Finding Paris

Flying Away

I woke up and found myself sprawled on the leather train chair one station away from home. A few minutes later, the train stopped and I trudged towards the platform, disconcerted from the five-hour ride. I went straight home and ate dinner from Maria as the rain started to pour and darken the whole place. Only one thing glimmered from my coffee table. It was the gold-framed photograph of three people huddled around as if they were talking about a top secret matter no one should know about. They were huddled around as if that would keep them together forever. Unknowingly, one had to leave which made the other try to follow but only ended up lost upon her own consciousness until only one was left and the photograph seemed to lose the glimmer it once had.

I woke up early the next morning and walked to the park, tried to see if he’s there and also because I was contracted to paint a mural on an office nearby. I felt the cold breeze on my face. The sky was clear. Mockingbirds sang above my head. Tiny daffodils and periwinkles winked at me from Mrs. Peach’s house. I felt the day taking my side. I felt his presence as I neared the park entrance.

I went through the park and saw no one, not even little squirrels burying acorns. Disappointed, I went straight to the office and painted huge sunflowers on a background of clouds without much enthusiasm and spirit. The people at the office beamed at me. To me, their wall looked like one big ball of gray strokes.

My feet were heavy as I headed back to the park. I sat at the little blue swing and read a collection of Robert Frost’s poems. Then I waited.

And waited.

I saw the sun fell into the sea bidding me goodbye, telling me to go home because no one would come.

I ignored the sun and focused on Frost’s poem. I waited.

And waited.

Its five minutes past six in the evening. I decided to wait for another twenty-five minutes.

I flinched as the lights from the lamp posts gave off a dull yellow glow. I felt tiny drops of rain on my face as I stared at the lamps looking down on me. I gathered my things and started to leave.

The tiny drops became larger and soon the rain fell strongly upon the brick pavement of the park and on me. I ran swiftly though I was already completely drenched.

Out of nowhere, I suddenly fell flat on the wet pavement. I felt my body ached as if I bumped into something. I was busy pondering what could have caused me to slip when I saw a hand near my face, offering help. I took it and felt no rain over me.

He was carrying a green umbrella big enough to hold three people. I stared blankly at him as he helped me to my feet, as I held the umbrella and he got wet gathering my paint and brushes and palettes and pencils as they flew all over the place when I bumped into him.

He rushed to me and I handed him back the umbrella, awkward silence replacing the pitter-patter of the rain. He removed his coat and handed it to me.

“What were you doing here?” He asked me.

“Just reading poems.” I lied nonchalantly as I avoided his stare.

“I did not know where to find you, did not know anyone who knows you and whenever I waited at the park by the blue swing, you weren’t there.” He responded as he continued to bore holes in my direction while I looked straight ahead.

“I waited for you the whole day yesterday. I was hoping to see you so we could talk, be friends and all that. I guess that was my mistake. I did not ask for any way to reach you.” He continued to stare at me while talking. “I don’t even know your name.”

He finally got tired of staring and said, “Were you waiting today?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen you since you returned. I thought you went off somewhere far like before,” I finally admitted and felt my cheeks burning even if my whole body felt cold.

“I told you I’ll be here. How silly of us to part ways and not even get each other’s names. We didn’t even ask for any way to reach each other,” he replied, a smile creeping up his face.

Now it came to me. Of course, we would not be able to exchange details. I was so happy that night, I did not even bother to tell him something about me or some way he could contact me. I started cracking up.

We laughed at ourselves and he closed his green umbrella while the rain had no plans to stop.

“What are you doing? We’ll get sick,” I said loudly as the rain continued to fall and create an awful lot of noise.

“We’re already wet,” he shouted back.

“Oh right,” I whispered.

That got us laughing more. We must have looked like crazy bums who used to roam the park. He reached for my hand and twirled me around as he hummed Forever and Ever.

“You hum really badly,” I shouted.

“That’s hurtful. You hum then,” he said through his teeth faking an annoyed look.

I did and his eyes got wider and wider.

“Wow, that’s like a million times better than me. Have you considered, oh I don’t know, Broadway for instance?”

The night was endless laughter. It was getting late and we’re still at the park.

“We need to go. It’s getting late and we might get sick if we stay here like this,” I told him.

“Wait,” he said and cleared his throat. He bowed in front of me, rain still dripping from his dark brown hair. “Hello, I am Victor. I am twenty years young and I love lying on the grass to stare at the clouds while they dance before my eyes. I travel when I have time and money to see different skies, different homes and different people.” He shook my hand as he ended his introduction.

I played along and curtsied to him saying in the best Irish accent I could muster, “It’s an honor meet you, Mister Victor. I am Morgana. Twenty yours young. I love painting, sunflowers and Robert Frost. I listen to jazz music most of the time and imagine the world vanishing leaving me with my sunflowers swaying in the air, our heads bouncing up and down to the music.” I shook his hand and saw him smiling at me, his eyes not betraying the sparkle in them.

“It’s a pleasure meeting a nice young woman like you. May I have the honor to walk you home, dear friend, Miss Morgana?”

It sounded so hilarious that I was not able to reply and just stood there laughing.

“Come on,” I finally said.

We walked side by side looking at houses until we passed the fifth block and saw my glass house nearby. The rain stopped after a while and I invited him in for coffee. He declined saying he had to go home and feed his dog, Lupo.

“Are you free tomorrow,” he asked me.

“Well, I have to teach this child some painting techniques but I’ll be free the whole day afterwards,” I replied.

“Let’s hang out tomorrow then. I’ll show you something.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll come by your house – which is very fascinating by the way – after lunch maybe?”

I agreed and we bid goodbye. I closed my gate and went inside. Looking out my glass windows, I could see him walking away, his back turned to his destination. He was waving at me and probably waiting for me to turn myself in and rest. I picked up my whiteboard by the stairs and wrote, “See you tomorrow Victor! Now turn your back and walk safely home!”

I doubt that he could read it as it was still too dark outside. I opened my window, waved back at him and shouted, “Turn your back, you might bump into something.” To which he replied, “If it’s you then it’s all good!”

He turned his back and walked slowly away as a warm feeling crept into my heart, burning my cheeks.

What a good friend.