Hello Everyone! This is a story I wrote this year. It was supposed to be published in the Vanier Vibe a long time ago but my email didn’t get through. 🙁  Anyways, before you start reading this story I want you to know that some parts of aren’t fictional. Yes, I actually got some inspiration from some things that happened to me this year.

Hope ya like it 🙂

 

Paris. 1970. I’m standing on top of the Eiffel Tower. The wind is roughly blowing through my hair. My yellow Coco Chanel shawl ruffles in the breeze and I carefully adjust my silk, empire waist, Louis Vuitton dress to stop it from blowing around. The song “Reality” by  Richard Sanderson is softly playing in the background. “Dreams are my reality, a different kind of reality…”. The aroma of fresh baked baguettes and  gateaux au chocolat from localpâtisseries delicately tickle my nose. My fiancée is standing right next to me while he elegantly sips an opened bottle of Chardonnay. He sweetly grabs my arms and puts them across his neck. He whispers “ Isabelle, tu es très  belle” and stares intently, his deep brown eyes burning a hole. Our lips are about to lock in a passionate kiss, when something fastidious abruptly disrupts my dream. I hear a bunch of kids on my block singing to the very deep lyrics of a now “famous” thirteen year old singer, Rebecca Black. “It’s friday friday friday! Gotta get down on Friday! We-we-we so excited”. Now you are probably wondering what happened to Paris, to my fiancée and his bottle of Chardonnay, and to the soft melody of “Reality” playing in the background. Well, the truth is…1) I actually live in LA, 2) I don’t own a yellow Coco Chanel shawl or an empire waisted, Louis Vuitton silk dress 3) I’m 19 and hence I can’t drink in the US, 4) Richard Sanderson is out and Rebecca Black is in and last but not least, 5) I’m sadly single. Yes, unfortunately the mundane reality I face on a daily basis, is no where close to Le tour d’Eiffel. It is just a dream land far, far away. Sometimes I like to isolate myself , and let my mind fantasize about the “What” and the “Ifs” of life. Sometimes I just continuously daydream about falling in love.

And this is where my real story begins. I have always been the type of girl that never really believed in love stories and happy endings. Partly because I never really experienced a “happy ending” and partly because my parents are divorced. I was five years old when my father angrily stormed out of our house. I still remember that night so clearly. It’s like a vivid movie playing in my head over and over again. “Daddy, Why are you wearing your jacket? Where are you going with that suitcase?”- I asked. “I’m going to stay with grandma who is all alone”- he replied. I still remember my mother’s face, all pale, and covered in salty tears. This memory is a scar on my life, it will never fade away. This is why I always felt like I could never truly believe in love stories. I mean, I like to “dream” about them but I don’t consider them part of my everyday reality. I know I shouldn’t be saying this at the age of 19, but right now, with all the  heart aches and experiences I’ve had so far, I prefer to place love in the fiction section of my heart.

So far, although I haven’t been the luckiest woman in the romance aspect, I can’t complain about my life.  I come from a fairly well-off family who has always supported me in all my decisions and been by my side through the highs and lows of life. I  had the opportunity to travel around the world, visiting the  most splendid and exotic travel destinations on planet earth.  However,  sometimes I feel like a key ingredient  to the mixture of happiness is missing. I think the missing ingredient is love. However,  by “love”, I don’t mean only romantic love, but also affectionate love. I always felt like my father never loved me. Since I was a child, I didn’t have the opportunity to see him that often, but whenever I did,  I tried to keep up  with the “image of perfect daughter”. I wanted him to be proud of me. Whenever I had a school performance I  always tried to  “shine on stage” for him. But most of the times, my already fragile heart was crushed, when I looked through the parent filled auditorium and wasn’t ever able to spot him. I remember my mom used to say “don’t expect anything from your father, you know how he is”. But why shouldn’t I? He’s my daddy. The only one I have. Even, today, I always ask myself why my father  never calls me. I live 3,000 miles away from him and I haven’t seen him for months. I always see my friends receiving calls and emails from their fathers, and this sinks my heart into a further pool of depression. I still think to myself,  why can’t I have the same? Is it so wrong to be loved a little more? And why does it hurt so much?  I feel like my heart is torn into many little pieces. I force myself to stop constantly thinking about my father.  I mean life is a precious gift, so whenever I feel down because of  my father or because I can’t find  love, I just think how silly I am for comparing myself with other teenagers who don’t have these kind of problems. In a world torn asunder by myriad of problems, how can I  be so superficial and focus on my own internal conflicts?  There are  people who  don’t even have parents, and some can’t  even afford what I was given… why I am so self-centred?

All of a sudden, my mother breaks my mental voyage. “Isabelle! Are you okay my dear? You’ve been starring at that book for the past thirty minutes”. “Yes, mom I’m okay, don’t worry”. Back to reality! I need to finish working on an assignment that is due tomorrow, and I can’t really afford losing my train of thought again… Ohh no… The big flashy words appear on my TV screen “Train with William”, not again…

Why does everything have to remind me of him? Before I go,  let me tell you one more story about my life. Have you ever felt like you met the perfect person for you but that they were way out of your league? Just  one conversation and that person already captured your heart? Well, this was how I felt for a guy in my second year of college at UCLA. His name was William Loman, and we casually met one day at a local football game. Yes, yes. I know you already thinking “OH NO! This is going to be another cheesy romantic story”. But don’t worry, I promise you it’s not. There is actually not much to say about him. I barely knew him, but  from the very first conversation I felt this strong connection to him. A connection I never felt before with any other person. We liked the same type of food, clothes brand, music, we both wanted to learn portuguese and we were both very compatible personality-wise. Even my friends found it really funny that we had so many things in common. Unfortunately, although we conversed a few times, I had to be realistic, nothing was ever going to happen. He was three years older than me, why would he ever be interested in me? He was handsome, smart, charming and always surrounded by beautiful girls. Unbelievably, one day, while I was walking with my friend Stacy to the library, I bumped into him and he asked us to hang out . I was so surprised and excited that I couldn’t believe it. I thought to myself: “maybe, just maybe, he is the one…maybe I can make it right this time”. I mean, UCLA has a pretty big campus, what were the chances that we could’ve have bumped into each other? This was definitely a sign of destiny…NOT! Of course, once again this was me deluding myself. After that day, William and I never really hung out. We talked whenever we saw each other, but nothing more. Truth is, I was just a random girl to him.

Now, a year has passed. I’m sitting on my couch trying to write an essay for my DRAMA 201 class on “Death of a Salesman”. And you know what’s funny? Out of all the plays that could be chosen, I was assigned to write an essay on one that had a protagonist named Willy Loman. Life can be a big B sometimes.

I feel like since the last time I’ve spoken to him, wherever I go something  has to always remind me of him. Every time I go to the gym for example, there is a commercial with flashy characters that says “BAKE with William, don’t miss your chance”. Well, I feel like I’ve missed my chance…but maybe just maybe, one day, somewhere, when I least expect it, my hazy dream illusion will become reality…