The sublime story of the
captain love
I am often asked where this wonderful name came from, which I once gave to one of my most beautiful creations, the aptly named Captain Love. It all started in the year 19.. when my parents, then in the midst of their hedonistic/swinger phase, had absolutely no idea how to look after me other than sending me off to summer camp as soon as they could.
VERY BAD TRIP IN BRIGHTON
That is how, at the end of my first year of middle school, I was catapulted across the English Channel to Brighton for my first stay in Perfidious Albion, where, my cousin Gontran used to tell me to terrify me, they ate their steak with mint jelly (I hate you Gontran). It was my first time leaving France, my first time taking a ferry, and my first time visiting an island.
I was placed with a family of ten children and shared a space in the basement of the house with five other foreign middle-school students, most of whom were from South Korea, as well as a few rodents and parasites.
While today that would horrify me, I must admit that at the time I found it exotic, especially since my roommates amused themselves with the critters as if they were domesticated. They even invented polo matches with cockroaches mounted on the backs of rats. We laughed until we cried, and I immortalized it with my Kodak Disc.
« A hedge formed in my path, as if I were the chosen one. »
I had classes every day of the week at a local middle school that we shared with the English students who were still in school, as they had their holidays later than we did. And somewhere in the middle of our stay, one lunchtime, while I was finishing my daily bar of Merveilles du Monde chocolate, three English boys my age, in uniform, came up to me to ask me to follow them.
I didn't understand a word of what they were babbling, but from their gestures, I gathered that I had to follow them.
A line formed along my path, as if I were the chosen one, and at the end stood a little guy with shaggy hair, a slightly dirty face—certainly from horsing around with his friends—almond-shaped green eyes, and looking completely disheveled. Moreover, under his shirt, I caught a glimpse of a t-shirt from a band I didn't know yet, The Clash. The one who brought me to him explained in French that was as good as my English that Peter had chosen me because I was very, very pretty and he wanted to kiss-kiss a French girl. Everyone burst out laughing, and before the clamor, Peter grabbed me by the shoulder and planted a kiss on my cheek, intimidated by the audience. Personally, I was captivated by the boy's rebel angel face. I had never noticed him before and I was extremely surprised and flattered that it was him who had asked for me.
« I was on cloud nine for the rest of the trip, parading around with the cutest guy in the vicinity. »
And yet, after more than a week together, he still hadn't kissed me on the lips. And I must admit that, being very shy, I was waiting for him to make the first move. It happened on a Sunday while we were walking hand in hand, and near a pub, music I will never forget began to play: Wot by Captain Sensible. That was the moment he finally decided to press his lips against mine. It was as fleeting as it was sweet.
The next day, I had a date with him to see the latest James Bond at the cinema. He never showed up, and the following week, he avoided me the whole time. Too timid to go and ask him what was going on, I blamed it on my kissing and the fact that I hadn't known how to go about it.
I left England sad not to see Peter again, not to have been able to kiss him one more time, and not to understand the reason for the breakup, for his distance. But delighted by this first experience, to know that the cutest one of all had chosen me, and to have met my Korean counterparts with whom we organized so many games with our animal friends.
That is why, after so many years, I decided to give this wonderful pump, the star of stars, this name, in memory of my first stirrings of love.
