A saleswoman pulled me from a display in a specialty store in Calais. Two teenagers, Magalie, 17, and her brother Manuel, 15, bought me as a gift for their mother. It was May 2002.
On Mother’s Day, Catherine, my owner, opened my box. I, a fountain pen, will remember forever the emotions that crossed her face :
Admiration ! « Hey ! I am a WATERMAN, pardon my pride. My nib is gold-plated, I am gilded all over.
Joy ! Her children had chosen according to her taste, not theirs.
« Little ones? But they are grown-ups! Humans are strange. »
But also concern. How much had her children spent? Had they remembered to multiply by 6.55957 to get the amount in Francs?
« Nope, I’m worth 80 Euros, so 525 Francs! »
« But where did I learn to discern human emotions? »
The brother and sister looked at each other, smiled, and Manuel told their mother,
« You take care of things, Mum. In 20 years, you’ll still have me. »
I was given a special place in her life. I was always with her, always needing a refill. There’s an expression I quite like but that chafes at my gold-plating, « You’re so quick to run out, I’d hate to cycle uphill with you. » Catherine had gone back to school. In June, she had her final exams to earn her diploma. I lost count of the number of pages I inked, and those midnight awakenings where she’d grab me to jot down an accounting formula or an idea for her next essay.
Her tears diluted my ink when her father died, and she wrote the eulogy for the funeral. It was September 30, 2002.
Now I accompanied her to the office. She’d snap at colleagues who tried to use me, explaining that as a left-hander, she held me a certain way, and a right-hander might bend my nib. I knew she used a computer keyboard, but I wasn’t jealous. I was always the first to know her thoughts, to draft a letter, a resume for a job seeker.
February 2014, Magalie put me in a box next to a pair of boots. Why the sudden indifference? After being moved among a huge pile of boxes, I felt motion, noise, and then silence. When our box was finally opened, the boots went first. Catherine noticed me and her smile erased those lonely months. I found a place on a desk in a new city, Clermont Ferrand.
I wasn’t working as well. Catherine was disappointed, but our bond kept me from being thrown away.
June 2021, Catherine had an epiphany. She searched on Google (you know, the thing that’s replacing books and fountain pen writing) and found out how to fix me. The solution was simple: soak me overnight, and the water would dissolve the ink clogging my precious nib. She was thrilled. I began to jot down her genealogy notes. Even though I wouldn’t write pages like before due to her arthritis, I remained her first choice.
Manuel was right. I am now 19 years old.
I’m old, far too old. My once graceful lines and curves aren’t the same. I wasn’t discarded like a cheap pen, I still have my place among the other writing instruments. Mr. Pencil, Mrs. Eraser, the Stabilo markers, and that measly little Reynold ballpoint pen with the number 5 tip had better watch out. I’m still the boss!
A rebrousse temps généalogie 