A Peasant's Dream: Odille's Journey of Exploration

I stared out the window as we made our way through the French countryside. Through the rain, I saw a farmhouse, with a small tree off to the side. It was uprooted and had fallen over, but it hadn't died.

"How does that even happen?" I muttered to myself, more than anything else. The driver turned around, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. He shrugged and went back to driving.

I sighed and leaned my head against the window, closing my eyes. It was raining hard, but somehow, it didn't wake me up from my nap. I dreamt of pastures and trees and grass – something I'd never seen before in my life.

I woke up to the sound of clinking glasses. Opening my eyes, I saw an old man sitting across from me. His eyebrows were bushy and graying, but he didn't seem to mind talking to me while we ate dinner.

"Honeymoon?" he asked in English, smiling at me as he took another sip of red wine. I nodded, taking a bite of the rabbit stew in front of me. "Ah! So you're traveling together then? That's nice."

I glanced over at Greg – my boyfriend for five years now – who was busy chatting with our driver about American football. "We're going to be married soon," I replied quietly, trying not to digress too much from what he was saying about his favorite team's chances on Sunday morning. "Greg proposed this January."

The man smiled again and nodded sagely, stroking his graying whiskers with his fingers as he ate his meal silently for a few minutes before speaking again. "When is your wedding?" he asked after swallowing a piece of carrot whole without chewing it first: a talent I'd tried unsuccessfully to pick up from him during dinner.

I looked over at Greg again – still engrossed in conversation with our driver – before turning back to the old man seated across from me and answering truthfully: "We haven't set a date yet."

The old man chuckled as he took another swig of wine, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his green flannel shirt before grinning at me conspiratorially: "Well there's no rush! You two lovebirds can take all the time you want!"

I smiled back at him and nodded slowly, trying not to move my head too violently or make any sudden movements that would draw Greg's attention away from football-talk with our driver. The old man leaned forward suddenly, putting both hands on the table separating us and lowering his voice so that only I could hear him above the rain pounding against the roof of our van outside: "But you'll need money for a house for your husband when you do get married."