Butterflies tumbled over each other in my stomach, racing to get out of the plane
as it landed at Charles de Gaulle, unsure of what to expect but anxious to arrive
nevertheless. All the sounds hit at once, swirling streams of French flowing about
my head like a swarm of gnats, dodging smells of croissants, sweat and coffee,
each new sensation swallowing me whole, and suddenly I felt like I was drowning
or floating, I couldn’t tell which. Bumping into and off of travelers like one in a
thousand inside a pinball machine, the weight of my backpack controlling my
movements, swaying me into and away from those I passed. Heart racing and hands
sweating, I raced to the closest bathroom, dropped my bag and sat on the covered
toilet. Head in hands and two deep breaths, I let myself accept what I had just
done. I had left. Escaped. I was alone. This was happening. A woman knocked on
the bathroom stall door, but she got no answer; I just let the stranger keep fumbling
with the locked door. One more moment of peace before I entered the chaos and
the unknown.
W R I T I N G
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P H O T O S
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T H O M A S
Breathe. 1, 2, 3 …. I was gone.
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