I slowly lay back in the grass. The sight in front of me is too much to take in while standing. The wetness of the grass sends a chill running down my spine and along my arms. My sweatshirt cannot warm me from this chill tonight. It is the infamous chill that one receives when something really touches them. When you hear a story and it makes you happy or sad or when someone tells you that they love you. It is a meaningful chill, one you will never forget. All of the lights begin to dim and the people stroll quietly underneath her. She is so beautiful. I had seen pictures and read all about her. I never dreamt I would meet her face to face.
I have to admit that I am nervous. What if I do not like her? What if I wish I were somewhere else? These thoughts run in and out of my mind as I lay there. Finally it is our turn to venture up into this great monument. Our decision to take the elevator is a wise one, though I would be taking the stairs when I went down. We pack into the elevator. “We’re as tight as sardines”, exclaims a really loud lady from the back of the pack. The stench of body odor is almost too overwhelming. The French do not see the need to bath as regularly as us Americans. So once I reach the top, and the doors open, it is a mad dash to the doors.
The first one out can breathe all the fresh air. Let’s just say I tied for first. A slight welcoming breeze rustles my hair as my gaze wanders from side to side. Everything looks so small from up here. This huge vastness makes me feel but of a tiny existence. Her beauty brings a bit of rosiness to my cheeks. The moon now smiles down on me when only moments ago it was the sun. How long have I been up here? Is my group looking for me? These questions only visit my mind for a second or so then they are gone like the wind. Perhaps they are carried away by the same wind that so sweetly caresses my skin.
I do not mind the occasional bump I receive from a random passerby. This sight is big enough to share with many people. I allow my mind to relax, and the many different languages flow fluently from the mouths of others. Of course I do not understand what they are saying, though it still brings a smile to my face. It almost seems like Dean Martin should be standing beside me, serenading the crowd with his warm Italian words. The shuffling of feet drowns out the voices from the crowd. It is like white noise all around me. I can hear the people but it eventually grows into nothing but a faint whisper.
The honking of vehicles and the blaring of sirens seems a million miles away. It is only me, the Eiffel Tower, and the moon standing there. Nothing else matters at that moment. The sight is breathtaking. I drag my hand along the railing. The texture is cold and rough. Many hands have also been drug along this same railing. The feeling of cold metal upon my hand helps to keep me in reality, because at this moment in time it is so easily to just slip off into a dream land. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the sky and the ground. It was almost too much at once. My camera couldn’t take pictures fast enough and I was worried I would drop it too!
Which it didn’t matter if I dropped the camera anyways, I could never forget this image. The flashing lights from the cameras should be blinding to me, but they only adds an emphasis to the scene. The flashes appear to be like stars dancing around the moon. The sky is not black tonight, but more like a navy blue. The moon is a deep yellow color. The two colors appear to be made for each other. Almost like one would not be without the other. I tear my eyes away from the view to acknowledge my surroundings for the first time in hours, so it seems. Actually when I look at my phone only ten minutes has passed by.
There are several people surrounding me now. Most of them are reacting the same way I did. They are totally perplexed by the Eiffel Tower and her beauty. As I am looking amongst the crowd, one certain couple catches my eye. They are fairly young and I can tell how in love they are. They are definitely in the right place for a romantic night. I can tell from the look on the young man’s face that he seems a little nervous. Of course the young lady doesn’t notice his awkward look because she is too busy looking around. Before I know it the young man gets down on one knee and the girl turns around surprised. A proposal!
I have heard of this before but never thought I would get to see someone proposed to on the Eiffel. This clearly was a night to remember. Unfortunately I run into my group leader and he informs me that it is time to leave. My heart drops to my feet. “But we have only been here twenty minutes,” I told him. He looks at his watch and replies back that we have indeed been there for more than two hours. How quickly the time has flown by! I pucker out my bottom lip and obediently follow my group as we head out. Reluctantly I must leave. This time I do take the stairs. With every step my sadness begins to grow.
When will I be back? Will she still be here? These are now the questions that run through my head. The stairs continue to wind downward forever and ever, never seeming to end. Then I see the last stretch of stairway, I walk so slowly. “We just met,” I proclaim. There was so much I did not get to ask her. I hit the last stair and linger just a minute. Slowly I turn around to gaze at her one last time. With that one last gaze is a promise that I will indeed be back and she will indeed be there when I get back. Only this time I will get to ask her as many questions as I want. “I will come back,” I promised her.