As they approached their bench, Jimin came to a sudden realization.
“We’re only about ten miles from Paris, right?”
She nodded. “More or less.”
“Let’s just walk.”
“What? No! Your ankle!”
“My ankle is fine. It really is.” He stopped and rotated his ankle all the way through one full circle. “See? It doesn’t hurt. We can walk ten miles in less than three hours. It’ll give us lots of time together, and we can walk to my hotel. Then we’ll call a tow truck to come change your tire, and you can return with them to pick up your car.”
“I don’t know, Jimin. Surely there is someone out here who can help us. Besides, all the auto repair shops are closed until Monday.”
“Please. Let’s just walk. I’m selfish, and I want the time with you. We’ll slowly be making our way into the city, but I’ll get to spend lots of time holding your hand,” he swung their linked hands back and forth, “and talking to you.”
“All right. Let me grab my bag from my car. We’ll probably get hungry again before we get there.”
She pulled a backpack from the car and loaded it with the leftover bread, pastries, fruit, and water bottles. As she zipped it shut, Jimin reached for it. “Let me carry it. Oh! My painting!”
“It’s in my car. I’ll get it to you before you leave, or I’ll mail it to you.”
“I am sure somebody in my management group can come out here today and change your tire. We’ll come with him, and I’ll pick it up then.”
She nodded.
They began the long walk back to Paris, linking hands once again. Eileen realized as Jimin’s hand embraced hers that she was feeling lighter than she had in ages. Just having confessed her dark secret to this sweet man holding her hand.
She had come to Paris in the hopes of evading her horrifying past. And for the moment, she was safe. But she was lonely. She spent long hours alone, and even when she worked with the artist who was training her, she could tell they didn’t have a close connection and probably never would. Part of her soul longed for the green fields of Ireland again. Just not for the punishing blows of her father.
“Jimin, what does South Korea look like? Is it beautiful? Green? I miss the greenery of Ireland.”
“South Korea is stunning. It has beautiful mountains covered in green. I’d show you a picture of my latest photo book shoot if I had my phone. We took pictures with the green mountains as our backdrop.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“You sound sad, Eireen.”
She smiled, thinking she’d love to hear him call her by another girl’s name every day for the rest of her life.
“I just miss home. Ireland. Its green fields and open skies. and I’m already missing you. Just feeling a little melancholy. Our time is coming to a close, and having found you, I’m wondering how I’m going to face tomorrow without you.” She sighed, “Much the same as I always have, I suppose.”
Jimin wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye either. And his ankle was bothering him more than he’d let on. He ignored the pain as he focused on her pretty face. What he’d really like to do right now was just stop and kiss her again. Soon he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore either. On impulse he stopped and pulled her towards him, finding her lips with his own in a kiss of such sweetness, she was left melting.
“Maybe we should just find a shady spot and kiss each other until someone comes looking for us.”
She laughed at his suggestion. “I’ve already kept you from your friends and your responsibilities too long! I can’t keep being selfish.”
“Ok,” he shook his head ruefully. “Then I’ll be selfish for us.” He drew her near again and covered her mouth with his own once more. After a few moments, she pulled back and playfully smacked him on the shoulder. “Jimin! Really! We just met last night! I’m beginning to think it’s a good thing we won’t see each other after today, or we might really get ourselves into some trouble!”
He laughed. He would love to get into trouble with her. He laced their fingers together and pulled her down the road.
“Tell me about your childhood. Not the bad parts,” he gave her a sidelong glance. “But the good parts.”
She shuddered. “There weren’t too many of those. But they usually occurred in the early morning light. Da would solace himself with whiskey at night and oversleep in the mornings often. So I would rise before the sun and head out to the open field with my pencils, paints, and sketchbook. We had a kind neighbor lady who discovered my love of art, so she kept me well supplied. Whenever Da found my art supplies and sketchbooks and burned them, she’d just give me more. God bless her. She saved my life. And after a while, whenever I completed a book, I’d just give it to her for safekeeping. The day finally came when he could find nothing to burn.”
Jimin’s tender heart was still reeling in horror at her father’s cruel behavior. He’d burned her beautiful artwork? Jimin discovered a tear in his eye. Eileen noticed it as it trembled on his eyelashes before falling to cascade down his cheek.
“It’s all right, Jimin.”
“No! It’s not all right, Eireen! You must have felt so alone, even with that lady’s kindness! You must have craved a friend so badly. A safe place. A sanctuary.”
She nodded and found tears sliding down her own cheeks. “Yes. It’s true. So the rising sun became my friend. And the grassy meadow. It was so green that it beckoned me and comforted me somehow.”
Probably because it echoed the brilliant shade of your eyes.
“And my pencil, my paintbrush, my colors, and my sketchbooks became my friends. They kept me company over long hours and many years. I filled those books with all my dreams. Da burned some of them. But there were others that he couldn’t touch.” And I feel like you are the manifestation of one of them.
Years ago, she had sketched a portrait of a young man with dark hair and laughing eyes. Those eyes had been a chocolate brown, the hair black. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had drawn her dream, and he had come true.
She was gazing at him so strangely now, a faraway look in her eye, yet she was staring at his face.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“You remind me of a man I sketched when I was fourteen. Jimin, are you just a figment of my imagination? Am I going to wake tomorrow to find you gone, with only the painting of you to keep me company?”
He sighed. She would awake tomorrow to find him gone, but not because he was the embodiment of a simple dream. Rather, it was because he was the ideal of so many other girls’ dreams, and he had a responsibility to return to that life. A life he had dreamed of. A life that suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to holding this beautiful girl’s hand and kissing her pert lips. That life couldn’t compare to hearing the sweet, lilting tones of her voice washing over him. Or staring into those glowing, green pools she called her eyes. He sighed. Tomorrow would come too soon.
