It was our second day in Paris, and the professors had turned our small class of seven loose for the remainder of the day. Huddled outside Pere Lachaise Cemetery's iron gates after being unceremoniously evicted upon its closing, we reviewed our options. We could either head back to the hotel to start on the reading and assignment due the following morning, or we could go out to a restaurant as a group. Someone produced their Green Guide to Paris-one of the two required textbooks for the class-and began leafing through the dining section. I dug my map of Paris out of my shoulderbag and searched for the locations emanating from the Green Guide group. We ended up taking the Metro and walking the rest of the way to a remote location where a good restaurant was reputed to be. Upon arrival, we found it to be boarded up in a most inhospitable manner. But if Paris lacks anything, it is not dining establishments. A walk down the street revealed several cafes, and we settled on one at random.

Aside from an old man who appeared to be a regular, and an inebriated woman who may have had some hand in proprietorship of the place, we were the only customers. I ordered canard avec pommes, though the pommes unexpectedly turned out to be potatoes. Drinks for the others, carafe of water for me (always ask for a carafe, otherwise they charge). The meal was excellent, and we classmates had a great time discussing professors, as all classmates are wont to do. The other people in the place-the waiter, old man, and inebriated woman-were quick to join our conversations at the merest opportunity. Soon the woman was swaying to the music and eyeing the boys as though she would like to dance with them. She tottered to our table and began circling it. The boys kept their eyes on their plates, knowing she would ask them to dance if they made eye contact. I knew this too, but didn't think I was in danger until she lunged towards me, clasped my hand, and asked if I would dance with her. I stammered something-I must have-and barely evaded the experience. But the woman, in her red dress with its frilly hem, soon showed us that she needed no partner, and danced alone.

Walking out into the Parisian evening, I felt all the contentedness of spontaneity well played out.

Learn more about this author, Megan Nell.
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