Thursday I woke up with sweat on my brow. This is pretty much the opposite of breakfast in bed. Its a loud "fuck you" with no O.J. in sight.
"Seriously, could France have as volatile weather as TN?"
I opened up my window hoping to feel the relief of a breeze. I quickly shut my window. It had to be close to 80 degrees.
I jumped in the shower and turned the shower knob hard to the left and waited for a cold waterfall only to be reminded that left is hot and cold is right. Dammit. "How long is it going to take me to reprogram my brain?"
I got dressed and made my 100 meter journey across the street to the train the station. I had plans to meet Kelsey in the city to help her find a 1920s charleston dress. She had a party. Shopping for a dress didn't sound fun but it was better than spending an afternoon alone. It's funny what you learn to compromise.
I was jealous of her party. It was with her work. She's interning at an ad agency and since there were so many recent hires, her company decided to plan a 1920 mobster dinner. It was going to outshine my evening of chomping on a baguette and catching up on Hulu.
We made our way out towards Chatelet. She had done her homework and mapped out the best vintage spots from the 4eme to the 16eme. We tip-toed along the sidewalk and tried desperately to stay out of the sun. It was an odious presence that day. I was regretting the pants i had put on. Only tourists wore shorts in Paris and i just couldn't degrade myself to that level. I'm trying my best to earn respect in this city.
I could feel the sweat gathering at the small of my back and my lips were smacking together, craving water.
We stopped at a store and bought a 1,5 litre bottle of water and took turns chugging the H2O heaven. I started complaining about the weather.
"Oh it's not that bad," she said as she scooted along in her little, easy breezy summer dress.
She doesn't have to deal with the goods baking in an oven.
We ventured into a store that carried every period except the 20s. I got distracted by the sequinze. And then my nose overtook my eyes. Hipsters. Hipsters and their dirty B.O. shopping for old clothes with outrageous prices. I started looking at the prices and literally laughed out loud. They had taken a Goodwill and threw some glitter on it and called it "posh." The clothes were exactly the same that my sisters and i had played "dress up" in the attack at my grandmothers.
I should send my grandmother a post card and tell her to forget my inheritance. "Send me those dress up clothes! They will finance my whole time in Paris!"
We made our way to another vintage shop called "Episode" and the cutest girl who worked at the store directed us to a charleston dress. The girl had jet black hair cut just to her chin with short bangs. She was wearing dramatically red lipstick, a graphic tee with red suspenders connected to saggy shorts that tapered to the knee.
Kelsey jumped into the black charleston and walked out and gave me the "give me your honest opinion" look.
"I cannot in good conscience let you buy that potato sack for 65 euro."
So, we left and i had to make a 30 minute walk back with a defeated, panicking girl who didn't find her dress.
Have you ever accompanied an unsuccessful shopping trip? Its the pits.
I had to deal with the 5 stages of grief in the unrelenting sun.
Denial: "Surely there are other options out there. I mean, we still have some more suggestions on my phone in the 18eme."
Reality: "We don't have time to go anywhere else. You need to start getting ready soon."
Anger: "Well this is just stupid. We are in Paris for Christ's sake--Fashion capital of the World with no goddamn 20s dresses?!"
Reality: "Well, i'm not sure how common it is. We didn't have a lot of time to shop."
Bargaining: "You're right. If only i would have allotted more time to find something this wouldn't have happened."
Reality: "Kelsey, that's not what i'm saying. They just told you about his party two days ago. What do they expect?"
Depression: "They expect me to be prepared. That's why they hired me. I was so prepared for the interview. They will just see that i didn't take this party seriously and get the wrong impression."
Reality: "Oh my god, they hired you because you stood out. You will stand out tonight again. You will find something to wear and knock their socks off."
Acceptance: "You're right! i'm going to kill a little black dress tonight and work my stilettos!"
Reality: "Annnnd, she's back."
In 20 mins i had experienced the MacDonalds drive threw of the Kubler-Ross theory.
We were a block away from her apartment and a light from heaven shown down and angles dressed like flappers and holding long stemmed cigaretts were singing hallelujahs at the window display across the street.
"PERFECT!" she screamed as she lept over cars, and scooters and babies in strollers.
Of course we would walk around paris for hours when the best dress was in your backyard.
Kelsey had found her dress and we did the french peck peck on each cheek and said our goodbyes.
I was so envious of her party. This would make the umm...200th night in a row that i didn't have anything to do but browse on my computer.
I sat on the train home across a middle eastern family. The little boy was sitting on his father's lap. He must have been 4-5 years old. The father was holding out his hands and the little boy was counting them as he laughed. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq...six...sept, huit..neuf...DIX!" The little boys high-pitched laughed echoed through the car and lifted a smile on everyone's face. Even the "serious metal faced business man." There was something so beautiful and pure seeing a father share a moment like that with his son--the basic beginnings of learning a language.
What they didn't know was that I felt so similar to that little boy, trying to learn the simple things. I often felt like a 4 year old when I spoke but without the cute laughter that would erase the "oh, you're just dumb" look off the person's face. Laughing like that would just solidify their thoughts that i was a blabbering idiot.
But, for me and my love of language, i just couldn't take my mind of this pure moment I experienced in the train. Learning a language is beautiful. Whether you are young or old, you piece the puzzle together with time. I jotted this down before my train came to rest in the Poissy station.
The beauty of being under
stood.
Don't nod at clanging symbols,
or stare at clashing letters.
Utter sounds out of
mouth.
Create the tapestry of your thoughts.
place here.
align.
shift forward.
Until your idea is plastered on the
face of your canvas.
and they no longer have the white
blank
vapid, lull
But the colors of your words
have awakened their eyes and
they see.
they understand
the beauty.
No comments:
Post a Comment