Again, But Better

together
.
It feels like things are … possible.
We circle the tier, eager for the next set of steps, but end up back where we started.

---

My smile wilts. “Is there no other staircase?”
“What the heck?” Pilot’s expression falls.
We venture inside to ask someone. It turns out you can only take the elevator to the very top, and
today even that route is closed due to high winds. As if to prove a point, an aggressive spool of
freezing air rams into us as we exit back out through the doors. My mental list of romantic reaching-
the-top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower-together fantasies spins away on the breeze.
Disappointment looms over us as we wind around and around, back to earth. 
Is he feeling what
I’m feeling? Or is this just normal I-didn’t-get-to-scale-the-Eiffel-Tower level disappointment?
When our feet hit solid ground, Babe and Chad are there waiting. The four of us cross a bridge
and head along the bank of the Seine, moving toward an area populated with shops and restaurants.
We’re still strolling alongside the river when Babe stops short to pivot around and look back at the
Tower in the distance. The sun’s going down and the Eiffel’s golden lights have switched on.
“Wait!” she shouts. We stop and look at her. “What time is it?” she asks, her hazel eyes alight.
Chad looks at his watch. “5:45.”
“We have a good view here!” she says.
“A view for what?” I ask. My stomach growls restlessly as I glance at the Eiffel Tower. Now
that we’ve stopped, the cold air cuts right through my boots. I scrunch my toes up against it.
“Something cool is going to happen to the Eiffel Tower at six o’clock,” Babe answers, leaning
against the barrier that lines the river’s edge. “You want to see this,” she says confidently.
“What’s going to happen to the Eiffel?” I shoot, rubbing my hands together for warmth. I pull
my puffy winter hood up over my head against the wind.
“How cool?” Pilot asks skeptically, narrowing his eyes. He’s got his sweatshirt hood up and his
jacket hood up over that.
“Pretty cool. I think we should wait—if you guys are okay with that,” Babe answers.
“It’s frickin’ freezing,” Chad says, leaning against the wall now, hugging himself, dark peacoat
buttoned all the way up. “I hope this is good, Babe.”
“Okay, I guess we’ve got fifteen minutes,” I say wearily.
Five minutes pass. We’re all antsy, but we’ve begrudgingly stayed put.
Babe paces back and forth. “I hope it works now that I’m making everyone wait.” She laughs
nervously.
“I can’t feel my hands,” Chad announces.
“The Eiffel Tower’s preppin’ for takeoff,” Pilot announces.
“If the Eiffel doesn’t go off, it’s going to be really upsetting.” I laugh.
Six minutes left. I can’t feel my fingers, and I’m wearing gloves.
We’ve all staked out spots against the barrier now, staring eagerly. The sun just disappeared
behind the horizon. The Eiffel glows with the remnants of its orangey-gold light.
“Are you sure it doesn’t just light up like this?” Pilot asks. I snort.
“No, that’s not it.” Babe chuckles.
“Come on, Eiffel Tower. Let’s go,” Pilot demands. We all cackle. He turns to smile at me, and I
feel a little less cold. “Gosh, the Eiffel Tower is just letting us down,” he continues.
“Two minutes!” I announce. “I can’t feel my feet, Eiffel Tower. I hope you’re happy.”
“Come on, Eiffel Tower,” Pilot repeats.
“One minute! I’ve got T minus one minute,” Chad adds.
“You sure about this?” Pilot asks Babe again. She smiles and shakes her head.
“Babe’s definitely wrong, and we’re definitely throwing her in the river,” Chad answers
jokingly.

---

And then, it happens. Glitter explodes all over the famous structure. Lights sparkle up and down
its iron legs. It looks like Tinker Bell threw up all over it, and it’s having a sparkly seizure. We erupt
into whoops and cheers.
“Ohh snap,” Chad calls out.
“OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD,” Pilot yells with mock fangirl-esque excitement, and
I can’t stop laughing for a good twenty seconds as we dance around in the freezing air, admiring it.
We indulge in a dinner full of red wine, ham, and cheese at a French restaurant before taking a taxi
to the area recommended to us by the girl at the hostel check-in desk—Bastille.
The taxi releases us at the mouth of a street full of lights, buzzing with activity. Because it’s his
birthday, we let Chad lead the way. He stops outside a building where music floods the street each
time the door opens, and looks back at us with an overexcited smile before heading in. We follow, a
few steps behind. Through the door is a coat check booth at the foot of a twisting staircase. The
music is coming from the second floor, so we check our jackets and head on up.
A live band is playing. The band’s at the far end of a large, open room full of people bopping
around to the music. Here, on the opposite end of the room, is the bar. We grab drinks before
zigzagging through the crowd to find an opening where we can watch and nod along. When the
indie rock song they’re playing ends, they start a song I definitely recognize. I find myself bobbing
around more purposefully.