Here’s what I remember about Paris: the argument.
Of course, I have many other memories, but this recollection is very clear. It is night and it is cold and I am under the Eiffel burning with anger.
“Not everyone is out to get you Audrey!” my cousin, Sarah, yells at me.
“I don’t think that everyone is out to get me!” I yell back. Thank goodness the wind is whipping around so hard that it muffles our voices. Otherwise, we would definitely be causing a scene – in Paris, of all places.
“Then what are you so angry about?” she asks. I feel bad. I asked to come visit. Sarah, who was studying in London at the time, obliged. We both then planned to spend a weekend in Paris when I got there.
All Sarah knew is that I didn’t say much to her most of this trip and I seemed irritable whenever I was spoken to. What she didn’t know is that I came to Paris to leave everything and everyone behind and what I really wanted was to be alone.
“Audrey…I asked you a question,” Sarah says. Her hands are on her hips. She’s lost her patience.
I look up. The Eiffel looms over me. It seems to demand an answer as well.
“I’m sorry,” I concede. “I’m just…it’s just that…I don’t know how to explain,” I’m fumbling for words and Paris is spinning around me like one of those carnival rides.
“What is going on with you?” she asks. Now her arms are crossed.
I can’t seem to get the words out. My black trench coat feels like a Boa constrictor around my chest. I exhale to make sure I’m still breathing. Still, the words won’t leave my mouth.
In the silence of my mind I scream: I’m in the City of Love and my heart is breaking!