So weekend comes again, and I hop plane from Moldova airport to Paris. I go to Paris this weekend because when I was in high school, I studied French. My French now, it is little rusty, not like English. English - how you say? - top notch.
So I go to Paris to practice French. Maybe I don’t talk too much. Just listen this weekend. Get used to French again, and next weekend… Next weekend, I practice talking. So while I am on airplane, I open my ears really wide to listen and… I fall asleep. Not surprise. I always fall asleep on plane. And on train. And in car, even when I am driving. Ha ha. Yes, it is true. I am not joking.
So I wake up on runway in France and think, it is okay if I fall asleep on plane. I will stay awake on Paris Metro because I will stay standing. And I will jump off and on Metro a lot so I do not fall asleep. That way I will not end up in dangerous suburb like I did last year. Very bad to fall asleep and wake up in dangerous suburb. Very bad.
So first thing I do is get Metro weekend pass ticket and get on Metro. I stand near seats that are filled with people, so I can hear a lot of talking. The doors close. I listen.
And I hear German. And Italian. And Arabic. But no French. I look around me. I see French people. But I do not hear French people talking. Foreigners, like me, they are all talking real loud. And the French?
The Metro stops. I trip over old lady’s leg because I want to get off Metro and find Metro where I can hear French language. I apologize to old lady, in very, very good French. She looks grouchy, but answers back: “It is okay.” It is okay? It is not okay. That is not French. That is English.
Doors shut, so I cannot get off. Suddenly I see two people say hello with the French kiss. Not that one. The one where they kiss both cheeks. That French kiss. They are French. No doubt. The Metro is already moving, so it is hard to walk, but I manage to trip toward the two French people who are actually talking on Metro. I only stub toes two or three times. It is okay. I get to where I want to go when Metro jerks forward. My face hits pole and I grab on. Excellent. From here I can spy.
I turn my back to ladies so they do not know I am spy. I hear nothing. I take newspaper and hide face so I can look over shoulder without giving away secret. One lady is very pretty. She has pretty smile. The other lady is old and looks like she swallows frogs. I do not want to mess with her. That is not okay.
They are definitely talking, so I turn my back to them again and lean back a little. I hear English from tourist in front of me, but no French from behind. I lean back little more. Still English, no French. They speak too quiet. I lean back little more. And little more. And little more.
Doors open. Then close. Suddenly, I hear nothing. Did something happen? Was there accident? I look around. People are looking at me funny. Then I see why. I see myself in window. I am leaning far, far back, like I am really important part of the letter “V.” The French-talking lady behind me who eats frogs looks like she wants to eat me. I stand straight and hug pole. I hide my face in newspaper, but I cannot practice French still, because newspaper is upside down.
Next time, it will be better if I fall asleep and go to dangerous, dangerous suburbs.
When the doors slide open, I rush out. I run upstairs. I find pastry shop. If I cannot practice French language, I will practice French food.