Vocabularily Adventurous

Valérie was at the mirror again. I had always thought one's skin tone was one of those characteristics you just can't change, but her tan was peeling off at an alarming rate and without the tropical sun of her home, she'd soon look just like me: average.

She scrutinized her glowing, exotic skin, rubbing her fingers over her cheeks and forehead to smooth the flakiness that resulted from her sudden plunge into winter.

"C'est trop sec," she complained.

"That's why I brought the humidifier."

"Il ne marche pas."

"We just turned it on, give it a few days."

She couldn't be bothered to look at me when she spoke. Her pores required more immediate attention, and besides, she was used to knowing that people always listened to everything she said. She never had to check.

"It stopped snowing."

"Vraiment?"

"Yeah. You can go outside now."

"Faisons une promenade."

I shrugged as if I wouldn't agree, but both of us knew I would do anything she said, even if it was in French. I couldn't pretend I didn't understand, because I had made the mistake early on of admitting my proficiency at her language. So had she, at mine. Now we were stuck, forced to hear each other and even listen sometimes. Almost like friends.

I wasn't terribly excited to take a walk, as Valérie had decided we would do. I'd lived in the climate long enough to know I hated the cold, and snow is prettiest through a window. Valérie had never seen it, though, until she came here, and it was sort of my job as her more-knowledgeable roommate to make her experience the things that were most foreign. She refused to go out while the phenomenon was actually occurring, though, because droplets of water, however frozen, are not kind to straightened hair.

My coat was on, my scarf securely around my neck, my hat squarely on top of my head before Valérie could pry herself away from the mirror. I marched out the door and she followed very soon after, wearing only a scarf and mittens with her long-sleeved shirt.

"Where's your coat?"

"Dis, Mama, laisse-moi seule."

I was pretty sure I wasn't her mama, but I left her alone anyway. She'd ask to go back to the room for her coat the second she walked out the front door.

The pair of us clomped down three flights of dirty, wet stairs in our snow boots. I looked clumsy. Valérie looked regal. As we reached the bottom of the stairs Andy was opening the door. A frigid Chicago draft whisked into the entryway, and Valérie gave a little French shriek.

"Merde! Eets cold!" Anger and surprise were in English, but she was kind enough to keep the profanities in French.

"Ouai," I replied calmly. I chose whichever language she wasn't using, and I had gotten so good at it I never noticed anymore.

"Tiens, I'm getting my coat."

I waited.

Valérie was back in two minutes. It took longer than I had expected, and I blamed the mirror. Now properly attired, we journeyed out into the winter air. The sidewalks were plowed and there were long, dragging footprints where others before us had skipped and scuffed through the untouched snow. In my opinion, the purity was lost. Valérie was ecstatic.

To be continued...