A cappella

Chapter 28: Powder in the eyes

With an angry hand she brushed the pink powder across her eyelids, from the corner of her eye up to the end of her eyebrow, on one side all the way to the other, holding back the tears that percolated. 

Her mouth would also be of pink color today, but of a dark pink, almost purple, enlarged with a pencil and then filled in with a lick of gloss. She smoothed her naturally thin eyebrows, hesitated to make her eyelashes too, which were short and scarce, then decided that she would add a bit of mascara to make them look longer.

It was not Danielle's marriage that made her sad, no, on the contrary, it was beautiful to see her happiness. She was sad because Max was leaving. She was still unable to get a hold of him, like that day when, rushing to the house of Max's grandparents, she had seen him drive away. 

Ever since they met, every time she thought she was getting closer to him, she noticed how he moved away. Every time they finally felt like friends, almost intimate, she found him the next day more a stranger. Although, she had a feeling he was going to leave, her heart always hoped that he would stay until, during the ceremony at the town hall, and as Max handed her his phone for a minute so as to sign, in his role of a witness to the registration of marriage, she had seen the screen light up for a moment and with a new message displayed: confirmation of flight Air France.

Max was leaving. All of a sudden, the magic of the moment - the marriage of her two friends - had evaporated. She had felt ridiculous, in her little blue suit, her round eyes behind her glasses, and her heart was so heavy that she had trouble breathing.

She carefully folded around herself the pink and violet boubou that a friend at her university had lent her. The shimmering fabric made her feel better, different. It was no longer Marion that the mirror reflected, but a strange, unknown creature. 

She adorned her white arms with carved wooden bracelets, and ended by adjusting on her head a long turban of the same fabric as the dress, which she had learned to fold repeatedly, until she had a skilful construction on her head. It was her idea of a surprise for Babakar, who was without a family on his wedding day. 

She would be his family, dressed for a few hours with the traditional Senegalese dress. The dress, of course, was only a display, an impression, but it nevertheless sends a strong signal on the identity of the person, and Marion wanted to tell Babakar that they were really friends, beyond their cultural differences.

While she was preparing on the second floor, she could hear downstairs in the main room of the african coffee house where the marriage meal was taking place, the classical music that accompanied the dance routine that Danielle's little pupils presented in her honor.

Throughout the meal, the friends of the bride and groom would succeed each other on the stage in the center of the room, some expressing merely their joy and their wishes of happiness to the young couple, others like little ballerinas, offering the guests a spectacle, more or less improvised.

It was Stéphane who was in charge of the musical accompaniment and the presentation of the different acts. When Marion heard the music stop, and after the applause, Stephan's voice resumed, she decided it was time for her to get up. It was her turn to express herself.

She descended the stairs slowly, slightly raising the long skirt of her boubou, carefully placing her feet in high heels on the steps, keeping her eyes lowered - especially do not cross the eyes of Max.

Stéphane chose an African rhythm to accompany her performance. The drums fanned the surprise effect of her appearance. Sartled, Babakar jumped to meet her, holding out his hand to help her down the last steps. She was beautiful, the white African, and he applauded her as she made her way to the microphone.