Chapter 3

chapter 1
chapter 2

THREE


The delicate white clouds were being whisked about the perfect blue sky on a beautiful Parisian morning. The sun diligently watched over the people below with a radiant pride. The wind gently brushed through the angelic flowers as it also cooled off a haggard-looking group of tourists who were supposed to be learning two-thousand years of history in about five minutes, but were paying little attention to their young, happy-go-lucky tour guide. She knew better than to try to keep their attention. The best way to teach them about Paris was to let them absorb the culture and their surroundings. This way the tourists can individualize their experience to their likings. While Blanche Lefou kept speaking about Caesar's conquest over the Gauls of the Parisii tribe in 52 B.C., a couple of guys were being entertained by a few local kids playing a ferocious soccer match and a few girls were experiencing an olfactory charm from the swaying, white flowers that would remain in their minds for the rest of their lifetime. But, every once in a while a terrible thought flickered on into Blanche's head. Why don't they respect me?! Why don't they listen to me! Disrespectful slugs! But, she decided to put that dark thought away just as quickly as it appeared. She knew it wasn't right to think like that.

She finished up giving her history lesson to the tourists and started back to her apartment. Blanche liked being a tour guide. It helped her to realize how lucky she was to live in the most glamorous city in the world. She lived in what other people merely dreamed of. She appreciated being able to see I. M. Pey's pyramid and Da Vinci's Mona Lisa whenever she wanted, but more so she appreciated the smaller things, like the buskers playing accordion and base violin who smiled at the people who threw spare change in the hat on the ground and the friendly cobblestone streets that seemed to link the past with the present. She loved the things that gave Paris that unique vibe that one can only experience by being in the magnificent city of light. She woke up every morning and looked out the window of her 18th century baroque two-bedroom flat in the center of the Marais and saw the Seine river and let the wind blow through her soft blonde hair.

The Marais is one of the oldest parts of Paris and it has a reputation of being a lavish neighborhood. It is a magnificently diverse section of the city full of many varying types of people. It is amazing to think of the fact that many of the most elegant people in France, in the world even, live in an area that was at one time an uninhabitable swampland. It wasn't until the 1960's that this forgotten quarter of Paris finished transforming into the cultural center it is today. As Blanche looked out her window her thoughts would sometimes drift to an image of what the view would look like if the area was still a marsh. She closed her eyes and saw everything unfold about her, but it was not an inviting picture at all. The dead trees stuck out of the ground sporadically in all different directions as if they were trying to escape from the dreadful grip of the ground. The fog seemed as though it were trying to suck any life out of the swamp. It surrounded everything and nothing could escape it's crushing grasp. The water was black and had a distinct smell of sulfur and decay. The image was horrifying, yet hypnotizing at the same time. Whenever it occurred she had a hard time opening her eyes and returning to the present. She was glad that it didn't happen often. In fact, it hadn't happened in nearly half a year now.

Blanche was almost home and she decided to give in to her one temptation. She stopped at a quaint patisserie that she believed to be one of the best kept secrets of Paris. It held the clé de son coeur; her biggest weakness: cheesecake. It was the only place one could buy real cheesecake in the whole city. Blanche almost believed that cheesecake existed only to please her tastebud. The light brown crust that crumbled as she ate it and its texture complemented the creamy white filling of the cake perfectly to produce a harmonic taste that, for only a few seconds, brought about the most primal and pure bliss imaginable to her.

"Cela coûte €1.10, s'il vous plait," The lady said behind the counter, prematurely interrupting Blanche's cheesecake heaven.

She took the change out of her purse and handed it to the lady, "D'accord"

"Be careful out there," the lady continued speaking in French, "It's getting dark."

"Oh, I’m just a few blocks down."

While Blanche had her purse open in the patisserie she noticed that she was a little more strapped for cash than she noticed before. Perhaps she should cut back on the little expenditures for a little while. Being a tour guide isn't the most high paying job after all and she didn't want to lose her apartment. She and her sister would be homeless, not that she cared much about her sister being homeless. Melanie deserved to be homeless; she never even helps out with the rent. Blanche had almost no contact with her sister and liked it that way. Melanie took part in the nocturnal life of Paris. She almost always left after Blanche went to sleep and came back before she woke up. Every once in a great while, they would pass each other on the way to their respective destinations and if there was an observer it would be impossible for them to tell that the two were siblings. Blanche found it interesting that each time she happened to see Melanie there was a new piercing, or a new tattoo, or a new hair color.

Blanche left the shop and started to walk home. It was rather cool now that the sun had left the sky. The white clouds that inhabited the sky earlier had turned into more threatening dark grey clouds that almost blended in with the night sky. The moon was bright and almost seemed to bore a hole through the clouds. The hairs on the back of Blanche's neck were stood at attention as though they were soldiers getting ready to march into battle. The wind rustled some leaves behind her. Wait, was it the wind? Blanche looked behind her, but didn't see anything besides a shabby building with a cracked wooden door that looked as though was about to fall off its hinges. There was some sort of sign on the door, but Blanche didn't want to read the sign; she just wanted to get home. She had a sudden surge of fear and her face went pale. She gripped her purse tight and quickened her pace.

She was almost there now, just a few more blocks. Her heart was thumping in her chest to the beat of a Mexican flamenco dance. She saw things out of the corner of her eye, but as she turned her head they also turned; they turned into nothings. A mannequin in a shop window almost caused Blanche to scream. A wisp of smoke from the sewer tunnels below made her heart skip a beat. Her own reflection in a puddle of water even scared her. It looked for a second like her sister was laying on the side of the street. She finally reached the steps of her building and had to stop to catch her breathe. She told herself over and over that there was nothing following her. She calmed down and went up to the door of the building. She started to open it up when she heard the distinct swish and click of a cigarette lighter from behind her. All those feelings of fear and dread rushed back to her in an instant. She closed her eyes and turned around.

Chapter 2

chapter 1
Two
The wind was gently parting the grass in the same way a child would separate the tall forests of wheat when playing hide and seek in a field and the intensity of the sun was opening the yellow-orange dandelions so much that one might think they were about to fall apart as soon as one of the many busy bumblebees landed on them. The miniature white puffs of the deceased weeds were floating on the gentle breeze trying to find a place to reincarnate their parent-weed and continue the ever going cycle of life and death. The dandelions have always been a mystery to me. I wonder how the dandelion came to be called a weed when the daisy and the black-eyed Susan did not. If you inspect a dandelion, I am sure you can find the same beauty in it as you can in any flower. I suspect that the difference in the name is purely for scientific reasons which in my opinion is a horrible method of naming things. Weeds have a negative connotation that go along with them; when people think of weeds they think of ugly, intruders that kill your garden, but dandelions have an infinite beauty stored in every yellow filament. These dandelions should be named flowers for their beauty, not weeds because of invisible scientific logic.

So, as these bees gathered their pollen from the beautiful weeds, a few different species of aves were competing for pieces of bread thrown on the ground. The California Quails and the Scrub Jays that were munching on this bread were completely unaware of the fact that they were entertaining a couple of relaxing students on a park bench next to them. The students sat there enjoying the Wednesday afternoon basking in the same sunlight that the dandelions were basking in. They talked and fed the birds as other students passed by; both the conversationalists and the passers-by didn't give a second thought to what the other was thinking or saying. They were all in their own little world.

Have you ever sat and observed two people in deep conversation. I have. There is a fascinatingly beautiful connection that is made between the two people. It is almost as though the two people are not two, but one having a conversation with itself. These two on the park bench were being passed by students all on their way to their own destination. Some were going to class, some to their dorm, and others to many other places. Some could be heading towards a date with an individual they are deeply in love with and some could be heading towards a night of solitude in an empty dorm room dreaming of being out with someone, anyone, doing anything. But, these people, the birds and the bees, the grass and the sun, all had one thing in common: they were all within the boundaries of the blank, unfocused stare of Emmet.

Emmet was in Psychology 120 class, well, he was physically in the class, but not at all mentally. His mind had long since drifted off to something else. He sat there lounging in the chair and staring out the window, but at nothing in particular. His mind wasn't on the people or the plants or the animals. His mind was on the most spectacular, unimaginable and unbelievable thing that happened to him the night before. He was unable to believe what he had seen and felt for an instant at the party he attended Tuesday. It was one of those moments where one knows that their life will change drastically because of the events that are taking place. I must say though, that if Mr. Dickens was telling this story, he might say, "It was the best of feelings, it was the worst of feelings." Emmet was churning what he saw in his head over and over and he was unaware to the fact that he was directly in the sights of the lecturing Professor who was about to launch his attack on Emmet.

"Isn't that right Mr. Levicomh?", the Professor said with a slick half-grin on his face. He knew that Em had no idea what the lecture was on, but he was going to use him to his benefit.

Em let out an inaudible mumble as he shrank into his chair and looked down towards the empty page in his notebook. He had know idea what the professor was saying before he got caught daydreaming.

"Daydreaming, Mr. Levicomh, I was speaking about daydreaming and you were providing the class with an excellent and very accurate impression of what it looks like when someone daydreams," the Professor said with a face as straight as a southern republican, "Thank you for that, but you did demonstrate it for quite a long time. You could have stopped after a minute or two."

Emmet departed from the class which he never actually attended and decided to grab something to eat before returning to the apartment he shared with his two brothers, both of which also accompanied him as a student at UCLA. He was not particularly famished, but rather he was in need of some time to sit and think about that mysterious event. So, he mounted his bike and took off. Em still couldn't fully believe what happened; it hadn't completely sunk in. He never used to believe in things like this. He thought it was made up by foolish people, but in actuality he just never experienced this before. He never used to believe in love, not to mention coup de foudre.

Years ago, Emmet was the type of child that never dated that much. It might have because he had standards that were in the clouds or it might have been because the girls didn't find him worthy of amorous feelings. Perhaps, it is most likely that his lack of meaningful relationships, or even meaningless ones for that matter, can be blamed on a combination of the two. He never believed in love, but by no means did he not try to believe. It seemed to him that whenever he gave love a try, the other half left his love unrequited. So, eventually he just decided not to believe in it because it is awfully hard to have faith in something without experiencing it.

Em ordered a coffee at a little café while he thought about his past; he was never one for nostalgia, but he had a feeling that he was going to start doing a lot of new things. His coffee came just as he was beginning to get lost in thought. He wasted no time losing himself again. He was staring at the sunlight reflect off the windshield of a car while he sat at a small table outside the café stirring his coffee as it steamed. He recalled his highschool years. He realized that what he thought was a wonderful social life was not quite as spectacular upon closer inspection. Em had tons of friends, but he had never developed an intense friendship with anyone. He didn't have one best friend and he tried to make up for it by having a plethora of mere acquaintances. He was feeling the feeling that most college students feel at one time or another, but never voice it aloud. The years that he was in highschool were the greatest of his life, and what's even worse, he wasted them. He played his cards all wrong and there is no way to go back and fix his mistakes. Em was a psychology major; he knew this sequestering introspection and self-pity was useless.

And now, as he patiently sipped his luke-warm coffee, he could not stop picturing the girl he had seen at his younger brother's fraternity party. He couldn't figure out what it was about her that struck him so acutely. It was not the shimmering beauty of her hair. It wasn't her radiant eyes and he wasn't about to fall in love with a girl because she had perfect lips. Neither her legs nor her posterior were what caused this possession of his heart. She had all of these exceptional qualities and yet, there was something else; something invisible to his eye was providing Emmet with his puzzlement. He sat and pondered a while about this nameless girl and afterwards he only had more questions about her. He needed to know her name. He needed to know what she liked for music. He needed to know how old she was, how smart she was, her favorite color. He needed to know anything. He needed to know everything.

There was just one tiny problem. Em knew nothing. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her phone number. He didn't know where she lived. He didn't know if he would even ever see the torment of his heart again. Em thought about it. Why am I doing this? I will probably never even see her again? She doesn't even know I exist! With that, Em finished his, now quite stale, coffee and glumly started the bike ride towards his apartment, seven miles away, wishing he never wasted a second thought on that ordinary rara avis.

Chapter 1

One

If you looked at a picture of Los Angeles, California you would see a bustling metropolis filled with millions of people going about their daily business. Each person has their own ideas, their own worries, their own dreams, their own friends, and their own enemies. Children have to worry about how they will convince their parents to let them stay up watching television for just one more hour and also how to make sure they don't get any of those far too contagious microbes from the opposite sex whom they find incredibly icky, but who they can't seem to be without when playing their meaningless games devised to relieve the boredom of the ever-lasting day. They worry about the menacing bullies and threatening older siblings. They dream about the day when they will be big and all their problems will be gone. They dream of the day when they will be the older sibling and they will be able to intimidate the young children. They will be able to do whatever they want with their lives. There will be no parents to tell them to go to bed or to force them to keep their hygiene to be at unnecessarily clean standards. They want to be free.

You will also find the pleasant, polite and compliant teenager in the city. The mind of the teenager is always anxiously brooding on the facts that teachers assign them too much homework and parents give them too many chores. Between the two they never have a chance to socialize, but in the rare event they have the chance to go to a party they have an even more terrible burden on their mind. They must devise an infallible plan to evade the wrath of their begetters when they arrive home three hours late because there was an abundance of fog on the road which forced them to drive slowly with extreme care. For some reason their begetters do not believe the adolescents are telling the truth about why they are tardy and they also fail to see any truth in the fact that the only reason they are walking a bit wobbly and slurring their speech is because they are a little tired. The teenager dreams of the day when their words will be respected. They think that it's unfair that no one believes what they say. Everyone has got it better than the teenager. They envy the little children and wish they could go back to having the freedom of playing all day and not having a care in the world. Or, they wish they could be older. If they were older than people would respect them and what they have to say. They would also be free to do whatever they wanted and to socialize whenever they want. The best times of your life are when you are young and when you are old, not in between.

And of course there would be adults in this picture. These adults most definitely have the hardest life. Their life is the closest thing to a dystopia that there could possibly be. They constantly have to take orders from an asinine oaf of a boss and work in a job they dislike and which belittles their true skills and intellect. They dream of the days when they were in their childhood and all they had to worry about was counting the petals on a flower or making sure they won the competition of who could eat the most ladybugs. They wish they could go back to the prime of their life when they got to sneak out of the house to a party they weren't allowed to go to and then come home a little too tipsily. They are depressed by the fact that they never lived out the dreams they once had. As a parent they have to deal with the little tykes whose sleepiness is practically turning them into zombies in front of a television and also the defiant progeny who always seem to disobey the rules of the family. The tyrannical rule of their lives that the children and the workplace have makes their life a terrible one.

As you look at the picture perhaps the most prominent things you would notice would be all of the mammoth skyscrapers. The giant modern marvels of mankind's genius allow our cities not to grow outward, but upward. Next, you might direct your gaze on the roads, highways, and vehicles. These oil-eating smog machines that travel on pathways made of black gold are considered to be one of the greatest inventions in the history of mankind because of their contribution to the always thinning patience of humans. These incredible structures are those that define Los Angeles today, but if you look past those soaring buildings you will see nature's lofty scrapers of the sky. If you look beside the roads and highways you will see trees and luscious green grass. If you look out west you will see the infinite expanse of the Pacific Ocean. These are almost all almost all that is left of the Los Angeles of the past. They are the last glimpses into the past that we have.

Los Angeles wasn't always the bustling metropolis it is today. It didn't always have millions of people, millions of cars, miles of paved road, and tons of steel. At one time it was almost completely devoid of human culture. The city was first started as a Spanish outpost along the Los Angeles river in order to protect their ownership of the area from the British and Russia. Today there are millions of people in the city, but back then the Spanish government had a hard time getting any people to come form a settlement there. In the end 11 families settled down to form the establishment of El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles on September 4, 1781. The settlement grew and grew and around 1847 Mexico surrendered it to the United States government along with the rest of Mexican California.

Spring forward in history to the year of 1919 when the University of California Los Angeles is founded by the eloquent and determined Earnest Carroll Moore. At this time the university only had fifteen hundred students and it was not as grand as the campus is today, but, just as all healthy and dynamic objects do, it matured and flourished with time. As El Pueblo grew bigger, and so too, did El Universidad, or the university. Not only did it grow in the number of people and the area of land it took up, but it also grew upward like a skyscraper of knowledge with each new floor being an area of study for the eager students to delve into. And so the pathway that this land has taken is thus: It has gone from a barren wilderness to a struggling Spanish outpost to a thriving city with a small university. Both the city and the University continued to grow into what they are today and they are still constantly developing. UCLA now has a vastly increased amount of students and many fields of study. One of these students, a sophomore studying history and psychology, is named Emmet Levicomh.