Starting over
1102 Words
Lucy’s POV
Despair had a way of always chasing me around.
No matter how hard I kept trying to leave it behind, it still had a way of clinging to me every day, on the streets, in my bedroom, and even in my sleep.
Today was one of those days.
I lay down staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, no thoughts coming into my head, just lying down, until I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed.
“Your food is getting cold.”
Èlise called from downstairs.
I glanced at my phone.
It was already eight thirty.
I groaned loudly, violently stretching my arms and legs.
“Be there in a minute.”
I shouted in a tired-sounding voice.
I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tied my long hair into a ponytail.
I paused for a second, slowly looking up at the mirror in front of me.
I had lost weight and was looking sick.
My brush fell into the sink.
My entire attention was on the mirror, slowly examining my face down to my neck region.
It had all gone obviously skinny.
A loud sigh escaped my lungs, with a look on my face showing pity.
I washed my face and quickly rushed downstairs for breakfast.
The smell of sweet, freshly baked croissants filled the entire apartment.
“You finally woke up.”
Èlise said, pouring coffee into the cup in front of me.
I yawned.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Mmm.”
“I was just thinking.”
She smiled softly.
“You’re thinking too much, Lucy.
It’s affecting your health.”
“You’re looking so sick already.”
The room went silent.
“How’s it going to be for you today?”
She stopped pouring coffee and sat at the table, looking at me.
“You said you were going to look for a job today.”
“Or have you forgotten already?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Mmm, I dunno.”
“But I came across a few I’d go check out today.”
I walked to the old-looking television and picked up a folded newspaper on it, tossing it to Èlise.
“Check the ones I circled.”
I said while chewing a hot croissant.
“I think I’ll go for the one closest to the house.”
“You know you can stay home if you want to, right?”
Èlise said while playing with my ponytail.
“Yes, I know.”
“This is what I want.”
“Okay, well, that’s good for you.”
She smiled, stood from the table, and walked back to the kitchen.
Three hours later, I was standing outside a bookstore.
“We’re looking for someone fluent in Spanish.”
The manager said.
I smiled, thanking him.
This was already the third store I tried applying to.
They all had the same requirements.
The first wanted a French-speaking staff member, and so did the second, and now Spanish…
My confidence had deteriorated one rejection after the other.
I stood outside for a few minutes, watching the traffic, before walking away.
Maybe moving to France was a big mistake…
No!
I immediately shook the thought away.
I didn’t move all the way here just to give up after a few rejections.
A café was the last on my list.
Le Petit Café.
I checked for the address on my phone.
Using the map, I was able to locate the café, not too far from the last rejection.
It was in between a flower shop and a bookstore.
Across the road where I was standing, I sighted the café, with its name boldly written on the building.
A few customers sat outside on small, round metal tables under cream-colored umbrellas, taking coffee.
The sight of this immediately lightened my temper.
I now felt calmer.
Unlike the busy roads downtown, this place felt a bit serene.
I stood there for a bit, waiting for the scanty road to clear before crossing.
I pushed the transparent door open.
The place looked…
Comfortable.
The sweet smell of beverages immediately wrapped all around me.
I could hear soft conversations in French at one end of the café.
Behind the counter stood an elderly-looking woman.
She looked like she was in her late forties.
“Just a bit older than Èlise.”
I thought to myself.
She was wearing a white shirt with a blue apron tied around her neck.
“Bonjour.”
I immediately woke up from my euphoria.
I had just realized there was a language barrier here.
“Bonjour.”
I slowly replied, hoping my accent wasn’t noticeable.
She spoke again, this time faster than earlier.
I understood absolutely nothing she said this time.
“Sorry, I don’t…”
My voice cracked.
I cleared my throat.
“My French isn’t very good.”
“Ooh, good morning.”
She sounded happier.
“You speak English?”
“Yes, a little.”
With a soft smile on her face.
We both chuckled.
“What can I do for you?”
“Umm, I saw an advertisement about this café in a newspaper.”
“Do you have experience?”
She sounded more serious this time.
I noticed her English wasn’t as good as she had earlier said, but better than I had expected.
“I worked at a small coffee shop back in Florida while I was in college.”
“Can you make coffee, dear?”
She smiled softly.
“Good coffee?”
“I think so.”
My face grimaced.
“Confidence.
I like it.”
“My dear, what is your name?”
“It’s Lucy…”
“Lucy Foster, ma’am.”
“No, no, no, no.
Don’t call me that.
Call me Claire.”
I chuckled.
“Alright, I’ll call you that.”
Claire stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decide something.
“We need staff that know English.
Many tourists come here for coffee.”
I nodded my head, biting my lower lip.
“Come with me.”
I followed her behind the counter and through the back door.
She pointed at a large espresso machine, bigger than any I’d ever seen.
“Show me.”
That was it.
Either I walked out with a job or, like the other places, I got rejected.
But here it was different.
They actually appreciated me for the language I had spoken.
Since getting here, this was my first time seeing someone who acknowledged my accent or language.
“I couldn’t afford another rejection.”
I silently prayed.
- Writer
