Again, But Better(32)

Babe leads us to another underground platform much like the Metro, except cleaner. We stand in a little circle, waiting for the train. There’s a distant rumble as it approaches, and with a rush of wind, the RER pulls into the station. It’s a double-decker, and we’re all thoroughly impressed by it. The seats are arranged in groups of four, a set of two across from a second set of two. Pilot takes the seat next to me, and Babe and Chad sit across from us.

“How long is the ride?” I ask Babe.

“I think around thirty minutes,” she answers. Chad leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. Babe pulls a brochure for Versailles from her bag and starts to read. I watch them for a moment before Pilot turns to me.

“Angry Birds?” he says with quiet excitement. I smile and dig my hand into my purse.



* * *



Versailles doesn’t look real. A massive stretch of gravel spans before us. Is this a driveway? Maybe for a family of giants with twenty cars. It leads to an endless sprawl of gold building.

When we get inside, a tour guide escorts us up to the second floor. On the way up the stairs, I catch sight of the backyard (if you can call it that) through the windows.

“Holy crap, do we get to go out there?” I look to Babe anxiously.

“Yes, don’t worry!” She giggles.

Pilot’s mouth quirks up his right cheek. “I’m excited about this.”

We come to a stop in an overwhelmingly lavish foyer area that leads into the legendary Hall of Mirrors that everyone talks about. After snapping a few pictures (Babe snaps one of Pilot and me, and Pilot takes the camera to get one of Babe and me while Chad hangs to the side), we stroll on in.

It looks like a ballroom. Gorgeous chandeliers drip from the ceilings. Tall golden candelabra line the edges of the room, and mirrors decorate the walls. Are they mirrors? They’re more like old, decorative reflective glass.

“Wait, this is the Hall of Mirrors?” I ask hesitantly as we make our way across it. “Where are all the mirrors?”

“Right there!” Babe points to the decorative glass panels along the wall.

“But those aren’t mirror mirrors, those are like glass … that reflects you,” I fumble. That didn’t come out right. Pilot starts laughing.

“Glass that reflects you? Like a mirror?” Chad asks sarcastically.

“But there are no real mirrors!” I protest.

“Is this the real Hall of Mirrors? Are we in the faux Hall of Mirrors?” Pilot exclaims, pretending to be outraged.

“This is it!” Babe cackles.

“I was expecting, like, a fun-house maze of mirrors…” I explain, full-on laughing now. I guess I heard about this when I was really young, and that’s the image I conjured in my brain. Pilot appears on my right, grinning broadly.

“No, I was expecting a fun house too,” he says quietly.

“Right?” I exclaim.

“I mean, when you think Hall of Mirrors you think hall full of mirrors—mirror maze.”

I snort. “They should add a mirror maze for, like, Halloween.”

Pilot’s expression goes blank. “I’d be so down for that.”

“Maybe they have a suggestion box,” I add. His head kicks back with a laugh. I bite down a pleased smile.

Babe veers off toward the blurry, foggy-ish mirrors, and the three of us beeline after her. Once we’re all in front of a mirror, Babe frames up a mirror pic. In the Hall of Mirrors. I stick my hand up and do a queen’s wave.

“It’s like the Mirror of Erised!” I grin.

Babe laughs. “I’m not seeing what I desire.”

Room by room, we wind through the palace. We see Marie Antoinette’s bedroom, and where King Louis the somethingth slept. We see a painting that literally takes up a ballroom-sized wall! I’ve always thought of palaces like castles, I guess. Stone and cold, ancient-looking—nothing like the ridiculous grandeur we tour through.

Then comes the backyard. I know backyard isn’t the right word—it’s more like an endless expanse of park, complete with a lake, fountains, hedges, and statues. It looks like photo-shoot heaven. Park heaven. It’s like an ocean in park form; you can’t see an end, there’s no edge! It just keeps going.

I don’t know how long we’re out there making our way through the jumbo-sized courtyard and taking pictures with the different landscapes. We meander farther and farther in until we reach a café where we stop for lunch. I could frolic around this place forever.



* * *



“So are you, like, into photography?” Pilot asks as we make our way back to the RER.

I turn to look him in the eye. “Yeah, it’s one of my things.” I smile.

“Really? You’ve never said anything about liking photography.”

“Well, it hasn’t really come up, and it’s more of a hobby.”

“You do take great pictures; my mom loved all the ones from Rome.”

I chuckle. “Glad to hear I have your mom’s approval.”

“You need one of those nice pretentious cameras.”

“I’d love one of those pretentious cameras. One day!” I smile up at the sky longingly and then drop my eyes back to Pilot. “Are you not into photography?”