The First Girls

Translated by Lucile Brenon

After work, with a glass of wine, trapped between the kitchen and the counter, we ask each other How did you know? That is something girls do. Something we want to know. And then, the story begins. It’s a good one, sometimes, not always.

Sara closes her eyes, she remembers. It was my second year of college. We were at a party with the firstyears and a girl stared at me the entire night with desire in her eyes like I’d never seen before, a woman’s desire, you know. Not a man’s, she adds.

As I listen, I feel the music playing too loudly, I see the pints of nasty, cheap beer, the foul smell of the toilets, floor white-tiled, walls tipp-ex tattooed. I see Sara with a face that doesn’t know if it is still a child, a teenager or already something more, someone more, that someone Sara will become and someone I will know, one day. I see the stares, exchanged casually in front of friends who do not see, who cannot even imagine. And that girl, still there. Is she looking at me? She is still looking at me. She knows that I stare and she does not look away.

I see desire, surprise, warmth spreading in stomachs and stares, still; giddiness – I see everything.

Sara grabs a peanut from the Chinese bowl and continues. It pierced my stomach like a spear, that woman’s desire. She ended up kissing me. I think it was the biggest electric shock I have ever felt in my life. I was not ready. I had a boyfriend and everything. She did not care.

We are silent and I say, You’re a good storyteller, she has this way of speaking which is simple, clear and concise, and I love her that much more for having been that student who understands who she is, pretty against the mouth of the girl who knew more, who really saw her. She asks, And you?

Et moi c’était l’été de mes quinze ans un été comme ça un été où il y avait eu des garçons évidemment, mais surtout il y avait eu Lola et ses longs cheveux bruns, Lola qui était parisienne et un peu scandaleuse, Lola qui fumait des clopes entre ses lèvres lourdes et son accent titi qui faisait traîner la fin des phrases. J’avais tout de suite voulu ne pas quitter Lola, mettre de la crème solaire sur son dos, aller avec elle à la rivière, l’écouter parler, être l’amie de Lola pour l’été. Je l’avais invitée Lola à dormir à la maison il ne s’était pas passé grand-chose et pourtant

Culottes tee-shirts sur le lit du grenier, elle portait un string qui lui faisait des hanches de femme et ça m’avait fait des nœuds au ventre

Elle s’était laissé regarder Elle m’avait dit Tu aimes bien non Ça n’était pas une question mais oui, j’aimais bien

J’avais dormi près de Lola qui savait mon désir

Après ça n’avait plus été exactement pareil, j’ai achevé en finissant mon verre.

Sara avait hoché la tête en retournant les brocolis au beurre blanc.

Blanc, c’est aussi la couleur de nos silences, qu’on peut laisser durer longtemps parce qu’il n’y a pas besoin d’en dire plus. On sait, je crois, la chance qu’on a d’avoir un jour croisé les premières filles.

And me, it was the summer I turned fifteen, a summer like that, a summer with boys, obviously, but above all, a summer with Lola and her long brown hair, Parisian Lola, scandalous Lola, Lola who smoked cigarettes between her heavy lips, Lola who elongated the end of her sentences the way Parisians do. I immediately wanted never to leave Lola, to apply sunscreen on her back, to go to the river with her, to listen to her speak, to be Lola’s friend for the summer. I had invited Lola to sleep at my house and nothing happened but still

Panties and t-shirts on the bed in the attic, she was wearing a thong that gave her hips like a woman and it twisted my stomach up in knots

She let herself be looked at She told me, You like it don’t you, it was not a question but yes, I did like it

I slept next to Lola who knew what I yearned for After that it was never really the same, I concluded, finishing my glass.

Sara nodded while turning over the broccoli in the white butter sauce.

White is also the colour of our silences, they can last a long time because there is no need to say more. We know, I believe, how lucky we were to have met the first girls.