Chasing River
: Chapter 2 – Welcome To Saint Katherines

Welcome To Saint Katherines

‘The blue paint that never washes off’

THE FIRST TIME I caught a glimpse of St Kathrine’s, it reminded me of one of those fairytale castles you’d see in old Disney films; tall, grey and mighty. It had stone pathways circulating through gaps in the evergreen courtyard, stained glass windows like the kind you’d see at a church, making it difficult to see inside and there were vines creeping up the walls. I remember reading information on the school religiously and it said that this building was over 200 years old, and at that, a shiver ran down my spine. I felt like it was old enough for me to venerate it.

Many new students were arriving late at night just like me, and there was security everywhere, helping people settle in and replace their rooms. I parked my car in the vast parking lot amongst a sea of far more expensive ones. Going to St Kathrine’s, I knew that I would be surrounded by the children of the wealthy and privileged, but I never let it get to me because I had been blending in all my life.

Growing up, my family and I were comfortable. We never really had a lot of money, but we never worried about what we didn’t have because we cherished everything we did have and thanked God for everything he’d done for us. I will not gloss over the reality of things. Part of maturing for me was realizing that being a black woman from Africa I’ve had to push past a lot of stereotypes placed on my head about what kind of person I was. I was constantly aware of the fact that when I walked into a room, I would be scrutinised and judged ten times harsher than my counterparts.

When I was in middle school and still new to the US, a lot of the kids would poke fun at me and pretend they couldn’t understand me when I spoke English, and so I found myself sitting in front of the television all day practising my speech patterns so I could sound like everyone around me. I wove the accent out of my mouth like a thread from a needle. I crafted the perfect facade, all in the name of fitting in. How incredibly ridiculous it must sound, but I’m speaking of this so that I may be understood, not pitied— never ever pitied. I never let their ignorance define me, when my story was already written by all the women who came before me. My dark skin is a blessing, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wouldn’t say that I’d experienced a lot of racism growing up, and for that, I was grateful. But it’s the little things that hurt sometimes. Like when the police almost always assume you’re doing something wrong or when I’d accompany papa to the country club and have people look at me like I didn’t belong there. It’s a shame that, as a society, we tend to see the colour of each other’s skin before any else.

Once I mustered up the courage to unload my luggage from the car. A man in uniform with the academy logo on it came up to me with one of those airport bag trolleys.

‘Merci monsieur.’ I sighed, shutting the car door and locking it.

‘Pas de problèmes madame.’ The man beamed, I read his name tag— Francois.

I checked in at the administration office, and after getting through a bit of paperwork, I was able to attain my room number and room key card. I thanked Francois once more before rolling the trolley along with me and heading toward the student dorms. The only thing I could hear was the sound of the trolley wheels dragging against the white ceramic tiles. It almost felt like I was the only one here because I couldn’t hear a single voice other than my own heavy breathing.

I approached my room and knocked twice to see if my roommate was in yet, but no one answered. I slid the key card in, and the door swung open. The room was much bigger than I’d expected. There were two queen-sized beds lined up against two large Victorian-style windows, and there were two large drawing tables that flipped over to become a study desk. There was one huge bathroom with a shower, a bath, a full-length mirror and a sink. The walls were plain white and had absolutely no personality to them whatsoever.

‘To new beginnings.’ I sighed for the second time this night and began to unpack my stuff, placing my clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom before making my bed, so I felt more at home.

The school provided beddings, but Lord knows what kind of stuff happened between those sheets. I wanted to have my own sheets and my own blanket and, of course, the quilt that bibi had knitted together for me and that I’d kept from all those years ago back in Kenya. I took a much-needed shower, scrubbing my body of all the stress of travel and rinsing away all the jet lag. After my shower, I made sure to call mama and let her know that I’d arrived safely, the phone rang for what seemed like ages, but eventually, she picked up.

‘Armani, nilikuwa na wasiwasi, how was your flight?’ You had me worried. She spoke in Swahili.

‘No need to worry mama. I’m fine, I arrived safely.’ I yawned tiredly.

‘Tell me, what is it like in France these days, hm?

‘It’s beautiful, mama, everything I’d ever dreamed of,’ I assured her, nestled into the speaker as though it were really her.

‘That’s amazing. Work hard, my daughter, and make sure to call me again tomorrow.’

‘I will. Goodnight mama. I love you.’

‘And I you,’ she replied, hanging up the phone.

I slid into bed, exhausted and eventually fell fast asleep.

I opened my eyes, and everything was dark. I tried to speak, but my words were caught in my throat, and I couldn’t utter a single word. I tried to stand but Instead, I begun to sink further and further down, I was submerged in water and the only thing I can do is swim. I push my body upwards and start to float towards the ceiling, I can’t breathe.

I pounded at the concrete, but it would not even crack. I pound harder until my knuckles were raw and in pain— there had to be a way out. I swam lower until I reached the window, but it was covered with pages of books, just like The windows at the bookstore. I tore them away and gasped as I was met with the same pair of angel-like eyes from before. I realized that I should have been scared and that something was not right, but I wasn’t, and I broke the window and swam towards them into that infinite darkness.

I awoke with a gasp, checked my phone, and it was nearly 8 AM. It was bright outside. My dream did not surprise me, I always had very vivid dreams, and I also always believed that that was what made me a good artist. I took out my dream journal from the box underneath my bed and took notes before the pictures in my mind faded.

Cold blue eyes, the angel is drowning

I headed over to my drawing table and begun to sketch the images that flooded my mind; water, blood, broken glass, those eyes…those damn eyes that I couldn’t seem to escape.

Just then I heard the door unlock and a girl much shorter than I was with straight, long dark hair, full plump lips and rosy cheeks walked in with a cup of coffee in her hand.

‘Oh, la belle au bois dormant finally awakens!’ She chirped, her voice sweet and calm. ‘I was in here earlier, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I went out to fetch us some boba milk tea from downtown.’

‘Us?” I repeated, still slightly disoriented from sleep, “That’s so sweet of you— thank you.’ I smiled, taking the plastic cup and straw from her.

‘It’s honeydew flavoured. I thought it would be a good way for us to get acquainted.’ She beamed. She had this positive energy radiating off of her that I found soothing. ‘I’m Keomi, by the way.’

‘Well, thank you, Keomi. I’m Armani.’ I smiled back, and took a sip of the incredibly sweet tea as it teased my taste buds.

‘You’re American, no?’ She asked, and I could immediately tell that she’d lived in France for a very long time.

‘No, I’m Kenyan, but I’ve lived in America since I was ten.’ I clarified, ‘What about you?’

‘I’m Japanese but I’ve lived here in Paris all my life.’ She told me with a slight laugh, ‘You have a complicated accent, it’s going to annoy a lot of Parisians while you’re here.’

‘Yeah, I get that a lot. My Kenyan accent got diluted with the American one so I tend to pronounce certain things differently,’ I explained.

‘All the better. Parisians tend to be a little snobby. So we’ll give them a taste of their own medicine.’ She smiled, and at that— I could tell we were going to be great friends.

I will be the first to admit that I have lacked companionship all my life. I never really had any legitimate friendships. I liked to tell myself that it was because I was too busy with academics, but I’m also aware that just because I tell myself that doesn’t mean it’s actually true.

I took a shower and put on a long-sleeved black sweater dress and a pair of black ankle boots. I undid the two braids I’d put in my hair before bed and combed out my afro. Keomi applied a natural shade of lip-gloss to her lips before turning to face me.

‘Would you like to join some friends of mine and me for breakfast? They’re really sweet I promise?’ Keomi asked, and she proved to be one of those people you just can’t say no to.

‘Of course.’ I smiled back. I was planning to go to a random café and eat some fancy-ass French cuisine all on my own while finishing up my drawing.

‘Are we going to take my car or yours?’ I asked, making sure.

‘Armani, you silly American girl, we’re not going to drive to Le Deux Magots. We’re going to walk there!’ She chuckled, placing both hands on my shoulders.

“Walk?” I repeated, slightly stunned,

“Barely anyone in Paris drives to a café. So it would be a waste of fuel anyways.” She explained to me.

‘Oh, Keomi, what would I do without you? You must teach me your Parisian ways before I accidentally tip the next waiter I see in dollars.’ I sighed, looking into her chestnut-brown doe eyes.

We made our way down the street and away from the academy. The air had the sweet whispers of summer as the leaves on the trees blossom a bright green. As Keomi and I kept talking, I learned that she had to be one of the biggest sweethearts ever. I wanted to tuck her away in a little castle and protect her and her heart forever.

‘Tell me about your family,’ I asked, taking another sip of the irresistibly sweet boba tea.

‘Well, my mom is Japanese and lived in Osaka all her life until she met my dad, he’s French, and they moved here to Paris together to start a family. I have only one sister, Sakura. She’s older than me and goes to school in Toronto.’ She explained, her eyes lighting up as she told me the story. ‘What about you?’

‘Both my parents are Kenyan, my little brother Jaadi and I were born in Nairobi. We moved to Jacksonville Florida, when I was ten.’ I told her, and oddly enough, everything I said sounded straight off of a script, like I’d practised everything I would say.

‘I’ve been to Kenya on holiday once when I was fifteen. I adore the culture and the food— oh my God, the food is amazing!’ Keomi gleamed, reminiscing.

‘Who knows, I could make you something one day.’ I smiled, and she grabbed hold of my hand, looking at me with hopeful eyes.

“I would love that!” She responded in excitement.

We took a seat outside the café. it was serene, beautiful and just like in all the movies. Everyone around me looked so casual, like them sitting in a café in Paris drinking fancy coffee was nothing special. To me, this was heaven on earth. It was a dream come true. It was everything I’d always wanted. When the waiter came up to us, I fell back into my old ways and ordered avocado on toast. Keomi ordered an English breakfast.

Halfway through our conversation about a little bit of everything, two of the most attractive-looking people approached us, making themselves comfortable and taking a seat beside Keomi and me. The girl had the richest dark skin I’d ever seen. It was nice to have another black girl other than myself around. Her hair was thick, curly and tied up in a bun. Her eyes were dark brown and held this charisma to them I couldn’t quite explain.

‘Bonjour!’ The girl greeted, kissing both of Keomi’s cheeks affectionately. ‘Is this the roommate?’

‘Hey, and yes, the one and only!’ Keomi confirmed, taking a bite of her food.

‘I’m Merilla. It’s nice to meet you.’ The girl waved looking in my direction.

‘Hi, Merilla, I’m Armani, the person not the brand,’ I said jokingly, realizing my sense of humour was quite broken, introducing myself.

‘She’s got middle-aged father humour, I like her,’ Merilla said, winking at me before stealing a slice of toast from Keomi’s plate and eating it.

‘I happen to like the new girl too.’ Smiled at the artsy-looking boy on my right, he wasn’t tall, but his confidence radiated off of him and made him feel tall. He reached for my hand and placed a kiss on the back of it, taking me by surprise. ‘I’m Fabian Lyon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.’

‘Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,’ I said, letting out a slight laugh.

‘Excuse Fabian, he tends to be very hands-on when he likes something.’ Merilla joked, and Fabian gave her the English middle finger.

‘So, what’s your artistic passion?’ Fabian asked with his head resting on his hand, his hazel eyes looking up at me through his curly brown lochs.

‘Surrealism, I’m more of a painter,’ I told them.

‘Ahh, a dreamer.’ Merilla recollects. ‘Just like the ‘missing one’.’ She recalled in air quotes, and Keomi rolled her eyes at her in distaste.

‘Where is Mr. no show anyways?’ Fabian asked curiously, ‘We haven’t spoken this week since coming back.’

‘How would I know?’ Keomi sighed pitifully, stirring her tea, ‘You never know with him anymore.’

‘Yeah, well, he hasn’t been the same since–’ Merilla begun, but Keomi kicked her foot under the table.

‘Don’t start, Mer,’ Keomi warned and for the first time since I’ve met her, her eyes were serious.

There’s a beat of silence before Fabian talks.

‘D’accord, hey new girl, you want me to give you a much-needed tour of the academy grounds?’

I had never been more grateful towards someone for intervening because this conversation was starting to get a tad bit awkward.

‘Sure, that would be great,’ I accepted leaving the money for my share of the bill on the table. ‘Catch up with you girls later?’

‘Of course, see you then, Armani,’ Keomi assured me.

As Fabian and I made our way down 8th street and back to St Kathrine’s pearly sterling silver gates, perhaps this would make me sound crazy but the energy in the air seemed to shift when we walked onto campus, almost as if we’d just entered an entirely different world. I finally mustered up the courage to ask,

‘What was that all about?’

‘Some things are just better left unsaid, Armani dear.’ He replied, not making eye contact with me.

‘Oh, come on.’ I scoffed, “You’re talking like this is an episode of CSI New York.”

‘Would you believe it if I said that if I told you I’d have to kill you?’ He chuckled, but there was nothing playful about his tone.

There’s something strange going on at this school, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.

Talking to Fabian was like talking to an old friend, and I felt like I’d known him for ages. When we spoke, we understood each other, and he never once made me feel like a prude for never having partied or had any boyfriends during high school. Instead, he assured me that he knew what it was like to have protective parents who’d set goals for you the second you were born.

According to word of mouth, Fabian was born the only child of the famous 80’s actress Camille Allard and her marquee husband, Pierre Lyon. They never wanted a big family, not that they couldn’t afford it but simply because they didn’t have the time to raise one. Fabian was born when Camille was at the very height of her career, everyone knew it was never her intention to settle down and bear children at the tender age of twenty-two, but things happen.

She loved Fabian with her entire body and soul, but it was evident that she still carried resentment towards him for her short-lived career, that every time she looked into his doe brown eyes, she couldn’t help but see what could’ve been…

And Fabian knew this.

‘So how about we start with the make-out stakeouts?’ He whispered secretively,

‘Yes, although I don’t think I’ll ever need to know.’ I reminded myself, my parents’ words echoing in my mind.

There would be no lips on mine and most certainly not any hands intertwined, I had dealt with that truth, and I was more than okay with it.

‘Why not? You’re beautiful.’ Fabian scoffed as though I were blind not to see it. “There will be many guys that’d be grateful for you to just look in their direction.”

Oh.

‘You think so?’ I smiled, humouring his compliment, not being able to make eye contact with him. I’ve never been able to look people directly in the eye— it makes me feel oddly small.

‘Of course.’ Fabian agreed, placing a caring hand on my shoulder. His auburn eyes shone brightly. ‘Now, let’s get started.’

The first place he took us to was the old Napoleon Bonaparte memorial bench behind the school, where a couple was already hitting second base before our very eyes. The next ‘make out stakeout’ was the janitor’s closet on the third floor, and let’s just say it reeked of buzzing teenage hormones and bleach, not exactly the most romantic setting. The last spot was the old chemistry lab. How fucking ironic.

Fabian and I continued through the hallways as he gave me a very detailed tour. I felt like I belonged for the first time in a while. We then proceeded to go back to the dorms, where Keomi and Merilla were snuggled up watching some show on her laptop.

‘We have returned. Awaken from your slumber, fair maidens!’ Fabian exclaimed, and everyone shot him a puzzled glare. ‘Oh, come on, it was for effect, okay?’

“What effect?” Merilla scoffed, “literal terror?”

‘Whatever, we just started season six,’ Keomi tells him,

‘Without me?’ He scoffed, folding his arms.

‘This is our third How I met your mother reboot Fabes.’ Keomi reminded him reaching across Merilla to connect her phone to the charger.

‘Third times the charm.’ I reminded them, and Fabian smiled at me. I smiled back.

I had made a friend, I thought…friends.

‘See, even Armani agrees with me.’ He protests,

‘Okay fine, you’re such a pain!’ Keomi groaned, making room for him on her bed. He warmed up next to them with a triumphant grin.

I began awkwardly scrolling through my phone when I noticed everyone’s eyes on me. I looked up from my phone. Witnessing this kind of friendship evoked an emptiness in me I couldn’t quite explain. I had never understood what is meant when people say that you cannot miss what you’ve never had because I’ve had a longing for impossible things all my life. Perhaps it is the impossibility of them that made me want them— the very fact that they were out of reach. Being around Fabian, Keomi and Merilla made me realize how incredibly alone I’d been all these years.

‘What?’ I mumbled, ‘Is there something on my face?’

‘Yes, that stupid ass look, now come join us!’ Merilla scolded as they all made space for me.

They all made space for me.

‘Thanks. Which season did you say this was?’ I asked,

‘Six, but hey, how about we start again from season one- pour notre nouvel ami?’ Fabian suggests, for our new friend.

They all smile at each other and agree to start all over just for me, the gesture is kind, and it warms my heart. We spent the rest of the evening laughing along at the TV show, swearing on our lives that it was the funniest thing we’d ever watched. I realized that Marshall, Lilly, Barney, Ted and Robin’s friendship was to become the blueprint for all my future ones. We ended up falling asleep halfway through the eighth episode on Keomi’s bed. The AC blew my curls in my face as the moonlight shone through the large Victorian window, everyone else was fast asleep, and I didn’t want to wake them.

I slid out of bed, ignoring the fact that Fabian had his arm snaked around my waist. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. The bedroom light turned on, and everyone else woke up reluctantly.

‘I had a very dirty dream about Barney that I really can’t explain-‘ Merilla sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Wait, what?” Keomi gasps, “I literally had the same dream!’ Keomi exclaimed with disbelief.

‘You’re shitting me.’ Mer protested.

‘No shit, I won’t give away much, but Ted, Barney and I were locked in a room, and there was only one bed,’ Keomi explained, and Fabian covered his ears.

‘Ew, there was no reason that I had to know that…like at all.’ Fabian cringed, “You’re like my sister.”

“Your what?” Keomi scoffs in offence,

“Okay, let’s calm down.” Mer laughs,

‘I never really have sexy dreams—except that one time I was in a very compromising situation on the Titanic with a young Leonardo DiCaprio who wanted to paint me like one of his French girls,’ I confessed, plopping down on my bed.

‘Young Leo could crash into my titanic any day.’ Mer snickered and gave me an approving high five.

‘Alright, I’ve got to get ready for classes tomorrow morning. I’ll see you guys then,’ Merilla announced, fixing her hair in the mirror before heading for the door.

‘Yeah, me too. I’ll see you tomorrow— don’t look too sad about me leaving, new girl.’ He said with a playful smile.

“I won’t.” I laughed, shaking my head.

The next thing I knew, Merilla and Fabian were gone, and Keomi was in the shower. I took this time to work on my drawing. I begun with a light sketch of the bookstore window, just like it’d appeared in my dreams, old and plastered with pages from novels. I looked around for a book— any old book I could use for quotes to add a real-life element. I took notice of a book on Keomi’s bedside table. I reach for it and read the title. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. I opened it and flipped through the pages. Just then, a tiny photograph slipped out from its hiding spot between the pages.

This was when I made my second bad decision.

I picked it up, and I smiled, recognizing the three friends I’d met today having a picnic by The Eiffel Tower, along with three other people I’d never met before nor seen around campus today. A girl with luscious locks of strawberry blonde hair that spun towards her elbows and fierce green eyes. A boy with short messy blonde hair and a face full of freckles, he had in one hand a paintbrush that’d clearly left a blue stain on his trousers.

His other arm was around a much taller boy, with wispy curls of dark hair and fair olive skin. He wore a plain black T-shirt paired with plain black jeans, his sense of style might’ve been rather plain but there was nothing simple about him. There was yet another splash of blue paint on his cheek that matched his eyes.

His eyes, you couldn’t possibly miss them. They were the most beautiful and alluring shade of blue I’d ever seen. They were so blue that they almost appeared completely clear. It was mesmerizing. I turned to look at my drawing, those eyes I’d seen past midnight at the bookstore, and that snuck into my dreams to watch me as I slept. Those eyes, they resembled his eyes— whoever he was.

I flipped the picture around to check the dates, and it read:

Keomi, Mer, Fabian, Geneviève, River and Jace.

La Tour Eiffel 2009

I’d never met the other three people in the photograph, and something made me feel like I wasn’t supposed to have found this picture. Just then, I felt someone’s eyes on me and I froze, looking up.

‘What’re you doing?’ Keomi asked in her soft, patient voice.

‘N-nothing, I was just looking for a quote from your book when this picture fell out,’ I explained, but hell, even I wouldn’t believe me.

I sounded even guiltier than I actually was. She reached her hand out, and I took both the book and the photo into her hands. She looked at it, and I could tell that for a brief moment, she went back in time to that very day. Her expression went from nostalgic to pained. She placed the photo back inside the novel and shut it.

‘Are those your friends? How come I haven’t seen them around today?’ I asked, digging deeper.

‘Yes, they are, and you’ll meet Geneviève tomorrow as her flight lands later tonight. As for River, you never know with him these days,’ Keomi told me, and I could tell that it hurt her to talk about it, so I refrained from asking about the other boy. The golden blonde with wandering eyes and blue paint.

‘Listen, Armani, I promise everything will begin to make sense in due time, but as for now, it’s better to leave it alone, okay?’ She assured me by placing a hand on my shoulder.

‘Right.’ I sighed, remembering that Fabian told me something similar earlier today.

‘Promise me you won’t go digging where you’re not supposed to.’ She asked me, her eyes serious.

‘I promise,’ I assured her.

Little white lies have a way of tainting themselves black, revealing their true colours. I was in too deep, making promises I knew I couldn’t keep. My mother always scolded me as a child for being far too curious for my own good, but I couldn’t help but thirst for knowledge, never satisfied and always yearning for more.

The poets often warn of how curiosity killed the cat—

But what they do not know is that it also revived it.

That night I dreamt of secret glances, hugs that lasted a second too long and blue paint.