37. Moments

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"You couldn't leave the wine?" 

Dubious myself, I question the skepticism in his query as well as the shock of my action. "We paid for this wine." I search both his eyes for any other credible reason for me not to have grabbed it.

"We paid for the food as well."

"Then why didn't you grab it?"

Marcel rolls his gum around his mouth. The scent of cinnamon follows the warm draft of the wind as his chew becomes more inflated. Clearly challenged, I watch Marcel try to puzzle together an appropriate rebuttal.

In search of a response, he may have fallen upon one that he felt can't be shared. As the thought passes, he acknowledges it with a scoff and smirk. Shaking his head free of the idea, he resumes watching his path. What do you have to say, Mr. Marcel?

"I think the wine is more important." I take a sip from my glass as I do a little dance.

"Public intoxication is still a thing."

"Ooh." My dance party comes to a halting conclusion, making Marcel laugh at the seriousness in my face. "Okay let me put this away." Grabbing a tissue from my purse, I stuff it into the neck of the bottle. 

In search of an exit strategy, I'm pleased to find a vendor along the street. I snatch up a plastic cup for the wine in my glass. 

"Does this look more acceptable?" I ask, leaving the glass behind.

"You're hilarious."

"Resourceful. Hey! I heard a couple talking about rollerblading at night. They were saying how different and less busy the city is. Can we do that?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"Then, you're gonna have to set this down, darling." He plucks my plastic, wine cup to leave it on a nearby bench, but not without taking a final sip himself. 

My face shrinks, unhappy that after running from damn birds, I still lose a few ounces of wine. Then, I feel the weight of the bottle under my arm. Oh yeah. We're good. 

"Okay." He rejoins me, wrapping his arm over my shoulder.

"Marcel." I whine. "I wasn't going to get drunk."

"Two shots knocked you out cold in The Netherlands."

"It knocked you out too and long!" I stomp, making him chuckle.

"Our tolerance is shit." He concedes. "But we need... our balance and–" He pinches my chin to pop out my seized lip. "I told you about that." His hushed ridicule refers to my pouty ways. This has been a part of me for 26 years, do you think I'm going to stop now? "We need our balance and coordination for rollerblading."

"Eh." I bite my finger, but Marcel blithely swats my finger away from my mouth. How well do you do with choking, because you're about to be tested? With nothing nice to say, my lips tighten before going ahead with my earlier thoughts. "I'm beginning to rethink this. You're clumsy and I don't need you getting hurt."

"I'll be holding on to yooou." He coos as if that's the best idea in the world. Are you kidding me?

"Damn, why you wanna drag me down with you? One of us has to survive."

Until tonight, Marcel and I decide to take a break from the city. I'm currently sitting on my balcony with nothing else draping my body other than a bathrobe. I was going to settle for a nap, but I opted to relax and unwind under the Parisian sunset. I even pulled out my black journal with the word, Moments written in gold on the front and spine.

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