deux minutes

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deux minutes


I'm a bit older and dressed in my crisply washed and iron-pressed school uniform. I can feel a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through my body as I watch other kids enter the school building, laughing and joking around. A single pang of fear rocks through my system and I turn back to look at my father. He grins proudly and nods for me to go, motioning his hands towards the enterance.


I look back towards the school and my older brother Mathis. He has an exasperated expression resting on his boyish features as he waits for me, his arms folded over his chest. He pretends to look at a watch that isn't there and glances back to me as if to tell me, "hurry your sorry little bum up."


I giggle and run up to him, my brand-new Mary Jane's making a small sound with my every step. I take his hand in mine and he makes a disgusted face - probably only because his friends are watching us - but still gently squeezes my fingers between his. I beam up at him with a massive grin that takes over my whole pudgy face and he can't help as his lips gently tug into a smile as he looks down at me, his clueless little sister who only has six short years of age under her belt.


"Est-ce que t'es excitée?" He aks me. "Ou est-ce que t'as peur? Je me souviens d'avoir été terrifié à mon premier jour d'école." Are you excited? Or are you scared? I remember being terrified my first day of school. My eyes widen slightly and I use the hand that's free from his grasp to cover my mouth.


"Oh, tu n'avais pas de grand frère non plus pour te protéger, n'est ce pas?" Oh my! You had no big brother to protect you either, did you? I ask, my little voice chirping with curiosity.


"Non je n'en avais pas." No, I did not.


"Comment est ce que t'as survécu?" How did you survive?


At this he laughs. "Ce n'étais pas si difficile que ça Lilou. Il suffisait de mettre un pied devant l'autre." It wasn't that hard, Lilou. Just put one foot in front of the other.


Just put one foot in front of the other.


I nod my head softly. "Merci." Thanks.


"Pourquoi?" Why? He asks.


I pull him into a tight hug, my face burowing into his navy blue uniform sweater. "Tu es le meilleur frère que je pourrais jamais demander." I mumble gratefully and squeeze him once more.


You're the best brother I could ever ask for.


And the second minute slips away.

seven minutes || a. griezmannWhere stories live. Discover now