Imposters

The light breeze hit his face as his hands landed on the cool wall of the overlook which was a refreshing welcome after Noah had climbed the spiral staircase to get to the top of Notre Dame. Standing in line to venture to the top of this landmark is his routine at least once a week. It clears his mind and makes him feel more like a Parisian when he is surrounded by tourists. Although he has lived in Paris for twelve years, he still feels like 75% of him screams ‘American!’. 

He looks out over the city. After hundreds of trips to this spot, he is now able to name every arrondissement he sees from here.

A little girl with a big pink bow in her hair bumps into him. 

“I’m sorry, mister,” she said in the thickest Southern accent he had heard in awhile. 

“You’ll have to excuse us, it’s our first time here, and she’s a little overexcited to be in this big city,” her mom chimed in with an equally noticeable drawl. 

Noah could have nodded his head in politeness or offered English to continue the conversation, but instead he took this opportunity to illustrate his French side.

“Aucun problème du tout,” he replied confidently. 

The lady nodded and smiled uncomfortably, which Noah perceived as her having no idea what he said. He grinned in satisfaction to himself. 

The couple on the other side of him had overhead the interaction, and they too appeared American judging by the parts of their conversation he could pick up on. The woman gently tapped his shoulder. Just as he assumed they were American, they assumed he was French. 

The woman pointed at her phone. “Take picture, please?” she asked slowly and loudly, “Of us.” She made an exaggerated gesture to the two of them. He guessed she was assuming that he not only didn’t speak English but he was also hard of hearing.  

Noah played along despite wanting to tell her that not only could he speak English, but he had very good hearing and he had heard every little inappropriate word she whispered to her partner moments ago. 

“Ah, yes. Oui bien sûr,” he replied, taking the phone from her. 

He held up the phone expecting your run-of-the-mill arm around the waist photo, but they weren’t your ordinary couple. Which he would soon discover was a massive understatement. 

The woman reached up and pulled down the man’s purple scarf he was wearing around his neck. She pressed her lips right below his ear in a very suggestive way. Noah hit the red circle in the middle of the screen, but his surprise from their choice of pose made his hands momentarily loosen their grip on the phone. He grabbed it right before it hit the concrete. He looked up, expecting them to be irritated with his clumsiness, but now they were even more entranced with one another. Their lips locked like they were preparing for the next base, Noah wanted to look away for their privacy, but his gaze wouldn’t budge from the screen. He thought that if he watched through the phone it was less intrusive than if he was observing it in real life. 

The sound of the phone taking the picture seemed obnoxiously loud as Noah glanced around self-consciously to see if anyone else was seeing what he was seeing. Not one single person was looking at them. He glanced down at the recent picture thinking he knew exactly what he would be looking at, but much to his surprise, the intimacy had escalated. 

Noah stifled the stunned look that tried to take over his face as he stared down at the image of the couple engaged in a passionate kiss with her hand suggestively at his belt and his hand up her shirt. He scanned the space around him one more time assuming there would be people gathering next to him with prying eyes to get a good look at this. He was surrounded by a crowd, but true to society, every single person was overly involved in his or her own selfie, making sure the lighting, the angle, the makeup was just right. 

It must be the Catholic guilt still living in the deepest parts of my personality causing me to squirm uncomfortably at the sight of fiery public affection, Noah thought to himself. The couple returned to reality, acting almost surprised he was still standing in front of them. 

“Thank you very much, sir,” the woman said to him without an ounce of embarrassment. Not that she needed to be ashamed of the attractiveness she felt toward her partner. 

Noah handed the phone back and nodded politely, “Vous êtes les bienvenus.” 

He walked across the top of the cathedral, squeezing through crowds of oblivious people, the couple getting smaller and smaller each time he looked back. 

Well, that was the weirdest experience I have had during my time up there, Noah realized the last picture he took was ingrained in his brain. He shook his head trying to get it away, feeling like he was invading their privacy each time it flashed in his mind. Her hand on his belt. His hand presumably on her breast. 

He pushed the door open at the bottom of the spiral staircase, practically falling onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the viewing balcony at the top of the giant cathedral half-expecting to see an x-rated movie scene happening. Instead he saw nothing. The sea of people was too thick to find the couple even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. 

The smell of a cooking crepe caught his attention as he was deciding which way to roam around the city this morning. He sauntered toward the cart as he internally battled over whether to get Nutella or cheese today. Lost in his inner conundrum, he bumped into a woman in a flowing blue dress. 

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out before he remembered he was trying to embody his Parisian self more today. The gig was up before it started this time. 

“It’s no problem,” she smiled sweetly at him, but not in a flirtatious way, in a genuinely nice way. 

He realized he hadn’t reached his crepe stand yet. Instead, he was standing in front of a cart that was selling colorful silk scarves. 

An image flickered in his mind of the picture on the phone he was desperately trying to forget. He hadn’t paid close attention to details aside from the placement of body parts, but a bright purple scarf stood out like a color pop in a black and white print. It was tied around the man’s neck like he wanted it to be seen. Like he wanted to be noticed and remembered. 

Noah blinked hard, realizing he was staring at the woman. She was in the middle of a sentence, so she didn’t notice his frozen gaze.

“....Marcus, that’s my husband, he has to come to Notre Dame every time we come to Paris because this scarf shop is always parked outside on Tuesdays. He only has three scarves, but he swears they are the best silk he has ever felt. He wore his purple one today in honor of his favorite team, the Washington Huskies being in the finals,” she said so nonchalantly like she knew him inside and out. Like she could finish his sentences, predict his food order, pick out his clothes. 

“I…uh…I didn’t remember that the Huskies were purple,” Noah finally said after what felt like a month-long pause. 

Purple scarf. Purple scarf. Yes, that was the man I took a picture of. Not with this woman though. With a different woman. This woman, she has no idea. I am in the middle of an affair. Well, not in the middle, but I know about it, and now I’m connected to both sides. Do I tell her? No, no, no, she doesn’t know me. What if her husband comes back while I am standing here? Will he suspect something? Is she saying something again? 

“He always goes to the top, but tells me to stay here because he knows I don’t like heights. Do you think a middle-aged man would like this yellow one or the stripes?” She was holding up two scarves in my direction. 

“Oh, um, well, if I had to pick, from your description, he seems like he might like the yellow?” his answer came out as a question unintentionally.  

Sweat beads were starting to form on his upper lip and forehead. I have to get out of here before I am physically in the middle of this couple especially since I witnessed that couple. How is this happening? I am in a city of two million people, and I have somehow crossed paths with the only three people in this little primetime drama. She is saying something again isn’t she?

“Hi! Marcus, I was just picking out a scarf for you, but since you’re back you can give your input. This gentleman here, he liked the yellow,” she was pointing to Noah as she finished her sentence. 

Noah and Marcus’s eyes met. A look of recognition sparked in both. For Marcus, panic and confusion. For Noah, the plea of ‘please don’t murder me for knowing your secret’. 

For a second, Noah thought about making a run for it, but that seemed childish, and there was already one adult acting foolish here. Instead, he remembered that he held the power. And they had no idea who he really was. His name was still anonymous. So he calmly backed away from the whole dramatic scene. 

“Je suis désolé, je dois y aller maintenant. Passe une bonne journée,” he calmly said as he walked away, pretending never to have entered their tangled lives. 

The mental image of the photo he took evaporating into a million pieces, leaving his mind forever as he strolled away.