I noticed her immediately because she sat alone at the edge of the sidewalk café. It was late afternoon and the place was coming alive as friends gathered for afternoon wine. There was something about her that caught my attention, though it was nothing I could immediately put my finger on. In comparison to those surrounding her, she appeared quite plain. Comfortable in her skin, she sat loosely against the back of her woven armless chair. Bare legs crossed, her hefty shoes tapped a quick rhythm to her own private orchestra.
I noticed when she edged slightly in her chair that a small gift box sat on her table, tied up in the most sophisticated two-toned bow. There seems to be an unspoken art in how the French wrap the smallest of gifts. Elaborate colored papers and frivolous bows are combined in ways that could make you believe the gift wrap is the offering itself. Store clerks, meticulously dressed, take their time to fold, wrap, tape and tuck. Bows are twisted, stretched, pulled and tied. Once complete, they bring them to you on small serving trays—tiny works of art. I like to imagine what might be inside. Over the years I have collected many small gifts that sit unopened on my mantle at home. Perfectly wrapped and never undone. They remind me that there are still surprises to be had.
I wondered what was in her little gift box and whom she might be waiting for. A pair of feisty women, talking rapidly, walking closely in intimate conversation quickly turned at her table. They did that special French-girl-kissing-thing, lips in the air aside both cheeks and then all I could hear was the low buzz of quick-fire French.
The object of my interest pushed back from the table and with great honor presented the small box to one of her friends. They sat silent as she ceremoniously pulled the ribbons and slowly tore the paper. A small white box stood alone on the table and with a patient hand she pulled apart the box. There, in the box was a king-sized chocolate truffle. Glistening in the light, perfectly domed, an artwork to be eaten. The perfect gift to be shared. A simple white plate, garnished with two jewel-like raspberries, was delivered to the table by an observant waiter. The work of art was daintily removed from it’s ruffled paper skirt, placed on display and cut into three pieces. Laughter filled their table as red wine and chocolate filled their afternoon. I sat quietly watching. I love Paris.
