First there was Franck

When I was fifteen, my dad took me with his wife and my little brother and sister to go on vacation to France. Which in itself, was pretty amazing - I'd never been on vacation with them. We spent two weeks in the south of France, on a small camping near Bordeaux, at the border of the river Gironde. The camping was run by a Dutch guy and over half the guests were from the Netherlands. Including two moms with their teenage daughters, who were a year younger than me; Lisa and Jane. As it goes, the three of us were inseperable from day one.

And then we met the local youth. It was a fairly large group of French 15 to 18 year olds, who came to the town's only pool at the camping site daily. Maybe being young and stuck in a small town that only came to live under the pressure of the summer heat had something to do with it, but all of them were crazy about the fifties. The girls were wearing pretty polka dot dresses (without the petticoats though, it was way too hot for that) and the boys sported Levi's 501-2 and James Dean hair.

To our delight, three boys were just a year older than we were and were - as we thought - absolutely dreamy. Richard, Guillaume and Franck. Like they were Ken dolls, the three dreamboats were immediately split up between us three girls. Not that they had any knowledge or say in this, we just decided who would get whom. Even though chances were no one would end up with anyone. But that is and was besides the point.

Richard was for Lisa. They were both short and Jane and I were both tall, so that was easy. Lisa asked me and Jane which of the guys we liked. I didn't dare to tell them. What if we both liked the same guy? So I let Jane go first. And she blatantly stated she thought they were both cute and didn't really care whom she'd get 'assigned'. And still, I didn't say anything. Because what if she wasn't telling the truth? What if she did like the guy I liked? So I just lied and told her I felt the same way - they were both cute and I couldn't decide. I was also convinced that the guy I had crushed on from the minute I laid eyes on him, would never pick me over Jane - but I kept that to myself as well.

Mind you, we didn't even know if they thought any of us were worth their time, yet.

Long story short, Jane ended up flipping a coin over it and Fate handed her Franck. As you are probably guessing, Franck was the guy I silently adored. But this was Fate's decision, so I guess I got stuck with Guillaume.

Two weeks of hunting ensued. If I went into the water, Franck would follow immediately. Would I refuse to join my new friends in the pool, he would end up picking me up and throw me in the water. Whenever I was reading a book under the trees, he would sometimes show up and lay beside me, humming tunes, occasionally staring at me. In the evenings the entire group would hang out on the indoor terrace of the camping's restaurant, and Franck would start asking me questions. What kind of music do you like? Why are your brother and sister so much younger than you are? How come you speak French so well? Are you planning on coming back next year? And in return he would tell me about music and took me outside to look at the stars. He was actually the first person to tell me how to spot the Big Dipper.

I kept reading my books, gossip with Jane and Lisa, taking pictures of everyone but him and try and act unbothered by Franck's attention because God forbid anyone would notice that I liked him. Surely he was only talking to me so often because my French was better than the others'. First of all, he couldn't possibly be into me, second, he was Jane's as decided by a coin toss and third, he couldn't possibly be into me. And then there was the fact that there was absolutely no way he was into me. I couldn't help but stare and feel like jello though, that day the locals and camping guests had a volleyball tournament which left Franck running around shirtless, fresh sweat forming on his very, very nice chest...

Two days before my vacation would end and I'd go back home, he was lying next to me under the trees. Me reading, him humming. At one point, he complimented me on my shirt. And then my eyes. And then he asked me to take a walk with him. And then Jane showed up, asking if I wanted to play ping pong with her. Needless to say, I didn't really want to play ping pong with her. But of course I did leave Franck and his question hanging and play f-ing ping pong with Jane. Who asked what Franck and I were talking about. And before I could stop myself, I told her he'd asked me to go for a walk. "Probably to inquire about you", I rushed to add. That sounds mean and deceitful, but this is actually what suddenly appeared to me to be the explanation for his request. Because he couldn't be possibly into me and the coin had told us he was Jane's. So, air tight logic - right?

My last night on the camping, Franck and a couple of his friends had to leave early. He stopped me on his way out and pulled me into a hug. Bear in mind that hugs are considered way more intimate on this side of the pond than a kiss goodbye on the cheeck - especially in France. He held on to my waist with one hand and pushed my hair back with the other. He asked if we could talk the next day - he had something to tell me. I told him I was leaving the next morning. He muttered "C'est dommage" under his breath and just stared. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears. Surely he wasn't going to kiss me. Surely we just and only had become friends during our time underneath the trees. I was pissed off at my racing pulse, afraid that he would notice. That's when his friends came around the corner, telling him they really should be going. I took the interuption to ease my way out of his embrace and just give him four kisses on the cheeck - the way we all had been doing the last two weeks, whenever someone was leaving.

My last morning there, I wrote a note to Guillaume, saying I liked him and I hoped to meet him again the next year. I left it with Jane to give to him. This way, if I had acted strange when Franck had hugged me, it would be clear that it wasn't because I liked him. Because God forbid...

Back home, I stared at a map of France for an entire year. I looked at the Big Dipper every night. And I cried my eyes out when at Christmas, my dad asked me what the name was of that guy in France, who was so obviously crazy about me. Because only then, I realized that I had been completely blind. Too worried about hurting Jane (even to the point of pushing her into liking Franck - twisted, I say). Too worried about him finding out I thought he was just drrrreamy. Because the rejection was inevitable and would be devastating. I cried because I was relieved my crush hadn't been unrequited. I cried because I missed a chance because I was considering Jane's non-existing feelings for Franck but moreso, I was apparently a complete chicken shit. And I cried because I wrote Guillaume that note, and Franck would now think I had been after his friend. Or just that I was completely crazy. I didn't know which one was worse.

I hope the above was a cute story.

The thing is that it's still me. And it's really not cute anymore. It's just f-ing annoying. I hurt someone recently and it's kind of too late to take it back. 'I'm just too blind' - is not much of and excuse anymore at 38. That doesn't mean I'm not sorry.