“When good Americans die, they go to Paris.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
I’ve wanted to see the Eiffel Tower ever since I was a child. I had heard that it lit up the Parisian sky every night, its golden lights reaching for miles. And that, maybe, you’d be able to see the man made diamonds on a clear day as far as France's countryside.
But I have only heard such things. Never seen.
Except a few times in movies and television shows. I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower in Funny Face as I watched Audrey Hepburn dance around the streets of Paris, singing “Bonjour, Paris.”
Sometimes, I’d join in. I’d sing “Bonjour, Paris” like I had been.
But I’ve never had the chance to say goodbye. Much less hello.
On occasion, I think of what I would do, what I would wear, the people I’d meet, and whether Parisians would snicker at my terrible French if I had the chance to go.
If I had the chance to see.
But would I sing like Audrey? Probably not.
I think I’d want to be a bit like Blair Waldorf in Gossip Girl: walking around like I knew what I was doing, where I was going. Always confident and dressed to the nines, carrying around brands like Gucci and Louis Vuitton courtesy of my rich parents.