Arriving in France

On July 5 we fly overnight from New York to Frankfurt, where the time goes forward by five hours. Then we run through the airport for thirty-seven minutes and then we get onto a shuttle bus that takes us to the airplane going to Marseille. This is a day that has too much flying in it. The first flight takes eight hours and thirty minutes. The second flight takes one hour and fifty-seven minutes. My mother says if Alan Phoenix isn't there to meet us she is going to kill him, but I don't think she means it. Killing is against the law. And anyway, he is her boyfriend.

Alan Phoenix is there to meet us and he has the rented car outside, but there is an important problem. The problem isn't Alan Phoenix and the car. The problem is that our luggage does not come off the plane after us. We have to wait for a baggage attendant who speaks English to come back from her coffee break. She tells us that our bags are coming on the next flight and that they will be delivered to our home after 5 pm that evening. I do not want to leave the airport without my suitcase, but my mother says to get in the car and count to a hundred. Counting to a hundred isn't nearly long enough. When I am tired of counting, I start chewing gum. What I am thinking of is all the things in my suitcase and how each time I want them they will not be there and so everything will change.

In particular, I will miss my alarm clock. I love my alarm clock. It has an entirely predictable face. It stands on four little legs and you can hear the ticking so you know it's working. It was broken once, and Danny my mother's ex-boyfriend said, "Too bad it can't ever be fixed." But he was wrong. Even after I threw it against a wall and the glass front fell off, he was still wrong. A watchmaker got it working again. The case is a nice sky-blue and the clock face is white. I've had it ever since I was a little kid. There's a toggle on the back that you have to crank every night. It works on the principle of springs, which unwind according to schedule if they are tightened in the opposite direction. Mom has stopped talking about getting me a new one because she knows what I will say. And I don't want a new one now.

Now we are taking the a51 autoroute, and going through a gate, getting a ticket, and then driving along a straight road that Alan Phoenix says is a toll road. But apparently it's the wrong road, and we can't get off it. He is usually a quiet person but all at once his voice goes into the red zone. "Watch for a place to turn around!" he says.

It is frightening to be on a road and unable to escape. My hands are wet with sweat. My mother keeps turning around and trying to talk to me but I can't tell what she is saying. We drive for a long time. Finally, there is a place to turn off, and another road that we can take to go back. Soon we're driving in the opposite direction on the straight road.

"What about my shampoo?" I say finally, through dry lips. "I won't have any shampoo and I can't wash my hair, and then I can't go out because you're not supposed to show your grease to other people. And if I can't go out, I probably can't babysit Martin Phoenix and then Alan Phoenix will fire me."

Alan Phoenix turns around and you're not supposed to turn around when you are driving and he says something in yelling that sounds like, "I'm not going to fire you!" But I can't tell if he really said that or if he's just talking about firewood.

I take a deep breath and then I take another. I think about my two gerbils, Harold Pinter and Samuel Beckett, safe in their cage at Shauna's house and not eating each other. I look out the window and see that the sky is all blue. There are no clouds anywhere and the whole sky is very big here. This is comforting because I like the sky, and I do not like clouds. Clouds are always changing. I take another deep breath.

"And we have lots of shampoo at the villa!" Alan Phoenix says.

"It's not worth breaking the car," I say. "Stop turning around and stay looking toward the road. And stop putting your voice in the red zone."

Just as I say that, a driver passes us from behind and I see him reach out his right hand and show his middle finger. That is a very bad word to show to anyone.

"Never mind," mutters Alan Phoenix. "People around here drive too fast."

It is good that he is not yelling anymore.

We pass through a toll gate and have to pay. Then we are back in Marseille again, looking for the right road. Alan Phoenix heaves a big sigh and we turn onto a road that looks different from the one we took earlier.

"This is the one we want!" he says.

I see that the fields on both sides of the road are flat. Instead of wheat or barley like we have in Canada near Saskatoon, the crops are something else with very green leaves.

"What's growing out there?" I ask.

"Grapes," says Alan Phoenix. His thin blond hair is stuck to his head and I think he has been sweating. It is good he is not yelling anymore. "These are vineyards, and you can see green or red grapes on the vines," he says. "In September they'll be harvested and made into wine."

"Stop the car!" I say. "I need to take a photograph of this!"

"We don't need to stop now," my mother says. "Let's just get to the villa."

"It's okay," says Alan Phoenix. "I could use a drink of water anyways." Alan Phoenix stops the car on the side of the road, and I get out and take a picture for my photo album. Alan Phoenix finds his water bottle in the trunk and takes a long swallow. I watch as his Adam's apple goes up and down. I have noticed that tall skinny men always have big Adam's apples.

Later, we pass a field of something purple.

"What's growing out there?" I ask.

"Lavender," says Alan Phoenix. "People harvest lavender for its oil. You've probably smelled it in bath salts or maybe in perfume."

"It would probably give me a headache," I say. "But I like the color. Stop the car!"

"Taylor, you have the whole summer to take pictures!" says my mother. "We want to get to our villa and unpack!"

"We don't have anything to unpack," I remind her. Alan Phoenix stops the car on the side of the road and I get out to take a photograph of the boxes the lavender will be packed in after it is picked.

"Is anyone hungry?" he asks.

"I am," I say.

"Good!" he says. "I was hoping you were because I missed breakfast. Okay if we stop for lunch, Penny?" He looks at my mother. "Penny for your thoughts?" he says. She sighs and then smiles.

"Okay," says my mother. "But let's not stop for too long."

In thirty-two minutes, we stop at an outdoor restaurant for lunch. The menu is written in French and my mother and I cannot understand it.

"Is this duck?" my mother asks, pointing at something on the menu.

The waitress cannot understand our English.

"Try sign language," says Alan Phoenix to my mother. "Quack, quack." He flaps his arms and grins at the waitress. She nods.

"Quack, quack," she repeats. "Oui. Canard."

It is clear my mother does not want to try to speak to the waitress in French or in sign language. She just points at things on the menu to place her order. Alan Phoenix orders in French. So do I, by copying part of what he says.

"Crêpes, s'il vous plaît," I say. My mother gets some kind of a salad that looks as if it has raw bacon on top. Alan Phoenix gets an omelet. I get a crepe with butter and sugar and I eat it all.

"I thought my high-school French would come back to me, but it hasn't," Mom says to him. "Nobody will be able to understand me here."

"Give it time. You just need to take chances. People will forgive you for making mistakes, but they can't forgive you if you don't try," he says.

I did not take French in high school at all, because I had to take Special Education. From reading a translation book, I have learned some French words and I try using them on the waitress.

"Merci beaucoup," I say when she fills my water glass, pronouncing each letter as carefully as I can.

"Merci," she replies, and I think I have done it right.

My mother's mouth curves up and then she turns her head the other way. Alan Phoenix asks for the bill. He tells us that waiters here think it is impolite to bring the bill unless you ask, in case you are interested in staying longer. He checks to see if he can use his credit card and then he pays. My mother could pay for us because she has the money from Grandma's will, but she does not.

As we leave the restaurant, I ask when my job with Martin Phoenix is going to start, and Alan Phoenix says that it will start tomorrow and that after supper I can hang out and get used to the routines here.

"I will hang out with Luke Phoenix and Martin Phoenix, but I will not hang out any windows," I say, just to show him I understand what he is talking about.

I am excited about my new job starting tomorrow. I like Martin Phoenix and I have hung out with him in Saskatoon enough to know what he likes and does not like. His favorite activities are science and art, and he can navigate the keyboard of his Tango—a speech communication device that talks for him. He can also feed himself, as long as he has enough time and someone to help him clean up.

I am proud to put this babysitting job on my resumé because it will make me seem important to have worked in France. When I get back to Saskatoon, other employers will see that I have worked in three places: Waskesiu, Saskatoon, and France. I hope this will make me more employable. And being employable means something great: being independent.