I was awkward and she was beautiful —
more so than the school picture she’d sent,
which led me to believe that she was awkward, too —
so when Celine arrived in Ohio with her black hair,
olive skin, and I swear to God, golden eyes,
I had to hate her at least a little.
So she befriended my mom instead, and maybe
it would have been better if my mom had visited
Caen and Paris the next summer, not me, because
I was still as awkward and she was still as beautiful.
But there I was, so I dreamed in another language
of flaming skeleton men playing violins in the sky,
and I went topless when I shouldn’t have gone topless
(I understood the permission but not the grammar)
and double cheek-kissed people needlessly.
Here is the old man in the wheelchair
on the cobblestones, playing a Casio keyboard
where maybe you expected an accordion.
Here we are at, What’s it called? The place
with the artists, not far from the white church
where I heard a busker singing, Cecilia,
you’re breaking my ‘eart? (A stranger gave Celine
an ice-cream cone just because she was beautiful.)
Here I am, topless on a beach in Deauville,
about to get the sunburn of a lifetime. Here I am
on the plane home, wearing new clothes
purchased on street corners, trying to figure it out:
how to be a whole new person in my same old life.
Today, dVerse Poets Pub prompted us to write poems about travel.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
Ah, those awkward exchanges… meanwhile, she was probably envying your wildness and freedom.
Maybe so! 🙂
Oh the lives of exchange students and their families. The expectations and then the realities. We do remember these moments — and I’m quite certain grow from them. I’m thinking she is back home….and thinks of you some days and thanks you for the experiences you and your family provided. Some moments we blush to remember. Some moments we treasure. Growing up is not an easy thing to do. Thanks so much for sharing! You’ve described these moments well. I especially liked the disappointment of seeing a Casio keyboard instead of an accordion — dashing the romantic thoughts of gay Paris!
Damn. This is awesome.
Thanks, Shawna!
I have French cousins, and I remember how awkward it felt cheek kissing back in the 70s before it got chic… It wonderful how a place changes because of who you are when you travel… Paris was so different when I came there intrerailing, and then a few years ago i felt at home..
Yes, we never travel without bringing ourselves along. 🙂
You conveyed your struggles with this whole experience so well – I can identify a little too much for my own comfort!
Me, at the Columbus airport: “Oh, no! She’s … pretty.” Oh, if I could go back and fix things. Glad you liked how I expressed those feelings, though.
Thank you!
I really enjoyed the way you conveyed the awkwardness of being a teenage girl. I remember it well – and it didn’t have to be foreign beauties who made me feel that way.
Thanks, Kim! If I could go back in time, I would be much nicer, but I felt trapped in my smallness. I’m glad you enjoyed my poem!
Oh, yes! You captured those teenage feelings well.
And the end: “how to be a whole new person in my same old life”
is brilliant! 🙂
Thank you! When I came home, I was different. I started stretching my wings a little more, which startled my parents. 🙂
Thank you for sharing the feelings of inadequacy in your youth. It is something we all share. Your memories still show the sharp edge only burred slightly by time.
Thanks, Brian! Yes, that time period became more and more fresh in my mind as I wrote this.
This was a great piece – blending awkwardness of being a teenager, a foreigner and going abroad.
Thanks so much!
It is amazing at how in different phases of our lives, we all have had these times of insecurity and ineptitude, of being ugly. Mine didn’t come about until I was 30. Like you, I would change myself if I could. Thank you for sharing this trip back into your past.
Thanks, Toni! Yes, this seems to happen to all or most of us at some point, but it feels like we’re the only one.
Marilyn, I am deeply, deeply touched by this. It is, by far, my favorite of your beautiful poems so far. I am heading back up for another read. Seriously love the voice in this, so much.
“I dreamed in another language…”
Thank you so much, De! That’s great to hear. 🙂
SMiLes.. i’m led her
by prompt of your French
Exchange travel.. remembering
my Cajun Grandmother.. a business
lady with Foreign Exchange College age
French Students to stay at her home..
where it appears
she served
them
more than
dinner and a place
to stay.. as rumor goes.. sMiLes..
dying at 69 but living every day as youth..
i suppose we have
something in
common too..
mY Paternal Grandmother
and i.. only difference reAlly..
i kept the first spouse at home..
and never exchanged her as two twenties for a 40..
only.. as
FriEnds
of course..:)
Oh this brings up so many memories of being a teenager… 🙂 Beautifully rendered.
We all find our awkward in our foibles, Marilyn. Our true tale is how we rise above them! A travel tale well told with such emotion!
Thank you, Walt!
My sister did one of those exchanges and almost starved to death. I guess we Americans are the heaviest eaters on the planet. Loved your reminiscences.
Thanks, Sue! Their meals were different, that’s for sure. Lunch was the biggest one. Breakfast was nothing much, and dinner was very late. All their chip bags were like our snack-size ones … and they shared them!