About Paris

I found a copy of an old love letter that I sent someone special long, long ago. In those days, I typed a copy of all my correspondences—there wasn't that much—so I would someday know what my life was like back when...

Dearest Tess,

I was overjoyed when I received your reply, because I didn't know if I was sending my letter to the correct address or even the right Tess. Thank God that you got it.

Yes Tess, I remember oh so well when and how we met. It was late spring of '63 in Paris and near the water. I was trying to entice a local painter to part with one of his masterpieces at less than his value. He spoke little English—so he claimed—and I was, and still am, completely ignorant of that beautiful French dialect.

You overheard my pleas and came to my rescue. You spoke enough of the language to get by, and you soon had the painting for me at the price I wanted to pay. Remember we found out later that day that the painter was born and raised in America but had been living in Paris for many years? The scoundrel.

Darling Tess, you were finishing graduate work and due to leave for your home in London the next day. I was a tourist trying to mend a broken heart and failing badly. For a special day, you became my princess, my savior..., the woman I loved.

We had lunch at a sidewalk cafe, and then visited some small museums that you knew about.

We parted ways, promising to meet at the same spot later on. As usual, I got lost and you were about to write me off as another weired American. But, things got better.

Remember the restaurant that was about to close for the evening, and you sweet-talking the chef into charing us a steak. That's when you introduced me to Merlot, and ever since that night, I've loved its soft sweetness, because it continues to remind me of the flavor of you.

We walked along the evening riverfront for hours, holding hands like a couple of kids, each of us beginning to fall in love, I think. It was around midnight when the rain started, but it didn't bother us. We sat to rest on a park bench, and we kissed for the first time, and then continuously, the strengthing rain failing to cool our passion. Then we made love in that same rain and on that same bench, two souls oblivious of the world.

Unfortunately, the world wasn't oblivious to our lovemaking. I'll never forget the gendarme that must have waited politely in the downpour until we were sated and then politely shooed us away with a "stern" warning. I truly believe that only the French know what love is.

You spent the night at my hotel, and when I awakened next day, you were gone, which I think we both knew you would be since first we touched.

You left a note on an envelope, and inside I found a cutting of your beautiful auburn hair.

It's taken me nearly ten years to find you, and now I don't know what to say to you. You are married and living in Chicago, and I am still love's long loser. Even here in Amsterdam where love comes easily, I am lonely, for only you can I love.

Like that star-crossed couple in the movies, we'll always have Paris.

My heart is forever yours,
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