My past few days are better described by a series of moving images than with words:
The winding lines at Charles de Gaulle that lead me to my airplane are filled with burgundy French passports and the buttery tongues of Paris. Other than a veiled woman who is speaking non-native English to her three children (two of whom look like her and one of whom doesn’t in the slightest) who are speaking native English, I am the only Anglophone I hear.
The 48 hours before I arrive back in the United States I sleep a grand total of five hours. My first three nights in New York (ie. The Detox Zone) aren’t much better. However, I get to see my mom, who picks me up at the airport with my uncle, a cousin I haven’t ever really gotten to know until now and an old high school friend.
I pass thru customs at JFK faster than I’ve ever done before. Out of the 50 open windows that night at well past 11 pm, only one is needed to serve US passport holders.
The first thing I notice is what all Anglophone women who’ve spent time in France notice when they return home: nobody is looking at me. I cry a little inside and tell my mom that I’ll eat my way thru reverse culture shock as we sit over plates of Eggs Benedict and hash browns at a New York diner.
The next day I have Asian fusion and when I step into a grocery store that same afternoon I’m overwhelmed by all the choices I missed so much while I was gone. Radios are loud every place I go into and advertisements are pushy and seem filled with lies. Subway sandwich shop is a Baby Safe Haven in midtown Manhattan and I gawk like a French person thinking of someone dropping off their unwanted newborn and then picking up a foot-long with chips and a drink.
I remember the last French man I played eye-tag with on the airplane in that no man’s land that is international airspace – neither here nor there. Walking up the ramp at the Guggenheim I do a double take as I realize I’ve just caught his eye. I smile, breaking all rules regarding The Look, so happy to have that piece of France back in my life, and watch him until he’s out the door into Manhattan.
I miss you.