Illustration via If The Tiara Fits
Last night, Phil and my co-worker turned friend Kate and I were heading to a vernissage of photographer Steve Wells. We were checking out his 'A Table' series of photographs depicting people literally eating their addictions. I have seen this show a year earlier and we were going to see the development and additions to the collection. This included a chilling new piece of Pete Doherty eating needles. Literal, indeed.
The show was right near the restaurant of my ex, Monsieur Flâneur and I was debating making everyone go the long way to avoid passing by but thought about it and enough time has passed where walking by once in a while should be fine. I have to get used to sharing the neighborhood; I have spent the past two months going the long ways in order to avoid a run-in with him or his family and now its time to just live my life.
Just as we were close to his place and were crossing the street to avoid walking directly next to the restaurant, Kate's sandal breaks. The thong part that wedged between her toe keeping the shoe on her foot just broke off. Leaving her with a useless flat piece of leather on a Friday night in Paris where the stores undoubtedly had been closed for hours. Even if she went home, she'd still be a shoe short on the walk to the metro. She was stuck and there was only one solution. Monsieur Flâneur.
I know what you're thinking but the solution really did lie with him. I promise. He had a bag of my ballet flats in the basement of his restaurant that I never picked up. See? Completely justified. Phil didn't like this idea and accused me of what you were probably thinking two seconds ago; wanting an excuse to see him. Even though my reasoning was legit, Phil would never believe me so I looked at him and dryly said 'Phil, I love him. Of course I want to see him.'. I've learned with Phil that telling him what he wants to hear will always shut him up when he thinks someone is scheming. As usual, it worked rendering him speechless.
We walked over, Kate hobbling to the restaurant and there I saw his mother out front sweeping the sidewalk. It was as if time hadn't passed and everything was as they always were. His lovely and petite mother sweeping the sidewalk with a lit Rothman wedged between her fingers and the broom. God bless her. She was happy to see me and greeted me with hugs and kisses, then his brother came out and with delighted surprise and received me warmly. Relieved by the fact that MF had the night off, I was able to catch up with his family who I had been wondering about for quite some time. I wasn't exactly sure what MF had said to them as he had a tendency to add more drama and hysteria when relaying situations to other people. Based on their response to me, he didn't do this. Good boy. But isn't life interesting? Kate's sandal strap happens to snaps off in front of my ex's restaurant where he has a bag of my shoes.
It was nice to catch up with them and I carefully chose not to mention MF; this was my time and I didn't want anything to be misinterpreted. I shared with them what I have been up to and my advancements since I last saw them. I was pleased that I was able to represent myself with radiance. As sad as I am these days, I am proud of all that I have accomplished since we ended things and I've only just begun.
I confessed to his mother that I missed her and the family. She told me that I could come around whenever I wanted and that I was not alone in France. Although, I probably won't reach out out of respect for MF, just knowing that makes me feel less lonely. I wanted to portray to people who once upon a time were considered family to me a healthy, spirited girl who has accepted what was dealt and is moving on gracefully. Mission accomplished. It was Audrey Hepburn who once said 'Happy girls are the prettiest'.
