I was on the corner next to Mo’s Irish Pub, and where Mocha’s used to be, (but now it’s a Subway café). And it was cold, and I had heels on and I was with my very short very nervous very golden eyed friend, let’s call her Gold. Gold wanted to go to the bars with me. It was St Patrick’s day. Green was everywhere as was noisy drinking. Noisy cars with nosey people in them.
This guy wanders over to me and Gold and we put up our invisible shields of hey-its-night-time-and-we-are-girls-back-the-fuck-up. But he ignores it and instead slurs at me “Where are you from? You’re from Europe or somethin’ aren’t you?” Gold looks at me nervously with these huge eyes.
I calmly say, “Yeah I am, I’m French.”
“I knew it!” he cries. “Knew by your heels! They always wear heels over there.”
I mmhm an affirmation. “Yeah, I really miss it, it’s been years, I left when I was a little girl. I miss the green countryside. It’s beautiful.”
He nods, looks intrigued, gets that distance look on his face, the-wow-never-been-there-its-a-whole-different-world.
Then I glance at Gold. “But actually sir we are waiting for my husband, so…”
“Oh, okay okay okay. Didn’t mean to scare you girls or anything.”
“It’s cool.”
He walks away and Gold looks at me and laughs. I click in circles, warding off the cold, in my American heels with my American accent. We wait for my American boyfriend.
Someday I’ll visit France. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.
-Bethany Price
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