I Don't Want to Be Crazy by Samantha Schutz Page B

was this happy.
    Jason and I drop Robyn at her dorm
and go back to my room.
This is it.
We haven’t talked about it,
but it’s hard to imagine we won’t hook up.
After all these years
this will only be the third time
we’ve spent the night together.
When I change for bed,
I just turn around,
let him watch me.
    We get into the twin bed,
and I feel like I am sixteen again.
Jason picks a bit of a leaf out of my hair
and that starts us kissing
Kissing him is like kissing myself.
He was my first boyfriend—
I learned to kiss from him.
He tastes the same as he did
two and a half years ago.
His body is different, though.
There’s more muscle,
more strength.
    We fall asleep for a while
and when I wake up
I look at him sleeping
and just smile.
A spell has been broken.

ii.
    Four months go by quickly.
Everything I do
is just another milestone
that gets me closer to Paris.
    Like always, the snow comes
before Halloween,
then there’s Thanksgiving,
and final exams,
and then I am packing to go home,
and packing again for Paris.
    I feel like Paris is going to mark the start
of a new chapter for me.
My anxiety has been at bay for months
and I finally feel far enough away from it
to gain perspective
on everything that’s happened to me
and everything I’ve done.
    Rebecca and I
are in the airport with our parents.
    It’s overwhelming
to have them here waiting with us.
    At first the flight is delayed
two hours because of bad weather.
When we finally board
we end up sitting on the runway
for several more hours
because the plane needs to be de-iced.
Rebecca and I pass the time
by attempting to speak broken French.
    When we are finally ready to go,
a voice comes over the loudspeaker.
The plane is delayed again.
The pilot is sick and needs to be taken off board.
I just want to get there.
We finally take off at the same time
we should have landed in Paris.
    In the hotel in Paris
the night before our host families pick us up,
everything is surreal.
    I open the long windows in my room
and look out.
The street below is narrow
and the way the light hits
the buildings across the street
makes them look flat,
like part of a movie set.
    In the morning Rebecca and I wait
in the lobby with all the other students.
We are like puppies
hoping to be given a good home.
    When my name is called,
there is a tiny woman waiting for me.
I am scared that I won’t understand
the very first thing she says to me,
even though I have taken three semesters of French
and have been practicing
basic phrases all morning.
I turn back to Rebecca
and mouth au revoir.
We smile nervously at each other.
I know we are both praying
our families will be nice.
    The coordinator introduces me to my host mother.
Her name is Laurence and I am horrified
to learn that she speaks no English.
    Laurence and I take a taxi home
and it is sweet how she speaks slowly to me.
She needs to repeat nearly everything she says,
and even then I only understand every few words.
I am embarrassed by my accent
and how I stammer out broken sentences,
but she just smiles at me.
    She tells me about her kids.
From what I can make out, there are three,
but I can’t tell how many are sons
and how many are daughters.
The words fille and fils sound too similar.
    This surge of energy
and excitement is amazing.
I can’t wait to see my new home
and meet the rest of the family.
I feel like at any moment
I could start jumping up and down
and clapping my hands like a little kid.
    When we get to the apartment building
she directs me into a tiny elevator.
I barely fit inside with my suitcase
while she takes the stairs.
We meet on the fourth floor
and she leads me inside.
The apartment is beautiful
in a shabby sort of way.
She shows me my room first.
It has a fresh coat of yellow paint
and is filled with light
coming in from those long windows
that look like doors.
There is a view of a courtyard
and looking down makes me feel
like I have gone back in time.
    I am in the sixth arrondissement, on the Left Bank.
This