which side of the bed do you want?

Rose and Chastity and I were optimistic, so we packed for Paris, Spain, and the tropics. Rose, being very small, managed to fit everything in a bulky duffel bag. But Chastity and I both struggle with self-control, and so our suitcases were almost as heavy as when we had first brought them to France.

I had been laughed at by my host family every time I went away on a trip, and thought I had developed a thick skin, but I did feel a tad idiotic as Chastity and I, the last two to get everything off the bus, rolled our caravan of Samsonite, L.L. Bean, and Vera Bradley into the lobby, getting stuck in the revolving doors, dropping a purse here, an umbrella there, and finally piling it all in a five foot stack while our classmates watched with jaws agape.

Rose and Dee-Dee had been assigned to a triple room with one of their boarding school classmates, and Bonne was in a phase of trying to impress our rival clique; the blase, world-weary smokers, who worshipped Janine. Olivia and some of the other girls were grouped together in fours, which left Chastity and I to be paired with a fellow odd-couple.

Caitlin and Chloe were two large, brooding outcasts; they had banded together in solidarity early on and their relationship over the course of the year was rumored to have reached quite the level of intensity. I could certainly see why the rumors began, and I wasn't looking forward to any more evidence. Both girls were unfriendly to begin with, and when they were together the energy became a trifle threatening. So it was with trepidation that Chastity and I followed them into our chambers, to see two beds, a double next to a single in the corner, and a cot on the other side of the room.

Caitlin immediately approached the double and set her purse upon it. She turned to Chloe.

"Which side of the bed do you want?" She asked.

"I'll take the cot!!" I yelled, running to it as fast as I could.

Chastity dropped her bag on the single, ashen-faced.

"Poor sap," I thought. "I'll buy her a glass of wine."

And as quickly as we had entered we escaped again, tumbling over each other down the stairs out onto the chilly streets of Paris.

The Bastille was an unfamiliar neighborhood and we had no idea where to go for food, but after circling the block a few times and then following the Seine toward what looked like an area of more activity, we found ourselves in a smoky cafe that opened up into a jazz bar and restaurant.

As the band tuned their instruments onstage, we were led into a cozy room with bookshelves and paintings lining the red velvet walls. In Rennes there would have been a hush as we entered, followed by whispers and quizzical stares, but here the conversations taking place were too riveting for the other patrons to notice, much less critique, our presence.

After much deliberation, we ordered a bottle of red wine and two heaping salads, both of which were presented to us with a flourish. I tasted the Merlot and nodded thoughtfully; it will do. We raised our glasses in a toast and sipped them with a smile, we discussed, we reminisced, we basked in the glory of the moment.

By the end of the meal both of our bowls and the bottle were empty, our cheeks were rosy and flushed, and the world was as it should be when you are young and in Paris. The jazz band was in full swing, and we stopped on our way out to listen to a few numbers, exchanging cigarettes and smiles and jostling shoulders with the Parisians in a friendly sort of way.

We returned to the cold streets and darted across an intersection to a more lively area, where an Irish pub beckoned. The bartender was named John, from Boston, and when I told him I was going to Wellesley, he laughed, "Oh, a Wellesley girl!"

Before long, we were deep in conversation with a number of ex-patriates. One, a middle aged black man who lived down the road, had been there seven years but still went back and forth to the States. He knew the area Chastity was from, he was even familiar with New Hampshire. I remembered how incredibly foreign Paris had once seemed to me; now, it was like coming half-way home.