Clueless

Phase One

Phase One

            I stretched and yawned and stretched some more, allowing the elegant morning light stream cosily in from the window. Everything here seemed so elegant, so beautiful. It was as if these people lived on beauty and elegance—even the food, the tableware, it was all so pretty and nice. The curtains were dainty little things, decorated with an array of ever-so-beautiful flowers along a pale green background.

            The smell of fresh fruits being cut up in the small kitchen of our resort woke me up even further; I pushed the blankets aside and pulled on my new blue T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. I pulled a comb through my hair and skipped merrily into the kitchen where my married brother and sister-in-law were sitting down to a smoothie (which they shared) and my parents were showing my little 4-year-old niece Diana how to wash blueberries for her smoothie.

            “Good morning,” I muttered to the whole family, “What are we having for breakfast?” A jumbled reply of everyone trying to answer at the same time resulted in Diana’s cute little “toasties and bacons”. By “toasties”, I knew she meant a generous slice of French baguette and sausage by “bacons”. Another relaxed breakfast…so comfortable…if only Mother and Father didn’t bother so much with their work…

 

            “I do, I do!” I called behind my shoulder, “I won’t be long!”

            “Meet us Café Dumont! Remember! Call us if you ever get lost!” my parents yelled back. This was so exciting! Finally, a chance to use my French which I had been studying so determinedly at school would finally pay off!

            As I strolled about the pretty French bakeries, cafes, shops, and traditional French restaurants, a great feeling of envy fell on me. These people got to live here in this peace and quiet of the little urban areas while American cities just bustled so hurriedly. I continued to ponder about that for about half an hour while window-shopping.

            I turned to cross the street, and noticed a girl about my age at the same corner. A fragile girl, innocent-looking. This girl was quite pretty: medium height with wavy, glowing, blonde hair; emerald green eyes flashed at me and I felt nervous, suddenly. I glanced at the clock tower: 11:25! I was going to be late! My parents were expecting me at 12:00!

            “Où est le Café Dumont?” I asked the girl, trying to be fluent in French. The girl stared at me, almost in horror, which flashed into excitement.

            “I can take you,” she offered, “I know where it is. Come on!” I lingered for a moment, not sure whether to follow the stranger or not, but gave in at the end.

            “Um…thank you…”I muttered as we arrived at the café. It looked historic with a large red awning stretched across the door, under it a few outdoor-seating areas.

            “I’ll show you in!” the girl offered, and swung the door open with great strength, “Come on!” I followed obediently, and stepped in to the warm, scent-filled air of the coffee shop. Not seeing my family, I felt a bit uncomfortable, but kept that to myself.

            “This way,” the girl motioned towards a slim walkway away from the chairs and tables. I hesitated, and the girl laughed, “Come on, it’s not dangerous!” I followed with a pounding heart, not sure what would happen. At the end of the short hallway was a large, metal door with a combination lock.

            “Come on, Elodie,” the girl called, unlocking and entering what was behind the door. I stopped dead. How did she know my name? One yank and I was falling, falling, falling down a shaft of some sort.

            At the bottom, where we landed softly, were my parents and brother and sister-in-law and Diana. What was happening? Where was I? What kind of joke was this? Ugh!

            “WHAT’S GOING ON?!” I shrieked.