Mess of a life

13- Memory lane

"Les filles, soyez attentives ou prenez la porte." (girls, pay attention or leave the class) Scolded the physics teacher, throwing us a look over her glasses.

Even if she was trying to sound stern, I knew she couldn't. She liked us too much. The feeling was mutual, and that's why we tried to usher our excited whispers. The June sun was shining through the windows, illuminating our desks with the colours of the end of school year. Even if the professors tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, persisting with their classes in front of distracted students, nobody was fooled. Two weeks would see the beginning of the summer break, and nobody was interested in learning anymore.

I couldn't wait for the day to end either. As enthusiastic as I was for the camping trip I was planning with my friends – our very first travel together and on our own – it couldn't distract me from the guilt weighting down on my chest. I was more than eager for this day to end, so that I could come back home and apologize for the way I stormed out this morning, slamming the door and yelling at my parents that they didn't understand anything and other profanities I wish I could forget. It wasn't like me to get pissed at my parents, I was the type of complying child, and we never really disagreed. But this morning, when they told me about their reservations for the camping trip, I got angry.

Now, I was calmer, and deeply sorry for the way I spoke. I regretted not handling things the mature way, like I should have. But everything would soon be okay, because I'd apologize as soon as I got home in an hour.

"Camille, viens avec moi au bureau du Proviseur s'il te plaît. » (camille, come with me to the Principle's office please)

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear the knock on the door, and I jumped when my name was called. My heart was already beating fast even though I couldn't possibly find a fault in my behaviour lately. Okay, I was a bit more distracted than usual, but everyone else too. It wasn't enough to be sent to the Principal's office, right?

In a daze I followed the short woman though the familiar corridors as she led me outside of the class building and into the administrative one. I didn't know yet it was the last time I steeped on the ugly tiles.

The next events were blurry. Most of them were blurry, almost erased from my mind save from a few precise details. The doorknob creaked lightly when the woman turned it to enter an office. There was a small stain on the window, that created a shadow on the bluish linen floor as the sun hit it. The policewoman's uniform looked perfectly ironed. She held her cap under her arm.

The headmaster's brows were furrowed. He urged me to take a seat in front of his desk. I think I refused. I couldn't move. The energy in this room felt wrong.

"Camille..." Some man I hadn't noticed yet stepped forward. He too was frowning.

He had the physique of any other man, extraordinarily unnoticeable. His face wad the one of the man sitting at a café, reading on a tablet. Your eyes swept over him but didn't see him. The features of a dog-walker that you crossed paths with and had forgotten a second later.

Not the face of someone breaking your entire world with a few words.

"Je suis assistant social. Ta famille a été victime d'un accident de voiture. Je suis désolé. » (i am a social worker. Your family was victim of a car crash. I'm sorry)

I wouldn't remember his face. But these words would remain with me for the rest of my life. Especially the way he added I'm sorry. Like those words explained everything he wasn't brave enough to say out loud. I'm sorry, like the sugarcoating of what he truly meant: your family is dead. He offered condolences for an unspoken tragedy.