Birds of Paradise

September 9th, 2010

Birds of Paradise

 

 

 

September 9th, 2010

  

Not long after their wedding, Elea quitted her job at the flower shop and left for Paris. Why Paris? Was it because it was the city of love and she was seeking for her own happy ending? No. It was more because it was the city where Victor Hugo had written Les Misérables and she felt miserable. Hadn’t Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina found happiness in Paris? That was all she really wanted at that point, some small portion of happiness. For a fraction of a second she had thought she had found it, and even after she had still hoped, deep down that maybe things would change and she would wake up, he would wake up and her happily ever after would be written but there was no such thing, was there?

            When she arrived in the City of Light though, things did not magically get better. She was alone, still utterly alone. She was in a foreign country and even if she had taken French in High School, she felt absolutely clueless in the historical streets.

            She met with an old friend of her parents and was able to get a small apartment, and a job as a private English teacher—her bachelor in English was finally of use. She couldn’t bear working in another flower shop and seeing birds of paradise.

            There were boys. Quite a few of them but for some reason none seemed to be that attractive. Maybe it was only because none of them were him.

            She had let her feeling for him become more than just feelings, they were part of her now, as genuine as her skin and the only way to deal with it was to get use to them. There was no getting rid of them. And maybe being away would help her heart mend.

            At first, she almost left to go back home. There, she would be close to him. It didn’t matter that he never would be hers; at least she could hear his voice, see his face, smell his cologne and maybe even touch his hand. She would feel him all around him, not just imagine him.

            She didn’t even wonder if she would dream about him at night anymore—she always did. It didn’t make her feel better though. Even in her dreams she never got him. There was one dream that had been especially marking. In it, he was still with her best friend, but they weren’t married yet, and she had asked him if he was happy, and he had smiled sadly at her and said he was happy enough. But in that answer, her heart had screamed that happy enough wasn’t entirely happy. And they could have that together. But of course it was just a dream, and of course Liam was happy with Marilyn. Who was she to question that? Just the jealous best friend.

            In the end, she stayed in Paris. Maybe it was because there no one talked to her about Marilyn and Liam, about how perfect and beautiful they were together and how their love was touching and pure and—and disgusting and selfish and mean!

            As the days and weeks went by, she met more and more people. Suddenly, the comfort of her room and her books weren’t enough. Love stories did not entertain her as much as they used to and human company was a much better distraction.

            Her new friends brought her to museums and parks and restaurants, they made her travel all around and introduced her to night life. She was never doing anything wild, but she was just living and having fun, finally living. Without him that is.

            And it felt good. For the first time in a while, she kind of felt free—like a bird.