My world is in Paris. And I’m gliding down the Seine as the jeweled moon turns into the inky black of night, and all the creatures of the city emerge in their opulent splendor, tempting the innocent and brooding desire. But I only see the lights of night, the glowing of festivities, the twinkle of society. I slip up to my hotel room, relishing in the comfort of the clean sheets and MTV. It’s been on all day even though I’ve left the room. My room has two beds and I’ve pushed them together making it a double wide. I’ve met a man in Paris and that’s surprising because some would consider me only a girl. This man, he’s tall and wise. I look for these things in a man, wisdom and depth. He isn’t French which is preferable because I’m not adequate in the tongue and I’d rather make love in English. Its language society isn’t full of rotten old bastards.
This is my third week in Paris, the third week of twelve so I’m not worried about running low of resources at the moment. Next week, I’m moving into this handsome flat in the inner city. Its small, but its endearing and has promise. I’m going to have a ravishing time decorating, throwing French products, and flowers, and curtains all around, making it something suitably French and suitably proper. The man I’m speaking of, his name is Daniel and he’s English and has a lovely accent which I quite admire. Daniel is 29 and I’m 18. And I’m not worried about the silliness of age difference or the snickers of uppity fools on the street. I love this man body and soul and I’ve given myself up to him.
I met him at the Louvre, the most disgusting tourist trap of all, but also the most luxurious collection of art I’ve ever known. I was standing in line for this pathetic bathroom amidst some strange miniature Egyptian craft, wearing a pathetic camera around my neck, and tapping my foot pathetically as I waited. I was looking down, the air conditioning nonexistent, the sun through the window burning impossible holes into my white skin. My neck was shiny with perspiration and I was wholly annoyed about the terrible wait for this single stalled French idea of public facilities. As I looked up, a man wearing a blue button up shirt and grey corduroys emerged (I laugh at this word now) from the stall. His dark hair was slightly damp and matted to his smooth skin. He smiled at me, some white insane smile of perfect beauty and form, the type of charming smile you only see from the most privileged ranks of society. I chuckled, the chuckle that hastens itself among moments of shock or disorient. In this case it was a chuckle of disorient.
I shuffled passed him in an obvious huff of annoyance to relieve myself and ponder the fleeting moment of his alabaster smile beaming down upon my pathetic soul. I hurried into the facility, acted out my natural business, and exited with such haste, surprising myself with strangely determined and mentally disconnected movements. The man was standing there, directly across from the door, his face now calm, but nonetheless exuberantly splendid in its fleshy casing. I gave him a weak show of my teeth, and I began to worry about the odorous scents that often emerge from mouths and I became self conscious. He spoke, but I didn’t hear this initial utterance. He looked confused, alarmed that I hadn’t responded, and that I seemed to be wallowing in self pittance. I shook my head, my blonde hair gleaming as I shook away my inhibitions.
“Sorry,” I stated, now with appropriate ease of speech and confidence. He threw his miraculous man-head back and laughed.
“It isn’t anything you should be sorry for,” he said, his eyes glimmering with some under-worldly magic. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen the statue garden.” This was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyways.
“No, I haven’t.” This was a lie. I’d spent the past five days in this monster museum. It had become my favorite detour and I often played little games with myself mapping the different routes the to the garden.
“Would you like to go with me there?” the man requested. “I’ve found myself bored to bits wandering this place alone.” I chuckled silently to myself when he said “bored to bits” like some seventy year old British woman. I let out an actual chuckle this time.
“Of course, it would be my pleasure,” I said almost like I was mocking his accent or as if this was some sort of secret inside joke.
“Well then,” he said with his alabaster smile, “shall we be off?” He looked mischievous. Who was this man who had just encroached himself so delicately and pleasantly upon my life? Why this day at this bathroom had I chosen to march amiably towards a room full of naked marble chatting mildly with a stranger? Ah, the wonders of this life…
“Ah, the wonders of this life,” I said to my new friend as we stood staring admirably upon some marble goddess of a statue. “Nothing is done with this much care or delicacy anymore. It really is a shame.” I looked over at him and he was looking down upon me again with that same smile he enchanted me with at the restroom.
“What’s your name,” he said, wrinkling his white nose and brow in strange playful questioning. In the twenty short minutes we had been in each other’s presence we had forgotten the proper introduction of each others’ names.
“Anna-Josephine,” I replied smiling.
“Well isn’t that a mouthful,” he countered jokingly. His eyes were gleaming and his whole being was practically glowing. I wondered if he always put off such an aura.
“Usually I’m called Josie.” I looked at him intently and he reached forth with his right hand. I took it and it was warm and strong.
“Pleasure to meet you, Josie,” he said, his eyes suddenly filled with the same intent as mine, “I’m Daniel.”
At this moment, I’m sure I grew flush, the excitement of meeting this glorious man finally hitting full force. I no longer knew what to say, the confidence I contrived twenty minutes prior had become vapid, and I was once again just a silly eighteen year old falling under the spell of some stranger. I hadn’t let go of Daniel’s hand even though I my stare had become vacant and an obvious sense of utter disorient had overcome me.
“Are-are you all right?” Daniel said moving in a little closer as if to comfort me. I looked at him vacantly still gripping his handsome man-hand.
