A night in Paris

I remember when we met up in Paris.

It was just before Christmas and I had a layover  in CDG on my way back to visit my family in Utah. I'd rented a room in "Le Senat", a hotel by the Luxembourg Gardens and down the street from La Sorbonne. I was so excited to see you, I couldn't bear it. My heart felt like it would pound out of my chest.

You have always had that physical effect on me. Whenever I've seen you or heard your voice, my heart raced. In that last phone call before we traveled to Gabon when I wanted to be able to walk away from you completely, my heart ached and raced to hear your voice again, even though your words and voice were hard.

But this time in Paris, your voice when you spoke to me was not hard. You were tender towards me and you understood the effort I made to stay open towards you, to trust that you would find a way to be with me.  You saw and understood the tremendous effort I made to see you whenever I could.

The flight from Naples to Paris was cancelled at the last minute due to a snowstorm. The 200 passengers of the flight stood in line to be re-routed the following day. I fought my way to the front of the ticket line and, rather than miss the chance to see you, bought a last-minute ticket on EasyJet to ORLY (as it happened, it was the only flight that would go to Paris from Naples for the next 48 hours) The flight departed only 15 minutes after I completed the purchase and an airport worker ran me through the airport and onto the tarmac just in time to board the plane before it left.

As it turned out, you had difficulty meeting me, as well. You were held up at home and the trains from Amsterdam were delayed by the weather. I waited at the Gare du Nord train station for hours and you arrived long after midnight. Was it 1AM? Two? I ran down the platform to see you. You were leaving again at 0700 - so we had so little time together. We did not sleep. We had our pictures taken together in one of those passport photo booths and I sat on your lap (we cut the strip in half - you took two of the photos with you and I took the other two) We took the train and walked to the hotel, hand in hand, through the drifting snow. The streets were silent, muffled by the snow, and the street lamps cast halos of light. I remember a snow covered park and you raced me to the doorway of a beautiful stone building and you held me there. It felt like a ceremony, the two of us perched in front of the great wooden door. You said something about marrying me right there.

We ate dinner in the Saint Germain District. I remember you wore a nice shirt and spoke French to the waiter because you said  you wanted to impress me (although you did mess up a little in ordering the water. Do you remember? I wanted sparkling water and you ordered water sans gas). But you did not need to. It was YOU I wanted to see. YOU I needed. You were, in yourself, the most impressive person in the world to me. You had already won me - I did not need anything else. I just needed you.

In my journal, I did not write about our conversation that night. I wish I had. I thought I would have so many more nights and so many more conversations with you. I remember you were full of practicality and plans. You talked about logistics and and how you were arranging separate finances and budgeting so that you could divorce. We talked about my first meeting with Edward - and you were curious to hear what he said about you -  the way he had described you when you were a boy. I remember lying next to you, my head on your chest, listening to your heart.

You gave me your copy of "Birdsong" and I folded my black-and-white photos of us inside the cover. I gave you a copy of the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" and I gave you my ticket stub for the Easyjet flight so that you would remember that I would do anything in the world for a moment with you. You told me it was precious to you. You told me that you had difficulty meeting, as well, and that was precious to me, too.

We showered together - you with your "efficient Sjors" submariner-speed shower and me with my leisurely "clean-every-part-of-me" pace. It annoyed you, a little, to see me be so inefficient in the shower (and neglecting to dry every part of me) but I made you laugh when I imitated your style.

We walked together to the train station in the morning and you waited until the last possible moment to board the train, until the conductor became angry with you. I remember how closely you stood to the glass doors and how you looked at me. There was nothing false or held-back with that expression. You loved me and I felt it.

I remember a man who fought to visit me in Paris for the few hours we could spend together. I remember a snowy night and walking hand-in-hand with a man I loved more than I loved my soul. I remember the struggle and the determination I saw in you - and the love-light in your eyes when you saw me.

This is the man I remember.