aurora | 1952

17

November 20th, 1952

"Does this thing have radio?" I ask, fiddling with the front commands. "Oh, yeah, sure." Oliver taps one button, and an old, jazzy song plays. He sits back in his seat, accepting the music. I squeeze my eyebrows together.

"You like this?" I ask him, trying my best not to come across as rude.

"I thought you would." I shake my head, trying not to giggle at his thoughtfulness. "No, not my favorite.." He laughs at how obvious I'm being. He changes the channel, and a voice only recognizable as Edith Piaf fills the speakers.

"Such an elegant voice," I say, reaching to turn up to volume. "I've always loved her songs, they remind me of my mom."

"I never pictured your mother to be much of a singer," he laughs. "not to mention in French, as well!" I smile because it's the best I can do to hide my slipping up.

My mother learned French for when she lived in Marseille for six years after college. She always told me stories of the romance, the people, and the scenery of the town she lived in. She sang the loveliest songs to me at night, and told me when and where she had learned them. She met my father when she stopped in Paris before flying back home, the both of them travelers from England. Although they lived in different parts of the country, he in London and she settled in a seaside town, they stayed in touch through the years by sending letters and meeting halfway. It was my favorite love story as a girl.

I look around the car, and

A shade falls over the car as we start through an almost surreal forrest, like the one a fairy would be found in. It seems almost fake. This entire thing, really. I never really got out as a kid, I was usually sticking around town. So this is nice, I guess.

I almost got so caught up in the beauty of this place that I forgot I was even on a date. I turn back to Oliver. "So you're from around here? How do you know about this place?"

"I'm actually from Norway, but I came here a month early..." He pauses, almost like he has to think. "to explore."

"Well, it's really nice here."

"I think so."

I smile and turn back to the left. The forest clears and the sun greedily reaches the car seats once again. A shorter grass is on the other side, but the trail is less apparent, like it's overgrown and unused. It's clear for as long as I can see, other than a few trees and a ranch awhile from here. As we approach a sturdy tree, Oliver turns the car into the grass, parking it messily next to a tree. Without another word, Oliver reaches to the backseat of the car, clutching the basket I saw earlier.

He waves his hand, motioning me to come around the car.

"Alright then."

I vulnerably step out of the car, following Oliver to the base of the tree. He tosses the basket to the roots, and a side flap opens, revealing a yellow and cream colored blanket.

"A picnic?" I ask, honestly impressed by how charming this late guy is turning out to be. "Yeah, is that okay?" Before waiting for my answer, he reaches into the basket and rolls the blanket out onto the grass, patting a spot for me to sit. I practically prance to my spot, plopping down in the shade of the strong tree. Oliver walks over to the car and turns up the radio volume, so that we can hear it from outside of the vehicle. "An indistinguishable song plays as Oliver flips the lid of the basket, showing its contents. I help him set everything out, happy to see he won't have to deal with my pickiness, given the fact he packed what I would treat myself to for a lunch alone. Fresh, plump strawberries sit on a plate wrapped in Saran wrap, and sandwiches with ciabatta rolls, eggs, cheese, and bacon are covered with aluminum foil.

"You made all this?" I ask, unwrapping my sandwich.

"Don't sound too shocked. Sorry I wasn't as professional with the water," He reaches into the basket, handing me a plastic bottle of water and taking another for himself.

We talk for awhile. The sandwiches are, admittedly, pretty lukewarm, but that doesn't take away from the fact that this date is perfect. I learn that he actually doesn't know who owns this property, and that his least favorite things are cold weather and silent movies. I'm so caught up in just a normal conversation, something I haven't felt since years ago. But, once again, I'm fine until he asks about me.

"Well uh..." I blank out when he asks, very generally, what's up with me.

"Here, let's start with the easy stuff. What are your interests?"

Naturally, I tell him that I love exploring and watching movies, while being too enthusiastic about the drive-in theaters, until I realize that I'm telling him about Aurora. Not Princess Aurora. "And um, I like to paint- as you saw a few days ago, and.. Boating." He doesn't question my uncertainty, thank god, he just nods his head, actually listening. I smile, and the evening carries on.

꧁꧂

Before I know it, the sun has already sank behind the trees surrounding us. I take a deep breath in, still smelling the bacon and strawberries. "I guess we should pack it up then, huh?" I say, interrupting our music-listening session. "Guess so." We both start picking up, both of us plucking at the leftovers of our meal, eating way more than we intended.

꧁꧂

On our drive back home, we blast music as high as it'll go without waking up the entire town, and badly sing along, drunk on the night. "Everybody Loves Somebody" comes on the radio just as we approach the palace. I look to Oliver and grin, him returning the gesture. Almost in unison, we turn back to face the road, both knowing we're too bad to sing face-to-face, yet still rejecting the fact that we can still hear each other just as good as if we were sitting face-to-face. It doesn't matter though. Not right now.

"Everybody loves somebody sometimesss!"

We laugh at each other's dramatic singing, completely off-tune with Dean Martin, and for that minute, I forget that I'm living a life I envied three weeks ago.