Three years and three months ago today I was standing here with your hand in mine. I was pointing out to you all the beautiful sights of Paris from the top floor of the Eiffel Tower. It was such a beautiful sight, do you remember? The sun was setting, casting it’s beautiful last rays onto all of Paris while the city lights slowly turned on. What a perfect time to be there, atop the most beautiful city in the world.
Do you remember how beautiful Sacre Coeur looked from up there? The rosy pink glow from the sunset. How beautiful it looked then, a rose colored monument atop the only hill of Paris. Notre Dame, the Louvre, and the Pompidou Center, even the Défénse, Paris’s business district, all glowing bright as the city of light, the city of love, fell deeper and deeper into the summer night. And the infamous golden dome concealing beneath it Napoleon’s grave. Who else would leave such a vibrant mark on the Parisian skyline?
Do you remember how I pointed out everything to you? How we went all around the top of the tower and I kept trying to tell you all the landmarks I recognized between the large diamonds of the gate? Do you even remember that man who joined in our conversation? How he asked me what and where things were? He was a tourist like us, an older man with a large camera around his neck, before they were so popular, and a fanny pack around his waist.
Did you know that that was one of the happiest days of my life. Top five. I was so happy to be on top of Paris like that. To see all of Paris from one point and to be able to vividly see and name all the famous landmarks of Paris. But most importantly, I was so happy to have shown it to you. I don’t know if you knew it at that moment or any time during our European post college trip, or even now, but I was so happy that day to have spent and shared it with you by my side. That evening, it was only you and me atop the Eiffel Tower. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was there. You. Me. And Paris.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Part 13
Waiting at the platform, a man passed by in front of her. She watched him inhale from his thin white cigarette, the end of it turning bright red as he satisfied his nicotine craving.
Blowing the gray smoke out, he continued walking, the gray smoke, now a halo surrounding and following him away.
Two girls sat on the railing were also puffing away. Their conversation was littered with breaks every now and then as each one took a breath from their cigarette. Sixteen years old and they already surrounded themselves with the swirls of gray haze and little white sticks that seemed to fit perfectly and naturally between their two fingers. Every once in a while they would turn away to spit onto the platform floor. Juliet couldn’t quite figure out which was the more disgusting habit: the knowledge that with every breath from each cigarette they were bringing themselves and those around them that much closer to lung cancer and the inevitable death, or the fact that they were defiling public space with their cigarette butts and spats of saliva.
Blowing the gray smoke out, he continued walking, the gray smoke, now a halo surrounding and following him away.
Two girls sat on the railing were also puffing away. Their conversation was littered with breaks every now and then as each one took a breath from their cigarette. Sixteen years old and they already surrounded themselves with the swirls of gray haze and little white sticks that seemed to fit perfectly and naturally between their two fingers. Every once in a while they would turn away to spit onto the platform floor. Juliet couldn’t quite figure out which was the more disgusting habit: the knowledge that with every breath from each cigarette they were bringing themselves and those around them that much closer to lung cancer and the inevitable death, or the fact that they were defiling public space with their cigarette butts and spats of saliva.
Part 12
It had already been five hours since Juliet’s plane had landed. Five long hours of waiting and wandering and utter confusion. Now, at the house where she was to spend the next seven months of her life, she waited in an exhausted daze.
After her layover in Chicago and an even more turbulent flight over the Atlantic Ocean, Juliet had finally landed in Paris. Everyone around her bustled about with anticipation of getting off the plane, but Juliet waited patiently in her seat. There was no point, she felt, in standing in the crowded aisles with impatient people trying to get their stowed baggage down while standing shoulder to shoulder with just about everyone on the plane. Where was the point in pulling down your luggage when you know without a doubt that not only would at least three people be hit by either you or your luggage, but that you would now be taking up twice as much space as you were before. So Juliet waited in her seat. Though eager to stand and stretch her weary limbs, she was now reveling in her new found space with the vacated seats next to her.
Staring out the window, she watched French workers move about underneath the belly of the plane unloading, refueling, and signaling with their flashlights. Her dream of actually living in France was now just about fulfilled. Once she got her baggage, found the bus to take her to her new home, and get her new set of keys she would finally be able to say that lived in France. To fulfill a dream she had since high school. To live amongst the French. To drink wine and eat cheese. To listen to French and speak French in return.
Juliet looked up to see if the people standing had started moving. With the front of the line beginning their slow waddle towards the door, she finally started to collect her things and joined the crowd.
Just a few more hours and I’ll actually be able to sleep in a bed, she thought happily. Sleeping, let alone sitting, in an economy class seat had left with a body dying for movement.
Ten minutes at the baggage claim and finally the baggage began to show. The conveyor belt groaned and started with a few jolts. Soon baggages began showing up and people pushed closer to view the output. Over her shoulder, a French family was greeting relatives who had just come back from their American tour. At the sound of the poetry of the French language, Juliet’s ears were immediately drawn into the conversation. The fact that she didn’t understand most of it didn’t seem to bother her at the moment, for she was too overwhelmed by the amount of French being spoken all around her.
Fifty minutes later and the crowd had diminished significantly. The conveyor belt revealed what was left of the intense crowds. One red luggage, badly beaten, one giant black duffle bag, of which Juliet was sure she could fit into, and one cardboard box which seemed to have leaked one of its contents out were all that remained on the conveyor belt. Around it, airport workers were walking back and forth, some of them stopping to talk to their coworker. Juliet stared at the remains of the conveyor belt. The three luggages making their same lowly trek around and around and around. And yet, Juliet still couldn’t find her second luggage.
One more turn, maybe something happened and they’re still getting it to the baggage claim, she nervously thought. One more turn. Still the same three bags dejectedly paraded before her.
She turned and made her way to what she assumed was the lost baggage desk.
“Uh, je suis désolée, monsieur, je uh, I um, lost my, uh, baggage,”
After her layover in Chicago and an even more turbulent flight over the Atlantic Ocean, Juliet had finally landed in Paris. Everyone around her bustled about with anticipation of getting off the plane, but Juliet waited patiently in her seat. There was no point, she felt, in standing in the crowded aisles with impatient people trying to get their stowed baggage down while standing shoulder to shoulder with just about everyone on the plane. Where was the point in pulling down your luggage when you know without a doubt that not only would at least three people be hit by either you or your luggage, but that you would now be taking up twice as much space as you were before. So Juliet waited in her seat. Though eager to stand and stretch her weary limbs, she was now reveling in her new found space with the vacated seats next to her.
Staring out the window, she watched French workers move about underneath the belly of the plane unloading, refueling, and signaling with their flashlights. Her dream of actually living in France was now just about fulfilled. Once she got her baggage, found the bus to take her to her new home, and get her new set of keys she would finally be able to say that lived in France. To fulfill a dream she had since high school. To live amongst the French. To drink wine and eat cheese. To listen to French and speak French in return.
Juliet looked up to see if the people standing had started moving. With the front of the line beginning their slow waddle towards the door, she finally started to collect her things and joined the crowd.
Just a few more hours and I’ll actually be able to sleep in a bed, she thought happily. Sleeping, let alone sitting, in an economy class seat had left with a body dying for movement.
Ten minutes at the baggage claim and finally the baggage began to show. The conveyor belt groaned and started with a few jolts. Soon baggages began showing up and people pushed closer to view the output. Over her shoulder, a French family was greeting relatives who had just come back from their American tour. At the sound of the poetry of the French language, Juliet’s ears were immediately drawn into the conversation. The fact that she didn’t understand most of it didn’t seem to bother her at the moment, for she was too overwhelmed by the amount of French being spoken all around her.
Fifty minutes later and the crowd had diminished significantly. The conveyor belt revealed what was left of the intense crowds. One red luggage, badly beaten, one giant black duffle bag, of which Juliet was sure she could fit into, and one cardboard box which seemed to have leaked one of its contents out were all that remained on the conveyor belt. Around it, airport workers were walking back and forth, some of them stopping to talk to their coworker. Juliet stared at the remains of the conveyor belt. The three luggages making their same lowly trek around and around and around. And yet, Juliet still couldn’t find her second luggage.
One more turn, maybe something happened and they’re still getting it to the baggage claim, she nervously thought. One more turn. Still the same three bags dejectedly paraded before her.
She turned and made her way to what she assumed was the lost baggage desk.
“Uh, je suis désolée, monsieur, je uh, I um, lost my, uh, baggage,”
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