Again, But Better(35)

Disappointment looms over us as we wind around and around, back to earth. Is he feeling what I’m feeling? Or is this just normal I-didn’t-get-to-scale-the-Eiffel-Tower level disappointment?

When our feet hit solid ground, Babe and Chad are there waiting. The four of us cross a bridge and head along the bank of the Seine, moving toward an area populated with shops and restaurants. We’re still strolling alongside the river when Babe stops short to pivot around and look back at the Tower in the distance. The sun’s going down and the Eiffel’s golden lights have switched on.

“Wait!” she shouts. We stop and look at her. “What time is it?” she asks, her hazel eyes alight.

Chad looks at his watch. “5:45.”

“We have a good view here!” she says.

“A view for what?” I ask. My stomach growls restlessly as I glance at the Eiffel Tower. Now that we’ve stopped, the cold air cuts right through my boots. I scrunch my toes up against it.

“Something cool is going to happen to the Eiffel Tower at six o’clock,” Babe answers, leaning against the barrier that lines the river’s edge. “You want to see this,” she says confidently.

“What’s going to happen to the Eiffel?” I shoot, rubbing my hands together for warmth. I pull my puffy winter hood up over my head against the wind.

“How cool?” Pilot asks skeptically, narrowing his eyes. He’s got his sweatshirt hood up and his jacket hood up over that.

“Pretty cool. I think we should wait—if you guys are okay with that,” Babe answers.

“It’s frickin’ freezing,” Chad says, leaning against the wall now, hugging himself, dark peacoat buttoned all the way up. “I hope this is good, Babe.”

“Okay, I guess we’ve got fifteen minutes,” I say wearily.

Five minutes pass. We’re all antsy, but we’ve begrudgingly stayed put.

Babe paces back and forth. “I hope it works now that I’m making everyone wait.” She laughs nervously.

“I can’t feel my hands,” Chad announces.

“The Eiffel Tower’s preppin’ for takeoff,” Pilot announces.

“If the Eiffel doesn’t go off, it’s going to be really upsetting.” I laugh.

Six minutes left. I can’t feel my fingers, and I’m wearing gloves.

We’ve all staked out spots against the barrier now, staring eagerly. The sun just disappeared behind the horizon. The Eiffel glows with the remnants of its orangey-gold light.

“Are you sure it doesn’t just light up like this?” Pilot asks. I snort.

“No, that’s not it.” Babe chuckles.

“Come on, Eiffel Tower. Let’s go,” Pilot demands. We all cackle. He turns to smile at me, and I feel a little less cold. “Gosh, the Eiffel Tower is just letting us down,” he continues.

“Two minutes!” I announce. “I can’t feel my feet, Eiffel Tower. I hope you’re happy.”

“Come on, Eiffel Tower,” Pilot repeats.

“One minute! I’ve got T minus one minute,” Chad adds.

“You sure about this?” Pilot asks Babe again. She smiles and shakes her head.

“Babe’s definitely wrong, and we’re definitely throwing her in the river,” Chad answers jokingly.

And then, it happens. Glitter explodes all over the famous structure. Lights sparkle up and down its iron legs. It looks like Tinker Bell threw up all over it, and it’s having a sparkly seizure. We erupt into whoops and cheers.

“Ohh snap,” Chad calls out.

“OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD,” Pilot yells with mock fangirl-esque excitement, and I can’t stop laughing for a good twenty seconds as we dance around in the freezing air, admiring it.



* * *



We indulge in a dinner full of red wine, ham, and cheese at a French restaurant before taking a taxi to the area recommended to us by the girl at the hostel check-in desk—Bastille.

The taxi releases us at the mouth of a street full of lights, buzzing with activity. Because it’s his birthday, we let Chad lead the way. He stops outside a building where music floods the street each time the door opens, and looks back at us with an overexcited smile before heading in. We follow, a few steps behind. Through the door is a coat check booth at the foot of a twisting staircase. The music is coming from the second floor, so we check our jackets and head on up.

A live band is playing. The band’s at the far end of a large, open room full of people bopping around to the music. Here, on the opposite end of the room, is the bar. We grab drinks before zigzagging through the crowd to find an opening where we can watch and nod along. When the indie rock song they’re playing ends, they start a song I definitely recognize. I find myself bobbing around more purposefully.

I took her out. It was a Friday night. I wore cologne. To get the feeling right.

Babe and Chad are dancing too. Pilot’s smiling and singing at me on my left. I join him, throwing my arms about as the chorus comes in.

“And that’s about the time she walked away from me,” we scream at the top of our lungs, laughing and throwing ourselves around. “Nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three.”

We bounce and laugh our way through the weird mix of oldies the band continues to play—mostly classic rock and punk rock from the early 2000s. When “Eye of the Tiger” comes to a close, Pilot asks if I want to get another drink. Another familiar tune starts up as we head to the bar.