Sep 22 2008
Paris
I caught the train to Paris. Booking a hostel in Amsterdam was the farthest I got with the planning. The rest of the trip I would float in whatever direction the wind blew, as long as I made it to a farm in Tuscany, the rest was open. A guy with a backpack sat next to me on the train, I could tell by his shoes, he was American. We exchanged travel stories and before I knew it we had pulled into the train station. He suggests we find a hostel together, since neither of us had a clue and in this situation, two heads are better than one. When we got off the train, the guy starting running through the crowded station like we were on that reality show, Amazing Race. “Why are we running?” I yelled.
“Come on!” He shouted as he pushed Parisians out of the way.
I don’t know what this guys deal is, but I’m walking. I never saw him again.
It was a warm evening and I couldn’t be in Paris one more minute without finding the Eiffel Tower so I got on a bus that would take me there. The bus was crowded with commuters and I had to hang on for dear life, I couldn’t see out the window. I got off the bus and followed the crowd to an overlook of the Tower. My mouth dropped as I gasped for air while the sun was lowering. People covered the lawn with picnic blankets, dogs caught Frisbees, kids laughed and the air smelt clean. I made my way toward the tower and began the climb. When I got to the top I couldn’t control my tears, I just cried.
I felt like I had been struggling the last thirty years to get to this metaphorical spot. I was on top of Paris, on top of the world and finally free from my dysfunctional family, free from my alcoholic husband. My body was soothed by complete peace and for the first time I felt love for myself. I reflected on where I’ve been and where I’m going. I was proud of my accomplishments. Deeper into this story you’ll meet some of the demons I had to let go of on the top of the Eiffel Tower that day.
I made my way down the stairs and sat on the lawn were the sky was turning shades of pink and lavender. I lit up a cigarette when a man approached me saying something in French.
“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m guessing you need a light by the universal thumb flicking motion.” I handed him my lighter and he said,
“American.”
“Don’t hold it against me,” I said.
He proudly points to himself and says, “Egyptian.”
He looked down at my lighter, which had a marijuana leaf print on it. He asked if I wanted to go back to his place and smoke some Hash. Looking back, this goes against my better judgment of not trusting anybody, but I was in a risk-taking theme so we walked to his apartment, a few blocks from the tower. We stopped at the corner market (good, witnesses) and picked up some wine and cheese.
Our conversation was limited due to the language barrier but after the Hash, wine and cheese, conversation wasn’t necessary. We spoke the universal language of love.
I found the condoms I had got for free from the PSU health clinic and rolled it on. I’ve seen a lot of penis. I had never seen one of this size and caliber. His penis was ridiculously large and I wasn’t sure that I could handle it. Before I could find out he was finished. He went to remove the condom and we discovered it had broke. We both went into panic mode and he pulled me to the bathroom and pointed to the shower. I took a shower and jumped up and down. We fell asleep and the next day exchanged information. He wanted me to stay but anything more than one night would start to feel like a relationship.
I was on a mission to find the morning after pill. It was hard enough explaining to the pharmacist that I needed a laxative where I found myself doing charades of going to the bathroom. I was unsuccessful in acting out the morning after pill. I decided to let it go and whatever happens happens.
from my book- Scars of Paris available at Borders and Barnes & Nobles
