... and they all come from Georges.
Today marks the 5th anniversary of our first date: what came to be known to us as the 26-hour first date that changed EVERYTHING. I'm going to meet Georges for lunch today, just as we did five years ago, and although the weather in Paris isn't going to allow us to dine outdoors in the Luxembourg, we'll take a walk there and immerse ourselves in the wonderful memories.
If you're new to the blog and haven't gotten around to reading through all the past posts, you can start here to read through the posts of October 2007 (and continuing forward, if you like) to catch up.
As an anniversary gift to Georges, here is a short excerpt from my book. It's still my favorite part.
Merci, mon coeur, pour ces 5 ans ensemble. Thank you for the love you give every single day, in millions of ways both great and small.
* * * * *
Tuesday morning dawned, and in a moment reminiscent of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in the film You’ve Got Mail, before I was even out of my pajamas, I was logging on, hoping to see him there. I wasn’t disappointed. We spent most of the morning chatting, both of us so eager to meet by that time that I felt like neither of us could stand it and one of us might explode before the actual moment of meeting. He asked what I’d be wearing so he could spot me (black skirt, black and white sweater, and zebra-striped ballerina shoes); he said he’d be wearing a blue sport coat, as he didn’t like wearing dark suits, like some stuffy banker.
And finally, I was on the bus, the #89 from my quartier in the 15th to Luxembourg (the stop near the gardens of the same name, not the country). As the bus bounced along and made its many stops, I was trying to picture what was about to happen next: I would exit the bus, walk the two short blocks to Place de la Sorbonne where we'd planned our rendez-vous, and I was really hoping I’d be there first so I could collect myself a little and calm down. At the moment, I was feeling anything but calm; the papillons had multiplied ten-fold!
The bus was pulling up to my stop, and I was standing just in front of the doors, and OH MY GOD THERE HE WAS. There, at the #89 bus stop, not at the Place de la Sorbonne as we’d agreed! My heart did a complete back-flip somersault with a half-twist (the Olympic judges gave it a 9.5).
We locked eyes even before the doors opened, and I think I literally floated off that bus. As I approached him, seeing his wonderful smile for the first time, I was already laughing: “What are you DOING here? You’re not supposed to be HERE!” He was laughing, too, pleased with his surprise “ambush” and my shocked reaction.
Although we had teased each other, before meeting, about what kind of greeting we ought to do when we met, I leaned in to do the traditional French social two-cheek bise, determined not to fall into that e-dating trap where you leap into each other’s arms the moment you first meet because you've already convinced yourself that “He's the One!” But despite my innocent intentions, this ended up being anything but a normal social kiss. Our right cheeks touched as we lightly kissed… and lingered. His freshly-shaved cheek felt smooth against mine, and I could smell his cologne. Then, we slowly switched sides to touch our left cheeks, grazing noses as we looked into each other’s eyes… and there was already fire there between us. It was a moment caught in slow-motion, and incredibly sexy. I’m still tingling, just thinking about it.
Finally stepping apart, a bit weak at the knees on my part, I have no clear recollection of what we said to each other after that, but the next thing I knew, he had tucked my arm into his elbow and we had agreed to walk through the Jardin du Luxembourg and find one of their little outdoor restaurants, because it was such a warm day for October. We passed the Medici fountain and continued toward the open gravelly area between the Senate building and the large round boat basin so well-known to fans of the French in Action language series (remember when precocious Marie-Laure fell in the fountain?) It was a beautiful day in Paris, and here I was, on the arm of a very distinguished-looking French man in a blue coat. It was an out-of-body experience. What was happening to me?
Just as we were directly in front of the Senate, Georges suddenly stopped. He spun me around to face him, gathered me into his arms, and before I had time to so much as blink, he was kissing me. Full on the mouth. WITH TONGUE! He kissed me like he simply couldn’t wait another moment; he kissed me like we were lovers who’d been apart for a year, not like two near-strangers who’d just met for the first time at a bus stop less than five minutes ago.
My initial reaction was complete shock: What nerve! How dare he? Sticking his tongue down my throat that way, what was he thinking? I had one brief moment where it occurred to me that I would be well within my rights to push myself away, take a step back, and slap him right on his French-kissing face. The gall of this Gaul!
But that first shock very quickly turned into something else. I thought, “I can’t believe he had the nerve to do this in front of God and the Senators and the entire park… but somehow… I don’t seem to mind.” In fact, I realized that not only did I not mind him kissing me, I was enjoying it. A lot. More than a lot.
I think that in our lives, there are key defining moments where we are faced with the need to make a split-second decision, moments when we choose a path that will change the very course of our entire lives from that moment on… even though we probably don’t realize it until much later.
I think this was one such moment. Because right then and there, I decided to just be in that moment without worrying about what was going to happen next, without caring what he thought of me then or what he might think of me tomorrow. I liked kissing Georges; I liked being kissed by Georges. And for those few seconds (minutes? Hours?), kissing Georges was all there was.
Finally, we paused, our faces still very close, looking into each other’s eyes. Did one of us say something memorable? I doubt it; the language center in my brain had stopped functioning beyond the ability to whisper, “Wow”.
And then, we kissed again.
