The Wine of Remembrance

"I was an American again, had been for the decade since we had returned from our sojourn in France. Nothing, it seemed, had stuck from my wonder years in the City of Light except for something of the language I had learned to speak by the end of our time there." 

How does an eleven-year old, knowing only the suburban life of Pasadena, experience Paris as his new home? Terror? Bafflement? Boredom? Exhilaration? Flashes of transcendence? All of the above. But the transcendence was communicated through my mother, liberated from the happy suburban housewife role that suited her so badly. Alas, for her it was only a temporary reprieve. 

Returning to the States at age 13, I was caught up in the sweep of life, and Paris seemed but an episode in the past. Until ... on the banks of the Oubangui River, pen and paper in hand, it all came back and broke me apart.

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