingly.
"Coffee, please." Christian said as he took a seat at a rusted metal table and handed some money to the waitress. He sat there, staring at the poster of Satine, when the light conversation from neighboring tables was interrupted by a booming laugh. A noticeable drunk Harold Zidler strolled into the café with a girl on each arm. Cups of coffee were brought immediately and Christian looked away. He tried to drink his coffee as fast as he could, but just as he was getting up to leave, Harold noticed him and called him over.
"Christian, is that you?" Harold asked with a lilt in his voice. He motioned for Christian to join them, and Christian reluctantly took a seat. "It's been a while, hasn't it boy? What have you been up to lately?" Harold asked while sipping his coffee. "Nothing really. I've been writing, but nothing too amazing. I'm just trying to move on." Christian said quietly. "I understand completely, Christian. I, myself, have been trying to move on. I'm commuting to Paris every few days to help out with the shows there," Harold replied, "You should join me, Christian. There are several places looking for talent like you." "No thank you, Harold. I'm going back to London." Christian answered quickly. "London?! What's so important in London? You're meant to be here, Christian!" Harold asked loudly. "What's so important? I have a life back in London, Harold. My life I had here in Montmartre ended when she died." Christian replied, pointing to the poster of Satine. "Goodbye, Harold." Christian stated as he left the table with tears in his eyes.
When he returned home, Christian looked around his shabby apartment. Empty bottles were strewn about with yellowed papers and dirty clothes. The candles on his shrine to Satine were nothing but pools of wax and the pictures were torn at the edges. Christian angrily began to clean his apartment and pack up his belongings, even though he didn't know if his father would accept him back at home. Before long, the floor was clean, his typewriter was boxed up, and everything that reminded him of Satine was wrapped up carefully. Christian fell asleep exhausted and didn't care when he woke up.
After a few days, a gentle knocking on his door woke Christian up this time, and he opened it to see Toulouse standing there. The two friends joyfully hugged and Toulouse comforted Christian. "Before I forget, this was accidentally delivered to me." Toulouse said, handing over a crisp white envelope with his father's monogram stamped on the back. Christian tore open the envelope to see a train ticket, a boat ticket, some money, and a letter. Toulouse looked confused as Christian read the letter and Toulouse examined the tickets. "Christian, are you leaving?" he asked quietly. Christian was silent as he set the letter down and stared into space. "Christian.?" Toulouse questioned with concern. Christian stuttered and quietly said, "I can't believe it." "Believe what? What's going on?" Toulouse asked. Christian shook his head and announced, "I can't believe that I'm a father."
Shaking his head, he began to write a letter to his father, informing him that he was ready to come back home. The letters just seemed to flow onto the paper, as if they had been waiting to form those words forever. Christian was going home, but he did not know to what. Would his family still accept him? Would he be able to come home at all? When the letter was finished, it was sent and Christian fell asleep thinking about the past, present, and future.
Christian awoke to the sound of someone loudly knocking on his door. "Your rent was due yesterday, you lazy bum. Pay up." Shouted his angry landlady. Christian stumbled out of bed and grabbed a metal box. He opened it, scooped up some bills and coins, and handed it to the loud woman. Sleepily, he grasped his pocket watch and peered at the date and time. He had been asleep for three days! He changed his shirt and stumbled down to the café for some coffee.
The café was bathed in the beautiful mid-spring sunlight and a local musician was strumming a sad song on his guitar in front of the establishment. Inside, the walls were covered with alcohol advertisements and posters from the shows at the local moulins. One of those posters was for "Spectacular, Spectacular!" with Satine in her Hindi costume. The poster was a bit faded and was torn in places, but it still made Christian sigh longingly.
"Coffee, please." Christian said as he took a seat at a rusted metal table and handed some money to the waitress. He sat there, staring at the poster of Satine, when the light conversation from neighboring tables was interrupted by a booming laugh. A noticeable drunk Harold Zidler strolled into the café with a girl on each arm. Cups of coffee were brought immediately and Christian looked away. He tried to drink his coffee as fast as he could, but just as he was getting up to leave, Harold noticed him and called him over.
"Christian, is that you?" Harold asked with a lilt in his voice. He motioned for Christian to join them, and Christian reluctantly took a seat. "It's been a while, hasn't it boy? What have you been up to lately?" Harold asked while sipping his coffee. "Nothing really. I've been writing, but nothing too amazing. I'm just trying to move on." Christian said quietly. "I understand completely, Christian. I, myself, have been trying to move on. I'm commuting to Paris every few days to help out with the shows there," Harold replied, "You should join me, Christian. There are several places looking for talent like you." "No thank you, Harold. I'm going back to London." Christian answered quickly. "London?! What's so important in London? You're meant to be here, Christian!" Harold asked loudly. "What's so important? I have a life back in London, Harold. My life I had here in Montmartre ended when she died." Christian replied, pointing to the poster of Satine. "Goodbye, Harold." Christian stated as he left the table with tears in his eyes.
When he returned home, Christian looked around his shabby apartment. Empty bottles were strewn about with yellowed papers and dirty clothes. The candles on his shrine to Satine were nothing but pools of wax and the pictures were torn at the edges. Christian angrily began to clean his apartment and pack up his belongings, even though he didn't know if his father would accept him back at home. Before long, the floor was clean, his typewriter was boxed up, and everything that reminded him of Satine was wrapped up carefully. Christian fell asleep exhausted and didn't care when he woke up.
After a few days, a gentle knocking on his door woke Christian up this time, and he opened it to see Toulouse standing there. The two friends joyfully hugged and Toulouse comforted Christian. "Before I forget, this was accidentally delivered to me." Toulouse said, handing over a crisp white envelope with his father's monogram stamped on the back. Christian tore open the envelope to see a train ticket, a boat ticket, some money, and a letter. Toulouse looked confused as Christian read the letter and Toulouse examined the tickets. "Christian, are you leaving?" he asked quietly. Christian was silent as he set the letter down and stared into space. "Christian.?" Toulouse questioned with concern. Christian stuttered and quietly said, "I can't believe it." "Believe what? What's going on?" Toulouse asked. Christian shook his head and announced, "I can't believe that I'm a father."