I left the apartment wearing white linen and carrying my camera, my journal, five chapsticks, blush, and my eyelash curler — all neatly tucked in my black tote. I grabbed a taxi and went straight to Shakespeare and Co. Every other bookstore I’d visited sold only French books… and besides, I love Shakespeare and Co.
I remembered visiting first when I was eighteen, after graduating high school, staying for hours while my family waited patiently outside. They eventually gave up on me — she's happy, let’s let her be — and wandered off while I stayed upstairs reading with strangers, listening to someone playing piano in the next room. When I felt complete, I left a note for a stranger in the book I was reading. I wonder who found my note.
I arrived at the familiar intersection that day and made my way down the pathway to the store. The line wasn't too long, though one boyfriend was clearly trying to cut ahead of me. I watched as people filled up their water bottles at the fountain and took pictures under the awning. I put my phone in my bag and walked inside when it was my turn.
I found myself putting so much pressure on finding the ‘right book’ … to symbolize whatever this experience meant. I was trying too hard, and I knew that too.
I picked up a few — Mary Oliver’s Felicity and this other book called We Would Have Told Each Other Everything by Judith Hermann. I wasn’t so sure about either but I was thirsty. I put back the Goldfinch and Men Without Women — they were too heavy and to be honest, I had enough Hemingway — lmao.
I paid and put the books in my tote… I went to the café next door because 1. I needed water 2. I needed a sweet treat and coffee and 3. I knew there was a bathroom there.
I got my flat white and called mom and dad as I walked down by the river… past Notre Dame and past an old man playing the violin. There were few clouds in the sky — not too hot, not that crowded either.
I stopped at the bouquinistes for the first time ever, buying a Casablanca print for mom and a map of Cambodia for me. I found a cool nude photograph of a woman twirling under the leaves of a beautiful willow.
I pulled out my camera at the first bridge, photographing the river before wandering into a small park on my right side. It housed a beautiful willow tree, fresh lavender, and a gravel walk.
I photographed a couple on a bench by the water, his hand resting gently on her back. He smiled adoringly at whatever she was saying.
I continued to the next bridge, photographing the steady stream of people crossing, including an older couple holding hands and who never let go.
Across from them was a young couple stealing a kiss.
And a street performer taking a quick break.
There were two guys wearing shorts and high socks and berets.
Below, a boat drifted by carrying friends down the river, observed by strangers sipping wine and eating ice cream… Life as mutual theater, it would seem.
