Finding Paris

Fly Me to the Moon

As I walked the path lined with purple and yellow wildflowers, I kept thinking of what I was going to say to my mother. I was thinking if maybe words need not be uttered when I meet her. It made me a bit nervous as if I was going to hear a judge’s criticism. Nonetheless, I needed to hear her; to have that confirmation before I take a holiday.

I was drawing near to the little hut and a flicker of light greeted me as the door opened and I saw dear Maria waiting as she used to back when I was in elementary. Although, how she knew I would be coming, I did not know. I ran to her oblivious to the slippery sidewalk caused by the rain a few hours ago.

“I thought you’re going to Paris,” she asked with a twinkle of smile in her face; a smile long due.

“Well, I thought I’d go here first, eat a bit, stay the night. Just like before,” I said entering the hut with sweet familiarity, the dark aura I used to feel, gone.

I guess words really were not needed to see how she faired. It’s weird now how I always used to think that she still hadn’t moved on. Looking back, I never really did stay long to realize that she had. I always moved along immediately. And it now dawned on me that the reason I left was not because I wanted to give her space to move on and accept father’s demise but because I wanted to run away, away from anything and anyone who reminded me of him. It dawned on me how the things I did were not all for her but more for me. In the end, it was still my mother who tried to keep us together even when he passed away. It was me struggling to get away and forget.

Tears rolled down my cheeks but I wiped them immediately before mother could see. This should be a happy time for us, as I now would try to move on and live a life father wanted for me. Mother shuffled in the kitchen and set the table for two as I walked around the hut and saw the remnants of father’s memories.

“Beautiful, isn’t he,” she wondered aloud as she was setting the clam chowder on the wooden table. “He was always saying how much of a free spirit you are and that when he is gone, I should be able to let you go and live free. Because he said, someday you’ll come back and realize things, accept them as they are. He was always so fond of imagining you flying, of going to places. You really should go to Paris.” That was the longest I have heard my mother speak since father died. It was as if I was hearing these words for the first time.

I smiled at her and sat on a stool. I closed my eyes as the aroma of herbs filled my senses with glee. Today, I am eating with both of them. Today, I know we are complete. Mother went to the living room and picked out a record. Again, it was Howard and his Fly Me to the Moon. It was always our dinner song, us three.

It was surreal, eating with mother. It’s as if the heavy feeling and dark atmosphere was just suddenly swept away and replaced with a certain kind of joy and contentment. It was the feeling of acceptance.

“So, who you going with,” she asked. I must tell that she really does not have flair for English. In a way, it was a bit awkward for both of us to be speaking this casually but it was the greatest feeling of all, as if every bad thing I’ve ever felt and experienced just went away. From the corner of my eye, as I was sipping the soup, I could see her grinning from ear to ear.

“He’s a friend. His name is Victor and we danced a couple of times before in this small park gathering. We spend time together these days, going to places and just having fun,” I answered, a smile forming on my face as I remembered the bickering we had over singing.

“That’s good. Is he handsome,” she asked, really getting into the normal atmosphere that embraced us tightly.

“What question is that,” I remarked as I forked my way through the pesto she made.

“Just askin’. Is he? Do you fancy him,” she asked, eyeing me.

“Really, mother. That’s what you’re asking. No, I don’t. We’re just friends having good fun together,” I replied feeling my cheeks burning, if not for embarrassment, maybe from the hot chowder I sipped too quickly because of her question.

“Just messin’ with you. You know, as long as you’re happy and sure, go for it,” she said.

“Thank you mother,” I replied. The rest of dinner, we ate and spoke for a bit about my life and hers with Aunt Rita.

“So, will you go to Aunt Rita’s yoga class,” I asked hoping that she would as she really needed to do something besides housework.

"Yes, maybe if time permits me and if she persuades me enough”.

“You really should. It’s very relaxing and liberating.”

“How is it liberating?"

“I guess because you’ll be able to touch your inner self. It frees you.”

“I guess I could give it a try. Put a smile on Rita’s face.”

“Yeah. She’d love that.”

It was probably the longest dinner I have had since the last time we ate together. The day after tomorrow would be the day I leave for Paris with Victor. It’s exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time.

“Sun’s up, love.” I grumbled as I heard my mother wake me up, nudging me and pulling my feet to get through me.

“Five more minutes.”

“You’ve got to go. Train’s leaving at half past ten.”

“What? I’ve got a reservation for 6 in the morning.”

“Well, I’ve been up five times already and you’re not budging. Its 10:30 or tomorrow. And you’re leaving for Paris tomorrow.”

“Oh, God. I want to sleep in.”

“Hurry now. Come along.”

So there I was, dragged from bed, all groggy and sleepy. I arrived at the village at four in the afternoon and went straight home so I could go back to bed and have a proper sleep. But, I cannot catch a break as I saw Victor waiting by the door.

“Hey,” I greeted him groggily. I wasn’t able to sleep well in the train. There was too much chatter and noise from the next compartment.

“Hey,” he greeted back, all smiles.

“How’d you know I was coming back at this hour,” I asked, still groggily.

“I didn’t. I was just passing by on my way to get groceries. It was good I caught you. So, how about Paris,” he asked.

“Oh, God,” was all I could say. I totally forgot about it. I am no good when I lack sleep. I should be meeting him before lunch. I slept in and arrived late. “I’m sorry. I slept late. We couldn’t make it tomorrow, can we?”

“We still could. It’s up to you though. Could you leave tomorrow?”

“I feel so sleepy. But, yes, I want to leave tomorrow so let’s do the reservations.”

It was a good thing the fares were pretty reasonable. The only problem we have is the accommodation.

“We’ll just look when we get there then,” he said. “You really look knackered. Get some sleep.”

“Thanks! See you tomorrow then. Will you fetch me,” I asked.

“Sure. I’ll come by a little after 7 in the morning.”

I showed him to the gate and told him I’ll be chatting him up about mother on the plane tomorrow.

“Glad to see you’re happy,” he said as he walked. “We’ll rock Paris then.”