Home is who you are

Part Eight

8

She was so excited and nervous about her French classes that she felt like a child. Was she going to make friends? Was the teacher going to like her? Was she going to get good grades? She would take lessons every morning and couldn't wait to start using the language to feel more at ease.

On Monday she was up before the alarm, got dressed and double-checked her bag: wallet, umbrella, phone, course book, snack, pen, pencil, eraser and directions to the school. They had breakfast and took the subway together. Tony kissed her and wished her luck. His own classes were only two evenings a week.

Finding her classroom was easy and she was one of the first people there. Two young women sat together talking in a language Gabi didn't recognize and a middle aged man was sitting alone. She said bonjour and took a seat. Both women had pale skin, dark hair and blue eyes. They were well dressed, sat with their backs very straight and spoke softly. Gabi wondered whether they were related. The man had a grey mustache, wore tiny glasses and buried his face on his book the whole time.

In about fifteen minutes the class was full: a mix of young and old people from every single corner of the planet. Everyone sat quietly and waited for the teacher, who entered the room carrying a heavy backpack, a pile of books and folders and looked very tired.

"Bonjour!" He said cheerfully. "Je m'appelle Philippe." He wrote the sentence on the blackboard and asked everyone to introduce themselves as well. He then checked his list and collected their proof of enrollment.

There was a quick knock on the door and a girl rushed in saying "Desolée. I couldn't find the classroom," in that unmistakable Spanish accent.

"Pas de problème." Philippe said and asked for her enrollment paper.

The girl was a mess: she sat down on the last free chair, next to Gabi, and took a folder out of her bag. "It's somewhere in here." As she did that, her phone fell, she bent down to pick it up and bumped her head on the desk. "Ow! Shit!" She looked and looked in her folder but could not find the document. "I'm sure I have it!"

The teacher told her to bring it another time and went on with the lesson. They learned the pronouns je, tu, il, elle, nous, vous, ils, elles, the verb être and how to introduce themselves and others. There was not a single person in the room who didn't know that. Gabi felt that she could handle it. French wasn't that obscure to her anymore.

When Philippe told them to open their books and do exercise one on page five, they heard the girl say "Oh! Oh! It's here! Here, teacher" and hand out her enrollment proof to him.

"Pas d'anglais dans la classe, Monica."

"Pardon." Monica said, but she didn't look very sorry.

"Which page?" She whispered to Gabi.

"Five." Gabi whispered back.

Philippe glanced at them and smiled. He was short and a little chubby, his hair was straw-yellow and he had a funny strip of beard on his chin. His eyes were small and he seemed kind.

The three-hour lesson flew by as they learned the very basics of the French language and got to know each other. They were often put to work in pairs or groups, ask and answer simple questions and role-play. Gabi actually had fun, what she never thought would happen in a classroom.

She had just walked out the door when she noticed Monica hurrying right behind her. "Hey, is this yours?" She asked, referring to the umbrella in her hand.

"Oh. Yes, actually. Thanks." Gabi put the umbrella in her bag. It was unbelievably sunny, as if it hadn't poured just a few hours before.

"So, Gabrielaa... " Monica mimicked Philippe's accent. "What brings you to Belgium?"