I wrote this short story about the Saint Sulpice.

I needed to go. I needed to go once more. To see what it was like. How it would be after what happened. I had promised myself for so long I would never set foot in the place again, but something inside me was etching and I needed to go. I didn’t want to stay long, but I wanted to be there. To see how I would feel.

The people there had all changed. Of course I knew I would not recognize many faces, but I somehow was not expecting this alienation. I wanted to be alone though. I don’t think I would have been interested to talk to someone who would have recognized me. Yet somehow I feared that there would be someone there to recognize me.

Had it happened any other way I would have been content with not working there anymore. But the fact it had to be so humiliating, I don’t know why I am stepping foot in here again. Though I think that, someone from the outside had something to do with it. It’s always deceiving to find out someone has placed traps for you to stumble on along the way. Someone close to you. Someone in the family. But had it happened any other way, I would have been objective and still come here on late nights for company.

The place was not stranded. And often I had walked in front of it to get to another destination. My heart would always alter its pounding during these moments, and I could not prevent my eyes from looking. But until now, I never meant to enter this place again. But the memories of romances that begun there…

I had entered by the side door, an entrance usually only used by eating customers, and very little frequented by the night clientele. I felt safe and could almost feel secure not to be approached by employees. I debated, as I walked along the first of five floors, whether I would order something or not. Money was not the issue at the moment, and I did enjoy rye & ginger very much. But as I passed to the staircase to make my way to the second level, I decided it would be best not to. I wanted to be free to leave at any moment and my emotions were mending and melting on their own.

I wanted to be home. I knew that from the moment I went across the second floor. There was someone I knew, and the only one who recognized me. I was nervous. I must have been, because I told her that it was the last time I would be coming there. It would not have made a difference to her, but I didn’t want to make the silence more awkward. It was not quiet though. It was loud. The way it always was on weekend nights. This made me uneasy about being alone, yet I knew the way it would be. I knew I could lose myself in all these people. This made me want to leave even more.

My mind could not focus on making up the rest of the floors. I didn’t want to go up those stairs, and I knew I would simply continue to be disappointed. I made my way down the backstairs out to the terrace. I knew there was an exit through the very back, beyond the busiest area, where no one usually left. I would have my peace once again.