St. Louis Day 1: Meet the family

I’m not sure what to expect as I deboard Southwest flight 408 from Seattle to St. Louis. This is the first time I will be spending a significant amount of time with my family, living with them, learning about them, listening to them. My stomach is grumbling, perhaps with hunger but also excitement.

My Aunt Tina meets me at baggage claim and looks just like my mom from her hair and clothes down to her voice and the way she walks, just lighter skinned and older.

I am happy to see her, but this is a family that keeps a cool exterior when they see each other and so we hug, smile and say, “It’s so good to see you,” instead of

the usual squeal of “OMG I haven’t seen you in so long” that comes from other people. Everything seems subdued here. Things are slower, people are slower.

I get to the car where my Aunt Jean is waiting with her good friend Harry. He is a tenant in the building she lives in and driving her around because she doesn’t have a car. He is dark man with a large smile and gold capped teeth.   

Harry pulls away my bags and shoves my oversized red luggage in the trunk of his black oldsmobile and my guitar in between myself and Aunt Tina in the back and begin my journey with my new found family.

“How you?” They ask.

“Oh good, just tired.”

“Mmm…hmmm, that’s what a plane ride will do to you.”

They talk amongst themselves for quite awhile, while I barely understand most of the words passing between them with their slight southern drawls.

When they laugh I laugh so it doesn’t look like I’m missing their jokes.  

“So what? You play the blues on that there guitar?”

“I don’t, but I’ll learn it for you,” I said.

“Mmm…hmmm that’s right.” There is more laughter and smaking of lips.

I want to talk but can’t because the landscape is new and my eyes need to know it more than my mouth needs to speak. Everything is grey and cold because it is grey and cold at about twenty degrees. The city is painted white, gray, and peach and doesn’t stand out much with no hills to break the distance apart. I can’t tell the direction we’re travelling, so I just let it go and keep staring.

The deeper we drive into St. Louis the more dilapidated the buildings get. Many are boarded up and tagged over. Some are torn or burned down to the ground. I keep my silence and don’t ask where we are going, if it’s safe or warm. I just wait and watch buildings and houses fly by.

A large cemetery meets my view and I follow its curves around corners and mention its enormity to my family.  At the end is Normandy High, which looks like it can hold around 4000 students. It’s filled with nice large brick buildings and a full basketball court.

“Aww, it’s just sad. From the high school to the graveyard that’s where they go,” said Harry.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Aunt Linda licks her lips and smacks her gums.

They pass by the conversation like it’s an everyday one while my heart sits heavy at the thought of kids dying for no reason. It’s the truth though and I need to hear it and remind myself that I’m lucky to live in Seattle where the nearest high school breeds a collection of astute, well read, intelligent students. Here the students succumb to the city, to the gangs, to the life. I suppose I should say here that these are young black kids, because this is part of the inner city of St. Louis.

We drive on and away from the cemetery, the high school, and the sadness. There are still more run-down houses lined by cars with broken windows and plastic sheeting to shelter their insides from the cold.   

“I’m right off of Skinker, not too far now,” Jean says.

So I keep an eye out for Skinker, which I can’t help but think is a horrible name and my fifteen year-old self keeps saying stinker and shrinker.

After a right onto Skinker, my eyes dart from house to apartment complex to house. Some are boarded up still on this street, but most look okay. There are deep brown apartments with dark chocolate awnings and I pray to God that we are not staying there because I’m sure it has roaches. We turn off of Skinker onto the street where those apartments are and pull into the parking lot of Alpha Terrace, the complex right next door.

Relief sweeps over me. These ones look clean, comfortable, and well lit. From the car I can see security at the door and gated parking. Once we unload the bags we enter the building to what is actually a front desk run by residents of the community, a senior citizens community. Roaming the halls and lounging in the group hall are older citizens of the community, cheerful and sitting playing cards or pool.

There are introductions at the front as we sign in as guests.

“Oh, this is my sister and my niece,” like she’s showing us off to these people.

They smile and nod, but not much more.

We take an elevator up one floor to the real first floor and step off to see long dark blue-carpeted hallways with long streaks of oil and dirt. A short walk down the hall reveals to me little cards with the day of the week attached to every door.

“Oh, that’s so we know the residents are still with us. We check to see if they’ve changed the day to the current one, if not, we check in on ‘em.”

Apartment 109 is hers and I can smell the smoke before we enter.

I should have known, I think as we enter the apartment.

I gasp for one last breath of fresh air before we enter, though I realize it’s not going to hold me for longer than it’s gonna take me to step over the threshold.

The apartment is filled with smoke and white walls. There is very little art but there is a cascade of plants near the one large window out onto the street.

Her furniture is made of the same old grainy plywood I always see in all of the black houses I go to.

There is a deep strong smoky smell that I fear is going to sting my lungs and immediately lodge a cold into them. My thoughts return to my younger days when my mom used smoking as a punishment. If I was a difficult child for any reason she would take to smoking in the middle of the living room where the smoke wouldn’t filter and would creep under the door to my room. I hated her for it sometimes and would choke, cough, and sneeze from the fumes.

I was a sick child. Sick all of the time.

Tired barely describes the feeling of my body heavy and burdened by a long morning of traveling and soon I curl up on her velvet pink couch and suffer through dreams interrupted by screams from the TV and my Aunties reminiscing back and forth.

We are waiting for Linda to arrive. She is the last remaining sister. These are the three children left of seven siblings, Tina, Charles – also called Buddy, Carolyn, Shirley – also called Jean, Eddie Jr., Bruce, and Linda, the others have all passed, most recently Uncle Bruce. He is the real reason for this trip, the catalyst for everyone to stop saying they’re going to come visit and actually do it.

I have been saying that I was gonna fly in for the last four years ever since my mom passed away, but each year something came up or money would be tight and it was never the right time.

Aunt Tina called a few days before Christmas and said, “Nicole, I’m sorry to tell you, but your Uncle Bruce passed away.” My immediate reaction was nothing. I had no feeling toward it because I had never met him. I had seen one picture and heard a couple of stories, but never knew more, but was sad for her, sad that she lost yet another sibling. They were now down to three.

This is why she called, because not only had he passed, but they were gonna have a family get together before anymore of them went “underground.”

There seemed no better time to go and with my flexible work schedule and extra Southwest miles I bought my ticket the next day.  

Aunt Linda arrived late, about three hours late, which means those dreams of mine lasted an extra few longer than I expected.

When she arrived, her face was just as I remembered, high forehead with milk chocolate skin, and long silky straight black hair. She is the only one with a thin frame out of the four of us. Behind her walks in her husband Tommy, dark as night with a sweet smile.

There are hugs and kisses and “I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been too long, let’s not let it be this long again!”

We sit and talk and decide where the night will take us because it’s already getting late and we are all a little hungry.

We pile into Tommy’s ’98 black Cadillac and head across town to Sam’s Club, then Walmart where I throw in a basket the best looking fruits you can possibly find at a Walmart to tide me over for a couple of days, and then we decide to dine at Applebees.

The food is surprisingly good and we all reminisce on all the little details about not seeing each other and how we all look a like, but we certainly don’t look our ages.

Tina is the eldest, Jean is in the middle of the seven, and Linda is the youngest spanning ten years with Tina at 65.

“I’m 45!” Shouts Jean.

“Guuuuurl, no you not,” says Linda.

“Yes, I am and I will be till the day I am under this ground!”

The sisters all nod and let her be 45 if that’s what she wants.

We eat fast a quietly like we are starving children led to a feast. When we are done we decide tomorrow’s plans, pile back into the car and drive back to Etzel Ave. to get ready for family the next day.

I blow up my mattress in the tiny living room and inhale the musty fumes of old Vendetta 9mm’s and drift off, excited to meet the rest of the family come tomorrow.  

Holes

Dear A,
When I first met you, I told you a story about myself that was a lie. I lied to you because I thought it would make you like me better than C. I think that it did, but still I feel guilty for wanting you to be my friend and not hers. I thought that if you just pitied me more than you pitied her then we would be better friends. That was 1998, in the dorms at UPS. I e-mailed you a story about my not life, about the not life that was harder than it ever actually was. No doubt things had happened to me, but what I wrote to you was something that never happened and I secretly wished had because I wanted the anger I would be allowed to have if it had.

Instead I was just a melancholy eighteen year old with nothing to show for it but a black wardrobe to hide my rotund body and the cuts on my arms. Those were real, those were not lies, but all the rest was.

What I'm trying to say is that what I did to you two years ago is inexcusable. I know A that it seems like these two things are unrelated, but in truth they are part of the same folly. They are part of the same story, the story where I say something or do something to get attention even if it is the wrong kind

When I went out to the car with him all I meant to do was get another drink. That's all I meant to do, I swear it. I would never have done anything to intentionally hurt you because you were my best friend, the one I called out too, cried to, wrote shitty poetry for, and most of all loved more than I loved any other friend. When I went to the car with him, I thought yeah... maybe I'll smoke some more too and talk a little. I know it's not okay to blame things on the tequila and weed, but you've done stupid things on tequila and weed too right?

We talked about drumming when we went out to the car and I sang him the first song I had ever written by myself. I was so proud to have my first song, the one that was all mine and meant that maybe I was better than some stupid 9-5 job. I sang him the song not because I wanted him to hear it because I would rather have sung it to you, but because I needed to get it out of my soul because it replayed itself over and over again in there and it needed to be let out.

As I sang, his hands beat the steering wheel and the dash then the windows making my song come to life with the beat of his makeshift drum kit. I was delirious with joy because it was like he understood me for a second and that's all I wanted. When the music was done he said, "I want to sleep with you, you're so sexy." A, I knew that I couldn't do that because I would never do that to you, and so I shook my head and said instead, "I won't, but I'll kiss you." God, this all sounds like an excuse and I'm sure at the end it will still sound like one and I can't take it back though that's the one thing I wish that I could do.

After it happened I realized it was wrong and that I couldn't take what had happened back, swore with him that we would never say a word, took another swig of tequila and headed back into the club. "What took you so long?" you said. I felt that you already knew, did you?

I introduced you to someone to distract you, a guy I was seeing at the time. I thought if you saw me kiss him that you would forget your worry and doubts. I kissed him though I didn't want to. Laid it on really thick for you to make it look like there was more than there was and instill doubt in your suspicions.
You smiled at me as we all danced, this is the last time I would see your smile except for in pictures I would look at later to remind me we had been friends. The dance floor was dying and my date had to leave and for his departure I was glad. I met someone else to fill his shoes, someone else in the bar to buy me a drink and tell me I'm pretty. I know that's all I really wanted but I shouldn't have taken it from "him" because he was yours, he still is yours.

I took the guy from the bar home that night. It wasn't the first time I had done that, nor would it be the last, though it was closer to the ending. It was close to the ending because it wasn't long after in the silence that came that I realized how selfish I had been, how selfish to kiss him because of how lonely I thought my heart felt. I didn't understand until the silence that you were more important than any other person in my life. As the silence grew, a hole deeper and wider and more menacing than any I had seen, made its home in my heart. It made itself quite comfortable there and I tried to stitch it up, cover it, fill it in, but nothing seemed to.

I thought that the silence would end, but it never did. The hole has closed up a little, but it's still there and it still consumes things when it is hungry for its fill. I miss you and I'm sorry for how selfish I was and for how selfish I probably still am. I'm sorry that I hurt you like I did and wish I never had because you didn't deserve that, especially not from me.
I've tried getting you back for years now, but it is a futile pursuit. All I can say now is that I miss you, love you, and hope the best for your life. Please know, I never meant to hurt you.

Yours,
Nicole

Laundry

Dear R,
I'm sorry I didn't fold the laundry and put it away. It doesn't mean I don't love you.

Yours,
Nicole

Bunk beds

Dear Shawn,
Do you remember how dark it was in the tiny room we shared long ago? You slept on the top bunk while Keith slept on the bottom because he would fall out of bed every night after waking us both to his night terrors, on his knees punching his pillow and pounding his head on the wall in front of him till chalky white dust lined his already chalky white forehead. He never saw the fear in our eyes when we thought he might kill himself from the nightmares we could not imagine a little boy would have. I still wonder what it was he saw at night. Do you know? Would you tell me if you did?

I slept on the pullout twin bed beneath the bunk beds that you both told me alligators lived under. I sometimes slept with one eye open towards the gaping hole in hopes that if the gator came I could run faster than the two of you even though you told me he would want my succulent flesh more than the bones that pierced through your extra small shirts as your ribs were pulled up and down while breathing. My ribs were hidden under layers of gummy bears and Happy Meals.

My mom and I moved in when I was almost five and you were so angry at first. You were angry that I would take the other bed that you saved for your friends for sleepovers, the one that had the extra teenage mutant ninja turtles sheets and got changed to princesses when I came along. You shoved me in the dark space with the alligators sometimes and laughed while cried and screamed for my mom, but I want to tell you that I think it was good that I saw the dark things in the dark spaces then because they don't scare me now.

I was never mad at you Shawn, because the first day I saw you on that little playground riding the springy horse outside of the Saratoga apartment complex that smelled like pine needles from spring through winter, I loved you. You were the first boy I met that looked like me. Your skin was olive and smooth like mine. You had a superman t-shirt on with a pair of oversized jeans that barely fit your almost five year old body. Your hair was fine soft dark brown tendrils that wrapped around your ears and made soft ringlets on your forehead. You had a wide smile and a missing tooth and I knew that we were destined to be married one day, like in Sleeping Beauty. You might say now that when I was almost five I didn't know what love was, but sometimes I think I knew more then than I know now. I knew that I would have given you all of my Barbie's if you had asked for them, but you never did, so I asked my mom for Lego’s because I knew you liked those and would want to play with me then.

We moved our stuff in without your permission, though you knew I was coming. Your mom, Dorothy was the one that told you and Keith to put the new sheets on for me as a surprise. I can only imagine the disgust you felt as I invaded your room and your lives. I was only there because my mom had brought me. I wouldn't have come if she and your mom hadn't decided that they wanted to be more than just friends.

We had played many times before this, but because we had to not because we wanted to. You and Keith always wanted to play battle games while I wanted to play Cinderella, but instead we would compromise on Hot Lava. We would jump from the slide to the bars and sometimes onto those springy horses that you loved in order to avoid the lava sand. We knew it wasn't real, but sometimes we would play for hours chasing each other around, trying to push one another in until one of us stood as the sole survivor.

Are you surviving now Shawn? Things aren't like they were when we were almost five, when we didn't realize how simple things really were. When sometimes I would swear and get my mouth washed out with soap and Keith would break things, and you would steal from neighbor’s mailboxes and Dorothy would find her belt for you both. We would all put up a fight and start crying before the soap or the belt came, but it didn't stop anything, they would always come and be over with quicker than we thought. We would go to our room with the other two musketeers, climb onto our beds and cry because there was no place in our tiny apartment to be alone. Do you remember? Those were the days when you still thought it was okay to cry in front of people.

I always wanted to hug you when you cried, but I never did because I loved you and I didn't want you to know, so I would say something like, "you know play dough tastes better than soap" or "do you wanna play with Michelangelo and I'll be Leonardo?" to take your mind off of it. We would play and you would stop crying though your eyes would be sad for a while and I would smile because I helped and I knew one day when we were married I would never let you cry. Do you cry now? Does anyone hug you?

Eventually you grew to tolerate me, maybe even like me enough. We all played together, went camping together, learned to ride our bikes together. For a little while we were like a real family with your mom and my mom watching our every move, but then a couple years later it was over. One day my mom brought me to a new apartment and asked me if I liked it. I said, "it would be better with a dog." She laughed with the "honey, that's really cute, but it's never gonna happen" laugh that I'm sure you remember well. Then she told me this was going to be our new home for a while, just till she could get the money to move us into a place of our own.

We were six then and it was just the beginning of summer. I had been excited about that summer because I knew we would get to spend all of our time together and camp and I would get to see you and your skinny, shirtless six year old body on the waterslides in Manteca. You would make me laugh with some funny story about a prank you pulled and I would follow you around and have my friends follow you around too.

We didn't get to have that summer though. It's not that I never saw you, but that I saw you less. Dorothy would bring you around sometimes, but mostly she would just bring Keith without you. I would wonder where you were and found out that you were with your biological family. I had met them once before, they were the black side of your family and I wondered what they were like and if they loved you like I did. You missed the time when Keith and I got to stay up and watch Nightmare on Elm Street with my mom and were permanently scared to get on her waterbed. You were probably watching something with your brothers in a house on the East side of town. The east side was the bad side of town, so I thought maybe it would turn you bad. Do you think that's what went wrong?

A few months later my mom found a place for us to live in San Jose, it was even farther away from you. Dorothy found Keith, her, and you a place too in East San Jose. It wasn't until then that I realized we were going to be living separate lives. I hated knowing that we would have to live separate lives for a while, but I just knew it would be okay because it would all be fine once we grew up and got married.

We’re grown up now and I really want to say something about that thing that happened when we were eight. Are you still angry at me for that? I hope I didn’t hurt you too much. Please write back and please let me know how everything’s going in prison. I just think it’s not fair that you’re there. Not fair at all.

Sincerely,

Nicole

Apology Series

I am beginning a new series on this blog called the Apology series. I will be writing apologies to people from the past, I will be writing from the perspective of people I have wanted to apologize to me. Some will be straight forward, some will take a while to lead up to the apology. This series will be very emotionally complex and may reveal more of my past than I'm necessarily comfortable with, but I'm going to do it anyway. I have been trying to escape from these memories, but... there is nowhere to escape.

Day #24: You're Beautiful

Thursday May 13
We barely crawl out of bed at noon and the only reason we do is because the cleaning lady, a petite African transplant to France, is making a ruckus trying to wake us up again. I look through my curtains to see her infuriated look. I am sure she would hit us with the handle of her mop if she was allowed to, but instead she just slams the mop into the sides of the bed to make sure we know she is there.
I keep my eyes shut for a while longer hoping that maybe she'll soon go away, but then I hear whoosh, whoosh, flop and my bed starts shaking. She is changing the sheets on the bed above me again. "Will she ever go away?" I wonder. It seems not, but I keep my eyes shut and wish her away. Then I hear the slide of tired feet across the floor and the door swish shut too and I realize that Redmond is now awake, which means the end of my attempts at sleep. It is now time to wake up and I feel like crap.
Okay... actually I don't feel that bad, just that hung-over glaze that happens no matter how much water or ibuprofen you have in the night. I had the obligatory two glasses of water and two ibuprofen before bed and awoke a few hours later to repeat the same. Mama didn't raise no fool, I didn't want to wake up stumbling all over myself. Still even with all the extra caution, I knew that there was no rectifying the amount I drank the night before, so I felt a little sluggish, it was better than the alternative, being Redmond and wanting to puke all day. Unfortunately no one told her about water and ibuprofen and I forgot that this is something she hasn't learned yet because she is only 19. 19 year olds don't know these tricks yet, but I think after this she will.
It takes us two hours to get ready, not because we are primping but because we are moving too slowly to get ready any faster. The shower feels good and I stay in for almost fifteen minutes even though I have to press the knob every 45 seconds to keep the water going. By the end of the shower I feel like it is a little game I am playing, pressing the shower knob just as the water is evaporating and whalaaaa it turns back on!
When we both get back to the room we sit and talk about the night before, attempting to drudge up any memories we can that have evaded us. We look at her camera, she has pictures. "Are you serious? Did that happen?" I ask looking at pics of us dancing with crowds of people and her covering a bald guys head with her mane after he has asked her, like Rapunzel, to let down her hair.
"Oh... shite!" I say. "Post those ones, but not those ones. I don't want to remember that." Everything is coming back as she scrolls through the pics.
I think that maybe we should get going, but I look outside and it is cloudy and looks a bit like rain again for yet another day in Paris and then I don't care anymore. I decide that it doesn't matter if we waste our whole day in here, but then both of us realize how hungry we are and decide we should head for food.
Then suddenly a petite bubbly brunette walks in. "How are you? What's your name? Where are you from?" It is fast and my brain is running slowly. "Oh... you don't have to answer all of those, but yeah. My name is (we'll call her Sarah since I have forgotten it) Yes, I just got in from London, a transplant from South Africa. Yeah, omg... tell me everything, everything!"
She is too fast for us to answer, but when we do. "Omg, I just love your accents! Tell me everything about the United States. I've never been there, but I just know I'd love it. I just know it! I think I'm going to move there, I just need to find a man and marry him. How do I do that? Is it hard to find an American man?"
It is hard not to laugh because she is non-stop, but she is charming, so I tell her it won't be a problem. "They'll be charmed by your accent and your beauty." In truth she's not very striking, but I think that guys would like her because she is certainly cute and quick witted and she would be snapped up right away. She is happy and grateful.
"Really? My accent, but all my friends just laugh at me they think it is so funny." She is referring to the SA accent, which sounds like a mix between Australian and British to me at least.
"Yes, they'll be charmed. They'll have no idea where your accent is from, just the very fact that you have one will make the guys fall head over heels for you."
"Oh, I just know I will love it there! I already do!"
This conversation continues for a while and we all decide that we should continue it over food. I think mainly me and Redmond decide that we need to continue it over food and Sarah wants to continue it over drinks, because it's now 2pm and Londoner's like to get a head start on drinking. No, I'm not really being facetious here, Londoner's start drinking damn early. I mean pass out by 7pm kind of early, so we set off with her friend she met in the lobby, Alice, on a search for food.
It really shouldn't be that hard to find food, but we walk down the main road and the only thing we can find are kebabs. Kebabs abound, but none of us are in the mood for it at the time. We find out Alice is a London native and that Sarah just "loves her accent!"
We talk about London men and I say I have no problem with them, they seem friendly and were all very nice to me. It's Paris men I have a problem with and we begin telling stories. "Ooh, Paris men they have eyes that stare right through you." I tell them about the thwarted attack and we all decide that in Paris one should be very very careful when out by herself. "Mmhmm, Mmhmm," they say. Of course we say this as we are walking and realize that we have come to a not so savory neighborhood, luckily we are walking in a group of four.
"Where the hell are we and where's my drink?" Asks Sarah. "I don't really need food, but I could go for I don't know... a good stiff drink." We all laugh. She seems really hard up for some alcohol and I could really just use some food to end this daze I'm in.
After roaming around streets filled with endless graffiti we make it to a cute restaurant that serves both sushi and pizza. I look at the menu and for the first time during my time in Paris do not see jambon on the menu. "Where's the jambon?" I ask. Then we all look around and we notice the yamaka's. We are in the Jewish District.
"Oh thank God! I am so tired of jambon and I love the Jews!" I say.
"Really? Like what about them?" Asks Sarah.
"More specifically their noses."
"What?" She is taken aback. "What about their noses?"
"I just love how big and pointy they are." I shrug and she shrugs, but I don't think she gets it.
"To each her own, eh? I would never date a guy with a big nose." I laugh and I don't explain to her that I have loved the Jewish nose my whole life since seeing Elie Weisel's photo on the back of his novel Night, and falling in love with him. Ever since then I've been looking for a good Jewish boy to love, but haven't found him.
After we eat, Redmond and I decide that we need a nap because it’s been hours since we last slept and we know that it’s going to be a long night again. We are going on the Paris pub-crawl. This will be my second time on it and Redmond’s first. Lee and his friend Ben, also a Kiwi, have also been on the crawl before. We want to be able to meet them on time tonight instead of being fashionably late and so we try to rest up as much as we can earlier in the day.
We meet Lee and Ben a little after 7 in the hostel bar and find ourselves making our way over to Montmartre for the third night in a row. Our quest is to find food quickly before the 9pm crawl meet up time. We walk up and down the streets looking for anything, but everything is full, people are out tonight because the rain has abated. I look at all the meals and try to decide what I should attempt to eat in Paris tonight because frankly I am tired of Parisian food. I keep thinking about how much I want meat, more specifically a big juicy steak, but I don’t know where to find that. Then I see something utterly disgusting. I see a stack of raw ground beef topped with a raw egg. I honestly feel a little nauseous seeing this, but hold everything in and hope never to see it again.
We finally find a restaurant and order. I order a chicken salad because I want something light for the first time in a while, but instead there is a heavy cream dressing and chicken pieces with fat attached atop iceberg lettuce. I wonder if they have ever heard of romaine here? Oh well... I still eat it since I’m paying and decide at this point pretty much to never eat meals in Paris again. I am grateful that I only have a few days left. Everyone else seems perfectly happy with their meals, Redmond’s being a nice chocolate mousse, which of course would make anyone happy.
After dinner it’s time for the pub crawl. We get there and I suddenly remember how much I don’t really like this bar. It is an Aussie bar that is fairly empty unless there’s a football game on TV. I don’t really feel much like drinking, but I get a tequila sunrise anyhow, which I am pretty sure they have forgotten to add alcohol to.
The next bar is a little better because it’s an Irish pub and there is live music there this night. I am being a bit of a party pooper and not drinking here, while Redmond, Lee, Ben, and a random group of Americans have decided to start doing shots along with a chant that some Swede’s taught them a few nights before. All I remember is the end, “why do we drink? because we’re sexy!” Everyone lifts their shots and you think it’s time to drink, but no. It’s not time to drink, everyone shouts, “Up! No, no, no, no no. UP, No, no, no, no, no. UUUUP!” Then the drinking begins. By the end of a night full of chanting, one wants to find the Swede’s that taught them this and strangle them.
We make it to the night club and I am exhausted and tired of all these tourists. Granted, I am a tourist, but I didn’t come to see tourists drink, I came to see the people in the country. We do a few shots of Absinthe and I tell Redmond that I need to go. She is sad, but she has decided to dance with Ben, to Lee’s chagrin, and I say I’m off to bed. By the time I leave the metro has stopped running and I am a little annoyed, but taxi it back with another girl from the hostel. When I make it back I intend to head to bed but I notice the couple from last night, Adrian and Phoenix in the bar.
“Hey, whatcha doin? Where ya been?” They ask.
I am not sure I’m in the mood for this, but I smile and say, “Oooh, just out.”
“Drink?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I’ve had too much already. Actually I’m going to go to bed.” Phoenix looks dumbfounded. She looks at her watch, then at me, then at her watch, then at me.
“No! It’s too early, too early,” she says with the soft French/Japanese/American accent shaking her head hard at me. It’s 1:30am and I think it’s a reasonable time for someone of my age. Unfortunately, I can’t use age as an excuse with her because she is 31 and her brother is 30. “Just a little while longer.”
I am reluctant, but I decide to stay awake for “a little while longer.”
“I’ll be right back.” Phoenix runs off with some sketchy African guy and comes back a while later with a napkin full of... leaves.
“What the hell is that?” asks Adrian.
“I don’t know. Looks like some funky weeds he just pulled off a bush outside,” she says.
“I hope you didn’t pay for that!”
“No, no, no. He said I could try before I buy, but I think it’s just leaves! I think that’s why he let me walk away with it.” We all laugh because the African has tried to dupe her. “I will go talk with him.” She goes in search for him, but he has disappeared.
The bar in the hostel soon closes down and we head outside. There we talk to the French Reggae band that has just been playing and they are interesting and nice. We talk of music and how it is to live as musicians in Paris. “Very hard, very hard,” they say, “but we love living here, so we stay.” Most of them have dreads and look to me like they could be a band out of Berkeley, then of course they break out the weed. This time it is real weed and Phoenix and Adrian seem very happy. All the guys are rolling joints out on the street and smoking.
“Is this allowed?” I ask.
“Well... no one’s stopping us,” says Adrian. I shrug and watch them smoke weed.
“Don’t you want none?“ asks one of the musicians.
“Yeah, aren’t you a musician?” says Phoenix, as if to imply that all musicians most smoke reefer to play.
“No, I don’t smoke. I’m allergic.” This is both true and untrue. I have smoked weed in the past and it makes me cough and sneeze, but also it doesn’t make me feel anything except hungry, which is the primary reason I don’t smoke it. I don’t see the point in using something that doesn’t make me feel anything.
Then I see Redmond and Ben. “Omg, omg! You’re awake!” She is excited that I am awake and that we can hang out some more, but when I look at my phone I realize it’s already 3.
“Oh, but I’ve got to go to sleep soon.” This is actually true because I have to get up at 9 in the morning and get my stuff packed to get ready for my flight to Venice.
“But pleeeeeeease, pretty pleeeeeeease! It’s our last night together!” It is hard for me to say no to her and this is very true. In fact I realize that I may never see her again.
“Okay.” I realize when I say this, that at 3am, this may only be the beginning of what will turn into a very long morning.
“You’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” I think I am hearing James Blunt, but not exactly so beautiful. I turn around and there is an Indian man looking at me and trying to serenade me with his not so fantastic version of Blunt. “Yeeees, it’s true.” He is so drunk I think that he may pass out here in the street.
I walk away and he follows me and I sidle up next to Adrian like he’s my boyfriend and hope that it will make him go away. Adrian puts his arm around my waste.
“Hey man, this is my girl.”
“It don’t matter none man. Youuuuuuuu aaaaaaare beautiful! So beautiful!” He gets louder and louder and tries to grab my arm for a dance. I am stunned and don’t want this to be happening. I am so happy to be leaving France tomorrow after a long nine days of crazy men.
Adrian pushes him away. For once in my life I am happy to feel protected by a guy. Usually I am the kind of girl that wants to stand up for herself all the time, but I feel just fine having someone else do it for me.
“Why don’t we go?” Says one of the singers of the Reggae band.
“Yeah, let’s go to another bar,” suggests Adrian. Of course, I once again look at the time and realize that it’s now almost 4am and am very reluctant.
“Oh, come on! You only live once! Besides the bar is only ten minutes away,” he says. And off we go. It is a beautiful night, though still a little chilly as we walk along the canal. There is amazing graffiti all along the canal and the side streets. We talk with the musicians more about living in Paris and one of them asks me why I am going to leave.
“Stay, you should stay.” He smiles. I know what that means. He walks nearby and brushes his arm against me and tells me about the beauty of Paris, though I am unsure that he can truly convince me that Paris is the most beautiful place in the world. He is nice though and he is handsome. We walk and walk until we come to a point where we must part with the musicians and I am sad to see them go. They are down to earth and people I could hang out with for a long time. In only a few hours time I feel like they are my friends.
“Au revoir,” we all say and kiss each other on the cheeks. It is nice to kiss each other on the cheeks, first on the left and then on the right as Paris has taught me to do, but I am sad to say goodbye. They walk their direction and Phoenix, Adrian, Ben, Redmond, and I walk another.
“Soooooo... where is this bar you said we’re going to?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just ten minutes from here.”
“But you said that waaaay more than ten minutes ago.”
“Let’s just keep walking.” We do and we talk and we walk and we talk. Twenty more minutes has passed us by.
“Soooo... how much longer till we’re there?” I realize that I am starting to sound whiny, but I look at the time and it’s nearing 5am.
“Well, perhaps we should take a cab.” I wonder why we would need a cab for something that is ten minutes away, but we hail one and stuff four of us in the back seat and one in front and drive off to this supposedly open bar. In about eight cab minutes we arrive at our destination. Eight cab minutes would have meant another almost 45 minutes of walking.
“Hmm... ten minutes eh?” I say.
“Well... it was ten minutes in a car.” He shrugs and smiles and we walk into the 24 hour bar.
The four of them order drinks but I don’t because I’m not feeling too well and don’t want to hurt in the morning, but it’s 5am which could to some be considered breakfast time and so I order an omelet avec fromage et jambon.
We laugh, we eat. We laugh some more. I am happy, but exhausted. I have to wake up soon. The dawn begins to break and all the street lights begin to turn off. It is a beautiful morning that I should not be privy too. I see people go down into the Metro and am happy to see that it is open again. We finish up food and drinks and head down the stairs.
“Let’s keep in touch,” they say, because everyone that meets like this always says that.
“Yeah... let’s,” of course I don’t believe that we will. Ben, Remond, and I head one direction while the beautiful couple heads the other. It is 6:30 now and we are boarding a train.

Day #23: Sexy Show

Wednesday May 12
Hostel sleeping at St. Christopher's is quite luxurious because of the curtain surrounding the bed. If not for the thump, ching, thump, bang of the lockers opening and closing all morning by other hostelers I could sleep all day. Well... then there's the cleaning staff. Today is the day the cleaning staff gets angry at me and Redmond for being lazy and sleeping past 10am. We didn't go to bed until 3, but this African-French woman doesn't know that and it's apparent in the way she flips the mattress on the bed above me and rams the mop into the sides of the lockers that she is a little annoyed that we haven't gotten our asses out of bed.
She pretty much wakes us up and we figure that we did as much as we could in terms of sleep, but we are both still exhausted. What to do? I had certainly had it with museums at this point and she wasn't looking forward to going to any, so we agreed on going to the shopping district over by the Pompideau and just checking it out. A few days before on my way to the Pompideau I happened upon-this means I got lost and found- a shopping mall underneath the ground. It's hard to explain how I did this besides I just started walking down some stairs thinking that all stairs that go down always lead to a metro. Apparently this is actually true, but the metro was about five or six flights of stairs down beneath this shopping center.
Redmond and I find an H&M and a wide variety of other Parisian stores that have exactly the same style of clothes as H&M. I am in love with all of the stores and want to buy something, but #1 have absolutely no idea what my size is in Paris and #2 everything is ridiculously overpriced because it's in Paris. Instead we become master window shoppers and drive by hangar stalkers. It is mostly fun except for that the style of shopping is very different there. Large groups of friends hang out in the middle of stores and talk like they are coffee shops and it gets a little annoying trying to get around them.
We remember around 5pm that we are meeting Lee at 7 and need to take a nap before this happens. Shite. Okay... but we've also got to get ice cream before this happens too. So we grab some ice cream and head down the extra flights of stairs to the station and "omg, this thing is so f'ng huge, it's like some kind of airport."
We are on our way to train #2, or #4, or... who the hell knows, but we're on our way to a train and we see signs for getting there, but it seems we never may. We got up escalators and up escalators and then onto one of those moving platform escalators, then we walk. We walk and walk and then go down some stairs. "Are we almost there? Did we take the right turn?" Then we walk more and another platform escalator. Approximately a mile and a half later (this is not an over exaggeration, I swear) we make it to the train platform. I realize that people here are certainly not thin because of their food, it's because they have to walk everywhere, even their metros are a workout. I feel we could have almost walked to our hostel in the amount of time it took us just to get to the train.
We make it to the hostel right after 6, which means not much time for a nap, but we both need naps or we will be completely faded by about 9. I pass out almost immediately but Redmond decides she has to e-mail her mom before rest. I put my earplugs in and forget to set an alarm and at 7:20 I wake up confused and delusional. I think I am in my bed at home and am looking for the light, but it's on because the sun is on. The sun is still bright and shy outside and will be for another 2.5 hrs. Yes, that's right, it stays light till almost 10 in Paris.
I get downstairs and Lee and Redmond seem to be doing okay sitting in a chair. I'm so glad she got up and I am feeling really irresponsible. Oh well... he seems happy and we make him wait longer for us to go and freshen up. We are definitely girls that like to make men wait.
Time to leave and we head to Montmartre and do a tour of the same thing we did last night except for that it's earlier and we get to do a tour of the inside of the Sacre-Couer. I am happy that I get to see it again and with a lot less people since it's almost closing time. More photos of the city, more photos of the lights, the city is turning beautiful again.
We head to the area where we had pizza the night before in search of more good pizza and end up at a really sub par pizza place, though I'm not sure how. This is how it is in Paris, things are always hit or miss. We should have just gone to the same place as the night before, but in our attempt to try something new we find something really just okay. It's okay though, things will be okay soon.
After the meal we head down Montmartre to the seedy red light district and walk the Boulevard. It's okay to walk the Boulevard here because there don't seem to be any street walkers since everyone is inside dancing at a club. The lights are gorgeous and it feels like Las Vegas, except for that every light says, "Sexy Show" "Good Time" "Cum inside."
In between all of the clubs are fancy restaurants that well dressed couples are dining at. Then as we pass a club a woman invites us in and says, "You only live once, it's time for a show," and winks. We all laugh and walk on looking for a bar. I decide we should just go to the club that the pub crawl ended on a few days ago since it's nearby and a lot of fun. Lee and Redmond just want to go inside, so
Once we are inside it is time to drink. First we decide to share a bottle of red wine in the bar area and after two glasses I am still not sure that I feel anything and so after order a gin and tonic. We move to the club area and we are still not drunk enough to dance.
Absinthe!" says Redmond. "I want to drink Absinthe!" Lee and I decide that perhaps yes this is a good idea and head to the bar to buy some. I look at my watch and it is 11. I think, "oh no... this could either end up really really great or really really badly." We all do the round of shots and watch some Spaniard dance and laugh. After approximately ten minutes has passed we all decide it's time for another round. We head to the bar and order another round of Absinthe, except this time the tender puts in sugar and lights them on fire. "Pretty." We are like children taking our first look around in the world. We are stunned while in the meantime our drinks are flaming away. The tender gives us straws to drink them with, we stick them in and suck them up as quickly as we can. I think it's quickly at least until I realize my straw and my thumb have started on fire a little. I quickly blow them out. We are good. We are all ready to dance, except for now we realize that the we should probably leave soon because the metro closes early on the weekdays.
Damn, we were all really about to dance. Luckily the hostel has a bar and a club. We get back and this is when we meet Phoenix and Adrian. Phoenix and Adrian are one of the most beautiful black couples I have ever seen. Phoenix is 5'7, svelt, dressed in fitted jeans and a snug red blouse with a ___ hat tipped to the side. Adrian is 6'3, muscular, bald, and looks like he just exited an Abercrombie ad. I find out that they are from Orange County, CA. "Oh... that explains it."
"What? What?" says Adrian.
"The look, the attitude, the everything," I say.
"Whatever," he scoffs. "You guys want some drinks?" Of course we want some drinks, who doesn't when they're on vacation? He orders up Jaeger Bombs for us all. We all talk and dance up in the bar, the same old thing.
"Why are you here? Where are you going next?"
"Study abroad, holiday, traveling for a year. Nice, Madrid, Cinque Terre, Barcelona for the World Cup."
"What? Hold it right there. The world cup!" Okay, I don't much watch soccer, but I am extremely jealous that the couple is going to the World Cup.
"Omg! A couple, you thought we were together?" says Adrian. "Why I would I buy you drinks if we were together?"
"I don't know, just thought you were being super nice."
He nods his head. "Girl, you've got issues." I don't disagree, but I am just confused now. "Let's go dance."
We all head downstairs, I am officially more drunk than I've been all European vacation. All I want to do is dance, but the last thing my feet want to do is dance, so instead I roam and talk to random people. "Who are you? What is your name?"
Adrian buys another round of drinks. I look at the time and it's now 1:30. "Oooh... I should stop, I don't want to feel like crap in the morning." Only thing is that I already know I'm going to feel like crap in the morning from everything I've already had to drink, so... I drink some more!
Phoenix is flying around the room and every time I talk to her I attempt to figure out why she has this soft almost European accent because it doesn't make any sense. She is from California and currently lives in Tokyo, so where is this coming from? I don't ask, I just wonder and steal her hat. Her hat is perfect, I would take it, but for some reason she wants it back. I think... I should buy a chapeau, it suits me better than my hair does. This begins the search for something that may never come.
At 3am another drink, a shot of gin this time. I am trying to at least not drink outside of what I've already had at this point, though I honestly don't know where the last hour and a half goes.
"Redmond! Where'd the last hour and a half go?" I also don't remember seeing Redmond for the last hour and a half and she smiles and says she doesn't know while her body tips to the side a little and she smiles.
"Want another drink?" She says as she makes her way back over to the bar.
"No, no, no, no, no." I mutter this just to remind myself that I cannot have another drink at 3am because it would be my ruin, but she and Lee go ahead and have another shot.
Suddenly it is 5am and the lights are coming on and we are saying our goodbyes.
"Nice to meet you!"
"No, nice to meet you."
"Have a great rest of your trip."
"Yes, yes! And you!" Everything is well wishes and smiles.
"Seriously? You're actually going to bed right now?" Asks Adrian and Phoenix. Glamour couple/siblings look like they are still going to stay awake.
"I however am not going to be peer pressured into staying up beyond this time because it's 5am and I know the sun is going to rise soon. I make it a point to go to bed in the dark.
"Goodnight." Kiss on the cheek, kiss on the cheek. Oh, how very French we are. Redmond and I make it to our room.
"Damn, we are going to feel like shit in the morning aren't we?" I say to her.
"Yeah." I get my stuff to get ready for bed and head to the bathroom. Redmond says she's going to meet me there, but never shows. I find her passed out in her bed with her clothes still on. It was a night to remember that I don't seem to really recall.