THE BOX
by Kanisha DiCicco
My trip to Paris, like most women in their early 20s who attended film school and felt an air of superiority due to a vast knowledge of New Wave films and the ability to point out a Giacometti sculpture, was fueled by a desire to live in the city of great artists.
A month's stay was all I could afford with the money I made working at the local coffee shop and taking photos of graduates–or newly engaged couples who got their dream of a ring by spring. It would turn out that a month was all I needed to change my life completely.
He was sitting on a park bench reading a classic piece of literature, smoking a cigarette. I couldn’t have penned a better male main character in my Parisian fantasies if I tried. I was a painfully American girl trying to find her way around with broken French and eyes glued to a map. A pigeon scared me, and I tripped, falling to my knees. He helped me pick up my things and assured me that it wasn’t as embarrassing as it felt.
To this day, I have the scar to serve as a reminder of meeting him that day, and I cry sometimes when I see it.
I saved everything, and I do mean everything, from the moment we met and put those items into a box. Call it delusion or love at first sight (aren’t they the same thing?), but I knew this would be someone and a time in my life I would never want to forget.
The sticker from an art gallery opening that we stumbled upon shortly after meeting in the Sorbonne courtyard. A restaurant menu from a place that gave me food poisoning. The cork from the bottle of cheap red wine we finished along the Seine right before he kissed me for the first time. A mixtape of indie French pop songs that he perfectly curated for me. The love letter he slipped into my suitcase where he planned out the rest of our lives together and begged me to leave Paris.
The box is the only reason I know he existed. Tangible evidence that that month spent with him wasn't a surrealist fever dream. I didn’t hear from him again, despite many heartfelt emails and WhatsApp messages. Years have passed, and the box is tucked away under my bed while the thoughts of him remain cemented in my brain.
I found what I was looking for in Paris. Heartbreak has been my greatest muse.
“The Box” is featured in issue #2 of Mortal Magazine
Kanisha DiCicco has been an avid reader and writer since she could hold a book and a pencil. She lives in Miami because, as a Pisces, she's most at peace surrounded by water. For more musings, you can find her at La Vie en Prose, coming soon.