Jean-Paul was seen hanging around Montmartre Cemetery today. I headed over there as fast as I could, but I knew he would be gone before I was anywhere near the place. Still, the father’s heart in me held out hope.
It’s not a really big cemetery, not like Père Lachaise, so it didn’t take long for me to make a full search. The only living people I found were the man at the guard station and a pretty woman taking photos. She smiled at me. At least I think she did. If I had been in a better mood, I might have chatted her up. Yeah, maybe.
Instead, I wandered silently around the old sepulchres. Soon, ghosts from my past started to take shape. I didn’t want to see them; they just came—the boys I lived with, the little tribe. This cemetery was one of our places back then; we used to sleep inside the sepulchres to keep warm. Well, the ones with doors we could open. There was one in particular that was mine and his. He was the chief of our tribe and my whole world. He looked out for me, taught me how to survive the streets. We were inseparable. Fiercely devoted comrades. I haven’t felt a bond like that since then, except maybe when I was in the BRI. One day he disappeared just like that, and then I was the chief. Just like that. I didn’t like being chief then, either.
Being in the cemetery today brought it all back—the good and the bad. The loss. I imagine they’re all dead now, those boys I lived with. Ghosts for real. I had Bruno to save my ass; who did they have? Nobody. Not even me because I got arrested and Bruno pulled me off the street for good. Some chief I was. I let them down.
But I won’t let Jean-Paul down. I can't. Can't let him die in the street like a dog. If he would just come home to stay, let me take care of him like Bruno did for me, he would see how much better it could be. I have to find him. I have to. T ou, mon fils ? Don’t you disappear on me, too!
