Tread

July 1

Paris in the summertime. Few places rival it, though Florence at sunset can hold its own. I've got less than 24 hours in The City of Lights and I've spent my time wisely: drinking champagne at the top of the Eiffel Tower; rolling a Sauvignon Blanc around my tongue as I puruse sculptures and models of King Louis the VII's rooms at the Musee du Louvre; quietly wandering through the Notre Dame Cathedral before settling in a small cafe to sample white Bordeaux.

By three, I am well and truly hammered. Walking along one of the Pont de l'Archevêché Bridges and running my hands over the numerous sun-warmed love locks, I try my best not to fall into the river. It isn't like Leo is here to catch me.

Which is another reason I'm blatantly day-drinking. The 'Helmi-Rai super fun day' was put on hold by Antonia at nine this morning, only a few hours after Leo and I got into Paris. She asked to meet me. The conversation quickly turned ugly when Leo said he never met any of her boyfriends but trusted her to keep their daughter safe. I'd lost the rest of the conversation when he banged into the bathroom and started spewing Spanish.

Unable to sleep, I'd texted Ji-hoon. Stupid decision in hindsight, because the last thing Leo wanted to see when he exited the bathroom was a stupid grin on my face over a text my penpal sent. That resulted in him yelling at me, me yelling back. Eventually I threw a pillow at him, which sailed right past his head and into the bathroom. The absurdity of that move made us both laugh, anger forgotten as he tried to understand how I missed with a pillow that was almost as big as him. Leo'd tackled me to the bed, tickling me. Tickles turned to kisses and kisses to heavy petting before his phone rang again and he left, walking funny with an obvious erection that even his waistband couldn't hide.

I'd laid in bed for a while after, lazing around. But Paris called to me from beyond the velvet-draped windows. After a quick shower, and a text letting Leo know I'd be going out but would be back at the hotel around four, I left. It was easy enough finding a driver and hitting the most famous sites in quick succession.

The city sprung to life around me, vibrating intensely; six-ish drinks later I vibrate with it, feeling very good.

I trip on gravel as the bridge gives way to road and the world spins. Maybe too much wine and not enough food. I spot a small bistro with outdoor seating and walk over, using my third grade French to get a table. A waiter comes, rail thin with jet black hair and the smoothest face I've ever seen. "Hello," he begins in heavily accented English, "Which is it you are wanting to drink?"

"Water. Bottled water."

"Oui," he says without a hint of emotion. "And are you having questions on the menu?"

It takes a moment for me to understand what he means. "Um..." I look at the menu: it's in both English and French. "No, I understand. Do you have Wi-Fi?"

"Oui. I will produce for you the code and the bottle of water."

A few moments later he's pouring a very fancy bottle of water that I'm sure costs just as much as a glass of wine for me and reciting the Wi-Fi passcode. His accent is so thick, he has to repeat it twice before I understand and the code works.

"And for the food, what would you like?"

"The steak medallions. But can I get salad instead of potatoes?"

He nods and leaves with a twist of his heel. My phone chooses that moment to beep and vibrate, the incoming messages causing it to shake for almost thirty seconds before stopping. I take a long sip of water, waiting for anymore notifications to come in. They don't and I pick it up.

Mama: You're in Paris? How is the city of love and light? 9:21AM

Mama: And don't bring back a permanent souvenir, Rai. And I'm not talking about Mr. Backpacker. 9:21AM