The Chair
The fog lifted and the clouds drifted away, revealing a warm sun. I at the edge of a duck-infested fountain. The day had been filled with perfect clichés—cobbled streets, old cathedrals, and romantic statues. A perfect Paris day.
Hearing the bells at Notre Dame had meant more to me than I’d thought it would. There was something haunting about the ever-looming tower, protected by the watchful eyes of Gargoyles. The bells sang out and rang the hour—warm and mysterious.
I now relaxed at a fountain near the Louvre, eating a croissant and feeding the little birds directly from my hand.
A screaming 20-something cut though the ambiance. She walked aggressively up to her presumed boyfriend and began shouting in French. They argued loudly for a while.
My birds flew away.
The guy on the receiving end of this balling suddenly exploded. He picked up a metal chair and hurled it into the water.
My birds flew further away.
She was apparently part of a group. Her comrades beckoned her to give up the violent debate and move on. Before they left, a couple of guys did try to retrieve the chair. A kind gesture in a dark moment. But they eventually gave up.
No matter where you are or what beauty surrounds you, there will always be somebody screaming and throwing chairs into fountains. It’s human nature to ruin the good things, ruin peace.
But the angry girl and her angrier boyfriend eventually left. Heads and conversations returned to their previous state.
And even my birds came back.
anthony forrest