31
History
A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and cultures is like a tree without roots.— Marcus Garvey
Ilove history. I’m not talking about those boring history classes in high school. History is an important part of our identity, of our culture, but I’ve never been a big history buff. I’m talking about nostalgia, about the idea of a time before us. If I had a superpower, it would be to be able to travel back in time. There are so many eras I would love to visit. Paris in the 1920s when Ernest Hemingway and his closest friends; writers and artists, would hang at the cafés that are today’s hot spots. I don’t have any particular desire however to visitLes Deux Magots— Hemingway’s old haunts have all become overrun tourist destinations — it wouldn’t be the same. The magic is gone.
I had the time of my life at the flea market. Some don’t understand certain people’s fascination with old things. It’s about the possibilities, about the history, about the untold stories.
I pick up a pretty woman’s bracelet and study it, wondering where this bracelet has been, what stories it has witnessed. Who has worn this bracelet? What was she like? Where did she live? Was this bracelet a gift? Given to her by her lover? Or perhaps her parents? When I run my fingers against the fabric of a vintage dress, I wonder if it’s seen a ballroom, lively parties, if it’s ever been peeled off slowly by a lover. Every object incites these questions, this fascination.
As a child, I used to be obsessed with my mother’s old photo albums — evidence of a happy time in her life. Countless photos of her in her youth, and of her with my father. How happy they were. A small part of me believed that if I looked at the photos hard and long enough, he would miraculously come back to us, wearing the smile he wore in those pictures. My sister, Sarah, made fun of my obsession with those photo albums, but those happy pictures were completely fascinating to me: Mom and Dad holding Sarah at the beach. A family photo under the Christmas tree. Me, cradled in Daddy’s arms. Playing at the zoo. Another one of us at a picnic. And then… nothing. How could things have gone so wrong? They were so happy, and then… Was it me?
The past is intriguing to me. Things used to be so much more charming than they are now in the present. Clothing was sewn with more attention to detail. Likewise, buildings were constructed with much more care and hard work. Cars were made of steel, not plastic. Architecture was something to behold. Today, millions flock to old European cities like Paris to see it — it’s priceless.
Today, life is fast. Construction and creation is half-assed. We no longer care about beauty. We only care about the bottom line.
So when people ask me why I’m so obsessed with old junk and old countries full of history, this is what I try to explain to them.
They usually shake their heads, and tap away on the latest smartphone to check what’s new on Amazon. Made in China. And cheap.
* * *
“I can’t believeyou’re going on another date with him,” Oscar sneers. “The guy is a jerk.”
“Well, he seemed so excited, and you know me… I couldn’t say no,” I try to explain. “He wants to take me to this cool Australian bar he knows.”
Oscar cocks a brow. “Australian bar? If you’d wanted to go to an Australian bar, you’d go to Australia.”
I smile. “Well, I’ve never been, so this might be fun. I can pretend I’m in Aussie land.”
“So, are you and him a thing?” he asks, and there’s so much pain in his beautiful eyes, I can’t answer fast enough.
“No, no, no. I’m putting an end to it tonight. I’m going to tell him that I’m not interested. I don’t want to do it in a text… that’s just rude.”
“Well, that’s what he deserves. The way he treated you…” His words trail off. He knows I don’t really like talking about those days.
“You should come with me,” I suggest. “We could make a night out of it…. the three of us. It might be fun.”
He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure Matt will love to have me there.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right. He’ll get over it. I’m sure he has a lot of women after him.”
Oscar cocks a brow. “You think he’s hot?”
I smile. I kind of like it when he’s jealous. “Well, not as hot as you, of course, but he does have a certain something, kind of looks like one of the Hemsworth brothers.”
He rolls his eyes. “Those blond, blue-eyed pretty boys?”
I laugh. “I prefer my men with dark mysterious eyes and thick crazy brown hair.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. We jump right in for another go before heading out for the night.
I’ve worn the sexy little red number I bought at Forever 21, and tall black pumps with red soles (not Louboutins of course… cheap knock offs). I’ve set my hair in rollers (thank goodness for Corrie and her overpacking). She’s decided to tag along to help us out. I figured that with Corrie there, Matt won’t feel like a third wheel once I let him down. And we could all have a double date of sorts. I’m excited. I’m really looking forward to a night out on the town.
Oscar is dressed in black from head to toe — he looks like a sexy bouncer. I’ve already checked out the place on Google and read some reviews. Apparently they don’t just let anyone in. But I’m pretty sure Oscar, Matt, Corrie and I will make the cut.
We have a few glasses of wine before we leave, and as we head over to the 14th arrondissement, Corrie and I are already a little tipsy.
