May 3, 2010May 3rd. Whoever thought this day would actually come? By god, not me. This is the last day of the best year of my life. I'm going home. But really, I'm leaving home. I just said goodbye to my home on the quai: Bertrand, Fabrice, Megan. The three people who mean the most to me at this moment. Without them, this year would've been merely another extended vacation with common friends. But fate had something in store for me. From the first week Meg & I knew each other, we clicked. It just worked, so well. Never have I had such a friend who, as just a friend, has so touched my life and my soul.
Bertrand and Fabrice, my brothers, always there to protect us and make us feel valuable. I never expected to become so close to them, to meet such beautiful people.
The sunrise out my train window is probably the most beautiful I've ever seen--actually. Bright yellow sun and pink clouds over the green rolling hills called a French landscape. Whoever though I'd so fall in love with France? So many parts of the culture I hated, I've come to love. This place has become my home. How lucky am I? What a beautiful existence that I can live, when I take risks.
Yesterday, after we had 9 a.m. oysters and were walking around the Sunday morning markets along the Saone, me in my dress from last night, naked legs (oh la la) and Bertrand's flip-flops since mine broke--I looked around at the four of us, sleep-deprived and hungover but joking and laughing, and I saw how odd we must look to the banal French around us, and I was PROUD. So proud to be a part of such an amazing group of people. And the most assorted group of people, ever--there's Erik, the 35-year-old 9-year-old at heart who's always at the Wallace (with quizmaster Ian) and rolls around on the floor to Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" at sunrise. This is after Fabrice puts on "Waiting For the Sun" (The Doors). Meanwhile, the girls lean heads on shoulders, tapping their feet with the last bit of energy they have left. The sky gets lighter, somebody's laughing, somebody's passed out, somebody emerges from a room and walks out the front door after waking up four hours later.
Amy takes pictures of her new boyfriend on the floor, who's American. Amy, the British/French 27-year-old English teacher who showed us the ropes, answered all our questions. The one who, at 3 a.m. when things start to quiet down, will pull a chair into the middle of the room and start dancing on it. And makes it look cool. Not overdone. Just fun.
Meanwhile, Meg and I alternate between nearly passing out on our chairs and holding each other up while swaying to the music. Bertrand and Fabrice speak creole to each other and Yanesh is laughing hysterically at something they said. Daryl is quietly watching while a few other people wander in and out of consciousness.
The Doors, Lou Reed, Mumford & Sons -- these guys bring out the truth in us. Make us melancholy, make us laugh, put us in an awed stupor at the bizarity of our existence and how perfect a simple night of staying up dancing and drinking with friends until sunrise (or well after) can be...
July 15th
...Mumford & Sons comes on the radio, and I'm thrown back to a time of simple happiness, when Meg & I would take the metro to Rue Pravaz for a music rehearsal with some Pastis, or our weeks would be defined by Wallace Thursdays and Flannigan's Mondays. I miss it so much. But I'll be back. Thanks for the memories, everyone. I love you.
