Lettre à France

Days 293-294

She smiled to herself as she looked out the window on this route that was beginning to become very familiar. The shops, the signs, the people remained unchanged, even if she herself and her world were far removed from where she was the last time she passed them. 'It's funny,' she mused to herself, 'how a world that is so connected, that feels so small, can be so far apart.'
The end destination had not changed either, and no matter her deep appreciation for the woman she saw waiting once again on the steps, she still felt that nervousness settle into the pit of her stomach. Unlike all those years ago now, she wasn't stumbling blindly into this job, she was sure of herself, and all that she had accomplished. But the job was never easy, and the stakes were now so very high. She couldn't afford one wrong step, one single stumble.
She took a deep breath as an aide opened the door. It's showtime.
Her host was beaming as she walked half way down the steps to meet her, arms open wide. "Hi, darling!" Brigitte greeted, wrapping her in a tight hug, and an actual kiss softly pressed to her cheek at the end of her bise.
"Hi, Brigitte," she replied warmly as her host gathered her hands in hers, pulling her up towards the top of the stairs for the requisite photos.
"We're starting to get to be old hats at this," Brigitte leaned over and whispered, making her laugh.
"You much more than me," Olena replied with a smile, grabbing Brigitte's hand as they moved inside.
"So, how are you doing, my friend?" Brigitte asked as they looped through the hallways towards the Madame wing.
"I'm happy to see you," she replied, smiling at her friend, but thinking now, in front of their staffs, was not the time or the place for that conversation.
Brigitte, the apt social butterfly she is picked up on the undercurrent, leaned in before they took their seats, "we'll have plenty of time to catch up."
The meeting flew by, the hour passing faster than she had even registered, and before she knew it, she was being walked back to a waiting car.
"I'll see you tomorrow. You're going to love what we have set up."
"Thank you, Brigitte, for everything."
"Nonsense. You'd do the same for me," Brigitte softly rejected, letting go of their joined hands to waive dismissively, briefly.
"Still -" Olena tried to insist.
"Thank me tomorrow night. If that manages to go off without a hitch - " Brigitte interrupted.
"It will," Olena assured. She paused for a moment, before offering, "I'll see you tomorrow," as her goodbye, smiling as she saw her friend wave the car off before heading back inside, her aides with the blue folders in tow, hot on her heels.
She finds that wherever there are children, there is a sense of wonder. That's even more true, she realizes, as she meets one child after another, who while clearly missing their homes and their homeland, have all adjusted brilliantly to this strange new world. She watches as they compete to draw the prettiest pictures, thinking the art is a patriotic offering - and maybe it is. The refusal to give up childhood, joy, life, culture, that's a victory in and of itself.
She laughs too at the way old habits seem to die hard. While she finds herself feeling on occasion like a mother checking over her kid's homework, eager just to validate them doing the work, she notices the way her counterpart crouches down and checks their grammar, offers gentle suggestions for correction like a teacher would, smiles and compliments them like she was pressing gold stars on to their pages. She ponders for a minute what it must be like to have a teacher as a mother at that, if her children ever came to her for help, or if they waited to ask their father, afraid of the red pen; wonders if any of those grandchildren come over on the weekends carrying revision books.
She's drawn from her musings when she sees out of the corner of her eye, Brigitte lean into her like a naughty schoolgirl who is going to get busted for chatting with her mates once the teacher turns away from the blackboard. "Watch, the girl in the pink sweater is about to fall asleep," Brigitte whispers only moments before they see the little girl's head fall towards her chest, triggering a giggle fit between the two - naughty schoolgirls indeed, drawn quickly from the room not to further disturb the lesson.
But it's the gala that night for her foundation that leaves her the most moved of the trip. The way every single person in the room, in the planning of the event, in the hosting of the event, even in the media's coverage of the event, seems to live out the promise that "today, we are here for you, Madame," as Brigitte proclaims in her speech from the podium on the dark stage. It's the way that from the very first moment they have been.
As always, she can tell it pains her friend to say goodbye, not that it is any easier for her, as she sees her fight back the tears in her eyes.
"Please, take care," Brigitte begs, like she always does upon their parting, their new ritual now, almost a year later.
"I will," Olena promises with a smile back, just like she has every time, nothing else seeming to suffice.
She remembers in the car their conversation from the day before and realizes she did not follow through on her thank you. Quickly whipping out her phone she sends off one more text for the night.
My dear Brigitte,
You insisted yesterday I wait until the events of today were over before I thanked you. So now that they are, let me say, thank you.
Thank you for tonight, but more importantly, thank you for everything else: everything else you've done, or that you've tried to do.
But most importantly, thank you for your friendship. To me, especially, but also to my people.
Until we meet again,
OZ