Can't a girl just leave Paris quietly without something happening?
I left work at 5 and skipped the gym to focus on organizing my things before this morning's 9am flight to New York. I stopped at Franprix for wine and the Chinese take-out for something quick to eat. Séb was borrowing his company's car to drive me to Charles de Gaulle and was was stuck at his office later than any French person would want to on a Friday night, exceeding his cushy 39.5 hour work week. His co-worker said that he would be at the office at 6:30 to give him the keys which in French time means leaving where he was at 6:30. Annoying.
Séb finally arrived at my place around 9:30 and my things were in order, my apartment was tidy, passport was out and the Chinese take-out that was absolutely disgusting in the garbage. We were famished and needed something to stick to the wine that was burning a hole in our empty stomachs. A quick Friday night meal is pizza, what was I thinking getting Chinese? That's Sundays lazy night dinner! The shoddy internet in my apartment wasn't connecting me to find the number to call so we decided to not be such lazy fat-asses and walk down to Pink Flamingo and pick it up ourselves.
We arrived and it was surprisingly not busy, so we decided to grab the table for two by the door and to enjoy our last night together for a week. We ordered my new favorite pie Le Gandhi and split a Pink Flamingo beer.
I was feeling uneasy and wasn't sure why. Even Séb noticed that I was a bit jumpy and hyper aware of my surroundings. Perhaps I was anxious about traveling, packing, the airport? Travel doesn't usually make me anxious. I've traveled the world on stand-by leaving me vulnerable to getting stuck in airports in foreign countries over night, staying in seedy airport motels in Middle America, being tortured by gate agents, being hazed by flight attendants, being vomited on by unaccompanied underage passengers sitting next to me, on top of the suspense of not knowing if I will get on the flight or not. I'm a tough traveler with patience made of steel so this anxiety was questionable.
Our pizza arrived; steaming and delicious and someone walked through the door and briskly walked past us straight to the take-out counter. I know this pace, this urgency, this intensity. Monsieur Flâneur. Fuck. I swear he was the cause of my anxiety. It's as if instinctively I knew we'd cross paths that night. And I'm not saying it in a kindred spirit soul mate way.
I guess this day was bound to happen and I hate to admit it but my heart was pounding. Not enough time has passed for it to be just that 'the past' but just enough time has passed for our encounter to be uncomfortable. We are strangers. His brother walked in and met him at the counter and watching their interaction with each other was like taking a time machine back one year. Had none of this happened, I probably would have been with them or in the peripheral of this Friday night activity. It's like that movie Sliding Doors where you see what happens in both scenarios of Gwyneth Paltrow's character. Ella 1 would be drained and miserable in her relationship with MF passing Ella 2 with a man more suitable, and is more independent and focusing on her own growth, goals and progress.I prefer Ella 2 but can't help but look back sometimes and think of the sad Ella 1.
The restaurant is small and as soon as he turned around to leave with his take-out box, he would see me. I ran some options in my head, I could acknowledge him and try my best at small talk and introduce him to my new boyfriend or just pretend to not see him and look away.
I opted for option 2. We're not 'there' yet. We're not enemies but we're certainly not friends. I shadowed my face with my hair and looked in the other direction as he was towards our table. As he passed he looked at the girl with mounds of curly brown hair and did a double take once he knew it was me and followed where my eyes in the mirror's reflection. The stare held between us lasted no more than 3 seconds but felt like minutes. I knew exactly what he was saying to me with his eyes that were growing darker with anger. How could I be out on a date with someone else while he still hanging out with his brother? How dare I move on before him. We may be strangers now but I still know him very well. I looked away and he continued out the door slamming it behind him.
Of course I told Séb what was going on and excused myself for reacting even in the slightest bit. It haunted me for the rest of the night where communicating with Séb was beyond difficult, especially in French. I just wanted to lock myself in my thoughts and self obsess over why this had affected me so much. I felt guilty for even caring. I'm supposed to be moved on. A year ago today, I was planning my life with a person who I was now trying to avoid eye contact with at a pizza parlor. It's sad.
These little earthquakes always seem to happen right before I go to New York where I can emotionally shake it off and come back to Paris refreshed. I'm on the plane now and the woman next to me who is a director at a major cosmetics company keeps looking at my washed out and broken out pasty skin. She just recommended some products to me. I just ordered a glass of wine.
Pink Flamingo
105, rue Vieille du Temple
75003, Paris
