Categories > Celebrities > Simple Plan > More Than Just Addicted
The girl that would live with Monique and I, Alexis, arrived at the airport sometime around 1 A.M. I had gone to bed before that, but was certainly awake tossing and turning, the excitement of my coming experiences rushing through my head. Class at the Université didn't start for another day, but there was an entire multilingual and cultural city at my disposal. I should have definitely been thinking of all those opportunities. But what I was really thinking about was who was living next door. It was that feeling you get in your gut when you're going out (probably to do the same lame thing you always do) and have the feeling that something exciting was going to happen... just that mystifying feeling that it would be a time to remember (even though it probably doesn't end up being anything special). I should've gotten that from turning over the situation of the entire trip on my head, but I just had that feeling about the guy next door, even though I knew nothing about him. I hadn't seen his face, I didn't know his age. For all I knew he could be 30... or worse... 12.
I heard the front door creak open and a suitcase roll on the hardwood floor at the first floor landing. I debated whether or not I should get up and greet my "sister" but settled on playing dead. 2 A.M. was not necessarily the best time to be meeting people. After long enough of playing dead, I finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning I woke up to a breakfast of pancakes and sausage and met Alexis for the first time. She was gorgeous... tall, lean, platinum blonde, with big bright blue teardrop eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ear timidly when I introduced myself and seemed genuinely happy to meet me. We talked a little bit about ourselves over breakfast. She was from Arizona and was 19, majoring in International Politics. As she told me about her studies, I could picture her with her hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing pointed black glasses, with her mouth tight and severe as a hardball politician's is. That was when I realized she was not someone to be crossed.
Monique joined in on our conversation, telling us about her job as nurse at the Université, which made me breathe a sigh of relief. Someone would know what to do with me if I had issues. After breakfast, we all lounged around the house for awhile, Alexis reading a fat textbook about Russian politics since the Cold War, Monique doing some house work, and me journaling. We all jumped when we heard an amp fire up next door with some feedback.
"Crisse! Ce n'est que 12h et ils commencent?!" (Christ! It's not even noon and they're starting?!) Monique exclaimed, dropping the fork she was washing into the sink. "Je telephonerai les policiers si ce bruit épouvantable ne s’arrête pas! C'est trop!" (I'm going to call the cops if this intolerable noise doesn't stop! It's too much!)
I jumped at my chance. "Si tu veux, je peux les demander de baisser le volume?" (If you want, I can ask them to turn down the volume?)
Monique nodded gravely and I hopped up from where I was sitting, slipped on my shoes that were outside the door, and scurried onto the stoop. I took a deep breath in, went down the stairs, and made my way to the garage of the house next door.
"Uhm..." I started, totally dumbfounded as the five guys looked up at me, bewildered at my presence.
"Monique dit... elle dit... uhm... taisez-vous s'il vous plait?" (Monique says... she says... uhm... shut up please?)
I felt my face burn. My first French conversation with anyone but my host mom, and my vocabulary completely fails me. As I had feared, they all burst out laughing at me.
"Elle parle comme une vraie européenne, ouais?" (She talks like a real European, yeah?), laughed a bald, tall guy with a Fender in his hands. I realized as I reflected upon what I said that I probably sounded like a ridiculously formal snob. "Shut up, if you would please..." is what I had literally said.
They started bantering in Quebecois too fast for me to pick up on, despite my seven years of Francophone training. It was so different from everything I had learned.
"D'ou viens-tu?" asked one with longer black hair... and beautiful, beautiful hazel eyes. He got closer to me as he spoke. I could feel curiosity coming from his gaze.
"Je viens des Etats-Unis... New Jersey..." I muttered.
"You speak English?" he said, no accent evident at all. I found myself thanking God at that instant, so grateful to be able to speak in a language that came easily.
"Yes!" I practically shouted out. "Sorry my French seems so broken, it really isn't! I'm just a nervous person so I probably sounded like an idiot! But what really happened is that Monique thinks you guys are kind of loud so she'd like it if you could turn down the volume!"
The hazel eyes grew wide, fixed on me. I realized how fast I had been talking when I had to take a deep breath to catch up.
"Yeah, no problem, we can turn it down," he said. It was then that I realized they all spoke English, because they all went to different amps and turned down the volume. "Are you like... a relative of Monique's?"
"No, I'm a student. She's hosting me... and this other girl Alexis. I'm starting classes at U. Laval on Monday."
"You're University age?"
"I'm 17. I graduated high school a year early."
"Sweet."
After that last short word, everything felt awkward and tense. I wanted to say something. He probably wanted to say something. But we just kind of looked at each other, everyone else pretending to busy themselves with whatever instrument they were at.
"Well. It's nice to meet you guys. But I think Monique is probably wondering what happened to me, so I guess I'll be going." I turned to walk out of the garage and return to Monique's. I was almost out of sight when the boy behind me called, "Wait! Hey!"
I turned around halfway, "Yes?"
"... Didn't catch your name."
"I'm Emily." I felt my face break into a smile. I felt my cheeks blush.
"David," he said shortly. But it wasn't snappy. It wasn't rude.
"I'll see you later then, David. Have a good band practice."
I left his garage and that feeling had returned. That something was going to happen. Something exciting. Something big. Something different. I held onto the feeling for dear life and hoped that it wasn't deception this time.
I heard the front door creak open and a suitcase roll on the hardwood floor at the first floor landing. I debated whether or not I should get up and greet my "sister" but settled on playing dead. 2 A.M. was not necessarily the best time to be meeting people. After long enough of playing dead, I finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning I woke up to a breakfast of pancakes and sausage and met Alexis for the first time. She was gorgeous... tall, lean, platinum blonde, with big bright blue teardrop eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ear timidly when I introduced myself and seemed genuinely happy to meet me. We talked a little bit about ourselves over breakfast. She was from Arizona and was 19, majoring in International Politics. As she told me about her studies, I could picture her with her hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing pointed black glasses, with her mouth tight and severe as a hardball politician's is. That was when I realized she was not someone to be crossed.
Monique joined in on our conversation, telling us about her job as nurse at the Université, which made me breathe a sigh of relief. Someone would know what to do with me if I had issues. After breakfast, we all lounged around the house for awhile, Alexis reading a fat textbook about Russian politics since the Cold War, Monique doing some house work, and me journaling. We all jumped when we heard an amp fire up next door with some feedback.
"Crisse! Ce n'est que 12h et ils commencent?!" (Christ! It's not even noon and they're starting?!) Monique exclaimed, dropping the fork she was washing into the sink. "Je telephonerai les policiers si ce bruit épouvantable ne s’arrête pas! C'est trop!" (I'm going to call the cops if this intolerable noise doesn't stop! It's too much!)
I jumped at my chance. "Si tu veux, je peux les demander de baisser le volume?" (If you want, I can ask them to turn down the volume?)
Monique nodded gravely and I hopped up from where I was sitting, slipped on my shoes that were outside the door, and scurried onto the stoop. I took a deep breath in, went down the stairs, and made my way to the garage of the house next door.
"Uhm..." I started, totally dumbfounded as the five guys looked up at me, bewildered at my presence.
"Monique dit... elle dit... uhm... taisez-vous s'il vous plait?" (Monique says... she says... uhm... shut up please?)
I felt my face burn. My first French conversation with anyone but my host mom, and my vocabulary completely fails me. As I had feared, they all burst out laughing at me.
"Elle parle comme une vraie européenne, ouais?" (She talks like a real European, yeah?), laughed a bald, tall guy with a Fender in his hands. I realized as I reflected upon what I said that I probably sounded like a ridiculously formal snob. "Shut up, if you would please..." is what I had literally said.
They started bantering in Quebecois too fast for me to pick up on, despite my seven years of Francophone training. It was so different from everything I had learned.
"D'ou viens-tu?" asked one with longer black hair... and beautiful, beautiful hazel eyes. He got closer to me as he spoke. I could feel curiosity coming from his gaze.
"Je viens des Etats-Unis... New Jersey..." I muttered.
"You speak English?" he said, no accent evident at all. I found myself thanking God at that instant, so grateful to be able to speak in a language that came easily.
"Yes!" I practically shouted out. "Sorry my French seems so broken, it really isn't! I'm just a nervous person so I probably sounded like an idiot! But what really happened is that Monique thinks you guys are kind of loud so she'd like it if you could turn down the volume!"
The hazel eyes grew wide, fixed on me. I realized how fast I had been talking when I had to take a deep breath to catch up.
"Yeah, no problem, we can turn it down," he said. It was then that I realized they all spoke English, because they all went to different amps and turned down the volume. "Are you like... a relative of Monique's?"
"No, I'm a student. She's hosting me... and this other girl Alexis. I'm starting classes at U. Laval on Monday."
"You're University age?"
"I'm 17. I graduated high school a year early."
"Sweet."
After that last short word, everything felt awkward and tense. I wanted to say something. He probably wanted to say something. But we just kind of looked at each other, everyone else pretending to busy themselves with whatever instrument they were at.
"Well. It's nice to meet you guys. But I think Monique is probably wondering what happened to me, so I guess I'll be going." I turned to walk out of the garage and return to Monique's. I was almost out of sight when the boy behind me called, "Wait! Hey!"
I turned around halfway, "Yes?"
"... Didn't catch your name."
"I'm Emily." I felt my face break into a smile. I felt my cheeks blush.
"David," he said shortly. But it wasn't snappy. It wasn't rude.
"I'll see you later then, David. Have a good band practice."
I left his garage and that feeling had returned. That something was going to happen. Something exciting. Something big. Something different. I held onto the feeling for dear life and hoped that it wasn't deception this time.
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