Foods

"Pour vivre heureux, vivons caches..."

Shit, even I could tell the guy was a killer foreign romantic, what chance did I really have?

"To live happily, let us wear masks," was his answer to her when she asked why he wasn't more open and opinionated from across the table in the dining hall.

I glared at his cheesy French ass from behind my college meal of fake fish & chips. of course a girl like Simone would fall for that crap; I mean she was damn smart as a whip, but she loved French; it was her major, after all. She sat for a second after he answered, then her mouth fell, and the tiniest crease of a smile appeared for the briefest second over her frail, high jawline.

I knew that smile. I saw it last week when we woke up in each others arms on a Sunday. we were all about each other then...I don't know what happened.

She turned to me, "Did you get that?"

"Hm?" I looked up from my fish, "Oh la merde? Yeah, I got it. You?"

"What?" she said, not quite catching my intent and weak aggression. 

"Hm? Yeah, that French bit, I understood."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a banana. I gulped and choked a little together, but she didn't notice.He got up and shifted his pants to the left, then, sweeping his hair back;

"Euh, pardon-moi une minute, I... would like to get some fruit."

"Sure," I hear her reply, smiling her tiny smile.

I looked up and laughed inside a bit. Fuck am I old news, I thought to myself. He came back with a bowl of strawberries.

"Hmm, des fraises, bon!" He lifted one to his lips, she peeled the banana, and took a petite bite, I rolled my eyes and ate my fish and chips. Bon, of course 'bon'! Shit! My inner dialogue wretched in pathetic innuendos.

I started a habit I usually fall into when I feel like a third wheel, singing to myself to see if anyone noticed; well, to see if she noticed.

"Oh, you've got green eyes. 

Oh, you've got blue eyes. 

Oh, you've got gray eyes . . . 

And I've never seen anyone quite like you before; 

no I've never met anyone quite like you before."

I probably could've kept going. they didn't notice, and the next verse was essentially how I had felt about us last week. We were both happy, and I cherished the few silent walks from her dormitory each morning in the Boston autumn back to mine.

Ah well, why stay attached to dreams and such?

I got up and pushed my chair in.

"Au revoir, Simone. . . guy, later."

"Benoit," he corrected me.

"Right," I conceded, "tchao."

What the hell, I kept singing; this time, perhaps a little too loud for the university dining hall.

"Oh, up, down, turn around; 

Please don't let me hit the ground! 

Tonight I think I'll walk alone, 

I'll find my soul as I go home!"

Boy am I an enthusiastic cynic.