A cappella

Chapter 21: Gestures and language of the eyes

Nose against the window of the cafeteria of the hospital, Marion remained motionless, almost fascinated.

"What are you looking at?" Said Babakar, stopping at her side and glancing over the young lady's shoulder.

In the cafeteria there was the usual animation: patients in the hospital in dressing-gowns and slippers, who had left their room for a short walk, pretending to be in a restaurant or cafe, people who came to visit a relative, and then there were also the doctors and nurses who were taking a break, and the students like her who, dressed in their white coats, already took themselves for doctors. Dark and lonely, he was there too, sitting at a table in the middle of the room.

Behind her, looking over her shoulder, Babakar exclaimed: "But Max is there! Can you see him? Yes, of course you can, that's who you were looking at this whole time ... That's why you're standing here, instead of entering ... say, he doesn't seem to be having a good day! His arms are crossed, head low, round back, oh gosh... moreover, he's alone ... in my opinion he's suffering of... an oversized self-esteem ... "

Marion smiled. They had just come out of a behavioral psychology course taught by Dr. Kate Allan, and Babakar was trying to clumsily apply what they had just learned. "The position of the body says a lot about the state of mind of the person", had taught them the psychiatrist as he made comments on photos.

But it was clear that in this room where everything was noises and movements, Max's immobility was neither arrogance nor contempt for others, but rather resounded like a cry of anguish or a cry for help.

"Go on, Marion, go see him, you will know how to help him better than I. The last time we saw each other, we end up fighting... plus, it's your chance you know, its now or never, who knows... pressed babakar... "Hold on!"

He held her by the shoulder, as she was about to cross the threshold of the cafeteria. With a quick gesture, he removed the clip that held Marion's hair, took off her blue glasses, and put them in the pocket of the white coat of the medical student.

"Here. Go now. Let me know what happens..."

She made a few hesitant steps toward Max, then resolutely walked to the self-service, took a tray, two large glasses of orange juice, a mixed salad and two desserts, paid the cashier and returned to Max who kept his head down.

His eyes, hidden by the visor of his cap, first saw the navy blue and white sports shoes, then the legs of the jeans and finally the sides of the white coat. He raised his head slowly to look surreptitiously, between his thick and interspersed long eyelashes, who stood there. Marion handed him the orange juice and the fruit salad bowl and sat down in front of him with a smile as a greeting. He looked out of the window at once, without touching what she offered him, and without engaging in conversation.

She did not know what to say. Her cheeks were still burning with the remembrance of that evening when, in the dark, she had made the first step towards him, regretting it at once. It was Max, not like the regular boys of her acquaintances ... someone special, who came from elsewhere, who had other ways of doing and followed other laws, that she would not have had to ignore as well. He had had an almost imperceptible movement that night, and then deliberately, as if not to hurt her, had chosen to close his arm around her, and to stroke her hair lightly. It was all he had been willing to give her, it was his response constrained to her own impetus, she had been too spontaneous for him.

She began to eat her mixed salad, at first a little uncomfortable, then trying to give a little more concentration on what she ate, small cherry tomatoes and parsley potatoes. She was not going to throw herself this time, she would wait for him to come to her.

He raised his head to see whom he was dealing with. He recognized Marion at once, despite the white coat that made her seem much older, her clear face, her rather round eyes, light brown, lined with short eyelashes, which formed two half-moons when she dropped them, and which gave her face a cartoonish look. But it was her brown hair, smooth, light and light, which had turned his eyes towards the window. He had immediately remembered their silky touch under his hand...

"People who cross your path, one must try and form a real relationship with them, and for that, you must confide in them, let them approach you..." Danièle's words were very present in his memory, as he was looking for something to say to Marion. 

Out of the corner of his eye, between the curtains of his eyelashes, he noticed how she brought her hair back behind her ears, before starting to eat.

He straightened up, his arms crossed on his chest, his head still turned towards the side, towards the window, his face half concealed by the visor of his cap. He had always been accustomed to throw his, aggressive or attentive, but always relevant questions into the conversation without delay. They were fired without delay and formed a shield between him and the others ... It was always he who led the dance, pushing the others to speak so to avoid having to reveal himself. This was the method he used perfectly with Marion since the very first day, to have him as a friend while keeping her at bay. But he realised that so much sweetness mingled with such seriousness certainly deserved a little more consideration.

What he would have liked was to tell her what he had on his mind, of course, what kept him seated like that, riveted to his chair, limiting his movements and words. To tell her that he had just seen his pupil, always unconscious, her little face of a girl, once so alive, with a slight touch of make up, dressed every day for new adventures, eager for laughter and love, now frozen, motionless and pale, luckily she was concealed under the sheets, because the wounds were such that we preferred not to see them. The parents were at her bedside, the doctor also, he spoke of generalized infection, massive antibiotic treatment, he said that we had to wait...

It with her, Delphine, that Max wanted for the first time to try to apply Danièle's way of being closer to people, and not to merely pass by without seeing them and without extending his hand to them. Unfortunately, the accident had prevented the barely woven bond to take shape, leaving Max upset.

It was not a story that could easily be told, throwing smart sentences, humor and brilliance, a style often used by Max.

He remained silent, glancing at Marion, observing how she smiled at him from time to time, noticing her little white teeth and pink gums.

Little by little, since the silence settled and she was not offended, continuing to eat and smile at him, he felt a little more relaxed, touched in spite of himself by the friendly sweetness that emanated from her. 

He would have liked to tell her, yes, how difficult it was for him to be a teacher in an environment he wasn't accustomed to, how often it was simply difficult to be oneself amongst people who were never like him.

She had finished her plate, and had retired, leaning on the back of her chair to drink her orange juice, eyes fixed on him. He imitated her, finally uncrossing his arms, lifting his glass to his lips. Then, with his other hand, he took off his cap, freeing his hair, which was always too long and too curly, and when their eyes met, a smile finally lay on his tired face.

"I slept badly," he said. "I had a funny dream, very symbolic and impressive, it scared me."

"What was scary about it?"

"A butterfly," said Max, as Marion's eyes became all the more round in surprise.

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Sooorryyy i decided to go a chapter back and add another bit of detail about the dream Max had! Hope uve enjoyed it loveliess❤❤