by Kitty Parker
After taking the funicular up to the top of Montmartre (I was way too lazy to climb up all those stairs), I headed straight for the plaza in front of the famous Basilica of the Sacred Heart. Weaving my way around tourists taking pictures with their families in front of the enormous building of white stone, I approached the railing of the overhang, below which the hill sloped off toward the streets below.
From that spot, the view out over Paris was absolutely stunning. Of course, being unfamiliar with the layout of the city, I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. The late afternoon sun glinted off of the houses and shops, making them sparkle like gems. In the distance, the bigger buildings of what I assumed to be Paris's business district stood tall over everything around them. At the very base of the hill, a little carousel revolved slowly, sending its pleasant, tinkling tunes up toward the Basilica. I snapped a few pictures, though it was all but impossible to capture the scene before me with mere photographs.
I only stopped ogling the view when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find a man wearing an "I Heart NY" t-shirt giving me a verylarge and very fake smile.
"Can…you…tell…me…how…to…get…to…the…Eif-fel…Tow-er?" he asked, speaking incredibly slowly and pointedly annunciating each syllable as though he were speaking to an inmate in an insane asylum.
Amazed that the stereotypes about American tourists were actually true, I simply stared at him incredulously.
"Do…you…speak…Eng-lish?" he continued. "Me," he pointed to himself, "go," he moved his fingers in a manner that suggested walking legs, "Eiffel Tower," he widened his stance and clasped his heads over his head in an attempt to imitate the famous piece of architecture. "Where?" he finished, bringing his hand to his brow and pretending to search for something.
Annoyed at the man for the bad reputation he was giving to the people of my adopted country, I had no qualms about embarrassing him. "As a matter of fact, I do speak English, as do the majority of young Europeans. If you want to be perceived as slow in the head, by all means, keep acting and speaking in the manner you are. Regretfully, I can't give you directions to the Eiffel Tower, as I live in Massachusetts, not Paris. Sorry." Giving him my sweetest smile as he gaped at me, I sauntered off in the direction of Montmartre's marketplace, where numerous artists were sure to be gathered. They were the primary reason I was there, after all.
Shortly thereafter, I reached a large, cobbled square, rimmed with trees. The place was bustling with activity, full of people milling about and artists with their easels, paintings, and drawings, all in the acts of buying or selling and sometimes simply looking. I decided to do some window-less window shopping and began making the rounds, pausing to admire pieces I particularly liked.
I stopped fully in my tracks, however, when I came across a painting so exquisite that I momentarily forgot to breathe. I wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that made it so wonderful. I'd seen it's subject matter - a small café in the heart of the city - once or twice before in passing, but I'd never considered it to be anything special. In the painting, however, it was vibrant and inviting, seeming almost to glow with the merriment of its imaginary occupants. The trees around it were green and leafy, the flowers in its sidewalk planters in full bloom. A small boy with an even smaller dog paused to gaze into one of the large glass windows at the patrons as though he were curious about the minute details of their lives. The quality of the painting was also quite stunning; it was so lifelike, yet obviously not copied from a photograph. Each brushstroke was defined but contributed to the work as a whole. The colors were perfectly blended. It was impossible to accurately describe the emotions I felt as I looked at that painting. I was simply blown away that something I had dismissed casually the few times I'd seen it could be so beautiful.
"Do you like eet, mademoiselle?"
Startled, I jumped and turned around, finding myself staring up into the deep brown eyes of a man of about sixty. He smiled at me broadly, casually readjusting his cap atop his wild gray hair.
"Did you paint this?" I asked.
"Oui," he answered proudly.
I turned my gaze back to the painting. "It's beautiful."
His smile widened. "Merci boucoup. I am very fond of zat one."
"What is the name of that café?"
"Eet is ze Café de Flore," he replied in his heavy French accent. "I go zere often."
"I've passed it a few times," I admitted. "But I never thought it could be this beautiful."
The artist chuckled warmly. "Ah, yes. I was ze same way. I walked by eet every day, but I did not ever really look at eet. Zen one time, I stopped. I do not know why, but I stopped and stared. I had to paint eet. After zat day, I am always zere, having a coffee in ze morning. I am so happy zat I took a second look."
"So am I," I whispered, not thinking about the café at all. I looked back up at the artist. "How much is this painting?"
He smiled warmly. "Eet is twenty euros, but because you like eet so much, for you eet is only fifteen."
I considered that a fantastic bargain. "I'd like to buy it, please."
"As you wish, mademoiselle," he obliged, gently slipping his painting into a small bag and accepting the ten and five euro notes I handed him.
I delicately took the bag from him. "Merci boucoup, thank you so much!"
As I left the market, I couldn't help but smile. I had just found the perfect birthday gift for my Café de Flore - the boy whose beauty I'd only seen when I stopped to take a closer look.
* * *
"Wow…it's a lot bigger than I thought it would be…and it sort of looks like a penis."
Trust Bryce to say something like that about one of the most famous pieces of architecture in all of France.
Jane smacked him on the arm. She probably wanted to give him a good cuff, but he did have a rather significant height advantage. "The Eiffel Tower is not a penis, Bryce!" she chided. "Can't you get your mind out of the gutter for five seconds?"
"I bet that all this phallic symbolism you're finding in everything means that you're actually gay somehow," I teased.
Bryce pretended to be mad. "Thanks for outing me, Lotte!"
I grinned. "You're welcome!"
"How long have we been waiting in this line?" Brigid inquired.
"Twenty minutes," grumbled Elliot.
Matt rolled his eyes at his friend's grouchiness and wrapped his arm around Eden's waist. "I'm sure it'll be worth the wait, though."
"But we can't even go all the way up to the top!" Elliot whined. "Only to the first landing thing."
"There'll still be a great view," Eden pointed out.
Matt dropped a tender kiss on top of her head.
I couldn't help the corners of my lips from inching upwards. The two of them were the most adorable couple I'd ever seen. Just looking at them gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
Elliot poked his head around the people in front of us in line. "How did Adam and Kurt get up so damn far, anyway? And what the hell are they carrying?"
At the sound of Kurt's name, I perked up. "Wait, what? What about Kurt?"
"Wow, you've got it bad, Lotte," Jane whispered in my right ear, giving me a nudge.
Elliot didn't hear that comment, for which I was immensely thankful. "He and Adam are way the hell up in line. They've got some sort of big black box with them, too."
"Where?" I eagerly peered toward the front of the line, jumping to see over people's heads.
"Oh, never mind. They just got into the elevator." Elliot gave me an apologetic look.
I sighed. It was August tenth, Kurt's nineteenth birthday, and the sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon. I still hadn't managed to tell him how I felt. It was frustrating, but I took solace in the fact that our little group of friends was throwing the birthday boy a surprise party once we got back to the hotel. I figured that I could tell him then, perhaps working the confession in with the explanation of his present and why it mean
t so much to me.
The line for the elevators inched forward a bit. We were going at a snail's pace, and it was really starting to bug me. Waiting in line was one of the few things in the world I absolutely abhorred. It wasn't as though I had no patience. I simply felt as though my time was being wasted, and while I had no problem wasting my own time, I couldn't stand it when other people did it for me. It was a bizarre pet peeve, perhaps, but a pet peeve nonetheless.
Bored out of my mind, I silently pleaded for something interesting to distract me. I certainly didn't expect that to actually happen, though, so when a loud crackling noise suddenly emanated from the first landing of the Eiffel Tower, I was incredibly surprised.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Is this thing on?"
Oh, Scheiße. I knew that voice. I also had a nasty feeling that the mysterious black box that Elliot had mentioned had, in fact, been an amplifier, though I had no idea where Kurt could have gotten his hands on one of those.
"LOTTE KATHRIN LEISCH!" he bellowed for all he was worth, presumably to get my attention, as he quieted down a bit thereafter. "I know you're probably embarrassed as hell right now, and hey, I am too, but please, please don't run away. I need to tell you something that I've been keeping bottled up for eleven years. I just can't stand keeping it a secret any longer."
My stomach started doing its acrobatics routine and my heart began to pound so violently that I vaguely wondered if bystanders could see it beating out of my chest like the hearts of characters in old-fashioned cartoons. I had a feeling that I knew what Kurt was going to say, and I fervently prayed that I was right. I waited anxiously for him to continue.
Finally, he cleared his throat loudly. "Alright. The truth is, Lotte…I love you."
Chapter 20: L'heure Exquise
"I love you."
Those three beautiful, magical words echoed in my mind. Time seemed to stop as everyone and everything around me melted away, leaving just the two of us: Kurt and I. My heart started pounding furiously in my chest, and the warm fuzzies filled my stomach with their glee. I felt as though I wanted to jump, shout, sing, dance, and cry, all at the same time. Kurt loved me! There were no words I could have said at that moment to express the emotions I was feeling.
Eden and Jane were both trying to speak to me, but I couldn't comprehend a word they were saying. I had to get to Kurt; nothing else was important. Without even thinking about it, I began shoving my way to the front of the line, completely ignoring the angry grunts and complaints of my fellow visitors. When I got to the ticket booth, I simply deposited some random euro bills in the hands of the man in charge of it and made a mad dash for the elevator. It had just started on its way up. Not deterred in the slightest, I began to charge up the 328 steps to the first level as fast as I possibly could.
By the time I was halfway there, my leg muscles had started to ache. Still, I pressed onwards, the mantra "Must see Kurt" playing on repeat in my mind. All I wanted to do was to throw my arms around him, tell him that I was his, and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. That desperate desire motivated me to keep going in spite of the throbbing pain in my calves.
Exhausted and panting, I finally reached the first level and began looking around wildly for Kurt. My heart fluttered excitedly when I finally saw him, leaning against the railing and scanning the crowd below, the enormous amplifier beside him.
"Kurt!" I called as I sprinted to his side. I needed to tell him how I felt, but I was so out of breath that the words were impossible to form. "I…I…"
He turned around to look at me tenderly, pressing a finger gently to my lips. "No, Lotte, don't speak. I need to do this. Please just listen to me." He took a deep breath and continued. "I've loved you since I first met you, before I even knew what love really was. When Ms. Huntoon introduced you to our second grade class for the first time, something just happened to me. I don't know what it was. I just…fell. Remember that time in the cafeteria with the sauerkraut?"
I nodded mutely, remembering the incident as though it had just happened the day before.
"I was eight and stupid, and I just wanted to talk to you," he admitted. "And besides that comment, the only other thing that I could think of was to tell you that we were definitely going to get married someday. I figured that something like that coming from some kid you'd never met before would sort of freak you out, though."
I couldn't help but smile at that, and my reaction seemed to encourage him.
"I did the things I did because I liked you. I pulled your hair because I loved the way it felt. I chased you because you ran away from me, and I wanted you to stay. All those times that I teased you, I honestly just wanted you to notice me, just acknowledge my existence." He bit his lip nervously. "I…I guess I just had trouble expressing myself. Besides," he added, smiling wistfully. "Your reactions were just so…endearing. I loved how you'd get all worked up, so I just kept being a jerk. I didn't realize that you'd wind up hating me for it. When I noticed how you really felt about me, it just…it completely killed me."
He looked down at his feet like a scolded puppy. Seeing him like that just about broke my heart, and I felt a desperate need to say something that would take away his pain. "Kurt, I-"
He shook his head. "Please, just hear me out."
Sighing, I nodded.
He swallowed. "After what happened in Madrid, I did a lot of thinking. I guess what you said finally made me realize what an ass I'd been to you all along, and…oh, God, I'm so sorry, Lotte! I never meant to hurt you, and I'd give anything to take back everything I did."
He reached out his hand and gently brushed the backs of his fingers along my cheek. My skin tingled at his touch. "You're everything to me, Lotte. I made a vow that I was never going to hurt you again, and then with that thing in Rome…oh God, you have no idea how much I hated myself for making you cry!"
His eyes met mine, and for the first time, I understood the emotion reflected in their hazel depths. It was love: pure, unadulterated love.
"I know that I can't really expect you to just leap into my arms after…well, everything, but I just need you to know. You're the most amazing and beautiful girl I've ever met, and I know that I can't be happy without you. Trust me, I've tried. If you don't feel the same way, I'll understand and I'll pull myself together somehow.
"I hope that you can forgive me, Lotte," Kurt went on, his voice now laced with a note of pleading. "I'm really, truly in love with you and always have been. I love you so much that I want to shout it to the ends of the Earth! I want to yell it from the rooftops until the whole world knows how I feel!"
Reaching down, he flipped on the amplifier, which made a low humming noise in response. Grabbing the microphone, he leaned out over the railing and proclaimed to the warm, glowing Parisian sunset, "I, Kurt Matthews, am completely and irrevocably head-over-heels in love with Lotte Leisch!"
This was the moment, the perfect moment for me to express my love for him. Before he could protest, I grabbed the microphone. "And she is utterly and hopelessly in love with him." So saying, I quietly switched the amplifier off and set the microphone on top of it.
Kurt, meanwhile, had turned to stare at me incredulously, as though he desperately wanted to believe that the implication of my words was true but was afraid to get his hopes up. "Lotte," he whispered. "Does that mean…"
A smile crept over my face. I nodded. "It does."
His eyes lit up as though a fire had been ignited somewhere within them. "Please, say it for me, Lotte. I've dreamed of hearing you say those words since I was eight. Please, Lotte."
Feeling more elated than I'd ever thought possible, almost as though I could fly, I spoke the three words that, in themselves, represented every preconceived notion and assumption that had been shattered throughout those six weeks and every new feeling and realization that had been formed. "I love you."
Looking as though he'd just won the lottery, Kurt slowly leaned down and captured my lips with his. He kissed me softly and tenderl
y, expressing with his subtle movements the beauty and purity of his feelings. His arms gently wrapped around my waist, and I brought mine together behind his neck.
Suddenly, he pulled back ever so slightly to stare into my eyes. The love radiating from him filled my soul until I was overflowing with joy.
Smiling warmly, Kurt once again brought his lips to mine. This kiss was more passionate than the first, filled with fire and longing. I eagerly responded, moving my lips against his and attempting to demonstrate how fully I reciprocated his feelings. Gently, he ran his tongue along my lower lip, asking for my permission to deepen the kiss. I was only too happy to comply, parting my lips to let him in.
His tongue tenderly caressed mine, painting abstract pictures of lines and swirls upon its surface. His taste - coffee and peppermint - made my taste buds tingle with pleasure. I brought my hands up to run through his light brown hair, relishing the way the silky locks felt between my fingers. He pulled me closer to him, our bodies molding perfectly together like puzzle pieces carved by the hand of God to fit only with each other.
It was the most perfect kiss I could ever have imagined. Passionate, yet gentle, possessive, yet tender - Kurt claimed me, but only if I was willing to be his. I smiled against his lips, wordlessly assuring him that I was and would be for as long as he'd have me. The hand that he lifted to lovingly caress my cheek promised me that it would be a very long time indeed.
As we both grew short of breath, he ended the kiss and rested his forehead against mine. "Be mine?"
I grinned. "Only if you'll be mine."
He brought his mouth close to my ear. "I've been yours for eleven years," he whispered. "And that's not going to change anytime soon."
Smiling warmly, I kissed him softly on the lips. "I'm yours, Kurt."
Letting out a whoop of joy, he scooped me up in his arms and spun me around in the air, laughing gleefully. It was only when he set me back on my feet that we happened to look around us.
Naturally, we had attracted a lot of attention. It didn't surprise me at all that everyone in the vicinity was staring at us. What I hadn't expected, though, was for them to break into applause. I wouldn't have thought that they cared about the romance sagas of random American teenagers, but hey, who didn't love a happy ending?
