French Lessons

St. Nate sent me an email inviting me to attempt a meme (Describe 5 things that my peers are wild about, but I can’t really understand). I’m afraid I probably haven’t done it correctly…

1. The Past. My peers have almost reached that age of looking fondly upon their glory days, the passage of time having turned our painful memories into roses. They say things to their children like, ‘You kids have it made. Parents who love you, no responsibilities and your whole life ahead of you.’

I don’t get that at all.

Jackson, Missouri 1989
Ms. Houchins repeats the conjugation of avoir. J’ai, Tu as, Il a, Nous avons, Vous avez, Ils ont. I quietly spell these new words out in front of me.

2. Me. My friends are always laughing at everything I say, telling me, ‘You are a riot!’. But most of the time, I’m being totally serious.

I just don’t get this.

Jackson, Missouri 1989
No one notices me at this new school, my 7th in ten years. Except Natalie, who sits behind me and for some reason only she knows takes the end of her pen and begins to write on my back, tracing intricate shapes and patterns. It paralyzes me.

A feeling so very wonderful it becomes torturous, leaving me only able to concentrate on when she will stop, hoping I will at least remember that final moment when she lifts her pen.

3. The Environment. Here in the Pacific Northwest, my peers live in constant awe of the ocean and trees, the air and the mountains.

I don’t get what all the fuss is about.

Jackson, Missouri 1989
Now she’s tracing flowers and now she presses slightly harder, carving riverbeds and valleys. Now she’s redrawing the borders of the countries in this new world so quiet I can feel the pulse of my heart along the back of my neck.

4. Poetry. It’s impossible to understand when good, and childish at best all other times.

I just don’t get it.

Jackson, Missouri 1989
She lifts her pen and releases me from my trance. I write in my notebook:
Warm breeze fades against my skin,
Dim lights lift me up again,
Perfume blown, a promise kept,
For the time that we have left,
I won’t make the same mistakes,
I won’t make the same mistake,
You won’t bend, and we won’t break,
Warm breeze lift my spirits high,
Dim lights hide and perfumes lie,
What we’ve done and who we’ve seen,
What we’ve seen and haven’t done.
Oh, our time has just begun.

5. Pretty Girls. Even my female peers sometimes fawn over an attractive woman.

I’ve never been able to understand this.

Jackson, Missouri 1989
The next quarter, Ms. Houchins rearranges our seating, and now I sit behind Natalie. She hands me a pen and says, ‘Write on my back.’

Whereas Natalie drew shapes and traced endless, winding paths, I can only spell. I write my name with hers, in cursive and in print. I describe the places we visit and how we feel when we leave. I learn by her breathing that she likes most the faraway foreign lands with long, unfamiliar spellings. And I conjugate the new words I learn, ‘J’adore, J’adore, J’adore.’