Paris, A Story about Change

Chapter 1

Hello, my name is Marie, and I'm from Fort Knox, Kentucky. My father is in the Navy and my mother works at home. Throughout my life, there have been many exciting things I was planning on doing, such as camping, swimming, having birthday parties in my backyard. But all of that went away when my parents announced our orders to move to France. The US Navy has never done this before, and me being a young woman, aged 14, I knew learning French wouldn't be easy. I had taken French the past two years, but I never really caught on. My mother kept saying "Oh, Dear, it'll be alright." and went on with her daily duties when I asked whether or not we were going to move from our cozy home in Norfolk. As it turned out, we would. The worst of it was leaving my friends, what little I had to begin with. Everyone said that they'll keep me in touch over email, but does France have mail? The day of the plane ride, I decided that packing up would be a good idea. Whilst packing up everything I could on the warm summer day, I found something. There was an old, tattered letter in the corner of my room. The cover sealed with wax, the paper looked so fragile, had a feather fallen on it, there would be many tears. I decided to open it, taking caution for what might be inside. There was an old letter and a couple of postcards dating back to the year before my birthday, April 29th, 2001. I tried to find a name on the postcards, but all I could find was something about flowers and an anniversary. This must've been my grandmothers, as her writing was always full of French words such as Bonjour. As if looking for some sort of confirmation, I opened the letter and found a picture of the most beautiful young boy in the world. This must be my father I thought. Next to it, I found the photo of my young mother, confirming my suspicions. "What you got there?" I jumped up in fear and banged my head on the top of the small closet when I tried to turn around. "Uhh..." I hesitated. It was my older brother. "Nothing?" He wasn't a tall person, only reaching 5' on his 15th birthday. He was almost old enough to leave the house, turning 18 tomorrow. He began to talk "Look, Sis, I'm sorry that you have to go, but I can't stay. I—" I cut him off with a series of yells and 4 letter words and he ran out the door, obviously trying to leave me be. I opened up the letter to find a name: Monsieur Avery. I tried to paint a face given that name, but couldn't even with my best efforts. When have I ever heard that name before? "Sweetie, its time to go," my mother said while running frantically to pick up everything, "there are 2 minutes until we have to go! So I suggest you hurry up." There were more yells coming from the hallway, but I decided to not mind them. I packed up the rest of my things, my clothes, and the letter. I took one last good look at the room and left the house, as if there were a monster in that closet.