Authors: Karice Bolton
The 6
th
arrondissement was
absolutely enchanting with its galleries, quaint shops,
patisseries, and cafés. There was such vitality to this district,
and it stirred something inside of me every time I stepped outside.
It had been the perfect distraction, but I longed for the villa
we’d left behind. Aaron and I had shared so much while we stayed
there, and it felt like something that no one could ever take away
from us. I didn’t understand why that was important to me, but it
was. I would treasure those memories for the rest of my life.
Exploring the rickety, green booths along
the Seine had become a favorite hobby of mine, and today was no
different. I had no idea how much time had gone by as I flipped
through the pages of the used books and magazines. The yellowed
pages and feel of the thick sheets carried me to another time. Most
of the books I’d flipped through were in French, but it didn’t
matter.
“Bonjour,” a man said.
I looked up from the bin to see a handsome
man standing next to me. His blond hair was disheveled, and his
expression beguiling. The man matched my idea of a Parisian
Professor. He was clasping a copy of
Les Fleurs du mal, The
Flowers of Evil
. Baudelaire was one of the few French poets I
recognized, and I appreciated this stranger’s taste in poetry.
“Bonne journée à vous,” I replied, glancing
at the book.
And then I went for it. I attempted an
entire sentence.
“Je adore ce poète.”
The man grinned and nodded. “I do as
well.”
I chuckled, relieved that he spoke English
because I’d gotten about as far as I could in French.
“This is for you,” the man said, handing me
the book.
“Oh, no. I can’t accept this,” I replied,
shaking my hands at the man.
“It would be bad form not to accept my
humble gift to you, mademoiselle. I see something in you. This book
calls to be in your hands. Remember that no matter what people try
to take from you, they can’t take your truth. Your memories are
your own and so is your future.”
Before I had a chance to refuse, he shoved
the book in my hands and turned around and walked away. It was one
of the oddest interactions I’d ever encountered; yet I felt there
was something more to it than chance. I held the book tightly and
went on my way, as I searched for a place to sit and browse through
the pages.
Finding an empty bench under a shade tree, I
sat down and placed my bag next to me. I opened the book and a
pressed rose marking a page fell to my lap.
I Have Not Forgotten Our White Cottage
I have not forgotten our white cottage,
Small but peaceful, near the city,
Its plaster Pomona, its old Venus,
Hiding their bare limbs in a stunted
grove.
In the evening streamed down the radiant
sun,
That great eye which stares from the
inquisitive sky.
From behind the window that scattered its
bright rays
It seemed to gaze upon our long, quiet
dinners,
Spreading wide its candle-like
reflections
On the frugal tablecloth and the serge
curtains.
~Charles Baudelaire/Trans. William
Aggeler
A shiver ran through me as I stared at the
poem that was marked specifically for me. I didn’t know what to
make of it, and maybe that was okay for now. I didn’t need to have
all the answers in order to accept this mysterious message from a
stranger. I reread the poem and closed my eyes, thinking about
where my life had led me. I smiled internally as I realized it led
me right to Aaron. My mind drifted back to our time at the chateau,
and I couldn’t help but feel at peace no matter what was waiting
for me later tonight.
The summer breeze swept through my hair, and
I took a deep breath in as I thought about a new beginning using my
old dreams. The dreams I’d let someone rip away from me as if
they’d meant nothing. Regardless of what the verdict was today, I
had things that Derek could never take away from me. I had the
villa with Aaron and I had me.
I read the poem one last time and placed the
rose back inside before closing up the book and tucking it in my
bag. I hopped off the bench and was ready to begin my mission. One
of the stores I wanted to hit wasn’t actually in this
arrondissement. Theoretically, I could hop on a train and be where
I wanted in fifteen minutes. I wasn’t sure I believed that any
longer because fifteen minutes seemed to be the standard answer
whenever we asked how long it would take to get somewhere, and most
of the time, it took far longer. Feeling completely determined, I
spotted the Metro sign that stood tall across the street, and I
decided to brave the trains on my own. It couldn’t be that hard to
figure out where I wanted to go.
I jogged down the stairs leading into the
tunnel and got my ticket. When Aaron and I came back from the
catacombs this morning, rather than walk, we took the train and all
went according to plan until I fed the ticket through the machine
and didn’t move quick enough through the bar. The gate locked and
Aaron was on one side, and I was on the other. I panicked as I
tried to push my way through, but it wouldn’t budge. Aaron was
laughing, which didn’t help and I just got exasperated. Between
that and not getting to see the catacombs two days in a row, I was
extremely annoyed. Thankfully, one of the volunteers led me over to
a window where they exchanged my ticket for a new one that would
let me through. I had no idea what would happen if this happened in
a terminal that wasn’t manned. I guess a person would just be out
of luck.
I prided myself on getting through the
system and hopping on the appropriate train in time. I sat with my
bag pinned to my side so no one would steal what little I had and
mentally calculated which stop I needed. Every time the train
slowed my nerves ignited, worried that I’d miss my stop. Finally
the correct stop flashed on the screen and even though the
automated voice didn’t sound quite like I imagined the stop to be
spoken, I hopped off the train and made my way through the busy
terminal and back up the stairs to daylight. This store better be
as good as the reviews said.
Wandering down the street, I stared at the
dangling signs as I tried to find the correct one. Seeing the sign,
Une épicerie fine pour vous
made me victorious against the
city that had tried to claim me time and again. I swung open the
door and complete jubilation spiked through my veins.
I’d made it. I was on my way to conquering
this city yet!
I picked up a bag and wandered down the
nearest aisle, picking up olives and toasted Grenoble walnuts,
along with a little wine. A line wound along the case as people
peered into the glass staring at the different meats and cheeses
spread along the silver trays. My mouth watered looking at the
different types of Brie.
When it was my turn to place my order, I
fumbled my way through French and the shop owner seemed really
happy that I at least tried. I paid for everything at once and
walked out of the store triumphantly.
I decided to find a bakery nearby so I
didn’t have to bother with shopping when I got back to our
arrondissement. I could just hop on the train, hop off, and head
right for our apartment. I had no idea how long I’d been gone and
didn’t want Aaron to worry.
As I moseyed along the Parisian streets, I
stopped every so often to look into the boutique windows and ogle
at the shoes, bags, and clothes that beckoned me. I was grateful I
was hauling around a bag of meat and cheese so I wasn’t tempted to
go inside.
With what seemed like far too long, I
stopped and tried to figure out where in the world I was. I think I
made enough turns that I was actually headed back in the direction
of our district, the 6
th
arrondissement, but I wasn’t
certain. Spotting a bakery down the street, I made a left and
beelined there.
I walked into the bakery and could smell the
fresh baked bread. It made me want to stop where I was and eat
every type of roll and loaf they had to offer. After scanning the
case, I picked out four different rolls, names of which I butchered
and happily paid. I strolled down the street making my way over
several blocks, feeling more confident about where I needed to be
with each step. At least, I would work up an appetite. Ambling
along the sidewalks felt so French, and it helped that I was
certain I was headed in the right direction. I stopped at a city
map and glanced at where I thought I was headed. A big, red circle
with the words
vous êtes ici
fooled me into believing I had
this down.
After around four hours of aimlessly
wandering around Paris, I realized that I was lost. I didn’t want
to admit it. At first, I was content with lying to myself. I
assured myself that I truly wanted to see some of the tourist
attractions I happened to drift by. It wasn’t until the last ten
minutes when I had actual arguments with myself that terror struck
and so did hunger—not to mention thirst.
I stopped and took in a deep breath. I could
handle this. I opened my phone and attempted to connect to the app
I’d downloaded for emergencies like this, but I had no cell service
on my broken phone.
None.
Zero.
Zip.
I stuffed my cell phone back in my bag and
adjusted it in front of me. It didn’t help hearing all the
pickpocket rumors floating around endlessly. By this point in my
day everyone was suspect in my book: the cute little kindergartener
with the pigtails, lying in wait; the cute teenager flirting with
his girlfriend, probably a ruse; and the sexy man who winked at me,
just trying to distract me. It was definitely time to get my
paranoid self home. I stared directly in front of me and started
walking more briskly. Spotting what I’d hoped was a Metro station,
I booked toward the sign. It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized
it wasn’t a train station entrance, but there was a map.
I stared at the unfamiliar plotted course in
front of me with the familiar large, red circle and the words,
vous êtes ici
sprawled on the map again. I’d come to know
that phrase well.
You are here.
I sighed.
“Yes, I know I am here, but I don’t know how
to get there,” I muttered, staring futilely at the map.
Unsure of how many hours I’d been wandering
around, I began to feel a sense of panic take over. My stomach
growled, and I laughed aloud as I found a bench and sat down.
Plopping my bags next to me, I’d vowed not to touch the food I’d
bought for dinner.
But my stomach sounded like a herd of
elephants, and my feet were aching. I glanced up and down the
street amazed that I’d somehow found the one street in Paris
without any patisseries or cafés. There was not a single person on
the street.
I wiggled my toes and attempted to get the
blood flowing again as I glanced at one of the rolls sticking out
of a bag. I was better than that. I wasn’t going to eat our dinner.
I was going to find a Metro station, figure out what trains to
take, and find my way back to our apartment. That was going to be
the plan.
I licked my dry lips and let out a sigh.
This was torture. I was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry all while
being lost in a city that prided itself on glorious food and drink,
and somehow I managed to get lost in the one part of the city that
had neither. Straightening out my legs, I let my feet float in the
air as I figured out what to do. The blisters started throbbing and
I knew I’d had it. I was done. I needed someone to pick me up off
the streets of Paris.
The city had won.
I didn’t have enough money for a cab since
I’d used all my cash to buy the food, and I had no idea where a cab
stop was anyhow. Hopefully, I had enough cash to ride the Metro.
That couldn’t be much… Could it? I guess it depended on how far
away I’d gotten myself.
I glanced around the neighborhood once again
and seeing no one, I lifted out the bottle of wine and untwisted
the cap. Feeling completely dehydrated and hopeless, I took several
big gulps, allowing the wine to wet my whistle just enough. I
sighed and placed it back in the bag, propping it up enough so it
wouldn’t fall over. I grabbed a roll and ate it so quickly that by
the time I was on the third one I was ashamed. It didn’t help that
I took a couple more sips of wine to wash it down.
It also didn’t help that only bread and wine
weren’t a good mixture so I opened the jar of olives and began
nibbling them to settle my stomach. Not wanting to eat them all, I
put the lid back on and went in for the meat. I glanced around the
street again and went in for the wine. I was starting to feel human
again. Granted, I couldn’t walk, but at least I wouldn’t die of
dehydration or hunger. I shoved everything into the bags and sat
back on the bench. Without realizing it, my eyes had closed and it
wasn’t until I heard his voice that I realized I’d fallen
asleep.
“Bonjour.”
Hearing Aaron’s voice made my world come
absolutely alive. My eyes flashed open, and I no longer felt
defeated and exhausted as I sprang to my feet.
Aaron stood on the sidewalk, grinning as his
eyes traveled along my body, taking in the mess I’d become while
walking around aimlessly for hours.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“I tracked where your phone last pinged.
When I came downstairs and saw that you still hadn’t returned, I
figured something might be wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “I was getting to
know the city better.”
His brow arched, and even he couldn’t help
the smile that landed on his lips as he reached over and dusted the
breadcrumbs off my shirt. It only took another step for him to
bring me into his embrace and press his lips to mine.
“You taste like wine,” he murmured.