Monsieur Pierre.

I decided to mention a little tidbit of my teenage years, not exactly but very close to a story of my first crush.




It was march, wind had come to play against her face, and she refused to give in and wake up, she snuggled deeper into her covers, and turned the other side away from her window, a dream in her head of the loveliest specimen known to mankind.

Ahhh! Monsieur Pierre.

Tall, slightly tanned, with brownish blond hair and green eyes the color of wet leaves.
He had reminded her of a disney-like prince charming, he had always greeted her with a smile a friendly "Bonjour" in that heavenly language of his.

She had flunked her midterm because she was so preoccupied watching him seated at his desk going through some papers, reading the documents with interest she longed he'd show her.

If only she was french! She had thought, she could flirt with him in his own language and not stutter like an idiot trying to form a sentence, and still he had always been so patient with her.
When she finally did manage to speak for herself he turned to the rest of the class and exclaimed, "Ecoute!! Ecoute!!" She had been so proud of herself then, but when she finally had gotten back home her thoughts turned to a horrifying turn that perhaps he had thought she was indeed helpless and could not believe that he had finally succeeded in making her converse.

She decided to throw that thought out of her head, he had liked her enough to turn to the rest of the class to say that.
Yes, he had liked her.

When it was finally the last day of classes, she had found out she had gotten a gleaming "B+" and the daunting announcement that Monsieur Pierre will be going back to France.

No.
Was the first word that came to mind, how could she go on with such an existence.

And he had looked so young then, with his dark jeans, and a simple white shirt, his hair lightly brushed.
"P-pour quoi allez-vois?!" she had managed, and he had smiled at her insistence in conversing with him in french, "I have work there, mon ami." he replied politely, and turned to speak with his many students leaving her clutching her notebook to her chest, a breaking heart underneath, he had mentioned that he would toast them with champagne, but since they were non-drinkers, he had respected that, but inwardly she had not minded tasting the drink for him.

Before the class was dismissed he had written his email on the board, promising he would reply to anyone of them if they needed him, and she had written the precious address with the most urgency for fear it would be wiped away..

Soon she was found before her computer typing away quotes she had found in books, and some romantic ones and had sent it over to him. Hoping he'd be enthralled by her discoveries of the language.

But it was a week later that she had gotten the news.
"WHAT?! He was going back to get married!!" She had intoned in a voice that rang through the halls, her eyes awash with jealous fury, "He said so. He told us, he was Va se marier." "He had even put it in a sentence!" her friends had informed her laughing.

She had gotten a severe stomach ache that day, but she did not cry.

Now, with the winds tugging at her hair, pulling her upwards, she relented and gotten up with a smile on her face, her eyes awash with new adventure, a chuckle on her lips because of her fruitless infatuation with a man that regarded her like a helpless little sister. He had been wonderful.

A total gentleman in every aspect.


(He was half spanish, and had gotten back to marry his fiance who reportedly was ugly, that atleast softened the blow, but he really was the kindest person ever, and had been so helpful, all the rest of my tutors were boring, ugly, or impatient thus I never really gotten a grasp of the language. I wish him well wherever he is. I can't say he was my only crush! there were many after him. :P)