France Is Where the Heartache Is

I've been everywhere. I've walked in awe through the halls of Notre-Dame de Paris; I've seen it in flames with angry 15th century villagers crying out in anger and protest, but that's not all: I've also been elsewhere in France. I've been to the 19th century province with more simple, country folk, a place enriched by its surroundings and its distrust of foreigners. I've travelled all across Europe in the company of an ex-war veteran and the unattainable love of his life and to Africa with an American couple gone lion hunting; I've even been to countries and places that aren't from this world.

I tried to stay focused on my book and ignore the sounds of taunting, cruel cackling. All the while, I kept reminding myself that I was truly lucky and gifted, for they would never have the imagination with which I managed to escape the painful reality that surrounded me.

"Hey, Palm Tree!" There it was, the insult in reference to the hair I'd inherited from my black mother. I was almost getting used to it.

I never did understand why people in France were like this. Why was it such a bad thing for me to speak English? What was the big deal with my hair and the way I dressed?

I sighed before taking my book and walking away, trying to ignore the continued sound of their harsh words. Instead, I plunged back into my beloved book. K.A Applegate was reminding me just why Ancient Greece had been such a fascinating culture through her clever twist between what it means to be a modern day teenager clashing with that world. My dad had said that we would travel to Greece eventually, to visit the part of my family that lived there. The idea was so thrilling!

Amongst the many taunts I'd received since my arrival in France, six months ago, I'd also been called a nerd. I had never associated my love with reading with anything negative. In Sint Marteen, no one seemed bothered by who I was. Then again, in Sint Marteen, people were ethnically diverse and no one tried to fit in a certain mold for the sake of not being rejected by the rest of society.

I hated France with a passion. All I wanted was to leave this country. I mean, what could France possibly have that I'd miss? As I thought this, I was for the first time that day truly distracted from my reading. He was sitting in a corner of the playground and I smiled, a grin filled with affection, one that transcends both race and culture. He was the only thing from France that was worth remembering.