What Truffaut Taught Me
I knew nothing of the world. Experience abandoned me to my adolescent womb, my senses dull from disuse. Then, one day, I ran away.
I ran and the strong ones followed, determined to invalidate my freedom. When they got close, I ducked inside a dark theater. They hurried past, while I remained to enjoy the rest of the film. I already knew The 400 Blows and recognized the final scene at a glance, a boy running. I knew the runner. It was Donier.
So I joined the marathon.
We ran together but Donier did not notice me at first. I shadowed him until the beach, which had captivated his attention. Finally, he turned and froze.
I spoke. “What happened to you? Why were you running?”
Reticent at first, he soon warmed up to me and began to tell his story. He told me everything, including his first experience with a woman.
I wanted to know about the fucking. “What was the best part?”
He considered the question for a moment, unwilling to look me in the eye, then he grinned, demure and amused. “Le cigarette.”
We laughed together and started running again.