It didn’t take long for the drama to start. When I arrived in France, I found my cousin in a volatile, explosive relationship with the man for whom she had moved to Paris. I had my own room down the hall from the main apartment but it was easy to see, hear, and feel the fights.

He was cold and dismissive of my cousin and she was needy and lonely. I was young and selfish so I didn’t care, I just wanted to do stuff. She was emotional and fighting her own demons and weaknesses. I watched him dismiss and diminish her while she manipulated and antagonized him. It was fascinating and infuriating because I just wanted to go to the damn Eiffel Tower!

He’d leave in a huff and we’d have a grand ole time visiting shops, eating, or walking the grey streets of the old city. Then, when he was due to return, I’d watch her turn into something I didn’t like. Once, she even applied makeup to make it look like she’d been crying for most of the day. Truly genius theatrics I wanted no part of but couldn’t help but observe with horrified attentiveness.

Quickly, the theatrics became more and more real so I found myself stranded in a foreign country, without a reliable adult for the first time in my life. I spent some time feeling sorry for myself and growing homesick but then realized I had one of the most important decisions to make in my young life: I could continue sit in that Parisian apartment and hope for the moments that my cousin was functioning like the adult I thought I needed or I could get off my ass and do my own thing.

Guess what I did…

[End of Part 2 of 7]