#109

Do you remember

This is the second in a collection of tribute pieces called “Do You Remember” – chronicling what I believe to be the most important moments in a series of friendships. The first one can be found here.

Do you remember
Sitting in Paris? Not
On tiny café chairs overlooking the Seine
Or in the gardens of Marie Antoinette, because who
(who has gone to Paris)
Doesn’t remember that? No,
But do you remember
Sitting
On tiles stained with piss and sophistication
In the damp stale air crowded with pea coats
and cigarettes, suspiciously lacking
Berets? And our conversation was stifled by grief,
And the wail of a distant violin
Eating in silence without peace
Or silverware – lukewarm quiche we bought
Underground from a dingy quiche… stand?
(It’s probably best named in French but again,
you were always better avec les mots)
We were starving – like we always were
Who has time to eat
In Paris?
But I remember that quiche –
Because we should have been miserable.
Drenched in icy
Icy
French spring rain
Seeking asylum in the depths of the metro tunnels
Sputtering from exhaustion
And bronchitis but I had just seen
The city
For the last time before my last minute
Early morning emergency flight
We’d run through puddled conservatory gardens
Without flowers
And floated through Monet’s museum
Filled with them, where
For the first time I understood what you meant
About falling in love with a painting.
We bought chocolate Easter eggs, in English
Even though we said “oui, nous parlons francais” –
(Obviously I was no good with that accent anyways)
And a pink snake skin patterned purse from a Japanese woman
Speaking… Spanish? Who could tell
But she used the international terminology:
Sale.
The crumbling remains of the quiche were wrapped in wax in that bag
As the metro rumbled past us
Flashing foggy headlights at my tired eyes, and we climbed
Steps past the violinist into the Parisian sky, discovering
It was dark, and we were mistakenly
Way across town
Accidentally experiencing
the City of Lights.
I would have hated that night
Without you.