He used to play football, too, and keeps in pretty good shape, so it's not like I'm intimidating, at all, but its all I can do to make my point clear. "Thank, you! That's all I ask!" He throws his hands up, I know he hates having to be all serious with me and shit. "And please don't compare me to her. That, too." He grabs an apple and tosses it to me. I catch it without a thought. "K, dad." I roll my eyes again, toss the apple back to him and head upstairs, to my room. So far, this day sucks. Test in Pre-Calc, got my shitty report card, blew my clutch on the way home from school in rush-hour, and Stephanie Reynolds said she would suck my dick today, but stood me the fuck up. Fuck this day. I take my shirt off as soon as I get to my room and chuck it behind my door. Just as I go to take off my belt, I catch a glimpse of the only thing that could save my day, life, soul... Holy shit. YES. Alright, never mind. Today rocks. Mrs. Abbott is showering, fifty feet from my bedroom window and. I told her. She smiled indulgently at the end of my sad tale. "Ah, Monsieur Northam. You are suffering from love. Maybe you should get married. It cures that malady faster than any doctor can cure a disease. Once married, quickly out of love, until the next love appears."Mme. Reynard was typically French when it came to love and marriage. Marriage was not for love and love was not for marriage. They were separate. Her advice was for me to wander down to the boulevard and find myself a young pretty woman for consolation. Wine and a willing woman would cure my malaise, or so she said. I would have nothing to do with such a suggestion. Marie was an angel compared to the tramps of the boulevards. I would prove the purity of my love and await her return.I dedicated the time until her return to proving my love. I was as if a monk cloistered in the farthest monastery. I ate and drank sparingly. I read books to edify myself, mostly those recommended by Marie or her uncle. I learned much of.
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