Time Agent | ONC2024

10. The Millennials

(This chapter is dedicated to another ONC stalwart, EvelynHail  (yay!)  and her sweet coming-of age story, Love, Dad)

The three Millennials met on the day they were born.

Only hours old, they were placed side by side in the hospital nursery. Sophie Gallopin, Marcel Martin, and Jean-Pierre Brun, all healthy babies with the requisite number of eyes, noses, fingers, and toes. The nurses cooed over them, marvelling over the timing of their birth. Three new lives at the very start of a new century. Perhaps there was hope for the future, surely this one had to be better than the last.
"We expect great things from you three, little millennials," murmured Nurse Dubois, fondly, as she tucked them into their cribs.

A couple of days later, the babies left the nursery and went home with their mothers, or in Sophie's case, her parents.

Antoine had not come to the hospital once to see his son. Disappointed and angry, Marie Brun decided enough was enough. She, Jacques and Jean-Pierre would manage on their own, Antoine would be cut out of their lives. She would pack up his few remaining things, clothes mostly, put them in storage and get the locks on the flat changed. No more second, third or fourth chances. She felt as if a weight lifted from her shoulders at the decision. It would be hard as a single parent, but she'd cope. She had friends who would be happy to help.

Chantelle Martin was taking Marcel home to her parent's house. Her parents had turned up at the hospital the day after Marcel was born. She had nodded demurely through her father's stern lecture about irresponsibility, taking comfort from the fact that his eyes kept drifting to the baby.

"Marcel, eh? Well, you can't bring a baby up in that squat you call a flat. You'd better bring him home with us." The words were gruff, but his hand had reached out to stroke the downy head.

"Yes, Papa, if you think it best," her eyes downcast, Chantelle bit back a smile of triumph.

Nicole and Henri Gallopin carried baby Sophie in from the car as if she were the most precious thing in their lives.

~~

Eight years passed before the three met again, when the hospital commemorated its centenary. Twenty children who had been born at the hospital and were of particular interest, were invited to a celebratory party. The invitations included a mixture of those children who had been premature and required extensive support to thrive, a couple of sets of twins, and the three born at the turn of the millennium.

While their parents made small talk with other adults, Sophie marched up to where Marcel and Jean-Pierre were eyeing each other up and down, uncertain as to whether they were facing friend or foe. There weren't any other kids there around the same age so they were sort of stuck.

They watched warily as Sophie approached, a little girl with a green teeshirt and blue leggings, and a determined expression on her face.

"My mum says we were all born at the same time! So that makes us twins!"

"That would be triplets," corrected Marcel, unable to help himself.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Whatever! I wanted girls, but I s'pose you're better than nothing." She grinned. "No offence! I don't have any other sisters or brothers."

"I don't, either," said Marcel, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"I've got a brother," Jean-Pierre announced. "But he's a lot older. Almost a grownup."

"So, he doesn't count then." Sophie dismissed the brother.

"But what does it mean? If we're twins? I mean triplets," Jean-Pierre quickly corrected himself before Marcel could intervene.

"It means we're family," Sophie said.

"Does that mean we have to move in to your house?" Jean-Pierre was worried.

"What? I don't think so." That thought hadn't occurred to Sophie and she frowned. "I guess we're more like cousins, you know, living in other houses but still family. But we're different from ordinary cousins, because we're triplets. We stick together."

"Like Les Trois Mousquetaires," Marcel volunteered. "'Tous pour un, un pour tous!'"

He was met with two blank faces.

"It's a book," he clarified. "A story. The Three Musketeers. Their motto was, 'All for one and one for all!'"

"Right!" Sophie was impressed.

Jean-Pierre had been thinking. "We don't have to play with dolls with you, do we?" he asked, a touch anxiously.

His mind went back to an unfortunate incident in his childhood. The neighbouring family had two little girls, who seemed happy to play with dolls all the time. They had invited him to join them, but their father had stepped in, telling them in a loud, angry voice that boys didn't play with dolls, and Jean-Pierre had scuttled home feeling humiliated without really understanding why.

And despite what big brother Jacques said when he liked to tease, Captain Roy and Wolfman were action figures, not dolls. Jean-Pierre was very clear about that.

"Of course not!" Sophie was scornful. "I don't play with dolls anymore, that's for little kids. I've been a Stingray since I turned eight. It's a football club for under twelves, girls and boys. You could join, if you like."

"That sounds kinda cool," said Jean-Pierre, relieved. He liked the sound of a mixed team. Perhaps they wouldn't be as rough as the team his brother played in.

"I'm not very good at sports," confessed Marcel.

"That's okay. I wasn't very good when I started either," Sophie said, kindly.

"It's probably your glasses," said Jean-Pierre, looking at the thick lenses, perched on the end of Marcel's nose. "You can get special ones for playing sport, like swimming goggles, with a strap that goes round your head. My brother had a pair when he was a kid. Now he's got contacts. You could ask your Mum to buy you some."

"Really?" Marcel looked doubtful. He'd had too many experiences of being picked last for sports at school to get his hopes up too soon.

Jean-Pierre nodded. "I swear."

"Okay, I'll try," conceded Marcel.

"Let's do a toast, then," said Sophie, smiling broadly. That's what her parents did when they wanted to celebrate. She picked up three glasses of lemonade from the table and handed one to each of the boys.

"To us! Now we have to clink our glasses," she instructed, suiting the action to the words. The three of them solemnly tapped the edge of their glasses together and drank the lemonade.

Nurse Dubois watched from the sidelines. She nudged the nurse beside her. "See that?" she gestured toward the children with her sandwich. "Those three? They're special, our three millennials."