The belly side of my dreams

It's Christmas, we have landed at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, France; there is no need for us to go through baggage claim, we are only here for the weekend. We have packed our things in two carry-on bags that are now draped over our shoulders. Our hotel is located in Paris' center, and we leave the airport looking for a bus that will take us there.

The north wind is fresh. I speak, and the condensation from my breath fogs my glasses. We step onto the bus. "Bonjour?" asked the driver.

"Bonjour," I reply and sit down in the seat next to my husband.

I inhale a deep cleansing breath and slowly exhale. I'm almost there.

Upon exiting the bus, we go directly to the hotel. In 15 minutes, we check-in, unload our bags, freshen up and exit back into the street. The place that has visited my dreams for 20 years is now only a few blocks away.

Daylight is quickly fading, and the street lamps are slowly twinkling on. There is a touchable quiet to the evening, and a genuine calm is seen on the faces of the people. It's cold. The scarf draped around my shoulders catches in the breeze, and goose bumps march up my spine like a Roman Army. I whisper, "Bon soir Paris."

We are strolling arm-in-arm down the walk next to the water, and across the Seine River we have seen the Louvre Palace. Mark is now quietly speaking to me about Napoleon. Suddenly, he stops talking. I notice that we are standing at the entry of a park, and quizzically I look at him. He motions with his head in the direction where he wants me to look. I turn to see what he sees,

and my heart begins to race.

We're finally here, I think. My breath catches, and there's a sudden humming in my ears. Time stands still, and I am frozen in the moment. I am struck with awe—it's fantastic!

Thousands of images from old pictures race through my mind as I recall the negative voices from my past telling me to find other dreams. I feel a déjà vu, and a wave of panic

melts over me.

Please don't let me be dreaming, I think. I slowly begin turning in 360-degree circles surveying my surroundings.

First circle—is this real?

Second circle—it's so familiar and strange here.

From behind, Mark's arms wrap tightly around me in a secure hug. He steadies my now trembling

body, and together we look at my magnificent dream. His face is now touching mine, and I feel his chin resting on my shoulder. His breath feels soft and warm on my skin as he whispers, "Alisa, it's not a dream."

A tickle of a thousand emotions bubble up into an enormous feeling of happiness. I laugh as warm tears stream down my face. Quickly, we move closer.

"Do you want to go up?" he asks me.

"No, I want to go under," I reply.

Suddenly I'm there, standing under the Eiffel Tower. My hands are shaking—Am I trembling from the cold or from the excitement, I wonder?

I move to the center, and throw my head back thinking how amazing it is.

With the camera to my eye, I push the button and snap the picture. The moment is seized—preserved forever in the image saved in my camera. Thinking now of my French teacher, I say, "Look at me Mrs. G; I'm standing in your pictures. I'm living in my dreams."

The realization of a dream is a phenomenal experience. The journey that leads an individual to their dream is equally incredible. The overwhelming feeling that overcomes someone is unparalleled by anything else. My dreams led me to Paris, and it's something that will stay with me as long as I live.

This story was produced by Happynews Citizen Journalist, Alisa Hodel.

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