The train backto Paris was far more crowded on its departure. Seeing Versailles was a dream come true and truly a check off my bucket list. This started off as revenge against Lucas and sleeping with Akeem in Barbados definitely helped me achieved it. My heart is struck with the palpability of this being more than what I envisioned. No. Sightsee and give yourself a historical hard on during the day, but at night you are someone else. Here and now, I decided to dive headfirst into the historical building in front of me in its entirety. I join the large crowd walking into the entrance of the Louvre Museum. Sound is amplified against the walls with people talking amongst themselves, children laughing and tour guides introducing themselves to their groups. A security guard tips his hat to me and meets me with a welcoming smile.
“Bonjour,” I say.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he replies.
Once I am inside the magnificent presence of the Louvre overtakes me. Everyone around me continues to walk but my feet feel like lead weights, and I am unable to join them. It’s beautiful. The Louvre was on this historian’s bucket list for years. Its collections from ancient Mesopotamia, ancient Greece, ancient Egypt, and the Roman Empire were awe-inspiring, and I couldn’t wait for the rest of my day full of my favorite pastime.
“I am history’s bitch,” I whisper.
Hours I spent meandering the halls of the museum. On no one’s time schedule but my own. As I went into the sixteenth gallery, I walked my way through the tour groups filling the room. Standing in front of me made out of two blocks of white marble was the famed statue of Venus Di Milo. Armless but nevertheless one of the most important sculptures of nobility found over the centuries. She had no arms because they were never discovered when she was found after an archaeological dig. Her arms were as much a mystery as was her identity. Aphrodite. Impression of the perfect woman. As my eyes took in the art form in front of me, I can feel eyes staring at me. Looking up from under my lashes, I see a thin man standing in the corner surrounded by a crowd of friends. He was a thin man with wavy brown hair and ivory skin. It was if he could be an impersonator for Timothee Chalamet. A look alike. I would break him in half. I am not small in any means. Straddling him would make me feel like I was riding a dolphin. I meet his gaze and am suddenly awe struck. His eyes are as green as pine. He smirks to me as his gaze looks me up and down. My eyes go wide in embarrassment as I avert my gaze from him.
I will not get wet panties in the Louvre. No.
I hold my purse closer to me and follow a tour group heading towards the next room. Whew. I walk into the Denon-Rotunde de Mars or simply put room 408. It’s a round shaped room with painted ceilings and intricated patterned marble floor, but its main attraction stood before me surrounded by a sea of people. The mother of all paintings was locked behind glass before me. The Mona Lisa. The most famous painting by Leonardo Da Vinci lay dormant behind a sheet of thick glass. Security guards were placed in every corner of the room carefully watching every move of the people inside. Looking around as if Vincenzo Peruggia will take this treasured artifact once more. I nervously move a strip of hair in front of my face to hide in weary anticipation. It was impossible to get close enough to make out much detail. As I stood mere feet away from this painting, I can’t help the grateful tears invading my eyes. I would never be here without my Nonna. She would love this. The painting of this woman makes you feel gratitude, fascination and in awe of the utter genius of Davinci. I could stare at it for hours.
Before I knew it my feet guided me into the direction of the remaining part of Salle des états. The best for last. The painting “Wedding Feast at Cana” was placed on the wall in front of me. Framed brilliantly by white walls and stone accents. It was painted by Paolo Veronese famously depicting the biblical story of the marriage at Cana which Jesus miraculously converts water into red wine. The biggest painting here in the Louvre and in company with the greatest paintings of all time. It was Nonna’s absolute favorite painting. She had a replica hanging up in her room for as long as I can remember. She said it was the last painting that she could remember learning about before leaving Italy. That was it. That was all I knew. The story over before it even began. I stood there, breathing in the scents of old paintings. Gazing and memorizing brush strokes. I felt closer to my Nonna. It was almost as if I could feel her with me and I didn’t want to lose that.
Closing time came and I reluctantly left for the last item on my list before leaving France tomorrow: The Eiffel Tower. I transformed not only my attitude about my night-time persona but also my attire. My black sweater dress hugged every curve I had. My short leather jacket and knee-high boots were pleasant accessories. It’s amazing how much a new outfit transforms your attitude. My heels echo against the paved streets as I walk down the street-lit path leading to the tower in front of me. The Moulin Rouge and strip clubs lined the streets. I was a woman on a mission. My newfound confidence turned into a woman in heat. I was feral. The headlights, cars honking, and sounds of a carousel nearby seemed muted in my head as all I thought of was my main goal. There is no sight you will see more breathtaking than the Eiffel Tower at night, lit by more than 300 spotlights along its girders. The tower covered in a golden sheen as the sky around it gets darker with each passing hour through the night. As the city of Paris falls into a midnight black, so does my desire to do something I have never done before. My phone suddenly dings notifying me of a text message.
DA: Amee. Carol taught me how to text message on this phone.
ME: That’s great, Da.
DA: Where are you, angel girl?
I smile sweetly as the vision of my father wearing reading glasses and holding the phone so close to his face it touches his nose. I steady myself and fluff my hair to the side as I open the camera on my phone. I smile into the camera as the golden tower behind me is in perfect view. I hit send and seconds later it says delivered.
DA: Paris! Stay safe. Sleep well.
ME: Thank you, Da. Talk soon. I love you.
DA: I love you, Amee.
I place my phone back into the purse hanging at my side.
“I thought that was you,” a voice said in front of me, his French accent thick.
I peer up and see it’s a man I know from earlier. It’s the man I saw from the Louvre.
“I saw you earlier today,” I say quietly.
“Yes, I was showing my friends around. They are in Paris for the weekend.”
“Same.”
“How is Paris?”
“It’s good.”
“Is there anything I can do to make your time more interesting?” he asked.
“There is something,” I said, releasing a shallow breath as my gaze meets his as his brows narrow.
“Comment puis-je aider?” he asked.
You only live once, Amelia.
Say it.
Fucking say it!
“You are going to think I am crazy,” I say quietly, ramping up the courage required for my request to this perfect stranger.
* * *