Long Walk Home
We met back up with our friends in front of Le P’tit Vélo. It must have been nearly 4:00 in the morning. I had no idea where the time went, but just at that moment I realized that the cute black heels I was wearing had taken their toll on my feet and the air around me was cold.
“Où habitez-vous?” French James Dean asked, wondering where Kayla and I lived. He spoke absolutely no English, which at first was charming, but that late in the night my brain was not up to the challenge. Together, Kayla and I managed to describe where our host parents lived on the northeast part of town.
French James Dean looked guilty and sad. He explained that he and his friend had plans in Paris the next day and needed to catch the first train out of Rennes. Because Gare de Rennes, the train station, was south of the town center, the guys had to go straight there.
French James Dean pulled me aside, “Je suis très content de faire ta connaissance, je souhaite je peut rester près de toi,” he kissed my cheeck, “peut-être, on peut revoir quelque jour…” just then, his friend pulled him away.
Kayla and I were left in Place de St. Anne with no ride, no bus, and a 30-minute walk home. Now I was really regretting that shoe choice. I was quiet, but a million thoughts were swirling in my head and butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
“So…where did you guys go off to? What did you do?” Kayla interrogated me as we started the long walk home. Before I had the chance to answer her, we heard loud footsteps approaching quickly. I turned around and there was French James Dean. He was a little out of breathe, but he was able to ask for my phone.
“Voilà, mon numéro. S’il te plait, m’envoies un texto quand tu arrive chez toi, j’ai besoin de savoir que vous êtes saines et sauves.” He handed the phone back to me, his hand lingered on mine for some time before he ran back to catch up with his friend. I guess if he couldn’t escort us back home, the least he could do was give me his number.
“Wow, he must really like you!” Kayla exclaimed.
“Yeah I guess…” He must really like me, I thought, not sure if it was out loud or not.
We continued walking down Rue d’Antrain. Kayla and I kept talking and walking, before I knew it, we were turning the last corner and our houses we only a few more steps away. I looked down at my phone; French James Dean’s number looked so foreign to me, as did his nickname… Flo.
“So, are you going to tell him?” Kayla asked as we reached her house.