Victoire Chevalier (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} v_victorious) wrote,@ 2008-04-05 13:52:00 |
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Family
I had a mother and a father once. My mother I never knew, but I have her hair, her eyes, and her manners, or so my father told me when I was very little. I know her name was Josette, and I know she sang opera but was never good enough for the opera house. I have seen only one photograph of her, which I took with me before I went to the orphanage.
My father was very handsome. He was tall, with darker features and hair. The only feature I inherited from him was his nose. Unfortunately, I do not have any pictures of him. He didn't like his photo taken, and the only photographs of him were hidden somewhere in his room and I didn't have time to find and take them before I left. He liked when I played the piano for him, especially when I sang old American songs from the 20s. He was a lover of jazz. I remember he saved up for several months in order to buy the old out-of-tune piano that sat in the parlour our small three-room flat. He would sit in the kitchen just off the front room with his legs crossed right-over-left, a glass of scotch in one hand, conducting with the other, his eyes closed as he hummed along with my voice. Sometimes he would join in. Those were the times before he was very sick. Before he couldn't live any longer.
After that, I was alone for many years, until I met Yuri. My darling Yuri, tall and skinny with dark hair and glasses, with a mind for business. He was the first man that I ever loved, besides my father. He broke the law to defend me and now he is probably dead. I have several photos of him, most of them kept in a box under the bed. This is also where my mother's photo is, along with letters from Yuri and other things that are more valuable than treasure. This is a photo from just before Christmas last year. He looks quite annoyed in it, but really he was pretending to be angry because he didn't want me to take his picture. This was the last picture I took of him.
Now I have no family. This is the first time I ever really admitted it on paper or out loud. It makes it all too real. It forces me to admit a weakness. I am very lonely.
I had a mother and a father once. My mother I never knew, but I have her hair, her eyes, and her manners, or so my father told me when I was very little. I know her name was Josette, and I know she sang opera but was never good enough for the opera house. I have seen only one photograph of her, which I took with me before I went to the orphanage.
My father was very handsome. He was tall, with darker features and hair. The only feature I inherited from him was his nose. Unfortunately, I do not have any pictures of him. He didn't like his photo taken, and the only photographs of him were hidden somewhere in his room and I didn't have time to find and take them before I left. He liked when I played the piano for him, especially when I sang old American songs from the 20s. He was a lover of jazz. I remember he saved up for several months in order to buy the old out-of-tune piano that sat in the parlour our small three-room flat. He would sit in the kitchen just off the front room with his legs crossed right-over-left, a glass of scotch in one hand, conducting with the other, his eyes closed as he hummed along with my voice. Sometimes he would join in. Those were the times before he was very sick. Before he couldn't live any longer.
After that, I was alone for many years, until I met Yuri. My darling Yuri, tall and skinny with dark hair and glasses, with a mind for business. He was the first man that I ever loved, besides my father. He broke the law to defend me and now he is probably dead. I have several photos of him, most of them kept in a box under the bed. This is also where my mother's photo is, along with letters from Yuri and other things that are more valuable than treasure. This is a photo from just before Christmas last year. He looks quite annoyed in it, but really he was pretending to be angry because he didn't want me to take his picture. This was the last picture I took of him.
Now I have no family. This is the first time I ever really admitted it on paper or out loud. It makes it all too real. It forces me to admit a weakness. I am very lonely.