WAITING
Sicheng (Sissi) Wang Here we go again. I cannot fathom why the lines here are so long. Absolutely despicable. And somehow, after all of my scrutinization, calculation, and contemplation, I still manage to end up in the slowest line. Every. Single. Time. Hear me out. I’m a college student, studying abroad in Paris. Bonjour, ca va? It’s almost Christmas, and my parents insisted that I come home. I guess that’s why there are so many college students surrounding me. It’s been maybe twenty minutes, and I have barely moved an inch closer towards the doorway to freedom. Arrgh! I really can’t justify the fact that I woke up at five o’clock in the morning for this, just to still miss it! It’s ok, I comfort myself. No need to worry. Look at everyone in line, everyone’s waiting patiently. I watch the screen project the time, and I try my best to repress the internal rage picking up momentum as the ticking goes by, minute by minute. 9:43am. 9:44am. 9:45am. As I start zoning out for perhaps the fourth time, a sound suddenly brings me back to reality. The passport of the girl in front of me lies open on the ground. She’s carrying so many items in her hands that she doesn’t even realize. I pick it up and hand it over to her as the line finally scooches forward a few steps. “Mademoiselle,” I politely say as I tap her on the shoulder, “je pense que c’est ton passeport.” She turns around in her puffy winter coat. She looks to be around my age, but just a few inches shorter. “Ah oui, merci beaucoup!” Her smile shines so brightly. Then she turns back around, and I can hear her murmur under her breath, good job at embarrassing yourself again. Wait a second. She speaks English! “Est-ce que tu parles anglais?” I ask her, intrigued. I am honestly so bored I’m willing to strike up any conversation just to entertain myself for a few minutes. “Me? Ah yes I do! You too?” “Yeah, I’m actually from America.” “Oh interesting! I used to live there as well. It’s certainly very different from Paris.” “Yeah, definitely,” I suddenly feel very perplexed about two things. First of all, how can she remain so positive right now when we’ve been stuck here for so long - don’t her legs ache? Also, why does that smile seem so familiar? “Are you also studying in Paris?” She asks me. She must’ve noticed that I stopped paying attention. I snap back from my ludicrous daydreaming thoughts. “Yes, yes, at the Sorbonné Université. I’m actually going back home for the holidays. Where do you come from?” “From London. It’s rainy and foggy all the time, I would take New York City and Paris over London any day.”
18
Dana Hall
