February 22nd, 1990
I figured the best thing for me to do would be to “get outta Dodge,” as they say, so here I am, in Paris!
When I spotted Jean Jacques at Charles de Gaulle, my first thought was that he looked old, but when he came towards me with his infectious smile, that thought quickly disappeared.
“Ecossais!” He exclaimed, with a series of cheek kisses. “You are better?”
“You have been sick.”
“Oh yes, yes,” I stuttered, recalling the excuse I used for showing up two days late.
“And now you are looking hell fee.”
“Thank you,” I chuckled. “You look healthy too.”
We made our way into the city just as the sun was beginning to set.
“Ah, par ee,” Jean Jacques sighed, weaving in and out of some of worst traffic I’ve ever seen. “The city of love is very beautiful at this time, yes?”
“I thought it was the city of light.”
“Light, love, it is paree, all of the things is possible. You are ok, Ecossais?” he asked, reaching for my hand.
“Yes, very ok, thank you,” I smiled.
“You like to see more of my city?”
“Oui,” he nodded.
“That’d be great.”
“Ok so for this we need the mistress of France.”
“Sorry, what?” I asked, as he began fiddling with the cassette player, just as we were about to circle the Arc de Triomphe.
“Eh, can I help you with that?” I asked, my heart in my mouth at the sight of the mayhem ahead of us.
“Non,” he stated, revving the engine of the ancient Citroen to overtake a gleaming black Mercedes.
“Bloody hell!” I shrieked, just as the music started.
Feeling ecstatic at having survived the Arc de Triomphe I joined Jean Jacques and Edith Piaf and sang at the top of my lungs;
“Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien. Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal. Tout ca m’est bien egal.”
No, no regrets
No, I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong
For at last, I have learned to be strong.