Categories > Celebrities > Simple Plan > More Than Just Addicted
Protagonist:
Emily Ann Kinney
Hair: Brown with natural blonde and red highlights
Eyes: Hazel surrounded by a ring of gold
Height: 5'6"
Body structure: Skinny around the ribs and waist, but with curvy hips and thighs
Nationality: Irish-American
Style: Generally scholarly looking, but with a remnant of rebellion leftover from her early teen years
Age: 17, going on 18.
My heart throbbed in my chest as I approached customs. What in the HELL was I supposed to do here? Not only had I never traveled out of the United States, even with family, I had never in my life traveled alone. My mom's nervous breakdown as she was forced to leave me at the security gate was enough to make anyone tremble -- but after that, I truly was alone searching for a terminal, hoping that all my luggage got into the plane okay, hoping that they didn't find my injections and think they were tranquilizers or something ridiculous to allow me to hijack the plane.
But yet, I successfully arrived in Quebec, and now was going through customs, albeit nervously, but still okay. I changed over a small amount of cash, but planned on mostly relying on my debit card, since after all, my bank did originate in Canada. I came down the escalators of the airport, and there I saw who could be nobody but my host mom, holding a sign that said "Emily Kinney." I approached her and she said with a kind smile, "C'est toi, Emily?" (It's you Emily?) and I responded with my best possible Quebecois accent, "Oui, c'est moi! Enchantee de faire ta connaissance!" (Yes, it's me! So pleased to meet you!)
Monique accompanied me in finding the luggage belt, and I was relieved to see my large red suitcase making its way round. I snatched it up as quickly as I could, paranoid about what would happen if I didn't.
We left the airport and Monique pointed out some of the most beautiful places in Vieille Quebec along the ride to her house. My heart jumped out of my chest with anticipation for the next beautiful month of independence, Francophone civilization, meeting new people, and barhopping with hopefully good friends. Being away from anyone who knew anything about me, anyone who ever lied about me, anyone who never believed me... it was simply the most incredible thought I could dream of.
We finally got to Monique's house, and she helped me heave my luggage out of the car. The houses were in close quarters, but it wasn't exactly a city, and it was by no means a ghetto. It was a beautiful little town -- surburban if it must be labeled anything. The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue that likely came from the reflection of the St. Laurent river. There were light clouds tumbling by in the sky, carefree and graceful.
The scene was interrupted by a loud twang from a guitar and three pounds on a snare drum, a tom, and a floor tom.
"Oh, zut alors, ils commencent encore!" (Oh darn it, they're starting again!)
"C'est qui?" (Who is it?)
"Ce sont les amis du jeune voisin. Ils ont une groupe de rock. Le bruit, c'est horrible." (It's the friends of the young neighbor boy. They have a rock group. The noise is horrible.)
A rock group. By rock did she mean metal? Screamo? Pop rock? My curiosity spiked and I knew that eventually, I would need to catch a glimpse of these guys. My drifting thoughts were interrupted when Monique asked, "As-tu faim?" (Are you hungry?)
I told her that I was a little (I didn't want to seem ravenous, but in reality, I was starving). She told me that there was a restaurant she knew I would love and that she would let me go inside and freshen up and then we could head out.
She showed me into the house and I knew instantly that I would love the time I spent here. I came from a house of random useless crap strewn all about. I commonly found myself wanting to burn it all down. I was the only one who cleaned, and when I did, I did it desperately, just trying to make some semblance of order.
But I knew it would not be so at Monique's. Everything was neat. It looked like she either had an interior designer, or she had knack for that herself. I felt my shoulders drop in relaxation by about an inch -- more than they had ever been for years. She showed me to my room and I wished instantly that I could cut it out of her house and bring it home with me. The floor was a dark cherry wood; the bed was gold and deep mulberry, the curtains matched. The paint was a lighter version of the mulberry, but yet complemented perfectly. The dresser and nightstand were both a beautiful dark mahogany, along with the sliding closet doors.
"Ca te va bien?" (It's good for you?)
"Oui, oui! C'est parfait! Merci beaucoup!" (Yes, yes, it's perfect! Thank you so much!)
Monique left me to get dressed in something less 'I was just on a plane ride and don't give a shit what I look like' (although those were not her words) and then we headed out to dinner. And though my mind was on all the wonders of what I was going to experience during this trip,
I couldn't wait to meet my neighbors.
Emily Ann Kinney
Hair: Brown with natural blonde and red highlights
Eyes: Hazel surrounded by a ring of gold
Height: 5'6"
Body structure: Skinny around the ribs and waist, but with curvy hips and thighs
Nationality: Irish-American
Style: Generally scholarly looking, but with a remnant of rebellion leftover from her early teen years
Age: 17, going on 18.
My heart throbbed in my chest as I approached customs. What in the HELL was I supposed to do here? Not only had I never traveled out of the United States, even with family, I had never in my life traveled alone. My mom's nervous breakdown as she was forced to leave me at the security gate was enough to make anyone tremble -- but after that, I truly was alone searching for a terminal, hoping that all my luggage got into the plane okay, hoping that they didn't find my injections and think they were tranquilizers or something ridiculous to allow me to hijack the plane.
But yet, I successfully arrived in Quebec, and now was going through customs, albeit nervously, but still okay. I changed over a small amount of cash, but planned on mostly relying on my debit card, since after all, my bank did originate in Canada. I came down the escalators of the airport, and there I saw who could be nobody but my host mom, holding a sign that said "Emily Kinney." I approached her and she said with a kind smile, "C'est toi, Emily?" (It's you Emily?) and I responded with my best possible Quebecois accent, "Oui, c'est moi! Enchantee de faire ta connaissance!" (Yes, it's me! So pleased to meet you!)
Monique accompanied me in finding the luggage belt, and I was relieved to see my large red suitcase making its way round. I snatched it up as quickly as I could, paranoid about what would happen if I didn't.
We left the airport and Monique pointed out some of the most beautiful places in Vieille Quebec along the ride to her house. My heart jumped out of my chest with anticipation for the next beautiful month of independence, Francophone civilization, meeting new people, and barhopping with hopefully good friends. Being away from anyone who knew anything about me, anyone who ever lied about me, anyone who never believed me... it was simply the most incredible thought I could dream of.
We finally got to Monique's house, and she helped me heave my luggage out of the car. The houses were in close quarters, but it wasn't exactly a city, and it was by no means a ghetto. It was a beautiful little town -- surburban if it must be labeled anything. The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue that likely came from the reflection of the St. Laurent river. There were light clouds tumbling by in the sky, carefree and graceful.
The scene was interrupted by a loud twang from a guitar and three pounds on a snare drum, a tom, and a floor tom.
"Oh, zut alors, ils commencent encore!" (Oh darn it, they're starting again!)
"C'est qui?" (Who is it?)
"Ce sont les amis du jeune voisin. Ils ont une groupe de rock. Le bruit, c'est horrible." (It's the friends of the young neighbor boy. They have a rock group. The noise is horrible.)
A rock group. By rock did she mean metal? Screamo? Pop rock? My curiosity spiked and I knew that eventually, I would need to catch a glimpse of these guys. My drifting thoughts were interrupted when Monique asked, "As-tu faim?" (Are you hungry?)
I told her that I was a little (I didn't want to seem ravenous, but in reality, I was starving). She told me that there was a restaurant she knew I would love and that she would let me go inside and freshen up and then we could head out.
She showed me into the house and I knew instantly that I would love the time I spent here. I came from a house of random useless crap strewn all about. I commonly found myself wanting to burn it all down. I was the only one who cleaned, and when I did, I did it desperately, just trying to make some semblance of order.
But I knew it would not be so at Monique's. Everything was neat. It looked like she either had an interior designer, or she had knack for that herself. I felt my shoulders drop in relaxation by about an inch -- more than they had ever been for years. She showed me to my room and I wished instantly that I could cut it out of her house and bring it home with me. The floor was a dark cherry wood; the bed was gold and deep mulberry, the curtains matched. The paint was a lighter version of the mulberry, but yet complemented perfectly. The dresser and nightstand were both a beautiful dark mahogany, along with the sliding closet doors.
"Ca te va bien?" (It's good for you?)
"Oui, oui! C'est parfait! Merci beaucoup!" (Yes, yes, it's perfect! Thank you so much!)
Monique left me to get dressed in something less 'I was just on a plane ride and don't give a shit what I look like' (although those were not her words) and then we headed out to dinner. And though my mind was on all the wonders of what I was going to experience during this trip,
I couldn't wait to meet my neighbors.
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