I have started to realize I will not be here next year. I have even started to plot ways I could stay. Looking dreamily at the men with purple pants that pass by, knowing without a shadow of a doubt it is only here, in this country, where men can get away with that. I sit in Mike's classroom and work/chat and when he says his friends from Paris are coming this weekend, I start asking him questions because I went to dinner with them when we were in Paris and they were fun.
He responds back, "Um, honestly, I don't know. The last time I really talked to them, was, well I think when I saw them with you. I am just not that good at keeping in touch." said off-handedly.
"Don't tell me that today." I said seriously. "Today, can't you just pretend?" As if reminding him my eyes were finally their usual shape and size after having managed to stop crying for more than 24 hours straight.
"I am really good at staying in touch." he corrected without pause.
"I suck at it too, by the way." I admitted, looking up at him, realizing that I will soon be saying good bye to one of my best friends and gone will be my daily dose of Mike Amodio.
I try not to think about it. Probably because it feels strange, sad, and complicated when I think about the actual saying good bye to my friends, to the first city I called home, and to a culture who taught me about 4 hour dinners, flexible time management, and unlimited staring.
Those fears of change sometimes paralyze me when I am reminded that I am seriously thinking about leaving teaching, a profession I have done happily and passionately every year since I was 22 (12 years). Which isn't that long, when I think about my mom and aunt who did it seamlessly for over 4 decades.
But the fact is, in less than two months a new life will begin and I can't get my heart to stop racing and have failed to control the tears that seem to come without warning or reserve.
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