I am often asked if I have ever been in love or loved. I always thought that Preppy was my first love. He was the first man in my life whom I thought I would dance to Edith Piaf, the man who I thought would hold my hand when I was falling, pick me up when I was down, and never make me cry. He never held my hand, we never slow danced—especially to anything French—and I had cried so much for him that I had no more tears left. I had never felt more alone in my life than when I was with Preppy. The loneliness was palpable.
After a year of frolicking and telling the world off, I found myself sitting on a one-way flight to Italy. I couldn’t believe it was only last week that I was stressing over writing my final papers. I sat there in the plane feeling numb and waiting to wake up in my dark, stale studio.
I never had any expectations when I first arrived in Europe. I knew I was going to see history, eat the best pizza, drink vino, and enjoy la dolce vita. I couldn’t believe how far I had come. Last year I was planning a life with a man and now, I was standing on a cliff overlooking the Bay of Naples alone.
We met in a small village in southern Italia on a hot summer night. I mistook him for an American, and he mistook me for a local. After five minutes of him struggling with his broken Italian, I relieved him, "Non conosco l’Italiano." A couple of limone cellos later, I found myself sitting in the empty piazza with a Dutchman. We had talked for so long that I didn’t even realize the sun was up, and I was going to miss my flight to Rome. Stuck with the idea that this may have been my last night with this man, I did something I never thought I would do. We arranged to meet up in Paris in a few days.
It’s amazing now that I look back; I flew to another country to meet up with a man I barely knew. I took a chance on someone who I did not know anything about; for all that I knew he might have been a Euro version of one of the many dysfunctional men I dated in LA. Then again, when don’t we take a chance on someone we hardly know? What is life if not taking chances? I almost cancelled on him a couple of days before I flew out to Paris, but it was the wise words of a friend who lead me to find love again, "See him, or else you will be left wondering the rest of your life, what if? Don’t live to regret this moment."
A week had passed since I had last seen him. I stood at the Île de la Cité feeling sick to my stomach. The tourists around me were snapping pictures and posing by the Notre Dame, while I was trying to see if I could remember what he looked like. They say when you see, you will know. I knew. Out of the crowd of tourists, I saw him walking towards me.
"We are in the middle of Paris."He held my hand, and we walked down to the jardin du Luxembourg, where we spent the next six hours talking. I had never felt more at home, more at peace, and as full of answers as I did with him. As he kissed me, I thought I had transcended out of my body and was looking down at myself thinking, "What movie are you watching?" I was so enthralled by him that I didn’t even notice I was running around Paris in stilts.
For dinner, we walked down to an Armenian bistro; I thought I should enlighten him with some korovats. We drank Armenian wine, dinned on French lamb, and were entertained by the Armenian restaurant owner who thought the Dutchman was my husband.
Time in Paris is astonishing; it seems to flow like liquid, slowly oozing and before you know it, you are standing in front of the Palais de Chaillot overlooking the Eiffel Tower as it’s sparkling in the dark sky like a million stars.
Our weekend together was beyond magical; it was so fantastic that till this day, I have to pinch myself and think "Come on." I had forgotten that I was a tourist in this place called love. I had become so comfortable that I took residence.
As we ran through the metro to the Gare de Lyon, I could hear an accordion in the distance.In the middle of the station, he held me tight and gave me my first and last dance to Ms. Piaf. He was taking the midnight train back to Amsterdam.
We stood there not saying anything. This was the first time in the past couple days that neither one of us wanted to say anything. No goodbyes, no ciaos, no adieus, rein. "I will see you later."I stood there and watched him get on the train; I was unable to move, I stood there numb. I don’t know how I managed to find my way out of the station; the tears were blinding me, and it seemed like all the air was sucked out of me. I came to realize something about Paris. It has everything to give and everything to take from you. I came to Paris to feel love, be in love, and love. I loved.
Later on that day, I found myself sitting on one of the many bridges of the Seine River overlooking the Île de la Cité; I realized that I was brought back to life. Love is possible; just because you love someone does not mean you will be with that person for the rest of your life. I have come to believe that you cannot be with your soul mate in this life. Most people wait a lifetime with a person to feel something remotely close, but it doesn’t matter; when it comes to love, time is irrelevant. At the end of the day, I know that we will always have Paris. If he has taught me anything, it is to believe, believe in love, and believe in the unbelievable, even if it a once upon a time.
As I inhaled my last cigarette, I could feel the tar burning my lungs while the summer rain cooled me down. I knew that I was never going to see him again.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 3:16 PM 0 comments
TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 2009
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