My Dream Trip

“Hurry up Rachel, or we will miss our flight,” shouts David up the stairs to me. “I know. I just need to put a few more things in my bag, and I will be ready to go.” Ever since our engagement two years ago, I have been counting down the days to our wedding, but more importantly, our honeymoon to Paris, France. I began planning this trip at the age of twelve. The itinerary was perfectly created in my favorite Barbie notebook with the schedule down to the hour. I have only had to make a few changes as the times have changed in the past fifteen years. One major change I have made is my dream guy. Although my twelve-year-old self hoped I would marry John Stamos, David has made me realize my childhood crust was merely a fantasy. As hard as it

David must be able to sense my nervousness because he reaches for my hand and gives it a calming squeeze. He always knows what I am thinking before I even say it, and he knows how to calm me. When the employee calls our group for boarding, we walk down the ramp onto the plane. After finding our seats, the stewardesses prepare for takeoff. The plane then accelerates down the runway while the nose points into the never-ending sky, and with just a few bumps, the tires leave the tarmac. Looking out the window, I watch the skyline of New York slowly disappear as we jet higher into the sky, and before long, I can no longer distinguish buildings from cars. Now, we are only a short seven hours from our adventure in Paris! I awake to the sound of the pilot announcing that we will land in thirty minutes. David is still sleeping, so I just spend the next half an hour looking out the window. As the clouds break, I sneak quick glimpses of the green terrain. Soon, the vibrant hills turn into intricate city streets. My excitement builds as I realize that this city is Paris. I can no longer contain my excitement, so I grab David’s arm and let out a little squeal. “Look, the Eiffel Tower,” I exclaim to

While passing our hotel, two girls run out the back door into the alley and jump into a black Mercedes. The limousine speeds toward us, and we leap out of the way to avoid being hit. Following close behind is a motorcycle, a scooter, and a car. The motorcycle has a photographer whose camera blinds us. I wonder, who could be in the limousine that attracts photographers? I instinctively run after the vehicles to see what is causing the commotion. I stop in my tracks when I hear a loud crash and see a bright flash. I begin running again towards what I assume is a terrible