French Whines…
By: CS Fox
In The Devil’s Dictionary, Ambrose Bierce once said “Wine, madam, is God’s next best gift to man.”
My week had been a solid week of great wine. I was on a
trip which departed from
“Visitez de nombreux domaines viticoles,” the flyer boasted. Translated through my tourist dictionary it meant to see the vineyards and wineries of France. I’m absolute rubbish with the language myself, but that was my reason for this trip, to study French in France. Where better to learn it, right? So that’s where I found myself now. Comfortably seated on a tour bus, languidly staring out the window to the bumpy hills covered with grapes like patchwork quilts.
Every day was a little slice of paradise. We’d leave from a small Inn early in the morning and drive on to another just like it in some other quaint little town. Once you were there, you could walk about the old cobblestone streets and eat at splendid little sidewalk cafés, or make your way to the vineyards.
I was fortunate that our guide and most of the other tourists spoke French. This far out of the metro areas and nobody spoke any English, so I felt alienated quite quickly (not that I didn’t stand out in my khaki’s with a clunky camera hanging around my neck). I was also lucky that the majority of my tour group was about the same age as me. You see, my name is Andy and I’m 22 and going on my first semester abroad as a senior in college. To save up for this adventure, it took me the better part of a year, but as things have gone, it’s been worth every penny.
“Attencion,” the tour guide said in her accented English. “We’re almost to Colgneune. If you please, on our right is the Le Febure Viticoles, known for her antique wines. It’s rumored that there are bottles there aged and stored for more than two centuries!”
The mixed tourists ooh’ed and ahh’ed at the small brick house on the hill of which she spoke. I looked at it curiously, nestled above thousands of grape vines. Perhaps I could find a few nice bottles to send home and have laid down for a few years at my mom’s? “Certainly worth a look,” I said pleasantly with a smile.
The bus arrived at our
As with most of the things this week, I took my time. I had made friends with a few of the guys and gals on the trip, and I walked with them checking out little shops, sampling the food, and just having a good time. One of the girl’s was fluent in French, so she handled the blunt load of translating for us.
At one end of the town was a nice cathedral. It was really something to look at, must have been around since the medieval days. Next to it was a small catholic school, classes in session by the look of it.
As the day wound down, and the sun began to hang, I told my friends that I still wanted to go to that Le Febure Viticoles and check out the wines. Most of the group, having been to vineyards every day for the past four days weren’t as excited to trek back down the road to get outside town to where it was. So, I parted with them, taking my pocket book of helpful phrases and starting off to the vineyard.
About two miles down the road, I found myself walking up to the nice little stone house. Green ivy and vines had helped color its bottom half green, where the sun had baked the upper half from red to a brown. It still had its rustic charm though as I went into the open-air barn where a few men were bottling wine.
“Afternoon,” I said politely as I walked up. I felt sure it was pretty obvious I was a tourist. I had on my camera and a hiking backpack; I even had on my boonie hat which as I’d found out two days ago, was like screaming “I’m American! See! Complete lack of style!” But eh… so what. Give me functionality over style any day.
“Bonsoir monsieur,” replied a burly looking worker. He wiped his hands of blue-red juice and offered a handshake. I shook his hand and thumbed through my booklet for some phrases I’d dog eared on the walk here.
“Excusez-moi, je ne parle pas francais... Um… J' ai besoin... d' aide pour choisir un bon vin.” Which if I played my cards right, should have said “Sorry, don’t speak French, but I’d like some help finding a good wine.” I said it and did my noble best to keep from offending them by my horrible use of their language. Somehow I felt that my stuttering vowels must have been like a rake on a chalkboard.
The man shook my hand again and then barked at another
worker who took his spot at bottling. He motioned for me to follow and he led
the way into a nice cool cellar. He was speaking a mile a minute, all of it in
French of course, so I didn’t understand a word, except when he occasionally
said “vin” which is wine. He gestured grandly at pictures hung on the wall. They
were all the same picture really, but with a little variety of the person. The
first was a man, then a man and his son; then that son a little older standing
with a son of his, and so on and so fourth, all the way down the stairs. If I
were to judge the generations of this family, by the number of pictures, I’d say
this guy had wine in his veins since before
“Everything down
here is wonderful! Best stuff in the country! Some of it is two centuries old!
Beats the hell out of that grape juice in your
The cellar was just long rows of wine. Racks upon racks of wine. As I’d come to understand from reading, you couldn’t drink some yet. The better wines were set after they were bottled and would lay undisturbed for the better part of a few years depending on the wine. The only movement that came to them was when the bottle was turned every now and then to prevent sediment, or something of that sort.
He led me along some of the middle racks, pointing and
blabbering about the dust covered bottles as if they were liquid versions of the
Mona Lisa. One thing about the men who made wine in
“Combien? (How much?)” I asked.
“140 euros.”
140 euros was close to $180 on my conversion chart. I looked at the bottle again. It was an awful lot for just one bottle. I decided against it and waved it off. The man shrugged and led me on to another few bottles, each progressively lower in prince, but not by much. Age demands high price as you might guess.
The man was starting to get aggravated by my waving off every bottle he handed me. We were down to 80 euro bottles, which was just above $100. It was still too much for me. I apologized the best I could and decided I’d better leave. The man took it like a slap in the face. He seemed like I might as well ask him for bottles of coca-cola instead.
He stormed off and left me standing in the laberynth of wine. I shrugged and started to pick my way back to the stairs before he found me again. He thrust another bottle at me, not saying a word. I took it and examined the cover. It read 1832.
“Holy jesus…” I sputtered. “How much? er.. Combien?”
“20 euros.”
I looked at him like he was mad. 20 euros? This couldn’t be real wine then. He probably poured antifreeze and ketchup in a bottle to sell off to the dumb American. I raised an eyebrow at him and repeated it. “20 euros?”
The man nodded and pointed to the date. I nodded back. “I see the date, that’s why I’m questioning you. How can you sell a bottle like this for 20 euros? This should be an heirloom for your daughter’s marriage or something,” I said accidentally reverting to English.
The man looked at me confused and just repeated 20 euros. I shrugged. He had shown me around his stock and I’d declined everything thus far, maybe he was doing me a good turn?
“Can I try a sip?” I asked. He stared blankly. I made a little motion with my hand and the bottle like I wanted to try a drop. He shook his head no and extended his hand for money. Since he’d been nice to me, and I wanted to at least have something, I gave him 20 euros, which he accepted with no happiness and led me back upstairs. I figured I could at least show the bottle to my companions and maybe get them to taste it before me should it be poisonous.
I left down the road once again for the
As I was walking, a funny thing happened. The bottle, which I had stored in my backpack, began to make a weird sloshing sound. I stopped for a second and took off my backpack and realized the damn cork had fallen out. There was wine all in my backpack.
“Oh great, wine from the civil war era… and its all over everything. Let’s see, ruined my phrase book, ruined my travel papers, oh my journal too. And look, passport. Least its mostly laminated.” I said a little less then happy. Stupid wine, this was that guy’s payback. I sat and took inventory of the bag. 85% of the things in it were virtually ruined, or at least soggy enough that even after they were aired out, they’d be all purple and crinkly. I took out the offending bottle, it was about half empty. I stuck it on the road while I finished cleaning out my pack.
“I need to f***ing drink now,” I said aloud as I crumpled
up some of my journal notes where the ink had bled with the wine. All the days
previous to this were now a blue smear on paper. I grabbed the bottle and gave
it a good sniff. For being older then
I upended the bottle and gulped down the last two mouthfuls left in the bottle. It was like letting pure ambrosia pour down your throat. It was so good, that if it was poison, I might as well have let it kill me because I’d never find a sweeter beverage after that.
I threw the bottle in the grass, and piled all my stuff into a stack of books and papers. I left my backpack unzipped and started back down the road with the papers bundled in my arms. The sun was down now, and the sky had changed from purple to a slowly shadowing blue. On the back roads like these, there weren’t any street lights, so I was going to have a little difficulty with my walk, but luckily it wouldn’t be that far.
I kept walking until the road started to move. I stood still for a minute, but the road was still moving. It was wobbling left and right, the way a fish would swim upstream. “That’s… not right,” I said to myself, running my hand through my hair, knocking off my boonie cap and dropping my books. My hand felt weird too. “Am I drunk?” I said staring at my hand, it was looking a little fuzzy, and when I moved it, twelve copies of it moved a frame too slow.
I took a few steps forward, but if anything, the road wasn’t wobbling any more, it was slithering. I was close to the town, I could make it, just a little further. Suddenly, I was moving forward without telling myself too. I was falling. I hit the pavement at an angle, shoulder out. I rolled over somehow into a ditch alongside the road… face in the grass. Darkness took me.
I felt cold… and wet. Wet like a flower covered with dew in the morning. My head felt like it had been donated to a train wreck, than returned to me. I tried to move, but commands from my brain failed my body. Someone was talking in French to me. It was a soft voice, somehow full of compassion. At the same time, it sounded worried. It sounded panicked.
“My god, she’s
alive! I must get her inside… who could have left her in a ditch like this?”
Weightlessness… I was being carried. There was an arm around my back, and another under my knees. It felt like every part of me was made of solid lead. I tried to speak but all that got out was little bits of wind past my lips.
“Don’t worry child…
I’ll find out whatever has been done to you…” Angélique could see the young girl
trying to move her lips and caught a slight odor. “Are… are you drunk?” She kept
rushing to her house. No doubt about it, the girl’s breath smelt of vin. Her
clothes were also wrong too, making her seem even more slovenly. They looked
like an adults’, but this girl couldn’t be past her teens.
I was inside now. I’m not sure where, but the arms that had carried me had brought me out of the cold. I felt my head and torso hit linen, and a few moments later, I felt my legs and arms, but it seemed they were on a time delay.
“Looks like the poor
thing has wet herself… What an awful awful state… to be blitheringly drunk and
to have fallen in a ditch in a complete state of utter miss-dress.” Angélique
started to undress the girl and ran to get a cold cloth.
The darkness crept from the corners of my eyes once again. It was taking over the already blurred shadows of the room. Soon, things faded out.
Angélique tended to
the girl well into the night. The poor thing was running a fever now but at
least she was in fresh clothes. She’d dressed her in a night shirt, although
meant for someone Angélique’s size, it was at least better then the saturated
stuff she’d been wearing before. Still this girl was an oddity. As the school
teacher, Angélique knew every teen this child’s age in Colgneune. Was this girl
a young runaway from another town? A little runaway with a drinking problem?
The pounding in my head woke me before the sun did. I groggily brought my hand up to paw at my forehead. At the same moment I attempted to open my eyes, but regretted it when I was met with bright golden light. I groaned and covered my eyes till the throbbing stopped.
I slowly opened my eyes once more and let them adjust to the room. It was a modest house, with wood floors and hazelnut colored furniture. There were fresh flowers about and a general clean order to the place. I did my best to remember how I’d gotten here.
I started to roll out of bed, but came upon a shock. Looking down at the blanket, I saw a large wet patch. It looked like someone had spilt a large glass of water on my lower half. I lifted up the blanket and found white sheets the same way, only… the patch was a little more yellow… then it hit me. It wasn’t water. My eyes popped open and a gasp escaped my lips. I threw off the sheets next and found a girly nightshirt in the same state.
“What in the name…” I stared down at my lower half… It was… it was wet. Had… Had I wet the bed? My eyes wandered a little farther, and I noticed something else out of place. My legs didn’t seem long enough. Not only that, they weren’t covered with short hair like they were supposed to be.
I brought my hands to my face. My head was throbbing again, and it wasn’t going to get better. I could feel I didn’t have my normal stubble, my face was smooth, more then smooth. I kept feeling on up, till I reached my hair. I didn’t have my spikey short hair, I had long silk hair. My hand kept tracing it all the way out till I could hold a long straw-colored strand of it before my eyes.
I burst from the bed, tripping, hitting a dresser, bumping the door upon, basically flying like a blind bat out of hell. I saw a bathroom at the end of the hall and made for it. Inside I looked up into a mirror, it was a little high on me.
Starring back at me was not a 22-year-old, no, staring back was a blonde haired young girl. I pulled the hair out of my face and stared at the gaped mouth reflection. It… was a mean trick… I leaned in turning my head, the reflection did the same. I turned the other way, staring as deep into those unfamiliar green eyes as I could. Who are you… I was grasping… hoping…. needing to find me; because I certainly wasn’t here now.
I let out a scream. The type of scream you’d see in a movie. Tears came to my eyes as I backed away from the mirror.
“What’s happening to me!” I yelled in a foreign, girlish voice. I heard a startled response in another room down the hall. A young woman came out running to me.
“Are you okay?! Oh
no, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this in a strange house…”
She was trying to console me in French, but I couldn’t understand a word of it. She had long brown hair, and a pretty face, but it didn’t penetrate my extreme state of shock. She tried to hug me close but I backed away. Her eyes looked at me worriedly.
“You… oh poor thing…
looks like you wet yourself again… just how much wine did you drink last night?”
We stood in a stand off. Tears kept coming, she kept staring. Eventually my well had dried up and I was standing still with a heavy tearful, yet dry shivering. The woman put her hand on my shoulder and did her best to look concerned.
“What… what happened to me? What did you do to me?” I choked out. The woman looked at me strangely.
“You’re… you’re
American? Maybe that explains the drinking. Do you speak French? I can’t speak
English.”
I heard “parlez-vous français?”
somewhere in her speech. I knew that phrase. I answered “no parlez-vous
français…”
The woman nodded and took my hand. She walked us back to the room I’d been in and let go of my hand. She stripped the bed of sheets and the blanket and put them in a basket in the hall. She came back and pulled the nightshirt off me. I shrieked in surprise, although I shouldn’t have been. I was… well equipped as a girl. I couldn’t really tell what age because I didn’t know developmental stages of girls, but I could see I was somewhere in the middle of it.
The lady came back in with another night shirt and a fresh pair of panties. She handed them to me as I blushed and ran back off the bathroom. I don’t know why I did… I think it was because… I needed to cry again. Which I did.
There was a knock at the door. I opened it while drying my eyes with my balled hand.
“Poor thing.
Whatever you went through last night, looks like you had a hard time of it.
Would you like some breakfast?”
“I… I don’t understand you.”
The woman looked a little pressed. She realized a little fuller that communication between us would be difficult.
“Venez avec moi (come with me),”
the lady said. She grabbed my hand even though I still didn’t understand what
she wanted.
We went downstairs into a nice
kitchen. The place was a little small and over crowded with books. The living
room, den, kitchen, library and study seemed to occupy the main floor of the
house as a single room. The lady led me over to a table and had me sit down,
while she went to a fridge.
“I guess it won’t really do much good to ask you what
happened last night since you can’t speak French huh?” she looked for an answer.
French gibberish, I stared at her blankly.
“Thought as much…
well,” Angélique pointed to herself, “I’m Angélique.”
The pointing and the phrase “Je suis,” coupled with the name Angélique was fairly self-explanatory. Her name was Angélique. I pointed to myself. “Je suis Anthony.”
“Anthony? Anthony is
a boy’s name. No, tell me your real name.”
Angélique didn’t look satisfied with my answer, in fact she was shaking her head. I realized my name didn’t really match my new gender. I shrugged and tried to think of something French. The only thing that came to mind was that stupid song.
“Je suis Alouette,” I said.
“Alouette? Oh how
cute, named after a bird! That does suit you well you little drinker. You gave
me a hell of a scare last night.”
I think Angélique somehow thought that if she talked at me long enough, a light switch for the French language would just flip on and I’d be able to talk to her just like any one else of her countrymen… er… women as the case may be.
Angélique made me some buttered toast and orange juice. She made herself some after she’d set a plate down before me. I was famished so I tore at it like a jackal on the Serengeti.
“Good god, I’d heard
American’s were snobbish, but never little animals.”
Her eyes staring at me in mild shock told me that I should
probably eat the food a little slower. I slowed down and she started too eat
too. I took a moment to think my situation over. Somehow I wasn’t in my own body
anymore, that or my body had been transformed into a young girl. My company led
me to believe I was still in
“Oh crap! My bus! They leave in the morning!” I looked outside. It was morning now. They’d be looking for me, my friends would be wondering where I was last night.
“What’s wrong?”
I jumped up from the table and made a bee line for the door. I felt a hand grab at my nightshirt.
“You can’t go out
like that! You’re just in a nightshirt. It’s not proper! I can’t in good
conscience let you run out and get another bottle of wine.”
“Let me go! I have to get to my friends… I have to get to English speakers so I can straighten this nightmare out!!!”
French Whines…
Deux
By: CS Fox
“Let me go!” I yelled at Angélique.
“Calm down, calm
down. I think your still hung-over Alouette.”
“Why won’t you let go of me?”
For a brief moment I think she understood me. She forced me back into the chair and tugged at my shirt, as if to show it to me. I looked at it, then at her, then at myself. Maybe my original thoughts that she was trying to keep me in captivity were wrong? Looking at myself a little more, I realized she was trying to keep me in for modesty sake; I was only in a t-shirt and panties after all.
A loud knock stemmed from the front door. It made the two of us jump a little. Angélique crossed the room and opened the door. I was at an angle so that I couldn’t see who was there, but I got up and leaned over to see whoever was there.
“Bonjour Angélique,” said a round short man. He was a jolly sort of pudgy and had a ridiculous handle bar mustache. He also looked to be a policeman of sorts.
“Bonjour Monsieur
Badeau.”
“Have you by chance
seen a young American man? His name is Andy and he was here in town with a tour
group before he went missing last night.”
“An American? No,
can’t say I’ve seen an American Man… but strangest coincidence, I did
find this young girl… Apparently she’s American.”
I heard the name Andy and immediately perked up. This officer was looking for me. When Angélique said something back to him, they both turned to me. I didn’t know what to say, I sort of froze and waited for them to make a connection. I know I’d told Angélique what my real name was, and maybe she’d pick up on the way I’d said it first.
“Is this the
American girl?” Monsieur Badeau asked.
“That’s her. Was
lying in the ditch by the back road out of town.”
“Hmmm, she’s not
from the tour group then. They’re group is all college age so she’s not old
enough. Wonder where she came from?”
“Why don’t you ask
her? She apparently doesn’t speak a word of French.”
“Well my English
isn’t great, but I’ll give it a shot.”
The man stepped up to me. He smelt kind of like cloves and didn’t look very clean kept. His uniform said “Police,” and had little bright yellow patches and stuff on it. He leaned down to me the way Santa might if he had to ask what you wanted while standing up.
“Where from you?”
I think he wanted to know where I was from. My mind suddenly grasped the idea he might know a little English.
“I’m Anthony! I was in the tourgroup! Help me! I’ve been hit with medieval witchcraft or something! I swear I was a guy yesterday!” I was talking so fast I was panting. Angélique looked at me a little surprised at my outburst. The officer did too.
“What… did she say?
“Is this girl right
in the head? She said that she was the man I’m looking for? She said her name’s
Anthony?”
“Hmm… she did say
that name to me earlier... But… I really must tell you, she was really drunk
last night. I picked her up and she was just a mess. Still kind of is this
morning.”
The officer looked at me again.
“Please no lie mademoiselle. We missing a man, not a girl.”
“I’m not lying! I’m Anthony!”
“She says she’s
Anthony.”
“Her name’s
Alouette, I have no idea why she keeps saying that.”
“She may know what
happened to the young man though. You said she’d mentioned his name earlier?”
“Yes, before you
came in when we were having breakfast.”
“How else could she
have known it?”
“Maybe she met the
young man? What time did he go missing?”
“He just never came
back last night. His friends last saw him around
“I picked this girl
up around
“Well, if you could,
keep her here and get her to sober up. Maybe she can help us find this young
man. For now, I don’t think she’s going to be any help to us.”
“I’ll see to it that
she cleans up a bit.”
“Try to keep her
here. If she knows something, or worse, if she was involved in his
disappearance, we’ll need her for questioning.”
“Oui Monsieur
Badeau, I understand.”
The officer tipped his hat to Angélique and looked at me one more time.
“Don’t go!! I’m Anthony!” I said jumping out at him. Angélique caught me by the shoulder and kept me in. The man looked at me like I was a threat for a moment, then shook his head like he felt pitty for me.
“Take care of this
poor girl, she’s still not right.”
And with whatever French he spewed, he left and Angélique shut the door behind him. I felt like my ship had just left harbor and I was standing on the dock. How could he not believe me? I struggled to get Angélique’s hand off my shoulder and get out the door after him.
Her hand clamped down, and I felt tears come to my eyes again as I started yelling once more “Let me go! I’m Anthony! I’ll miss the bus!” I was trying to push my feet forward, but Angélique brought her other arm around my waist. My tears came heavier now and I still tried to yell it. I don’t know why I was crying. I think it was because I was suddenly helpless, and the voice that was yelling was not mine. It was the voice of a young girl, and my mind didn’t want to accept the fact that I was the speaker of it.
“You’re not well
Alouette, please stop yelling that foolishness.”
My body gave up its fight, and I surrendered to my tears and a hug from Angélique. I softly hit her shoulder, just repeating “I’m Anthony… I’m Anthony…” But even my mind was registering how ridiculous it sounded in my feminine voice. Her hand patted my back, and the other gently stroked the back of my head. The tears eventually stopped coming and I just let my head lean against her shoulder. She pushed me back a little and looked into my eyes.
“Certainly do cry a
lot, no? Poor girl…”
I looked away and stared at the floor. Angélique sighed and took my hand, leading me back upstairs.
“Take a long bath,
it will clean you up a little better and help you sober up. I’ll figure out what
to do with you afterward.”
Angélique brought me to the bathroom and started the running water in the old style porcelain tub. I just stood like a zombie. Whatever spirit had been in me to run before was gone now with that good cry. Angélique left to a closet in the hall and came back with some towels. By now the tub was full of hot water. She put the folded pile of towels on the floor.
“Just come get me
when you’re done.”
I looked at her blankly once more, still no idea what she was saying. She
pointed at the water, then pointed at me, then the towels, then herself. She
left the bathroom and shut the door behind her. I stood for another moment not
really sure what I felt like doing, but in the end I took off the night shirt
and panties and gingerly got into the tub. After having pissed myself last
night, I really wanted to take a bath anyways… and maybe it would help rid me of
this horrible headache.
I found a new problem with the bath though. Like everything else I’d done this morning, it felt like I was doing it with a stranger, or doing it for the first time. This body was absolutely foreign to me. It was weak where it should have been strong, it was soft where it should have been rough. It was every which way it shouldn’t have been.
The remnants of man in me, was even curious to explore this new body, but at the same time repulsed by the idea. As stupid as it sounds, my new body was only like 14 or 15… and it just felt… well it felt wrong. Just flat wrong. I washed those parts of me in the same way someone did a chore they hated doing; quickly and with as little enthusiasm as possible.
Afterwards I just laid in the tub. I was wishing this was all a dream. Some bad dream where I was liable to wake up any minute… but I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was too real, I’d felt Angélique’s hand on my shoulder earlier, I felt the hot water around me now… It couldn’t be fake. What’s worse, was the officer’s affirmation that Anthony…er.. I.. was missing. So it wasn’t like I just up and disappeared, my body was turned into this one.
Eventually I got out of the tub and pulled the plug. I dried myself off with a towel and wrapped it around my body. I wasn’t really sure what to do with my hair. It went a little ways past my shoulders and I’d never had so much hair in my life. I was used to just running my hand through it like five times and poof, it was dry. Not sure what to do now, I tried to dry it off with another towel, and that worked somewhat, but didn’t get me too far.
I opened the door to the hallway and Angélique poked her head out of the room I’d been in down the hall when I woke up this morning. She was changing the linens. It made me blush a little because I knew why she needed to do it. I trudged slowly down the hall to her, holding my towel up.
“All clean?”
“Blah blah blah to you too.”
Angélique rolled her eyes. She may not have gotten the words, but she got the tone. She plucked the towel from me. I quickly covered myself with my hands as she went and got some clothes from another room.
Now I felt thoroughly stupid standing naked. Angélique came back in the room with some clothes, girls clothes of course. Rather then be naked I took them. I slipped on another pair of panties, slightly big on me of course. Then a t-shirt, also slightly big, and a pair of pants. The pants were corduroy jeans, and lavender purple. For some reason they seemed to fit fairly well on me. I tucked in my shirt, but being as big as it was, it still bagged over the edge of my pants.
I caught a look at myself in the mirror, or rather I caught a look at Alouette in the mirror, because as far as I was concerned, that girl wasn’t me, it was just my temporary insanity. Still I looked at the girl and she looked ridiculous, just like a girl who’d borrowed her big sister’s clothes.
A phone started to ring. Angélique left me standing and admiring the mirror, while she went downstairs to answer it.
“Oh Monsieur
Badeau…? Oui, I can have her to the station. Sure, be right there.”
Angélique came back into the room and took my hand once more.
“We’re going to the
police station.”
She said something Police, so I cheered up, thinking that maybe my ship hadn’t left yet. Angélique led me out her front door by her hand again. I felt a little uncomfortable being pulled along like a child with her hand. I tried to tug away, but she increased her grip. She didn’t want me running off or even walking on my own I guess.
Apparently Angélique lived in a little home just inside the borders of town. It was a nice white brick house. Somewhere half-way up its face they had tried to do some type of siding, but didn’t finish the job on the lower half. At least the entire thing was white, with a black shingle roof.
We walked up the winding roads that led to the center of town. The place was built on a generally sloping hill, so that if you wanted to get to the center of town, you were walking up hill no matter which direction you came of.
As we neared the top of the street, I could see Le Febure outside of town. My mind shot back to the wine and I realized that maybe it had a part to play in my new body.
“That’s the place!! That damn ancient wine may have messed me up!” I said pointing at it with my free hand. Angélique tugged me a little rudely.
“Yes that’s the
vineyards… I think you drank enough vin last night though. Try to keep away from
it for a while, your too young to drink that much anyways.”
I think she didn’t like me and the idea of a winery. I didn’t point at it any more, but I kept my eye on it as we continued up the hill.
We came to a police station. It looked more like a barber shop in a row of townhouses. We both walked up the front steps and went into the small office.
“Bonjour Angélique,”
said an officer behind the main counter. He smiled and then looked at me
suspiciously. “Inspector Badeau will be
right with you. Go ahead and head to his office. Oh and Angélique?”
“Oui Monsieur
Rousseau?”
“How’s my Sophie
doing in school?”
“Needs work on her
mathematics, but otherwise, one of my top.”
The officer smiled at their exchange of words and waved us to an office in the back. We walked back and found the man who had come by Angélique’s house earlier. There was also another man next to him, a taller man who seemed a little older, and getting that horseshoe baldness going.
“That boy was
located. They found him this morning at the hotel, after having scared all his
friends half to death. Apparently he drank a little too much last night and
passed out in the wrong room at the hotel.”
“Is he still around?
I want to give him a piece of my mind, I bet he got this poor girl drunk!”
“No, he left
already. Their tour group was already really behind in their schedule… Why, did
the girl say that the boy did anything to her?”
The three looked at me. They had talked a little bit and stared at me as if I had an answer to a question never asked. The tall man spoke up in very good English.
“My name is Inspector Vachel Facet. How are you feeling?”
The sound of my language spoken so well almost made me want to hug the man.
“My head hurts, but otherwise fine.”
“That’s good… Now, last night. Did Anthony… do anything to you?”
“Do anything to me? What are you talking about? I am Anthony!”
The tall man translated my statement and the three of them looked at each other hesitantly. Inspector Bedeau spoke up.
“I questioned
Anthony before he left this morning. He said he didn’t see a girl last night,
and Javier
said he’d sold wine to the boy, but
that when he was at Le Febre he was alone. Fact is, no one in town has seen an
American girl of this age and she wasn’t part of that tour group,”
“Where is she from
then? A girl this old doesn’t just walk out this far into the country on her
own? You think maybe she took a train?” asked Inspector Facet.
They’re eyes were on me again. Questioning me, I realized every time I said my name was Anthony, I didn’t look very sane.
“I um… Why what happened that would make you think. Something… happened to me?” I asked. I was trying to get information, without backing down and saying I wasn’t Anthony.
“Monsieur Anthony left on the bus a half hour ago. We just wanted to make sure that you were all right so that we didn’t have to get the bus back here.”
My heart dropped and my stomach flipped. “I… left? But but, how can that be?” I felt my knees get weak, and I started to topple. Angélique caught me before I completely hit the ground.
“I don’t think she’s
well, she’s been like this all day,” Angélique said. Inspector Facet plowed on.
“Where are you from Alouette?”
I let the name thing go, but still took a few deep breaths
before answering. “
“What are you doing in
“Here to study.”
“How old are you?”
“22.”
That answer didn’t bode well. He explained to Angélique and Inspector Bedeau. They all looked at me like I’d told a bad joke.
“How old are you really?”
“What do you mean how old am I really? I’m 22.”
“Okay, you’re very close to being rated clinically insane. You are not 22, you are not a boy named Anthony. Do you want a mirror to confirm these facts?”
The word insane carried weight with it. I realized where this might go. I also realized how I must look telling them the things I was with the body I was in. I sulked my head. Time to make a story…
“Okay fine, my name is Alouette. I’m from
“Where is your family?”
“No family.”
“So you’re an orphan?”
“Sure, why not.”
“This is serious Alouette. You do realize you’re on your own right? There’s no one checked into any of these hotels that we haven’t already talked to today. There’s no other American that could plausibly be from your family.”
“Looks like I’m up sh*ts creek huh?”
I could tell he was getting a little impatient with me, but somehow I didn’t care. They didn’t want to believe the truth, so why not just be an ass in spite?
“Be serious. What the hell are you going to do?”
“Run away and join the circus.”
He looked about ready to slap cuffs on me. He turned to Angélique.
“Did you find any
identification, any money, anything about this girl when you picked her up?”
“I don’t think she
was wearing her own clothes. Her clothes were kind of big and didn’t have
anything in the pockets.”
“You said she was
drunk too, right?”
“Excessively.”
I was really starting to dislike my inability with the French language, it was like I was not part of the conversation that probably controlled a very important part of my immediate future. The three of them turned to me once more after they had conferred with each other.
“Where did you get wine last night?” Inspector Facet asked me.
“Le Febre.”
“Liar, I talked to Javier this morning. He said he only sold to Anthony, and more specifically that you weren’t with Anthony.”
“No, he sold wine to me, I can swear my life on that.”
“Javier is godfather to my son. He was in my grammar school with me. His word is bond.”
“Look, that’s where I got my wine. I’ve got a wicked headache now… Okay? No one is going to come for me, my bus left this morning, what do you want from me?”
“I don’t know what
to do with this snobbish little American. She’s probably some sort of gypsy
liar. Just roaming around saying whatever she can to cause trouble.”
“Should I deport her
to a juvenile center in
Angélique
interjected. “No! She didn’t really do anything wrong. Think about it, she’s had
a rougher time of it then you think. She’s got no one for her, and she was
reduced to lies like these, don’t you feel as sorry for her as I do?”
“Perhaps you’re
right, but what are we going to do with her?”
There was silence for a moment and I got a little uncomfortable. I think they thought I was absolutely crazy. To a point I didn’t blame them. I felt I should act quick.
“I uh… have amnesia. It happens… after having wine...”
Inspector Facet explained again, the other two looked a little more concerned now. They looked at me like this crude story was much more digestible then me being a 22-year-old male.
Suddenly… I felt something bad. My lavender corduroys began to get a little clammy. Angélique looked on at me and her eyes bulged a little. I looked down and found a growing wet spot spread forth from my crotch. The two inspectors looked on and made a face like “ah, just as I thought.”
“She’s… well that’s
the third time since I picked her up that she’s done that.”
Inspector Bedeau
shook his head. “Poor girl… poor sick girl.”
“Would it be okay if
I just took her to live with me for a little while?”
“I think that might
be best,” commented Inspector Bedeau.
My eyes started to water as I suddenly felt like shrinking behind Angélique.
“Something tells me
she’s been through a lot more then she wants to let on. Maybe she just needs a
good home for a while.”
Inspector Facet smiled ruefully at me. “Do 22-year-olds wet themselves Alouette?”
I cried.
French Whines…
Trois
By: CS Fox
Back during my days at the
Today… Today, I was the one making such a walk. I don’t even know what to think of it. It doesn’t even matter, I’m not really here anyways… Anthony has left the building people. Or more accurately, has left the body. Just call me Alouette.
Angélique gently squeezed my hand, I didn’t take much notice. I was pre-occupied and walking a little awkward because I was trying to hold down my baggy t-shirt over my wet corduroys.
“Your not great
friends with the wash room are you? Do you always just wet yourself like this?”
She spoke to me while squeezing my hand again. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t understand her, and I wasn’t in much of a mood for talk anyways. Our little meeting with the police hadn’t gone how I’d hoped. Instead of arguing my case as a 22-year-old man somehow transformed into a girl, I had instead found that the man… that I… had left. I’d also managed to solidify myself as a 15-year-old girl in their eyes. It was backwards progress if anything.
We went down the hill towards Angélique’s house. About mid-street we took a quick detour to another house. I followed along in sort of a daze, till my mind picked up on the fact that there would be people in the house, and that people would look at me and see me with wet pants… and then make a judgment.
Wouldn’t that make a great first impression on town locals, ‘Hi, I’m the psycho American girl who pees herself!’ I started dragging my feet. “Don’t trot me around on display Angélique! This is mean!”
“Stop struggling I
just need some advice from Madame Agnew.”
Despite my struggling, and ignoring Angélique’s inane admonishments, I was dragged to the front door. As soon as her hand hit the knocker, I quickly hid myself behind her. Maybe I could just hide there and die.
A young girl answered the door; she looked to be about my age. She had long brown hair and wore a big baggy sweater. Behind her was an even younger girl in a dress, she had a dolly in one hand and her thumb in her mouth. Both of them sort of leaned over so they could see around Angélique to me. I tried not to make eye contact.
“Teacher? What are
you doing here? It’s Saturday. I um… don’t need to do my homework till tomorrow
since it’s not due till Monday right?”
“Hello Papillon, and
no, I’m not here to nag you about your homework. Although, if you have it done
on Monday that would certainly be a surprise,” Angélique said.
The girl my age
blushed. “Then what are you doing
here?”
“At least speak with
a little more courtesy Papillon. I’m here to see your mom. Is she in?”
From what I could tell, Angélique knew the older child, and in their brief conversation so far, she hadn’t mentioned me, which relieved me a little. The girl my age turned her head and called out for her “Maman.”
An older lady came down the stairs with an infant on her
hip. She looked a little raggad, but still pretty underneath the fatigue.
“Oh Angélique, how nice to see you…” said
Jeanne warmly. Then her eyes shot to Papillon. “Wait, what’s Papillon done this
time?”
“Oh nothing nothing
Jeanne. I just came to speak to you.”
“Well come in, you
know your welcome to visit any time.”
“I um.. think I
better not.”
Angélique stuttered for a moment and looked down at me. I gulped loudly realizing that it was probably time I reveal myself in my state of embarrassment. The lady, whom I assumed to be the mother of these three, followed Angélique’s eyes to me.
“Oh who’s that
Angélique? Is she a new student of yours?”
“Actually she’s an
American runaway. I’m going to be taking care of her for a while, till we can
find her parents anyway.”
“A little girl like
that? On her own? My goodness.”
“She actually um…”
Angélique leaned forward and motioned for Jeanne to come closer so she could
whisper.
It was bad enough that they were talking in French, but to have whispered stuff to each other in French too? What is this? Overlapping layers of security? I didn’t think it mattered, I knew what they were talking about… hell what they were talking about was starting to feel cold and uncomfortable under my shirt.
“My word, three
times already?”
“Isn’t that awful?
I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“Hehe so you thought
to come to me? The girl with three children and ask advice?”
“I thought you’d
know best,” Angélique said with a smile.
“And don’t ever let
anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Do you think its
coincidence?”
“No, she probably
has poor potty habits. Let me pack you a bag. I’d say…” Jeanne looked at her
daughter Papillon who was staring at her intently. Her mother’s whispering was
opening that curious intent of hers. “Papillon go upstairs, and take your little
sister.”
The girl my age frowned and wandered off with the girl behind her. Her mother waited till she was up the stairs and then started talking in a quieter voice to Angélique.
“Papillon would
never talk to me for a year if she knew I’m going to tell you this, but she used
to wet the bed till she was 10. I bet that’s the problem with this girl. Just
diaper her before bed and keep her in some thicker panties during the day. Like
trainers or something… or if it’s really bad, those disposable things at the
market.”
“That’ll be great.”
“Here I’ll get some
of Papillon’s old stuff, I’ll be right back.”
The mother left the doorway and went upstairs. Angélique turned around to me and crouched down.
“Désolé…” she said softly. I wasn’t really sure what she said or what to say back. I was appreciative that she hadn’t blown my spot to everyone, or at least she hadn’t done what I was imagining she’d do. I felt for sure she’d step behind me, push me forward and pull my shirt up so their was no doubting what she was whispering about… but then when she’d done the whispering and the mother sent the young girl away, I realized she was trying to help me.
The mother returned shortly with a brown bag. It was left over from a trip to the grocery store by the look of it. She handed it to Angélique and we left.
We walked in silence. I wanted to know what was in the bag, but if Angélique were to tell me I wouldn’t understand anyway. It was a short distance to her house and when we got in she had me bathe again. I got some more fresh clothes, but something odd this time, the panties she gave me seemed a little tighter, rather then looser like the other pair I’d worn. Also, they seemed a bit… thicker.
“Wow it’s already
lunchtime. Are you hungry?”
I stared at her blankly. She tapped her chin with her forefinger and looked perplexed.
“Lunchtime… would
you like food?” she asked while rubbing her tummy.
“Oh… lunchtime. Yes, I’m hungry,” I said nodding my head. It seemed our best communication was cave-manish sign language. She took me downstairs and sat me at her kitchen table.
Once again I listened to a steady diatribe of French. It might as well have been elevator music. Bleeb-ba-dee-blah-blah-bleee… I mimicked her motor mouth with my hand while she had her back to me. She was chopping something up and probably telling me everything about herself, even though by now, she HAD to know that I didn’t understand any of it. Maybe she just liked to have someone to talk to, even if they couldn’t really properly respond back.
“So when I turned 23
I came back here to Colgneune.
Angélique turned in time to catch me looking boredly off into space and doing the talking hand thing. She frowned and roughly put a bowl of soup down in front of me. The noise of it on the table shook me out of a trance.
“What? Sorry, I just can’t understand you. How do you expect me to pay attention?”
Eating went by in quiet. I will say that Angélique is a good cook. In fact, as I sipped (more slurped) from my spoon, I took the time to actually really look her over. Something in my head told me I needed to look her over, but at the same time, I didn’t really see what was that interesting. She was pretty, but not more so then the other lady we’d stopped to talk to earlier. She was just, a nice girl… Not too old, like, motherhood age I suppose.
“Why are you staring
at me?”
Her voice broke me out of yet another trance. I nervously looked down at my soup and went back to slurping.
“Maybe I took on too
difficult a task. It’s not going to be easy taking care of someone who can’t
understand me...”
Lunch didn’t last too long, and afterward we were just left staring at each other. Seems I was stuck with her, since no one believed my story, and the law enforcement thought me a crazy liar.
“Do you have a computer?” I asked on a random thought.
She shook her head no… I walked over to her phone and picked it up. Angélique looked at me crossly and then came over to hang up the phone for me.
I looked at her, “Can I make a phone call?”
She knew what I was asking.
“Non. You’ll call some boy to come break
you out so you can just hit the road again. Don’t you think its time you turned
your life around?”
I frowned and left
the phone alone. Somewhere in town there was a phone or computer I could use.
Maybe I could access my old e-mail or something to get help from my friends. Or
maybe I could sneak out and get a phone card to call the
Angélique took my hand and led me across the room to two chairs by the fire place. She sat me in one and went to get a book from a stack on her desk. She put the book in my lap and sat down next to me. I looked at the title; it was apparently a grammar book.
“You want me to learn French?”
Angélique nodded and opened the book for me. She pointed at the first page, it had the alphabet and numbers 0-9. I shrugged, why not… this was why I came here anyway.
We got into the lesson. She would read something, and I would try to repeat exactly what she’d read. In this way, I was learning some of the basic soundings of the language. Small stuff like how “oui” which meant yes, came out as a “we” sound. It was the first stone of the foundation anyway.
We kept at it all afternoon, till I suddenly felt a little tickly feeling. I flung the book from my lap, startling Angélique and flew up the stairs. I made it to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I heard her come up the stairs a moment after me, lightly tapping at the door.
“Are you okay
Alouette?”
I ignored the voice beyond the door. By some miracle, I’d managed to make it up the stairs to the bathroom before once more creating a pond in my panties. Not only that, but after I’d sat down, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t just pee that I needed to do.
The door opened and Angélique’s head poked through. I yelled at her for privacy, but I couldn’t mistake the quick happiness that was there at seeing me sitting the way I was.
“Look at you! You
can do it!” she said coming into the room.
“Shut up! Whatever you’re saying, I don’t want to hear it!” I said trying to wave her off.
She walked up to me and checked my panties the way she would a preschooler. She frowned a little to find them wet, but was still happy that at least the majority of it was in the toilet. I on the other hand was a little bit less then happy. To me, it was like only predicting the rain after it had already started. I honestly would have probably just completely wet myself earlier if it had not been for the fact that I felt it first before it got too bad. Not only that, but I didn’t even feel the need to do number 2, but as I could tell now… I did.
Angélique turned around and at least gave me a tiny bit of privacy in cleaning myself up. When I flushed and was pulling my pants back up, she wouldn’t stop with the praises, it was thoroughly embarrassing; I knew that it was inappropriate for her to be doing it to a girl of my apparent age.
“Let me get another
pair of panties for you, those are wet.”
Angélique was holding her hand out to stop, so I stayed with my pants up to about my knees, frowning at whatever she wanted me to do. She left the room and came back just as quick with another pair of the smaller, yet thicker panties. I didn’t complain because my other pair was wet. Sadly, by my count, this was the fourth pair of clean panties I was putting on today after having wet another pair. Not a very noble record.
When I was fresh again, we went back downstairs and called it quits on the studying. Angélique babbled in French some more and grabbed her purse. I wasn’t sure what she wanted but I soon found that we were going to go out shopping. It was just about evening now as we started walking up into town.
Angélique was actually being pretty nice to me. She bought some clothes for me; nothing too fancy, just clothes that would fit and that I could wear. She let me choose them out, and of course I choose out the most boyish things I could find, but she didn’t seem to complain too much, as long as the clothes still came from the girl’s section of the small store. Oddly enough she didn’t have me buy any more underwear, which to me, was probably what I needed most, but oh well. Fitting clothes were nice to have.
We also stopped by the grocery store, where Angélique picked up a few things. I found myself wandering up and down the isles till I found a payphone towards the back of the store. I tried to get back there to use it, but when I did… I didn’t have any money or a calling card. Angélique found me a few moments later and called me over to her with a stern look on her face.
“You’re intent to
call somebody aren’t you? Well I won’t have it.”
We went home and had dinner. It was a simple meat and potatoes meal, but it was good and I was glad for it. Angélique the windbag continued her optimistic overuse of French in the hopes I’d catch on, but I just ate and nodded politely. After a while I even started talking to her in the gaps of silence, hoping that maybe the reverse would happen to her with English.
The rest of the evening went by fairly fast. I sat in the chair by the fireplace and browsed through some of her books. They were textbooks of various kinds, and I could tell they were aimed at younger audiences. So I just looked at pictures and went page to page.
Angélique sat in the other chair and read from a novel. She seemed pleased at my reading the textbooks. I think her opinion of me, was that I was just an unscrupulous trouble maker, who probably hadn’t had any schooling… but the fact of the matter was, when it came down to the amount of schooling I’d had, I’d probably had a higher education then her. Still I read till I found it hard to read and myself yawning more and more frequently.
“I’m getting tired,
and I can tell by your yawns that you are. What do you say we head up to bed?”
Angélique caught me nodding off. She piled the books on her desk again and led me upstairs. I was tired by now, so I didn’t really complain. Thinking a bit smartly, I went into the bathroom before heading to my bedroom, which Angélique was all smiles about. Unfortunately I didn’t have to go, but the thought was there at least.
When I got to what I assumed was going to be my bedroom for the time being, Angélique was waiting with the brown paper bag from that house we’d stopped at earlier. I raised a cautious eyebrow at her.
“Alouette, please
sit here, I need to talk to you.”
Angélique was patting the bed next to where she was crouching. I slowly went and sat there.
“After working a
number on this mattress last night, I’m going to listen to what Jeanne said and
keep you in diapers tonight. Is that okay?”
I really wanted to know what she was saying here, it sounded important, but I still had no idea. When she was done talking, I nodded slowly. Angélique started to fish something out of the bag, it was bundles of cloth. She stood me up and pulled off my shirt and then unbuttoned my pants and let them fall to the floor.
“New pajama’s?” I asked while looking at the white cloth and being undressed. It felt a little awkward to have someone undressing me, but I didn’t really fuss about it. She slid my panties down and patted for me to lie down on the bed. I did so a little nervously. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get dressed while lying down.
She took a few layers of the cloth and started to fold it up. She lifted my legs and in that moment, I realized what it looked like she was doing, and then hit even harder that it wasn’t just looking like she was doing it, she was ACTUALLY doing it. She was putting a diaper on me.
“Now hold on!” I yelped trying to jump up. She caught me with her hand.
“Lay down, this will
only take a minute.”
“Don’t you dare diaper me! I’m not a baby! The old me wasn’t! And even though this new body is younger, it’s not a baby!”
Angélique wasn’t taking my argument too well. She stopped for a moment and got up. She walked across the room and opened the laundry hamper and looked inside without touching anything.
“That’s 1, 2, 3, 4
pairs of wet underwear. Not to mention the sheets I put in the wash this
morning!”
She was counting things off on her hand. I blushed; I knew what she was counting. She was making her argument against why I should be diapered tonight. She walked back over and pushed me to lying back down. I resisted, but let her push me all the way down.
She slid the layers under me and then neatly brought them up and pinned them on. She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of plastic panties which she worked on over them. She pulled me up and off the bed. I brought my arm up and covered my chest, not really sure why, just felt I needed too, and I looked over at myself in the mirror.
I looked stupid. Mid-teen girl in a diaper. I was almost glad that I wasn’t a guy, because if I was caught like this as a guy, I’d never live it down.
Angélique brought in another long night shirt and put it on me. She pulled back the covers and insisted on tucking me in, just the way a mother would. I resented it a little, even more so because the plastic pants were a loud tell-tale, but at the same time a part of me knew that she was doing me a kindness. I’d probably still be at the police station if not for her.
“What about if I wake up and have to use the bathroom?” I asked.
She gave me the look of not understanding. I pointed at me, and then at the bathroom down the hall.
“You already went
before bed right? You shouldn’t need to go then before I get you up tomorrow
morning. We’re going to get up bright and early. I always go to church on
Sundays, and I think the first step on the road to a healthy lifestyle for you,
will be going back to church.”
“Never mind, sorry I asked,” I said as I rolled over. I was really starting to get fed up with even trying to get my point across.
She gently patted my head once and left the room turning out the light. I heard the door shut, and suddenly I was alone. The thought sort of scared me.
For the billionth time today, I started to cry. Now that I was actually alone, all of my thoughts ganged up on me. I really was alone. I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t have anyone who believed me. I was diapered because I couldn’t control myself. It was a horrible, rotten, nightmare…
I sobbed into my pillow, till somewhere down the way, my body gave out and went to sleep.
French Whines…
Quatre
By: CS Fox
It started with singing. I heard a sweet voice floating from downstairs and steadily migrating upstairs. I groggily blinked my eyes open in time to see Angélique come into the room.
“Alouette, gentille Alouette
Alouette je te plumerai…
Je te plumerai la tte
Je te plumerai la tte
Et la tte… et la tte
Alouette, Alouette…
O-o-o-o-oh”
I quickly rolled over and flopped face down into the pillow. “Not funny Angélique, hear me? Non… not funny,” I mumbled into the pillow. Her spirits were high and she put her hand on my back, playfully shaking me awake.
“Its time to get up
lil’ Alouette, the church bells will ring in two hours.”
“Speak French later, let me sleep now.”
Angélique pulled the covers back and they fluttered off like a parachute. I scrunched my knees up to my chest to guard against the sudden chill. Doing so made my diaper crinkle loudly and I cringed as last night came up into memory. I felt a hand being placed against my diaper. I immediately shot forward.
“Abuse abuse!” I yelled and looked back at Angélique.
“It’s a good thing I
listened to Jeanne. We’d have lake pee in here if I hadn’t.”
I stared at her a little apprehensively for a moment. She pointed at my diapered butt. I turned over and patted at the front of it with my hand.
“Oh jesus it’s wet,” I said barely believing what my hand was feeling. My voice also cracked a little with that whiney sobby tone. Angélique nodded.
She took my hand and led me to the bathroom, starting the tub. She then left me to my own devices. I removed my clothes and took off the wet diaper, balling it up with the plastic pants and leaving it in a soggy pile by the door. I got in the tub and just floated a minute staring at the ceiling.
“Alouette… who are you?” I asked the ceiling. It hurt
inside … I was already starting to think of Anthony as a separate person… I mean
think about it, he’d left and somehow, I hadn’t. Was someone else being Anthony?
Was some joker wearing me like a suit off in
“Alouette… who are you?” I asked again. My mind made up other answers. Maybe a girl had switched bodies with me. I had hers, now she had mine. That was possible. Or maybe it was like a bad episode of a sci-fi TV show, and I’d hit split infinity and broken into two people. One being the regular me, the other… being my polar opposite?
Actually scratch all that, it all sounded insane. Under the same guidelines I could really just be some 15-year-old girl who got drunk so often she developed fake memories that by chance coincided with a visiting student. In any case, none of it mattered, what did matter was the here and now. Right now, I am a girl. Right now, I can’t change or ignore that. Right now I have no friends and no one to believe me. I wanted to cry again.
I washed myself with the same unfamiliar care. I was just going to take basic care of this body, because I didn’t expect to use it very long. This was a temporary shell for my consciousness, and it would never take over. I toweled off once more, with the same awkwardness of wet hair. I found Angélique in my room laying out clothes on the bed.
“Let’s get you in
your underclothes then work on your hair before you try on this dress. Hopefully
it fits; I used to wear it to church when I was your age. Brings back a lot of
memories actually.”
Angélique had laid out a black dress with white trim. I froze, what the HELL was that doing on the bed? Didn’t I just get some new, relatively boyish clothes yesterday?
“Wow bath not go so
well? You look mad.”
Angélique walked up to me and took the ends of the towel to tussle my hair. I was still not amused. She handed me an undershirt and pair of panties, which I put on, but then she stopped at the dress and grabbed a brush.
“I think it might be
nice if we try doing something with that hair, rather then just letting it lay
flat.”
She began brushing my hair, but it kind of tugged my head back. I swatted her hand away.
“Stop that! It hurts!”
Angélique put her hands on her hips. “You’ve probably never brushed it in your life, and somehow I doubt you conditioned it in the bathroom, its going to be a little rough getting out the tangles at first.”
“Leave it alone, it’ll dry and be fine straight,” I said as I started to turn away. Angélique grabbed my shoulder and started to try and brush my hair as I resisted.
“This… *brush brush*
won’t… *brush brush* take but a… *brush brush* moment.”
“Get the hell away from my hair!” I yelled twisting and turning as my head was pulled back every time the brush ran through my wet hair. Eventually she gave up and threw the brush on the bed.
“I give up, finish
your hair yourself!”
I stood with my arms crossed and smiled. Seems I’d won a little battle and she was going to leave my hair be. She moved to get the dress, my smile fled. *Ding* round two.
“No! Non! Not wearing a dress!” I made a break for the door once again, but her hand was like that of a cat on a running mouse.
“Stop it! Must you
resist everything I try to do for you? What’s wrong with this dress? Why do you
hate dressing up like a girl so much?”
“Non non! Leave me alone!”
Angélique let out a controlled scream and stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
“That was completely unfair!” I said aloud to myself. “Why couldn’t I be the one to leave?” I went over and plopped down on the bed.
I sat grumpy for a little while. Angélique was being so pushy. Take a bath. Comb your hair. Wear a dress. What the hell was she trying to do, train me to be a girl? What would I do afterwards, get some practice with her on making curtsies? I laid down staring up at the ceiling once again. I noticed the dress was lying next to me. I pushed it on the floor.
After I’d calmed down I went out of my room to find Angélique. She was in her room, with the door cracked open a little. I’d never seen her room, so I approached the door quietly.
Her room was very rustic looking and filled with wooden, antique looking furniture. She had a large bed with four tall bed posts and a canopy. In one corner was a make-up table with oval mirror, she was seated in front of it doing her own hair. She saw me peering at her from the crack of the door in the reflection of the mirror.
She didn’t turn to me, “Do whatever you want; I don’t care how you look. You’re going to church in that underwear if that’s how it has to be.”
She sounded angry. Angry, and also a little hurt at the same time. I left her to finish with her hair. I wandered back into my room, feeling a little guilty. She was really mad. All because I was making anything she wanted to do for me a chore.
I reviewed everything that had happened. She wanted me to take a bath, which was because I’d had a wet diaper (which was probably still lying on the bathroom floor). Then she’d wanted to brush my hair. I looked over in the mirror… it was a mess, so maybe that wasn’t uncalled for either. But… she had also wanted me to wear a dress.
I looked at the black dress lying in a pile on the floor and picked it up. “Only a girl would wear such a thing…” I said coldly.
My own use of the word “girl” rang in my ears. I looked at the dress again and then stepped over to the mirror. Staring at me was a blonde haired GIRL, her hair was a bit tangled, still not quite dry… her green uncertain eyes, always looking at themselves as if not to trust what they saw. There was no doubt; there was a girl in the mirror, at least by physical appearance. There may be a boy inside, but there was a girl outside. That’s what Angélique had to go on. She still didn’t believe or have the remotest thought that I was a boy, so she was trying to do what she could to take care of a girl… because that’s what she thought me to be.
Maybe I was being unfair to Angélique. I could see why she was angry now. She understood that I didn’t usually do these things, and that I needed help to get them done, and she wanted to help. I of course, finding them offensive and like a little stab at my male integrity, shoved them rudely back in her face.
I let out a deep sigh and went back to the bed. I sat down and picked up the brush, and tried brushing out my hair.
French Whines…
Cinq
By: CS Fox
“I’m ready…” I said looking through the crack in Angélique’s door. She was pulling up her hose and stepping into a nice pair of shoes. Hearing my voice she looked up at me and her eyes just lit up.
“Oh your gorgeous!” she said with a huge smile. She waved me into the room and clasped her hands together. “It looks wonderful.”
I walked into the room feeling a little stupid. I was wearing a foofy, girly, uncomfortable dress; but at least it set Angélique abuzz with happy sounds. Her voice was just about in song again as she came up to primp and finish out the last few details I’d missed. I was happy that I had at least relinquished her anger.
“Thank you Alouette.
I really appreciate what you’ve done. I’m sorry I was mad earlier, but I’ve
decided if I’m going to care for you, I’m going to do it like I teach my
classes. I’ll be your teacher first, and your friend later.”
I heard “merci” coupled with my name. There was also another long thread of speech with it, but I think they were just more praises that I’d given in and done what she’d asked.
All smiles now, Angélique went to a drawer and got out a white ribbon. She came to me and started to play with my hair. I stifled back the urge to bolt and let her do what she wanted. I’ve come this far, might as well let her have her day. Taking a handful of hair from the right side of my head, and then another from the left side, she started to braid it together; she left the good majority of the hair in the middle going straight down my back. In the end, I had my hair braided into a pony tail, on top of straight hair in the back, with a white ribbon on the end. The overall process wasn’t too horrible, but I still felt a little more girly then I would have cared too.
“Perfect,” Angélique said with a smile. She finished getting ready just as church bells began to ring somewhere in the town.
“We’re going to church?” I said a little curiously. The clothes and preparations suddenly made a lot more sense now. Angélique didn’t answer my question, probably because she couldn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter, I knew the answer. It had been a long time since I’d been to church. My family is a Christmas and Easter family as far as church is concerned.
As for me personally, I guess you could say I’m spiritual. I was raised being read the bible by my grandma, but you could probably only say I’ve taken it half to heart. Still church would be interesting. It would be like my debut upon the town.
“There’s St. Oren’s
bells. Let’s be on our way.”
Once again my hand was grabbed and off we went; down the stairs and out the door and into the little town once more (yay, it rhymes).
The church was on the east side of town. We weaved around the lower hill, having only to walk about four blocks once we were actually in the town. From the looks of things, everyone went to church on Sunday. Families and neighbors were all in their best and on their way to where they had heard the bells calling. Angélique said “bonjour” to half a dozen people about every block we passed and answered what I assumed to be inquiries about me.
“Who’s that
Angélique? One of your students?”
“This is Allouette,
an American girl who will be staying with me for a while.”
“Well doesn’t she
look pretty!”
“Mommy, she doesn’t
really… walk like a girl.”
“Shhhh, that’s just
how American’s walk. Don’t make fun.”
The church was very pretty. I realized I’d passed it my first day here. It was next to the little catholic school, and looked about as old as that accursed winery. Its stone structure and large double doors were inviting all to come in, including a little stranger like me.
Angélique led me in, saying a bunch more “bonjours” mixed in with polite gossip, and a nod to one of the priory standing at the door. I did my best to keep my eyes on the floor, and avoid everyone’s questioning gaze. Apparently a new face in a close-nit church was cause for stares.
Taking a moment to sit and brush the damn foofy dress flat, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one my age. There were at least ten or fifteen boys and girls about my age. I could even see that girl whose house we’d stopped by the other day. She was sitting with her mother and father, and also the two other children of her family.
Further down the rows, I could see Inspector Facet, who shot me a mean smirk. I stuck my tongue out at him and he mouthed the words in English “that’s a nice dress” to which I was about to flick him off, but Angélique caught my hand before I could do it and gave it a gentle slap. A few more rings of the bells and the organ started to play. The chatter of the congregation died down and everyone started to fish out the hymnals from the pews.
Now if you’ve ever been to a foreign movie with no subtitles, then you’ve had an experience like I have at St. Oren’s. The pastor was very animated and proceeded to shout fire and brimstone in that French eloquence that I have no comprehension of.
Boredom gripped me in less then ten minutes. As a rule, I’ve always considered myself to have a mild case of attention deficit disorder. All the way since elementary school, I’ve found my mind wanders away from just about everything that doesn’t have a TV or computer screen attached to it. Sightseeing didn’t count, because there was the novelty of something new attached to that, but as far as church went, there was nothing new about this church, only the language selected for its sermon.
I got to fidgeting, which didn’t please Angélique. I switched gears to just flipping through the hymnals and prayer books, hoping for something interesting. In the back of the prayer books they had some pictures, so I amused myself a little while looking at them and making up a story to go along with them. I’d share them here, but most of them were fairly blasphemous, so it’s probably better left undone.
The sermon dragged on for the better part of an hour. Then
everyone was on their feet, and singing in high volume; followed by offering,
sacrament and communion, second offering and finally, more singing. I went
through the motions, and even started to sing along to “Ave Maria” which was
played during second offering. I knew a little bit of Latin, and that song was
obviously the same in the
After church we lined up in wait to meet the pastor. It seemed the whole town gleefully got in line to shake his hand and say hello. Angélique of course, was in no rush so we were towards the back of the line. I really wanted to be in a rush, but I didn’t know what I needed to rush for. I really didn’t have anything to do, except try and find out some very important questions that I had no idea how to start answering.
“Angélique, you
bring a new face to my flock?” Father Salade asked warmly.
“This is Alouette,
Father. She is from
Angélique was talking to the pastor, and after saying my name, he extended his hand to me. I shook it a little nervously tried not to look into his eyes very much, but he seemed like a nice enough individual. I gave him a weak “hello.”
“Ah, so this is the
girl that Inspector Facet and Bedeau had mentioned. You know, that’s an awfully
nice thing you’re doing for her.”
“Thank you father. I
couldn’t help it really. Her story just broke my heart.”
“Her story?”
“I don’t know it
really. I found her drunk in the ditch in the back road behind town. She can’t
speak French, and everything she said in English seemed to be nothing but lies
to try and confuse us. Truth be told, I think she’s been a runaway for a few
years now, and it just made me sad to think how long she’s been living on the
streets.”
“You have a heart of
gold Angélique, and everyone will smile at you for it. Bless you child.”
The pastor and Angélique exchanged pleasantries for a while, and occasionally, the pastor would look down at me with this horrible expression. He looked like he wanted to say “Oh you poor pathetic thing.” It made me feel rotten, because somehow I think my story was starting to get around, and from what I’d gathered, it read something like “Young runaway, drinks a lot, winds up in ditch… pees herself.” That last part I’m not sure if everyone knew, because I think up to now it hadn’t happened publicly, which I was hoping to keep that way. Still, it felt miserable to be the outsider, and even worse to be the pitiable one.
We left the church and started walking back towards Angélique’s house. I wasn’t really sure what the rest of the afternoon held, probably some French lessons. Angélique seemed in high spirits, like her big day on the town had gone well. I think more like she was happy I didn’t cause a scene like I’d done everywhere else.
As if on cue, I froze. Angélique stopped walking as she felt my hand tug at hers from the stop of momentum. A small trail of liquid rain down my leg and pooled around my shoes on the cobblestone, staining my socks as it traveled over them.
It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to start the waterworks in my eyes. Angélique had a rising look of anger in hers, until she saw the tears forming. She quickly bent down and her face changed to a serene look of care and concern.
“Awww Alouette, you
really can’t help it can you?”
She was giving me that same pity look the pastor had.
“Come on, let’s get
you home quick.”
We hurried home a little faster. It was almost routine now what we did. She had me take off the wet things, and then hop in the tub. When I was out, I came back to the room, and Angélique had a few more of the cloth diapers lying on the bed.
“NON!” I shouted when I saw them. Angélique looked at me a little torn.
“I knew this would
be a delicate situation. It was like this last night too.”
“I’m not wearing. No. Non.”
Angélique pointed at the laundry bin again. I shrugged. “So what? I’d rather make mountains of laundry then wear a diaper all day.”
Angélique could see the frustration written on my face. “I’d be upset if I were you too. I know you can’t control it, but it’s just easier this way. I was hopeful last night when you made it to the bathroom, but you’re just going to have to deal with this till I can help you get better.”
She patted the bed next to her. I didn’t budge. I could tell by her voice she wanted to reason with me, but I was beyond reason. She’d gotten me i