The Cathedral Thief

As summer ended that year, I started working with my mother. I had had dreams of something else. I wasn’t sure what, but something bigger, something more interesting than that. It seemed, however, that you cannot always fulfill your dreams, especially if said dreams are as vague and imprecise as mine were. But I was old enough to do something, and we really needed the money. My mother said that it was what growing up was like, and I believed her. I had grown up since the move. I could feel it inside me. I knew that I wasn’t the exact same girl I had been upon arriving. I had grown up, and perhaps my mother was right, it was time to act accordingly.

Working as a seamstress was not really something that was made for me. I lacked both the patience and the precision, and I completely despaired the tailor we were working for. I was soon given to do the small tasks that everyone could do anyway, or I was running errands. I was mostly in charge of running errands and delivering packages. When I was not running around, trying to get everything delivered in time without getting lost, I was in the shop, watching my mother and the other employees creating wonders out of meters of fabric and thread. It was admirable, how they brought all these things to life. Unfortunately, I was not capable of doing anything of that sort. Nor did I believe that I would ever be. I became however, gradually more knowledgeable on the subject of Parisian streets. Soon, I knew my way without having to ask for directions, I found shortcuts that made me gain a lot of time, and I genuinely began to know the city as if I had lived there my entire life.

I understood, also, why my mother was always so tired when she was at home, why she seemed to have so little energy and enthusiasm. I experienced it myself. When I was home, I was too exhausted to do anything remotely interesting. Sometimes I would look at Chat, who still had so much energy, and I would grow very envious. She could run around all day, explore the surroundings and play with Madame Odette’s numerous cats, and at the end of the day, she still had so much energy left. I was just so exhausted that I couldn’t do anything.

I had made a point, after I had discovered Damien’s true nature, to avoid him at all costs. It had been difficult at first. It had been a constant fight with myself about what I was going to do, or say to him when I saw him. Now it wasn’t even that difficult anymore. I didn’t have to fight back the urge to go back to the time when he had been the only friend that I had, the only friend that I needed. Now I was simply too tired to think about it anymore. I didn’t have to avoid Damien at all costs, I was hardly ever around the house, and when I was, I only wanted to rest, so I was mostly inside the apartment. If I had been told, less than a year ago, that this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed it. When we had arrived in Paris, everything had seemed so wonderful that I had felt that nothing could go wrong. And it wasn’t even that things had gone wrong. I had grown up, that was all. And to grow up I had had to abandon a few hopes and a few dreams here and there.