Jimmy’s true journey begins. The rabbit hole of information starts to deepen itself. Chance encounters lead to chance questions….

Chapter 2 - Wherefore? Pt. 1 - Transcript

...that was the day his heart turned to stone. Before the inevitable took place, holding onto what precious life it had, grasping, suffocating from the lack of the flowing of blood. Breathing its last breath. Ceasing, solidifying, immovable.The past being replayed over and over again in his head, searching for a single memory to spark the flame, to re-kindle life, however stone is stone. The transmutation can now begin...OM

I’m suddenly awakened to the abrupt sound of screeching rubber as the plane touches down at Charles de Gaulle. The illuminated orange and yellow sky welcome me to Paris as the sun rises with the dawn of a new day.Gently rubbing my eyes open, noticing my heart beat quicken its pace with excitement as the reality of my action begins to settle in, desperately containing my eagerness to exit the plane as quickly as possible.

As I patiently wait in my seat, watching the rows of other passengers gather their belongings from the overhead compartments and deplane, my thoughts drift to my grandmother. I remember how much she wanted to be here, to search for answers.

Losing myself in the images of my family, the rows of exiting passengers move closer to my aisle. I notice a thin layer of fog roll over the city from my seat, the yellow and orange colors from the sun poking through, creating a beautiful canvas of radiance.

My aisle begins gathering up their belongings. I slowly move my way towards the front of the aircraft. “Merci beaucoup. Passe une Bonne journée.” the flight attendant pleasantly says to me as I exit the plane entering into the terminal.

I move my way through customs, and into the airport searching for the exit doors. I have no plan, no place to stay. I packed light, with only a backpack, a few shirts and underwear. Plus, my grandfather’s guitar. A hostel is the most suitable option. But, this can wait, I think to myself.

My desire to search the map, written on the old scroll is almost overwhelming. Standing directly outside the airport, while examining the old map, I notice a stand with current maps of the city for sale. My grandfather only drew a fractional piece of directions. I purchase one of the tourist maps, and lay both out on a nearby bench. Almost immediately I spot a similarity on both. My

grandfather’s map illustrates an extremely small section of Paris. Spotting the similarities, I locate the nearest Metro Station entrance, find my train, and head into the heart of Paris.

Arriving three stops from the base of the Eiffel Tower, the city’s ancient rhythm and beauty lift my soul, I feel it’s majesty in my sinews. As exhausted as I am from my travels, I find myself revitalized by the beauty and grandeur of my surroundings. The stunning architecture lifts my spirit. As I gaze and absorb the wonder of the city, the purpose of my journey begins to creep into the forefront of my mind.

While standing in the shadow of the marvelous nature of this fantastic city, I compare maps, looking for a hint, a detail that will guide me to where I’m suppose to go. I notice that the center of the red circle, from my grandfather’s map leads me a few blocks south of my current location. I begin to move in that direction, all the while taking in the marvels of the city. I feel so very at home here. As if, I’ve been here before. An element of its streets, people and overall rhythm somehow feel as if it lives in me. I feel in sync with it.As my mood lifts with every step, along the sidewalks of one of Europe’s oldest cities, I approach a fork in the road.

A small side street bears to the right, slighting twisting and turning on a slope. On the left, the street flattens and narrows, leading to the Seine River. The two sidewalks meet at a point dividing each path, forming a triangle facing the main road.

Each side of the street is dressed with family owned shops, bars and cafes.At the point of these two paths sits a quaint cafe/bar with a handful of tables and chairs out front, lining the edge of the street. I Glance down at my grandfather’s map, peaking my head back up scanning my environment, struggling to find similarities between the map and street before me.

I seemed to be lost.

In the midst of being lost, I shuffle around the area looking for a sign or signal to either confirm nor deny my suspicions of of current location. All of a sudden, I hear a voice call out to me in a deep, gravely voice, with a pronounced French accent...

Monsieur, are you lost?

Taking no notice at first, since the streets are filled with multitudes of people. Surely, I can’t be the only person lost.

Monsieur??

The voice again attempts to gain my attention.

Turning around I see short, stocky, middle-aged man, sitting at a table in front of the cafe, alone, smoking a short, hand wrapped cigarette, with a glass of red wine and a newspaper spread out across the table.

Yes, you Monsieur. Do you need assistance?

Uh, yes sir, I mean Monsieur. Yes, I do. Thank you, Uh...Merci beaucoup.

I manage to stutter back. The jet lag is beginning to catch up with me. My eyes have been heavy since I left the metro station.

Where are you looking to go?

He raises his hand, gesturing to take a glance at my grandfather’s map.

Uncertain and cautious, I scan the man up and down. The man, noticing my trepidation, reassures me...

Monsieur, I’m only here to help.

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, placing it in the ash tray on the table, he wipes both of his hands onto his pants. Again, tenderly raising his hands, as if to reassure me he is trustworthy and will be delicate while reading it.

May I?

His sincere demeanor and eyes glisten with the prospect of helping me find my way.His wrinkled, cigarette stained hands remain outstretched as I softly hand him the scroll.

Upon accepting the map, he turns back around, tenderly setting it down. He begins feverishly inspecting it. Before I can join him at the table. I hear an audible gasp, his demeanor immediately changes. Assuming something is wrong, I ask...

Monsieur, is everything ok?

No response. I sit down across from the man. His head is lowered, almost buried in the map. He begins to weep. I reach out to check on him. He slowly raises his head, tears swell in his eyes, looking back at me as if to stare into the depths of my soul.

Jimmy??!

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