4 Days in Paris

I glared at the Eiffel Tower as if it was her fault. Although her soaring presence generally filled me with awe at the way she’d transformed from a world’s fair exhibit into a global symbol of love, today, as the frigid wind whipped my clothes and the dreary sky dampened my spirits, her enormous metal frame seemed to mock me. The enormous digital display mounted on the side of the tower—J-1—glowed brightly, a visible countdown to the end of the century, the end of the millennium.

Ticktock, the tower seemed to whisper.

“Yes, I know,” I responded quietly. “One day left of 1999. Almost time to go home.”

A sudden gust of wind caught the ends of my short brown hair, and I reached up to tuck it behind my ears before jamming my frozen hands back into the pockets of my black pea coat.

“Now what am I going to do?” I chuckled and glanced around to ensure no one noticed ‌I was literally talking to the Eiffel Tower.

Kicking at the ground with my Doc Marten boots to get the blood flowing to my legs, I pulled my hands out of my pockets again to tug my scarf tighter around my neck and up over my nose. Painful memories surfaced, erasing months of closing the door, little by little, on the plans I’d made for my life with Vic. I’d moved across the ocean to be with him, yet my hopes, the proposal I'd expected, the life I'd been planning… everything had changed drastically with four little words.

It’s not working out. I fought back a twinge of anger.

In my journey toward healing, I had formed a relationship with this gorgeous pile of metal. She was breathtaking. The wide base narrowed and climbed magnificently into the sky, a sight visible from all around the city. Usually, as I stared at her from my apartment, morning coffee in hand, she felt comforting, inspiring me to think about what might come next after the colossal failure of my Plan A. Today though, the countdown mounted on the side of the tower was a visible, condescending reminder of my botched happily ever after plot.

Aren’t you past all of this, Callie?

Until today, I’d sure thought so. But as my time in Paris ticked away, my thoughts were drifting all over the place. Emotions and memories locked up and hidden away now burst into my consciousness, reminding me of how painful those first few days here on my own were.

It didn’t help that I was surrounded by images of love. An older couple strolled slowly past with their small dog leading the way, demonstrating who was clearly in charge. Although the couple appeared to be at least in their seventies, the man’s arm was still wrapped lovingly around her shoulders. It was sweet, even if it reminded me of what was missing in my life.