La Gare Ancienne

The familiar stench of cheap perfume, perspiration, and old concrete invades my nose. The metro in Paris is something I have an acquired taste of. The open windows give way to cool air, my extraordinary height giving me an advantage by relieving the olfactory overload I bore. But the people, crashing into me from every unimaginable direction, and the suffocation lessens my love for this underground train. 

Yes, that's what I said, an acquired taste.

I have been here for ten months now. With admission into a university here, I have become familiar with Paris and its people. The metro is a constant in my Parisian life. It remains there to carry me to my destination, no matter how mad I get when there are more than five people around me, or how happy I get when my favorite songs help me escape from everything that bothers me, and the steady beat of the metro moving on the old track reverberates through every cell of my body.

I am so ready to get my day over with. It was a good day at university. Having submitted all my assignments before the deadline, and I have nothing else to do this academic year, except prepare for the finals. And my cooking practical exam. But it was tiring, and I feel nothing more than to get in my bed and sleep for an eternity.

Or, maybe eight-ish hours?

Things would probably be easier if I was in the eighteenth century. I would probably be into philately, occasionally cooking, and have no assignments to complete on my non-existent laptop. I giggle at my thoughts, earning strange looks from the people around me. I imagine wearing those pompous dresses, that would flair at my waist. I would play the rich-people-golf, the sport I seem to forget the name of most times. I close my eyes and imagine myself in an old get-up, and I couldn't look funnier. I, a girl who is known for wearing baggy shirts and ankle-length jeans, could never fit in an era where dresses ruled the female closet. I snicker again, failing at hiding the humor that suddenly engulfed me.

"Aww, Sylvie, j'avais besoin de rire après aujourd'hui," I said into my headphones, which were blasting Taylor Swift's music into my ears. But apparently, the only thing I could do to tame the glares from my fellow travelers was to pretend that I was speaking with my non-existent friend Sylvie, who gave me some much-needed laughter. Oh, what one doesn't do to appear sane. 

Finally out of my daydream, I look up at the station route on the metro's roof to estimate the time left to reach my home.

Well, if it wasn't the worst thing EVER.

I had missed my station two stops ago. It looks like my daydream lost me the chance to reach my home before 10. 

Looks like we're doing some sightseeing.

Three stops after, there was Bir-Hakeim, the station near Eiffel Tower. I guess I'm gonna act like the tourist I was when I first came here. I discreetly bob my head to the music I'm hearing and get off the metro when I reach my stop. I step onto the pavement, a crumpled piece of paper making a sound under my foot. I remove my headphones and bend down, picking up the sheet and opening it up to read,

Bienvenue à Paris, mille huit cent quatre-vingt-huit

Welcome to Paris, 1888?

When I tilt my head to look up, the station transforms into something ancient; kerosene lamps adorning the pillars, people who had headphones around their neck suddenly have lapels on their shoulders, and women who were wearing jeans and crop-tops, were wearing the same pompous dresses I was thinking about.

What the hell?

I look down at myself and nearly stagger back onto the train rails as the pale pink fabric rests over the narrow crinoline on my waist. I feel my torso bound by a corset, and suddenly miss the comfort of my baggy shirts. My arms are covered with the dress's sheer sleeve, and I feel my hair in an intricate updo.

I feel like Katherine Pierce.

And that is a Vampire Diaries reference, which hasn't even been released yet. Hell, there's no TV yet. I am even doubtful about a camera. I am basically in the very old past and have nowhere to go. I turn around, and the railway tracks are now just pavement, with no metro in sight. I walk outside, men tipping their hats towards me as I nod in response. I walk out the open doors of the station, and the sight before me makes me gasp in wonder.

The Seine flows under simpler bridges, the infrastructure lacking the intricacy you usually see when you look at Paris' bridges. The half-constructed Eiffel Tower stands proud in front of me, and I get an itch to meet Gustave Eiffel before I transport back to the 21st century. I pat the side of my dress, and though I immediately reprimanded myself to be so foolish to expect a phone in the nineteenth century, I almost yell in excitement seeing my hand retrieve my mobile from a pocket in my dress.

A dress with pockets?! That's rare, even in 2021.

Though that was worth the shock, having a working smartphone was worth the excitement. Actually, where was the signal coming from? They can't have cell phone towers here. It's not even real yet!

I laugh, gaining glares from the people around me.

Oh, yeah...it's not lady-like to laugh like that.

I consider glaring back at them, but then I remember that having people give me weird looks for laughing was my profession for today. So, I curtsy to them. The ladies snicker inwardly, and I smirk to their reaction.

I walk on the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the ground, as I make my way across the bridge to the Eiffel Tower. A passenger boat sails loudly beneath me, and people walk around me. Couples with their arms hooked, glancing at me and the strange device in my hand. Well, blame me for my inadvertent time travel!

I almost reach over the bridge, when a notification pops on my phone. Reflexively, I look at the screen, and before I could read the message, I am zapped back to the present.

My phone rests in my hand, my headphone still playing Taylor's music. I am standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, and as the hour strikes 10, lights flicker and glow over the metallic structure, and I huff. 

Time to go back to reality.