The first meal

One of the earliest emotions I can remember from when I “officially” became Cyrielle’s boyfriend, was fear. She had come to England to undertake a training period, part of the horticultural course at the school she attended required the students to gain work experience in a foreign country, and she chose England, and the garden where I just so happened to work in particular. During the following five weeks we worked side by side Monday to Friday, and then spent almost every weekend together as well. The exception being one weekend where I had already booked tickets to a heavy metal music festival.  Now that I think back to this I suppose that this weekend away with the lads would have only made me more appealing to her, that I was somehow elusive, a busy guy with loads of shit going on. And heavy metal as well, wow what a rebel, right ! Err maybe not, that is actually the only, open air, “roughing it” in a tent music festival I have ever attended so no, the truth is that most of the time I had nothin goin on, and now present tense, have even less goin on!

Anyway I digress. So when her training period was over and she subsequently would have to go back to France, I was met with a somewhat confused feeling, Something between “anguish”, the prospect of being parted with somebody I had grown particularly fond of, and “relief'”, the idea of reclaiming my personal space and ridding myself of somebody who had got a bit clingy. Poor Cyrielle on the other hand, utterly devestated. She really had seemingly become besotted with me over that past month, and couldn’t bear the thought of being without me. Her emotions communicating this being very much on display at the airport during the ‘Goodbye’ embrace. The lack of tears on my part, due to the fact that I wasn’t really in touch with my feelings, or anyone’s feelings for that matter. I basically didn’t know or understand what I felt inside. I was of course criticised for this retrospectively, during one of our many arguments, Cyrielle would hark back to these earlier days during one of her “I love you more than you love me” routines, which never usually yielded a winner. I guess I just decided to play it cool when it was time for her to go, I knew I wanted to see her again, but in what capacity, I wasn’t yet sure: friend or lover?

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