by Rebecca Earley | Nov 28, 2015 | Paris |
It has been two weeks, but when I close my eyes I can still hear the sirens. I was sitting in a café on rue de Bretagne with three friends visiting from the U.S. and England. They had just finished telling me how they had almost canceled their trip to Paris, because they were nervous about traveling alone without their boyfriends. “What if the Airbnb host kidnaps us? What if we end up in a dangerous neighborhood? How do we know we will be safe?” These were their questions, to which I replied, “Come on, don’t be ridiculous. It’s Paris.” That is when we heard the sirens. We looked outside and saw that the street was packed with unmoving cars, and a woman frantically ran out of the café. I asked the owner what was going on, and he replied in English, “There has been a fire. Just a few blocks from here. There were gunshots.” I knew he had made a mistake in English. There are no gunshots in Paris. He meant to say a fire. I instantly switched to French and asked him again. He replied in French, “There was a shooting. People have died. Just a few blocks from here. There are hostages.” I looked at my phone and saw 3 missed calls and 7 texts from my boyfriend, as well as a text from a friend in London. My body went cold. I tried to catch my breath. There are no gunshots in Paris. This was a terrorist attack. We tried to hide in the back of the restaurant, except all of the walls were...
