rebonjour - h.s

le deuxiéme jour

I was in my sophomore year of college when I made the decision to study abroad in Paris. It was so ideal. The city of love! The city of light! It was incredibly appealing to me, so fresh to my worn-down mind. The option was a dream come true. I needed a break from the usual routine, so I figured that a few months in France wouldn't do any harm.

On one particular Tuesday in April, I was jogging in the Jardin du Luxembourg. Its proximity to where I was staying was incredibly convenient. When I first saw it, I was in awe. In front of the Senate building, children steer miniature sailboats through a pond. There are tennis courts, pedal cars, and swings spread out over a huge expanse of land. It is everything I wished I had growing up in the park back home.

I liked to run there, and I watched people as I did so.

I usually found myself alone, aside from the few French friends I had made since my arrival. Sometimes they joined me on my runs, but more often, we went out for dinner. I went plenty of times to hang out at their apartments. I liked them a lot, and I think they enjoyed my company. One of my newest friends, Lila, liked to show me all of her favorite Parisian bookstores. We would go around to different ones, and hide in the corners to read until we got shooed out. It was a fun game, but it was kind of pathetic that it was the most fun I had up to that point in college. I went to some parties, but I never truly enjoyed myself as I should have. I felt awkward and out of place, and ended up drinking way too much each time. I'd always end up in bed with some drunk guy, and I never, ever ended up having actual fun.

I was thinking about all of this as I made my way through the luscious Jardins on that Tuesday morning, and I was so deep in thought that I didn't see who I had run into.

"Mon dieu! Pardon! Je suis desolée!" I apologized profusely as I got up from the ground.

A hand stretched out to help me up, and I could barely contain my gasp. They say you can tell a lot about a person from their hands. I saw the hand of a stranger who I knew incredibly well.

I couldn't believe my eyes as they trailed up the boy's arm and made their way to his face.

Black sunglasses covered his eyes, but I knew what was behind them. Bright, mysterious green eyes staring back at me. And an unmistakable smile. The stranger, it seemed, had found his way to Paris.

"Damn, you've still got a way with words. And, by the way- nice French."

I was at a loss for the words that I was supposed to have a way with as he grasped my wrist and pulled me to my feet. No wonder, I ended up on the ground and he didn't. I hadn't realized how strong he was.

I hadn't seen him in broad daylight up to that moment. He looked just as flawless in the springtime sun as he did in the mid-August sunset. His hair was a bit shorter than it was upon our previous meeting, but it still closely resembled chocolate frosting. He wore sweatpants, with a long sleeved red t-shirt advertising the Saint-Germain club team. Like me, he was wearing sneakers, but he didn't appear to have been running.

"Why are you here?" I asked, a little bit harsher than I intended to.

"Nice to see you, too. I got a job here. What are you doing here?"

"A job? You're not in school?"

"Nope. Just graduated from Stanford last May."

"Oh," I said, collecting myself and remembering that we were standing in a public place.

"You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?" he inquired again.

"Studying abroad."

"From where?"

"Colombia."

"God, we turned out alright, didn't we?" He mused, smiling brightly.