Je ne t'attendais pas (2/?)
Chapter 2 : I’ve Got That Tune
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqjeNSNuNPM
I got the words
I got the tune
I've been rehearsing under the moon
But I got nobody to hear my song
So I'm hummin' to myself
I've got the place
I've got the time
I've got a lot of love words that rhyme
But I got nobody to hear my song
Sebastian Smythe had just finished his fourth year of university with just one more to go. He was now walking home, happy to begin his summer vacation. Home. The word felt so right. He lived in a pretty big flat in the middle of Paris, near the Théâtre du Châtelet.
He had always wanted to live in Paris; he’d spent two years in a private school in Paris during high school and they had been the best years of his life at that time. So he simply decided to find out about the different possibilities in Paris. The system was way more complicated than in America, there were a lot of different schools and different diplomas, but he finally heard from “Grandes Ecoles”. Those were the elite schools; they were what would be equivalent to an Ivy League. And there was one which specialized in politics. He automatically knew he had to study there. Of course, he would have to convince his father but he had some pretty good arguments.
“You know dad, this is going to be way cheaper than any university you can find in the US.”
“You know money is no problem for us. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to live on your own. You’ve always been spoiled and taken care of.”
“Please dad, do you really think that low of me? Don’t you think I could take care of myself if I wanted to?” Sebastian replied sharply.
“Well, I’m not so sure about that. Won’t you miss home? You’re not going to be able to come here every month you know, barely once a year.” His dad protested weakly.
“That’s totally fine with me; you know I’ve always wanted to be independent. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to miss me.” Sebastian stated quietly.
“Don’t say that buddy, you know it’s not like that, I only want your happiness.”
That, Sebastian knew. He also knew his father loved him; he didn’t doubt that. He just didn’t show it very much. He was so caught up in his life that he hadn’t really seen his only son grow up. And that wasn’t bound to change for the next five years.
“But why go to Paris when you can go to Yale, Columbia or Harvard, all the internationally recognized universities that are here? You don’t have to go to Europe,” answered his father, sighing. Sebastian always had crazy ideas; he got them from his mother, surely.
“Did you know that since 1969, out of the 5 presidents that France had, 3 graduated from this school? And Nicolas Sarkozy also studied there but never managed to graduate? A third from the French government graduated from Sciences Po. Secretary General of the United Nations Boutros Boutros-Ghali also studied there, as well as many former managing directors of the IMF, well-known French authors, journalists, and even a professor of political science at Harvard. It has nothing to envy to Columbia or Yale.” Sebastian knew that would be a decisive argument.
“You’ve got a point there.” His dad stayed silent for a moment, thinking intently.
“Do you think you still speak French well enough to take classes in French?”
“I was in high school in France for two years dad. I haven’t lost my fluency in one year. And 40% of the students in Sciences Po are foreigners so I won’t be the only one even if I’m a little lost. I can find help there. Not that I will need it of course.”
When his father sighed but didn’t reply, he knew he had won the argument. He had to. Ever since he had found out about Sciences Po, everything else seemed unappealing. It was a perfect school in a perfect city. They were a lot of student associations, on every subject possible, from politics to wine by way of philosophy or LBGT rights. He knew he was going to love his life there, and he knew he wanted in.
And what Sebastian Smythe wanted, Sebastian Smythe got.
He had to work very hard because it was recruitment by competitive examination, but he succeeded. He mentioned it to everyone in Ohio, being his boasting self. He acted like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was so easy for him and he knew it all along because after all, it was only an honor for them to have him in their school, wasn’t it? But if he was honest with himself, he was a little ecstatic. And the excitement hadn’t quite gone away. He was now getting a master’s degree in International Relations, which could help him find a job in the United States if he ever wanted to come back. But for now he was very happy here, he hadn’t regretted his choice once.
Paris was a dream city to live in. He didn’t need a car, the transport network wasn’t the best but it was still more or less practical and he discovered that he in fact loved walking.
People were obviously a lot more tolerant than in Ohio. He could live his life as a gay man without being bothered by anyone (not that he let himself get bothered, even in Ohio but it was still nice to know he hadn’t to worry about his hookups being afraid to be seen by people they knew). Furthermore, he could hit on guys in non-gay bars and that was definitely a plus, because gay-bars were sometimes really shabby.
Guys were more fashionable than in most of the US and there were a lot less people in the closet. Maybe it was just an impression because he lived in an admittedly very cultured and very open-minded circle but even a few straight guys had admitted that they would want to sleep with a guy at least once in their lives, just to try. Sebastian was often that guy in the end. He was hot and used that quality well. He had had countless one-night-stands and that was fine by him.
He had tried the relationship thing, once, at the very beginning. During his first month in Paris, a quite nice guy had shamelessly flirted with him. He was a little taken aback at first because it usually was the other way around but he then decided that he could try it. Maybe in Paris it would be easier to be in a relationship? After a month of handholding, movie dates and kinky sex, the guy said he loved him. And Sebastian didn’t do such things as “love”. He had to break up and he put up with hookups ever since and that certainly didn’t have him complaining. When it was just one-night-stand, people were a lot less shy about sex; all kinks were permitted, and there were very few that Sebastian wasn’t into. It didn’t make him a whore, in his opinion at least, just someone who had found his way to enjoy life.
And god, did he enjoy life in Paris. He was so happy that he had barely kept in touch with people back in Ohio. He skyped every now and then with his parents but that was about it. He hadn’t had many friends as a child, and the best ones he had were those he made when he was in high school in Paris. He could not help but think the Warblers were pretty great guys but after all the crap he had put them into during senior year, he could understand that they hadn’t particularly wanted to keep in touch with him. He had news by Facebook and that was enough.
Besides, he had found pretty awesome friends in Paris. People who were a lot more like him, snarky (Parisians were the worst), bitchy, sarcastic and judgmental but interesting, cultured, passionate and witty.
No, he definitely did not miss America, and especially not Ohio. Sebastian was not nostalgic or homesick, because Paris was his home now.