All I Needed To Know [3]

Aunt Lucy was hovering over a pan of scrambled eggs in the kitchen, a rainbow of cut fruit placed in a bowl on the counter beside her. She immediately sensed my presence.

“Good morning.” Lucy called enthusiastically.

“Hi.” I replied, and then quickly revised with “Good morning.” I was wandering in a dream and really needed to get my head on straight.

Lucy flipped her pan onto a thick, square plate, revealing about four or five scrambled eggs. “Hungry?” She asked me. I shrugged slightly. The truth was I was much too bewildered to want food, even though I hadn’t eaten since a bag of pretzels on the plane. Aunt Lucy shook her head and put a new plate in front of me. “You must eat something, Niece; we have a big day today.” She scolded, scooping eggs onto my plate.

I stabbed a piece with my fork while Lucy set the bowl of fruit between us in the middle of the table. “What are we doing?” I asked hopefully.

She set her fork down and leaned forward slightly. “How would you like to see the Tour Eiffel?” Aunt Lucy asked slyly. My heart jumped.

“Really?” I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice down. “Really, Aunty, we’re going today?”

She frowned for less than a second, and her brow smoothed once again. “Well, we’re going to see it from the outside. Tickets go up you have to buy in advance, dear, but that’s okay, right?” Lucy patted my hand optimistically.

It was more than okay. It was great. The Eiffel Tower was one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture in the world, and it would be a wonderful photography opportunity. If I showed up at that snooty academy tomorrow with some great angled photos of the Eiffel Tower under my belt, they would surely be more than impressed.

“Yes, yes, of course! Oh this is going to be so great!” I cried, taking one last bite of my breakfast and running to my room.

“Do me a favor, honey, and do some unpacking first.” Aunt Lucy called after me. “You don’t want to be disorganized when you have classes tomorrow.” I rolled my eyes and began to throw everything out of my suitcase and duffel bag, quickly refolding each piece and shoving it into the small, plywood dresser.

After I was showered and dressed, I began going through my bag, looking for the neck strap I had just gotten for my camera. It probably took about twenty minutes before I found it tossed into my new underwear drawer. The morning had quickly ticked my and it was almost noon, and I actually felt a little hungry.

It was eerie how Aunt Lucy seemed to hear my thoughts. “Oh, look at the time!” She dramatically stated, lifting her wrist to her face as we were walking out the door. “We’ll pick something up when we get there.”

We left the car at an old parking lot and went for a walk to get to the tower. It could easily be seen from a distance, and I couldn’t wait to get closer. Lucy said we still had a little ways to go so we stopped to get ice cream cones somewhere along the way. The caramel fudge was cold and thick as it ran down my throat, and I couldn’t find a better way to put a label on the taste of Paris- richer, sweeter, and better than anything you’ve ever had. It was gone right with the sugar cone before we got to the tower.

There were so many opportunities in this grassy park, so many places to stand for different angles of this magnificent building… but so many inhabitants standing beneath it! People of all different ages, languages, and sizes were bustling around, pointing and gaping. A garden was to my left and right, lined with benches, where sat more gaping tourists who pointed and chatted. I left my great aunt to weave through the sea of people, snapping photographs. Some were of just the leg, some of the people waiting to go up, and others of as much of the tower as I could possibly fit into one shot.

Ready for a break, I began scanning the benches to find Lucy. I spotted her and began walking down the line, glancing at every gawking tourist on my way, and hearing the hum of different words, different conversations all musing together. Then I heard something else- it was one sound, except the pitch kept changing melodically… beautifully. The exact instrument I couldn’t pick out because of the deafening voices, but it still stuck out with ease. Listening for the direction it came from, I slowly turned to look at the other row of benches parallel to the ones where Lucy sat. Everyone on that side was the same as the other, attentive, staring no instruments… except one.

Sitting alone, occupying an entire bench sat a boy, probably about sixteen or seventeen, looking over his shoulder at the bouquet behind him and strumming quietly on his acoustic guitar. His hair was dark and thick- just covering his eyes as he hung his head down- and it stood out smoothly over his fair, flawless skin. He looked up, scanning the bystanders, and I could see the features of his face- big round eyes that looked either blue or grey sat on top of a smooth, curved nose, and his mouth was short, pulling into a crooked smirk at the tourists that triggered faint dimples under his long cheeks. Possibly the only part of his face that appeared blunt was his jaw, angled so perfectly atop his neck it appeared to be sculpted of porcelain. The rest of him was soft and flowed perfectly, like visual poetry or the melody he was strumming ever-so-gently on his guitar. Just as quickly as he looked up, the boy looked down and increased the tempo of the music. I watched in awe as his fingers moved with instinct along the strings, carrying out more and more flawless notes and harmonies that floated in the air and surrounded every part of me, circling my shoulders and tickling my ears.

 I couldn’t resist the view that was almost as artistic as the sound. Shuffling forward about two or three steps, I pulled out my camera, crouching down, and prepared to snap a shot. Just after my finger clicked the shutter, the boy’s head snapped up and saw me with my camera pointed at him. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to catch his reaction, because I quickly stood up, brushed off the grass that had stuck to my bare knees, and sauntered off, staring at the ground the entire time.

I plopped down on a bench beside my aunt and pushed my mass of blonde hair out of my face, turning my camera back on and inspecting the screen. I sighed with relief when I saw the picture I had taken turned out exactly how I wanted with no blurring from his jolting head or my shaking hands. This was the first time I noticed his clothing- a simple blue t-shirt over faded jeans. Becoming more and more grateful for technology, I zoomed in on his face, examining the calm look in his eyes despite his distressed brow.

“Excusez-moi?” A voice called from above me. I looked up and there, standing just inches beyond my knees, was the boy I had photographed. He cocked his head at me and smiled politely, but his eyes- that I now noticed were grey- twinkled. I was entranced by his silky voice that uttered words I didn’t understand at all- it was just as melodic as the harmonies that flowed from his guitar, which was now hanging from his back by its strap. Realizing he was waiting for a response, I glanced at Aunt Lucy pleadingly, who just shrugged and moved to a bench across the way, clutching her newspaper. I looked back at the boy, who was smiling once again with humor painted on his face, and stuttered. “Parlez-vous francais?” He asked curiously, and that was one phrase I actually understood.

I shook my head for extra emphasis. “Non, Non. Desole, desole.” I told him, my voice shaking. I wished I had brought my electronic translator- I probably sounded so stupid saying no, no, sorry, sorry- but I thought my bilingual Aunt would help me. The boy laughed.

“As am I.” He replied with a heavy accent. I raised my eyebrows at him and he chuckled once more. “I am not good with English, but I wished to ask you- was it me you photograph?” One of his long fingers pointed at the camera in my hands. I broke his gaze and blushed at the grass.

“Oui.” I answered, nodding my head. “Desole.” The boy then sat beside me on the bench, and my heart jumped.

“No. No sorry.” He answered, patting my hand lightly. “It is quite okay. I am flattered.” I looked into his eyes that burned like hot coal. I shuddered and looked back down, fumbling with the camera. “May I see?” He asked after a four-second silence. I agreed and played with my fingernails as he looked, which took longer than I expected. “These are beautiful.” He almost whispered. “You are very talented.”

I shrugged, getting more comfortable. “No, I’m not.” I told him. He looked at me and raised one heavy, dark eyebrow. “I didn’t create these. All I did was find them.” I explained, and he scrolled through the pictures again, thinking.

“True,” he said slowly, “But it takes a true gift to have such an eye as yours- like a very skilled hunter.” He told me confidently. All I could do is nod while noticing his bright, full smile as he placed the camera between my hands. His smile faded, and his face grew sober, searching mine. “What is your name?” He asked suddenly.

My whole body froze. “Jolie Thomas.” I managed to choke out. The boy stood up, gracefully scooping my hand in his and holding it gingerly as he stood in front of me once again. He kissed it, his lips barely touching my fingers, his pupils still burning in mine.

“Travis Dupont.” He said so quietly that only I could hear, and swiftly walked away.