“A forest, no, a wispy forest of October trees and evergreens danced, their branches following the direction of the fresh cool wind, dampened by the dawn mist. Soft chirping and the flapping of wings in spring colors, vibrant but muted. Clacking shoes and soft laughing spread through the halls of the grand Maison, which stood at the center of the thin forest. The cerulean blue waters of the English Channel glistened. Four times, the tallest tower rumbled with the ringing of bells, magnified by eight. This was the music of the countryside.”

I re-adjusted myself on the cold hard surface of the windowsill as the ringing in my ears continued. The words scribbled across the first page of my journal reminded me of poetry class some four years ago when I used to be a college student.

My eyes fell on the creases of my new dress as it folded unto itself over and over again. I noticed my bare legs graze the impersonal white wall the window is attached to. I let out a sigh before standing. My toes curled and the wooden floor creaked slightly. I sighed once more. I gripped the rusted handles of the arched white windows; my upper arm tightened as I pulled them closed. Taking a few steps toward my stark white-painted metal and stiff four-post bed, I grabbed my fuzzy brown vintage winter cardigan hung on the footboard. Slowly, I slipped on my flats. Walking by the small nook leading to the dark wood door, I turned to my left where an ornate mirror hung. My brown waves were tied in a loose bun and my overgrown fringes were braided to the side to keep from slinging into my eyes. I fixed the position of my red glasses and forced a smile.

Somehow, I still looked like a naive teenager when I should be an adult.

Other residents shuffled around their rooms and door after door, clicked open and slammed shut. I let the nervousness escape through my lips one last time before stepping out.

Immediately, my shoulders slumped down from the weight of a foreign hand. The owner’s teeth were considerably white and straight. She kept the grin on her face for some time.

“Georgiana, oui?”

I was forced forward as another hand patted me.

“Bienvenue, new girl.”

The new hand owner gave a quick wave and proceeded to direct me towards the marble steps leading down to the Common Hall. Out steps aligned as we descended from the dormitory floor and entered one of the grand rooms.

This was the Dining Hall where tables lined the entirety of the room. There was only one left open where a priest sat with folded hands and faded blue eyes. He unfurled his shaking hands and offered the seats around him. As he spoke, his voice croaked and his Adam’s apple protruded, the thin skin bobbing along.

“Bonjour, Georgiana.”

There was a time when I was twenty-three, I found myself sitting in a dark empty computer room waiting for the class period to begin. Though there was an hour to spare, I waited in silence. This room would always be empty this time in the morning.

It’s been three years since I transferred from a state college where I spent entire days with friends. This private school focused only on what I loved, art. It was everything I had expected an art school to be, though I never thought much of going to an art school.

When I was seventeen, my art teacher asked me, “Where do you plan to study after you graduate?”

I hadn’t thought much about life outside of high school. All I’d ever seen was the ground under my feet. I didn’t like looking up. Everything is just so bright and blinding.

I didn’t apply to any art colleges even after my art teacher recommended a few or when other teachers, later on, started to list options. I didn’t like the idea of pursuing art as a career or rather, didn’t like thinking about my future. Too many options made my head hurt. If I limited myself, if I kept limiting myself, things would be easily solved.

“Bonjour, Father.”

The Maison wasn’t an option I thought about. I just did it. I took off running one day and feared to look back. It’s where I ended up coincidentally, I guess.

When I found myself in that empty art room covering my eyes as I tried to stifle the tears of years of loneliness and fatigue, I was already twenty-three.

I’d known for a long time; I just had no idea how in pain I was.

Looking back can be really painful, but as I sat amidst all the people in the dining area, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to reminisce. Looking around again, everything in its place, I suddenly felt out of my element. I swallowed and shut my eyes. Here it was. Today marked the first of the coming two years.

I was twenty-three.