Winged Victory

I hate Paris. It is a city for lovers, not little old lonely me. I mourn the loss of a relationship severed by distance. I ache for home – for the stolid pride of London, the brashness of New York, even the boring predictability of the New Jersey suburb where I was born. I bristle from the slightest brush of my coat sleeve on the crowded subway; I set my teeth at the first strains of a violinist performing on the sidewalk. The food mocks me. Pastries beckon from bakery windows, seemingly glazed, sweet, and fragrant, but they taste like ash. I stalk through the city that damp, gray November, feeling sorry for myself, until I meet her.
She comes upon me suddenly in the Louvre. The museum left me haggard, jostled by tourists brandishing cameras. These sightseers swarm their way through the collections. I wonder if they truly see anything She stand out amongst them all. I fall instantly and irrevocably in love.
Truthfully, her legs are the first thing I notice, drawing my gaze up the marble staircase. Her stride is grounded and purposeful. She towers over the crowd around her. Her skin is flawless porcelain, her features worthy to be cut in marble. Though armless, she is capable – powerful even. I can’t help but be jealous of her wings. I speak of course of my newfound darling: the Winged Victory of Samothrace. The Venus di Milo pales in comparison.
Also known as Nike of Samothrace, Winged Victory is a 2nd century Greek statue, depicting the goddess of victory. The goddess Nike is a divine charioteer and an ally of Zeus in his battle against the Titans. She has inspired the Nike logo and Rolls Royce emblem. Though many classic figures eventually lose their wings, Nike has always been depicted with them.
I learn all these things later. In this moment, all that matters is the triumphant woman before me, strong and sure despite the obvious gale she faces, despite the fact she faces it alone. She rekindles my spirit. I brave the gift shop sandwiched between the Starbucks and the Apple Store, and search until I find a tiny postcard emblazoned with her likeness. I tuck the card carefully between the pages of a book, and bear it like a holy relic as I bounce from place to place. Her picture is displayed prominently in each new home, a daily reminder that I too am strong, beautiful, and capable of flight – even if I have to purchase a ticket first.