My feet clip and clop as I make my way down the narrow streets of Paris. I try my best to avoid the puddles scattered around the streets, and I make sure to step cautiously. There are a few drunk men stumbling around, tripping over small rocks or curbs every few steps; it is quite sad. I cannot help wondering what reduced them to this. Surely there must be a good reason for drinking so much; maybe they are trying to forget. As I go a little farther, there are not as many street lights, and the buildings get farther apart as the street starts to wind up a tall hill. I am nearing an abundance of chestnut trees; their aroma is so enticing after the evening rain. There are no people, noises, or any kind of nuisances here. I walk all the way up the winding street to the top of the hill. The view is breathtaking; I can see all of Paris. The city is serene; everyone is asleep as it is almost half past two in the morning. I should be asleep too, but I could not stop thinking about her; her face appeared in my head every time I let my eyelids slide closed. A walk seemed like the best way to escape the feeling of bereavement lurking throughout my mind. Atop this hill, my thoughts cannot disrupt me. I am as close to heaven as I could possibly be; nothing can get to me here. I sit down upon a wooden bench perched by the edge of the hill. I take a deep breath and just look at the lights of the city and the Eiffel Tower. I cannot help but think that she would love this view too.
I have been sitting for maybe ten minutes when I hear a faint noise coming from behind me down the opposite side of the hill. I cannot distinguish what the noise is. I try to block it out; I tell myself over and over again that it is not there. It gets slightly louder and then softer again. It is still there, making its way through the darkness into my sanctuary. My curiosity wins out, and I start to climb down the hill on a small dirt path surrounded by chestnut trees. I step carefully as I descend from the hill. I finally make it down and out from underneath the chestnut trees. I now stand in a wide open field. I look up and am startled to see the stars dancing in the sky. I did not think it was possible to see the stars while being this close to the city. The noise is somewhat louder here. It sounds melodic, but I do not recognize it. At the other side of the field, there is a small, wooden building. As I walk nearer, the song’s volume amplifies. I have heard it before, but I do not remember the name. The building appears to be an abandoned house. I walk around to the front to find the unhinged door leaning against the wall. I slowly look inside the house and see a little girl sitting next to a phonograph. My breath stops; she looks just like her. I sit down against the side of the house as I try to block the agonizing memories flooding back.
It feels like it happened just yesterday. Both of my parents were drunks, but my father was far worse than my mother. He has a temper on him when he drinks. He always came home from work in a foul mood. I would usually be on the receiving end of his rage, but one night, I was out running errands for my mother when he arrived. My younger sister, June, was there, and she saw a side of my father that I had tried to shield her from. It did not even cross his mind how small she was, and he swung away. One hit was all it took for her small skull to shatter against the corner of the mahogany coffee table. I came home to find my father kneeling beside her still body, my mother sobbing in the kitchen. I cannot remember precisely what happened next. I know I started hurling anything I could at my father, and the next thing I remember is looking up at the stars through a hole in the ceiling of an abandoned house not unlike this one. I tried to return home, but my father would not allow it. They did not stay in Paris long after that, and I was left on my own.
I slowly force myself to rise to my feet and look inside the house again. She is still there humming and tapping her fingers along to the song. The name still escapes me, but it does not seem to matter. I just look at her for a while. She is exactly the way I remember her. I step closer and she turns towards me with a grin stretch across her entire face. Her blue eyes catch the moonlight perfectly and fill with joy as she recognizes me. She immediately rises and hugs me as tightly as she can with her small frame. She does not say a word as she pulls me over to the phonograph. She begins to dance, and I just watch as she lights up the room. I do not dare look away, for I fear she will disappear. The chorus comes, and her angelic voice fills the house. I remember the name, La Vie en Rose. I have heard it before. I remember now; it was playing throughout my house the night my father murdered June. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, but when I open them, June is gone. La Vie en Rose still echoes through my head as I stand alone in the house staring up at the stars through an oddly familiar hole in the ceiling. Suddenly, a wave of tiredness sweeps over me, and I let my eyes close.