Again, he shook his head. The only thing I could think of doing was putting my hand on his to try to comfort him. He squeezed back and wailed, “I miss my mom so much.”
I finally knew what was wrong, but I had no idea how to fix it. I remembered the nuns would always hug us children when we cried and their hugs were the best. Maybe it would work for André. It was awkward to move on the shelf of rocks we sat on with our legs dangling in the water, but I managed to adjust myself to wrap my arms around him.
Patting his back, I told him I wish I could bring his mom back and I’d pray really hard for it to happen. He cried harder, his body shaking and the sounds coming from his lips broke my heart. Since I never had a mom, I didn’t know how he felt. My curious mind got the best of me and I asked, “What was she like?”
His head popped up and he sniffled, his tear-stained face red and puffy as he tried to talk about her, the hiccups from crying so hard making it impossible. When he was able to speak clearer, he told me of baking cookies with her every holiday, “I would steal the spoon and run off with it. I always grabbed a big spoonful of the dough and hid in a cabinet so she couldn’t find me. She would run around the house searching for me. It always made me laugh and she would end up finding me.”
“Did you have to kneel and say Hail Mary when she caught you?” I asked, curious how moms differed from the nuns at the orphanage.
Chuckling, he replied, “No, silly. I never got in trouble for it. She probably knew I was going to do it and thought it was a fun game. But if I ever got in trouble, she would ground me.”
“Ground? Like make you lay on the ground or something?” I’d never heard of that term before and was genuinely curious of all the things I missed out on by not having parents.
“It means I couldn’t go play with my friends and had to sit in my room for days. It’s so boring. I’d much rather recite prayers and have it be over with fast.” Before I could respond, he added, “There’s so much you don’t know about families. That makes me sad. You should be the one crying because you never got to have one. I should be happy I had the time I did with them.”
I shrugged, “I can’t miss what I never had. Even though I feel bad you had to lose your parents, I’m glad you came here to be my friend and teach me things. Someday, when I leave this place, I’m going to have to know everything about the world outside. I heard they don’t really teach us. We turn eighteen and then have to leave.”
“I’ll teach you,” he was so sure in his words, it was a promise, one he would keep no matter what.
From that day forward, we were inseparable. As we became teenagers, Sister Marie no longer allowed us to be alone together. I didn’t really understand it and neither did André. We had a secret language we made up, so we could talk about things in the presence of others.
Our chores also became harder and took longer to complete. We were no longer put together on assigned duties and our classes were separate because he was older than me. Finding the time to spend together was a luxury, one we both cherished. I loved André and he loved me. We were family. I was the one who made him a special medallion out of the clay in the courtyard when he received his First Communion.
Using a piece of leather string, one I begged Sister Elizabeth to let me have, I created a necklace of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of protection. The paper I used to wrap it in was also handmade. I painted angels on it using the juice of berries as paint and straws of wheat as paintbrushes.
All my hard work was worth it when he opened it, careful not to rip the paper, and a tear trickled down his cheek. “Simone, this is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received in my life.” I helped put it on his neck and tied it in the back. “I’m never taking it off,” he promised as he stroked the carved surface. “You should be an artist. You’re so talented.”
I blushed from his compliment, “I just made it with love and that’s why it turned out so good. I don’t think it would be that pretty if I made it for anyone else.”
When it was my turn for my First Communion, he used some wood to make me a cross to hang above my bed. It was crudely made but it didn’t matter. To me, it was the most beautiful gift I’d ever received. Never mind it was the only gift I’d ever received.
At the age of thirteen, by then, I started to feel weird things when I was with him. My stomach fluttered when he smiled at me, and something burned inside of me when he was near. I didn’t understand it and was too embarrassed to say anything. I couldn’t ask any of the nuns either, for fear they would further separate us.
One day, they took us on a field trip to visit a church in another part of the city. We didn’t have a bus back then, so we all walked through the city of Lyon with Sister Marie in the lead and Sister Anna in the back.
As the older children, André and I were to help the younger ones to keep in line and make sure they didn’t wander off as we left our home on the Fourvière Hill. Though it was fall, the sun shone brightly, keeping us warm. My eyes kept wandering to my best friend and I was amazed at how good he looked with the sun causing his hair to lighten back to the sandy blond color it was when we were children. Over the past five years, his hair had darkened into a light brown color and not even the rays of sun in the summer lightened it back to its original shade.
A little girl named Claire tugged on my thin coat and pulled me from staring, “Simone, do we have to walk far? My legs are tired already.”
“Sister Marie said it’s on the Saône River. If you look down there, you can see the water. It’s not very far and we’re going downhill.” I pointed to where I could just make out the dark waters of the river and it seemed to make her happy. Watching her skip back to her friends made me smile. I remembered being that age and missed how simple life was then.
Glancing up, my eyes automatically searched for André but was stopped by a young man and woman holding hands and laughing as they walked down the street. They looked so happy and there was something else in their eyes, almost like how Sister Marie looked when she talked about God’s love for us. The woman giggled as the man pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers.
A strange feeling stirred in me, and I didn’t know what it was. Pleasant and warm, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the couple until after they released each other’s mouths and continued down the street with goofy grins on their faces.
Finally, I looked in front of me and spotted the back of André’s head. He seemed to be staring at the couple also. Turning back to the job at hand, he locked eyes with me. I felt myself wanting to go to him and just be near him. I wished the nuns hadn’t stopped us from holding hands because that’s what I craved.
I couldn’t wait to get to the church we were visiting so I could be relieved of my duties of watching the young children. I’d be able to sit next to my best friend and ask him about the couple and what they were doing. He almost always had the answers I craved to know about life outside of the orphanage. He’d taught me so much in our years together but as I found out today, I had so much more to learn. My life, up until that day, consisted of being only on the grounds of the church and the attached orphanage. We learned only of God, reading, and math, with a few life lessons thrown in. Most of which revolved around sins and not committing them.
If I hadn’t met André, I would have never known all the exciting things that laid beyond the gates of the only home I’d ever known.
As the towers of the church loomed in front of us, my excitement grew. I gathered the children in groups of ten as Sister Marie instructed me to do. My patience started to run out when the smallest ones refused to settle down and stand properly. I snapped at them and immediately felt horrible for doing so. Having never heard me raise my voice, the little ones listened, and we were finally led through the enormous wooden doors.
I looked around in awe at the arches that seemed to soar so high it made me dizzy. The stained-glass art at the top of the dome was stunning and the sunlight shining through made it come alive. Carvin
gs in the stone used to build the church were stunning and I wanted to be able to create masterpieces just like them, for all to enjoy.
We filed down the middle and I made sure the children sat in their seats on the pews. André did the same a couple of rows back. I lingered as he finished so we could take our seats together. He shot me a sheepish grin before waving me to enter the pew first and those flutters in my stomach came back.
We sat silently until the organ started, the melancholic music echoing in the large open church. I took the opportunity to whisper to André, “What was that couple doing?”
He looked at me with his mouth open, shaped in an O as his fair skin turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. Clearing his throat, he finally answered, “Kissing. That’s what couples do when they are in love. At least, that’s what I remember my parents doing all the time and they were really happy together.”
“Kissing,” I tried the unfamiliar word. “I wonder why people do that.”
He shrugged as he shifted in his seat, “I guess because it feels good to them. I don’t know because I’ve never done it, but I think people only do what they like to do.”
“Would you want to try it with me?” I asked boldly, never the one to hide my strange thoughts when I was with André. “I mean, to see how it feels.”
“Yes,” he replied. Whatever he planned on saying next was stopped when the music stopped and I realized the priest stood in the front, at the altar, ready to start the service. The nuns wanted us to see if there was any difference in this church’s ceremony compared to the one we attended at our own church. It was homework for all of us and I needed to pay attention, even though my stomach did flips.
It was hard to concentrate knowing André wanted to show me his love. I almost missed kneeling a few times and my friend had to poke me in the shoulder when it was time to stand. “Pay attention, Simone. Sister Anna is watching us,” he hissed quietly.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the service, though we shared a hymnal and were practically touching the whole time. I pretended to sing but mostly just listened to his voice. He’d developed a baritone voice over the years. When it first started to change, I teased him about becoming one of the frogs we hunted as children.
It seemed so long ago but in reality, it was only five years prior when he first came to the orphanage and I decided I would make him be not so angry. He still had moments of sadness and moments where he was in a foul mood for no reason, but mostly he was happy. The best friend a girl could ask for. The only problem was that I started to look at him not like a brother as we did when we were young, but something much more. I just didn’t know what I looked at him as. He was more to me than the nuns who were the only mothers I’d ever known. I knew I loved him, yet it seemed that love changed to something different than the ragtag family we’d become. I didn’t know much about marriage aside from the references we were taught. We’d talked about being married and starting a family together, I just didn’t know exactly what that entailed.
I pushed my thoughts aside as the priest finished his sermon and the organ started up again, this time playing a joyous melody. André seemed lost in the music as he stared at the giant cross hanging in the alcove behind the altar. It was something I noticed he did often and when I asked him about it previously, he answered, “I feel the love of God inside of me.”
Chapter Three - André
Simone asked me the most uncomfortable questions sometimes. Kissing was probably the worst one she’d ever asked me. I knew so much more about the relations between a man and a woman, but I couldn’t tell her that. Vaguely, I remembered my friends and I sneaking into a cinema and watching the movies we weren’t supposed to see.
Back then, I was only eleven and it was right before my parents died in a car crash. The things the couples did on the screen were so disgusting to me at such a young age, but now that I was seventeen, they seemed to be something I yearned for.
Kissing Simone was always on my mind when I wasn’t studying. The mundane chores were backbreaking, yet they gave me much time to let my mind wander. I knew I loved her like my parents loved each other. It was an adult love and one she was too young and too naive to understand. Her being my wife would make my life complete, but it would have to wait.
Sister Marie must have seen the budding feelings we had for each other because she tried her best to keep us apart. Many times, she spoke to me about sins and lust, and what that would mean for me as a child of God to give into temptation. I didn’t want to go to Hell. I wanted to go to Heaven to see my parents again, so I pushed down my desires.
The only time I felt at peace was in church when the music played at the end, and I could reflect upon my relationship with God. The thoughts of Simone disappeared during those times and I could feel his arms wrap around me. It was the start of a calling, one which I needed to follow. The only thing stopping me was Simone. I had one year to make a choice of what I would do and which part of my heart I would follow.
I knew my dreams of marrying Simone were selfish. She never experienced anything outside of the orphanage and it wouldn’t be fair to take away her chance to live once she turned eighteen herself. I knew my best friend well enough to know if she were to be with me, she would rely on me and never find out if there was another path for her. I wanted her to practice her art and try to make a living from it. Her talent and passion for it was still around my neck and also decorating my room with all the art pieces she made me over the years.
Not only that, but I fell into moods, much like my father had when he was alive. I’d have outbursts of anger causing Simone to cry. She always took it and forgave me each and every time. It scared me how I was like my father in those moments and she was like my mother, taking it because of her love for me. I also had times where I couldn’t get out of bed for days, feeling like darkness overtook me and I couldn’t climb out from it. Sister Marie always told everyone I had a cold and then cared for me, forcing me to eat and drink, and pray for strength. I couldn’t take the idea of my beautiful Simone being brought down by my own demons.
With as much as the nuns tried to keep us apart and my own fear of ruining her life, I couldn’t help finding a way to be alone with Simone, as selfish as it was. When everyone slept at night, I decided to sneak into her room in the girl’s wing and just spend time alone with her, so we could talk without everyone watching us. I wanted it to be like before we were deemed too old to be best friends.
That first night, I was scared. I wore no shoes and crept down the hallway avoiding the boards I knew squeaked. My heart pounded as I paused at Sister Marie’s room, listening for any signs of her being awake. It shocked me that I could hear her snores over the loud thudding of my heart.
Letting out the breath I was holding, I continued to the room where Simone shared a room with three other girls. The doors were always open at night. We were only allowed to close them when we changed our clothes in the morning.
Soft light from the full moon made it easier for me to see in, what would otherwise be, a pitch-black room. I hadn’t been in her room in years, and I hoped she didn’t change which bed she slept in. Though there was light, it wasn’t enough for me to see clearly who was in each bed.
Creeping slowly to where I hoped she slept, every sound of the orphanage caused me to pause. The old pipes groaning, the floors popping as the heat caused them to shrink, and the tapping of the untrimmed oak tree on the glass – all sounded so normal I never noticed them during the day. In the darkness of night while I did something I shouldn’t, the noises took on an eerie quality.
Once I was sure no one would burst through the room and catch me, I carefully poked Simone in the shoulder. She sighed and moved away so I poked her again until she started to wake from her slumber. “Shh,” I whispered to her as her eyes opened, the whites reflecting the moonlight.
“André?” she questioned softly, but it sounded like yelling in the quiet of the night.
I put my hand to her l
ips to shush her and grabbed her hand, tugging on it until she sat up. She didn’t question me anymore as she rose from the bed without a sound and followed me. I didn’t give her enough time to worry about putting on her shoes or covering up her pajamas.
Sister Marie still snored as we passed her room and made our way down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked. When we were children, we played hide and seek, and I never realized how handy that game would be later in our lives.
The kitchen located furthest from the sleeping quarters was the best place for us to have our midnight rendezvous. With the thick doors to keep the smells, heat, and noises away from the rest of our large home. Also, with part of the room built into the hill, it helped to keep it cooler in the summer and retain heat in the winter. I was always amazed at the knowledge the builders had thousands of years prior.
Thoughts of the building kept me from looking at Simone in her thin nightdress, but she pulled my attention to her, “What’s going on André? Why are we in the kitchen in the middle of the night?”
I forced myself to look at her eyes instead of every part of her body I yearned to see, “We never get to be alone anymore. I miss you.” I looked down at the floor, “Maybe it was a silly idea. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Oh, André!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice hushed. “This is a perfect idea! I’ve missed you so much, too. I hate that Sister Marie won’t let us have freedom anymore and I don’t understand why.”
I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the conversation I knew we would have. “It’s because when we get older, we start to have feelings and want to do things that go against what we are taught.”
She blinked her eyes rapidly and pursed her lips, “I don’t think we would commit any sins.”
“Not the sins, Simone. Other things that people who are in love do,” I tried to explain but was doing poorly at it.
Coming Undone Page 2
