Love Locks

The shiny red and white glass beads were spread out neatly on the table with a hot glue gun sitting beside them. Julia had placed the beads on the table in order of their placement on the gold lock, leaving just enough space in the middle to delicately write their names in the middle. It took her weeks to find just the right beads, and she was determined to re-create the love she felt into a creative design. Her friends had waited at least three months before they placed their locks on the Hohenzollern bridge over the Rhine river, but Julia couldn’t wait any longer. She knew that Damien was the one she wanted to be with forever.

Julia bit her bottom lip and held the first red bead between her fingers as a hint of glue dropped onto the back of the bead. She carefully placed the bead in the right corner of the lock, and smiled at the beautiful result. With each bead it became easier, and soon there were alternating red & white beads all around the border. Feeling daring, Julia also added white beads on the sides and bottom of the lock until the only space left was the middle area where she’d write their initials.

As the hot glue dried the sparkling beads, Julia took her red marker and slowly outlined their initials, adding a few swirls underneath for extra glamour. Her face glowed with joy as she admired all her hard work. She quickly packed up all her craft supplies just in case her little sister suddenly charged into the room. No one had any idea she was creating a lovelock, not even Damien. Her secret plan was to meet Damien on the bridge at 6:00pm, and then they would go have dinner along the canal at their favourite restaurant. Her heart was beating fast at the thought of surprising Damien with her artistic masterpiece, and showing him how much she loves him. They’ve been going together for six whole weeks now, and Julia was certain he felt the same way she did.

Julia sorted through all her dresses and finally decided on the dress she wore on their first date. It would make the evening even more romantic! She then picked out the perfect necklace, perfect earrings, perfect hair clip, and finally the perfect shoes. Julia tucked the lovelock into the inside pocket of her black purse, making sure that Damien wouldn’t be able to see it before her big surprise.

As Julia strolled along the bridge the bright sun glowed onto the Dom Cathedral in the distance. There were crowds of cyclists and people walking along the bridge tonight, and Julia looked for the exact spot she picked out to place the lock. She didn’t want it lost amongst all the other hundreds of locks piled on some parts of the fence – she wanted the lock all on its own so it would stand out. Ultimately she wanted other people to clearly see her work of art, since she was planning to apply to Cologne University next year in their fine arts program.

It was 5:53pm, and soon Damien would be there. Her fingers and toes were starting to tingle, and she could hardly wait for him to get here. After admiring the view from the bridge for a few moments, Julia turned around.

She had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing things clearly. Maybe she was in a dream? She looked again, and her mouth dropped open and shoulders slumped forward. Damien’s back was facing her, but she recognized his black leather jacket and faded jeans. Julia thought, this can’t be happening. We are meant for each other. What is he doing?!?!

Damien was standing next to a girl she didn’t even recognize. They were holding a lock together as they both attached it to the wire fence. After the lock was bolted they took the key and turned around to face the river. Damien flung the key over the edge of the bridge, and it floated in the air for a while before landing in the swift current. As his eyes re-focused on the bridge he suddenly noticed Julia. She was standing with her legs planted firmly on the ground, and hands gripping her hips so hard they almost formed bruises.

Damien felt the piercing of her glaring eyes as he tried desperately to form a smile and guard his new girlfriend from the impending threat. He then swiftly guided her to the other side of the bridge, holding her hand while he glanced back at Julia a couple times. Julia kept staring at the two of them, trying to think of creative ways to throw Damien off the bridge with his new girlfriend.

When Damien and the girl became just a distant blur, Julia turned back around to face the river. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her leg muscles still trembled from shock. She looked at the lock in her moist hands and contemplated whether to hurl it into the water. But it looked too beautiful to just throw away, so she just held onto the lock like it was a sad, pathetic gift. Her head dropped down with exhaustion as the tears spilled down her cheeks like tiny rivers. She couldn’t bear to see anyone, or even tell her friends about this humiliating experience.

After what seemed like an eternity, she suddenly felt a tap on her right arm. She looked up with her waterlogged eyes and puffed lips to see a boy standing beside her.

“Sorry to bother you, but are you ok?” he asked tentatively, squinting to see her face behind all the tears.

Julia dazed back at him, and then wiped her face after realizing how awful she must look right now.

“I noticed this lock on the ground and wondered if it was yours,” he added.

Julia looked down in confusion, not remembering when the lock slipped from her hands.

“Uh yeah, that’s mine, I guess,” she replied.

“It’s really nice. Did you make it?”

“Yes, I made it,” Julia said with a frown. She looked back at the boy for a few moments and then added, “You really like it?”

“Well yeah, it looks like you went to a lot of work. Must be some lucky guy,”

Julia’s face immediately turned back to a stone-cold expression, recalling the moment she saw Damien with that other girl.

“That lucky guy is a jerk. I think I’ll just throw it over…”

“No! Wait just a second, you should save this,” he called out while trying to grab the lock from Julia’s hand.

“But why? I made the lock with our initials on it. Where am I going to find another great guy with the intial “D”?” she said defiantly.

“Well, you see it might be easier than you think. There could be someone…”

“No, I’m really not interested right now. But thanks anyway,”

The boy smiled back at Julia trying to cheer her up, even though he didn’t fully understand the whole story. As Julia stood staring out at the river in heartbreak, the boy gently put his arm around her. He then wiped away her tears and smoothed out her frizzy, windblown hair.

As they walked back across the bridge toward the canal-side restaurants, Julia slowly opened up to the boy’s kindness and generosity. They found a small café to get a bite to eat, and the horrible events on the bridge gradually melted away. The evening was turning out to be not so bad after all.

After placing their order Julia looked at the boy with interest and asked, “What’s your name?”

“David.”

 

 

A Spanish Night

Her gown flowed all around her as she approached the young man. Her jet-black hair was sleeked back in a tight round bun, and matched the black and white floral pattern on her dress. As she slowly inched towards him her piercing eyes caused him to swell out his chest and smooth back his long hair to show off his vigorous appetite that evening.

She teased him with a circling flick of her wrist, fingers acting as miniature spears. Her hands joined together and clapped to the beat of the drum in slow, controlled movements. When her hands couldn’t contain the intense energy, her arms suddenly lifted up above her head like a cat getting ready to pounce on its prey. Her feet then joined in, forcing energy into the floor with each step. The ruffles on her dress vibrated in response, and could barely keep up with the series of staccato movements.

The young man then mirrored her energetic movements with his own sequence of heel stomps and toe taps while keeping his gaze directly on her beautiful face. He spun in circles and pranced around the stage like a proud lion capturing its female companion. After demonstrating his masterful footwork he finished with a sudden stop, frozen in action.

With only a finger’s width between them, they stared into each other’s eyes. Their lithe bodies stretched up high, ready to indulge each other’s desires. But on her next inhale she turned and sprinted off the stage, her ruffles trembling behind her. For a moment he appeared disheartened, but then he regained his enthusiasm and pranced off the stage like a young boy.

Artistic Pursuits

Kate stood quietly on a bridge overlooking the Rhône River, breathing in the fresh, cool air that blew past her, causing her hair to tangle in knots and fly into her face. The boats glided slowly down the river and left a ripple in their tracks. Kate rested her chin on her hand as she admired the beautiful scenery surrounding her, wanting to remember every detail after she leaves the city.

Although Lyon is the second largest city to Paris, it really doesn’t seem like a city. There isn’t the rush of traffic and sprawled out tourist sites like in the big cities. Lyon fits compactly between two rivers, the Rhône and Saône, and is decorated with medieval and Renaissance architecture built along charming cobbled streets.

Kate inhaled one more time and then pulled out her well creased, marked up city map. It had become like a friend these past few days guiding her around the city, along with the compass an old boyfriend gave her to help with directions. As Kate looked at the map she smiled and recalled her first day in Lyon.

With her 10 lb. backpack pressing down onto her aching shoulders she smiled at the hotel staff behind the large reception desk, hoping her friendly looks would help warm up the conversation. The man looked up from his reading glasses and immediately noticed her large pack. He glanced back down at his newspaper and flipped the page. She tried desperately to remember the few words she learned in Morocco and vocabulary lessons from high school French class.

“Bonjour!” Kate replied with a smile.

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” he said with no hint of interest.

While Kate was trying to recall more French words the man added, “Peux je vous aider?”

“Pardon?” Kate asked, her eyebrows revealing her lack of comprehension.

The man looked up from his newspaper with his lips pursed tightly.

“Anglais?” he said while glaring at her.

“Oui, pardon-moi…”

“Can I help you mademoiselle?” he repeated, emphasizing every word.

“Yes, oui, I have a booking for four nights. My name is Kate Sanders.”

“Let me see…Sanders…ah oui. Chambre numéro vingt-deux.”

The man grabbed the large room key hanging up on a rack behind him and set it down on the desk. Kate was about to pick it up when he slammed his hand onto the key.

“Do you have a city map?” he asked.

“Uh, no. Perhaps I can…”

“I will show you the sights in Lyon.”

He immediately peeled off the top sheet from a pad of tourist maps covering his desk. With his red marker he started making lines along streets and circling various monuments and tourist attractions like a prison inmate would plan an escape route out of the city. He talked at such a rapid pace that Kate leaned in and tried to grasp what he was saying. Most of it sounded like a blur, however she did recognize the words “Musée”, “Basilique” and Opéra”. After he finished his long speech and covered the map with his scribbles, he handed it to her with the key.

“Chambre vingt-deux. Go up the stairs, turn left, down the hall, then right. Last door at end of hall,” he replied, and resumed reading his newspaper.

Kate stared at him for a few seconds, trying to remember all the information he just told her.

“Merci,” she said faintly, already feeling overwhelmed about being in a new city and coping with the language.

Kate was getting a little chilly on the bridge so she pulled on her favourite sweater overtop her faded blue t-shirt. She had visited almost all of the sites the hotel man suggested to her including the Musée Lumière Invention du Cinéma, Musée des Tissus et des Arts Décoratifs, Opéra House, and the old cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon. She even climbed up the steep hill to the Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière, and the magnificent view of the city had made her forget the throbbing in her quad muscles.

Today was Kate’s last day in Lyon, and she wanted to visit the local contemporary art gallery. Her guidebook suggested going to Musée d’Art Contemporain in the north end of the city, situated next to Parc de la Tête d’Or. Art and nature, she couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day. So she walked toward Gare de Perrache station while mapping out the tram route on the map.

The journey required both a tram and bus ride to get there, but it was a pleasant way to view the city. She had packed a few snacks for the day, including a freshly baked roll wrapped up in a napkin. Over the last eight months of travel Kate became very resourceful in finding cheap, healthy food, like sneaking a few extra hotel breakfast items for snacking on later. And with the lack of interest from hotel staff, it made this task quite easy.

The weather warmed up significantly during her ride, so she peeled off her sweater and wrapped it around her waist. She slid her handbag onto her shoulder and skipped up the steps to the art gallery. The building stood tall and grand, giving her hope that the artwork inside would match its exterior image. With her rehearsed question in mind, Kate approached the woman working at the admissions desk.

“Pardon-moi, je voudrais un billet s’il vous plâit.”

“Oui mademoiselle. Baissez s’il vous plâit votre sac à la chambre de manteau.”

Kate stood there feeling embarrassed that she didn’t understand what the woman just said. She tried repeating it to herself, although it seemed like a jumble of words. The woman simply stared at her, waiting for a response.

“Uh, pardon-moi, je ne parle pas…”

“You speak English?”

“Oui.”

“OK, here is your ticket. Bag must be left at coatroom at bottom of stairs. Merci,” the woman said, eyeing the next people in line.

Kate smiled back at her and proceeded toward the entrance. After following the woman’s instructions to drop off her bag, she could finally go see the exhibits. It had been a long week of looking at historical monuments, so Kate was more than ready to appreciate the city’s more modern works of art. She bounded up the stairs and walked through the door into the first exhibit.

There appeared to be objects hanging from the walls, but she had to walk closer to see what they were. As she approached the exhibit Kate’s face looked like she had just seen aliens get off a space ship. On the wall were odd pieces of metal and plastic, pictures of blurry faces and body parts, a few rusted garden tools, and wires tangled all around. The piece also had coloured light bulbs loosely hanging off the bits of metal, and bizarre messages displayed on fuzzy TV screens. The piece looked like someone had gathered up the week’s garbage and hung it on the wall.

Kate looked around at the other people milling about the gallery, and they all walked past each display without too much contemplation. Their faces were a mild version of Kate’s immediate reaction when she stepped inside. Wondering if there was some deep meaning she was missing in this artist’s work, Kate continued strolling and observing each piece carefully. She scanned over the entire piece, and then tried to decipher each of the elements and what they could possibly be about.

After about five minutes her mind had become so confused over what she saw that it had tuned out the artwork and started daydreaming about other things. What should I do after the gallery? What time does the train leave tomorrow? Do I have all my stuff packed up?

Kate suddenly stopped, realizing she hadn’t looked at the art like she planned to. She took one more spin around, to at least justify the admission fee, and walked out of the exhibit in a huff. Maybe the other exhibit will be better. This is probably just their avant-garde, experimental section to showcase upcoming talent. Although the more she thought about it, the more she wondered why this artist would be considered for a city gallery like this.

The next exhibit was on the gallery’s second floor, and as Kate climbed up the stairs she tried to free her mind of the strange 3-D art she just saw. She tried to re-assure herself that the next exhibit would be more interesting. She opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

Large colourful pictures covered each of the walls, which appeared to be nature photos. Feeling slightly relieved, Kate turned to her left and looked at the first photo. It had a tree branch and a bird that was slightly out of focus. She shifted her eyes to the next photo, which had the same scenery except it was so blurry it was difficult to decipher the images. The next photo was the same as the first, which caused Kate to do a double take on what she saw originally. The entire room, in fact, had repeated images of out-of-focus nature photos.

As she walked around the gallery her pace became swift, and rather than walking straight along the walls she curved her path and rounded the corners. She picked up a copy of the artist’s statement, read through it briefly and tossed it back into the plastic holder. Stomping down the two flights of stairs, Kate wasted no time in getting her bag back from the coatroom and leaving the gallery. She slumped down onto the park bench and winced at her bad decision to come here. She looked at her watch. It was now 1:45pm. She had spent only twenty minutes in the gallery – a place where she thought she’d spend the entire afternoon.

Fifteen minutes later Kate stood up and walked across the street to the park. As she breathed in the fresh air, listened to the birds sing, and watched families enjoying bike rides and playing in the grass, it reminded her how much she enjoys the outdoors. Spending so much time lately in big cities looking at historical buildings caused her to forget how good it feels to be surrounded by grass, trees, rivers and wildlife.

Feeling refreshed, Kate boarded the next tram to the downtown core. Her stomach was starting to grumble so she knew it must be time for dinner. It was a quick ride down to Bellecour station where she got off to look for a take-away dinner. As she started walking down Rue Victor Hugo she noticed a sign for a local artist’s exhibit. The bright pink sign caught her attention, and the gallery was just a block away. Feeling hopeful again, she strolled past the patisserie, gelato stand and bookshop to where the gallery was located.

Kate walked through the gate doors into the gallery and her face immediately lit up. Colourful abstract paintings filled the walls, and unique sculpture pieces were displayed on a grassy outdoors area. Her breath shortened with excitement as she gazed at each painting and sculpture with awe. This is the art that inspires me – art that makes the world a more colourful, joyful place, especially in urban areas.

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” the young woman greeted Kate with a warm smile.

“Bonjour! J’aime votre art.” Kate replied with enthusiasm, trying hard to seem like a French speaking person.

"Merci beaucoup…you speak Anglais?” she inquired.

“Oui,” Kate replied, lowering her head in embarrassment.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“I’m from Canada.”

“Canada? I love Canada! I studied art in Montreal a few years ago, and then travelled across the country with a friend. We loved the landscape and kind people there. I hope to go back to Canada someday.”

“Really? But it’s so beautiful here!”

“Oui, but Canada is so…how do you say, diverse?”

“Hmmm…you mean multicultural?”

“Oui, oui! Multicultural. We felt very welcome by the Canadian people.”

Kate’s face blushed with pride, and the conversation that followed flowed with ease and enthusiasm. They shared their love of abstract art, nature and world travel while enjoying fresh croissants and a café. Although their meeting was brief, and e-mail exchanges would continue for another few months, Kate would always remember Lyon as the city where she decided to become an artist.