Hannah and I waltzed around the Pearl District that afternoon, trying to blend in with the other Portlanders and speaking broken French. (Not that they speak French in Oregon, that was just an added bonus).
The real story is that for 15 dollars and half a tank of gas, we saw Yann Tiersen play at a tiny venue called the Wonder Ballroom. Front row, right-of-center, touching the stage with an unforgettable view of the most magnificent pair of hands in the world. It blew away my expectations, and by the end of the night I had watery eyes and my hands over my heart. Yes, very much like Precious Moments; Hannah can vouch for that, we were both a heartbroken mess.
The violin renditions of Amelie songs, French poetry, and "merci"-s were enough to make me feel like I could walk outside and be in Avignon. I'll always carry with me the memory of the wisps of violin string blowing about his face, with its expressions that have taken me 45 minutes looking through a thesaurus to realize I can't describe even one. He looked like an artist. And oh, those hands. And oh, Yann.