Unexpected Obstacles

I've been blindsided by something I should have seen coming for over a month.  The only way to properly tell this story is to backtrack to the beginning of January, when I had just returned from my Christmas vacation in the states... 

Cue the flashback music and fog...

Hélène and I were preparing for a night out with her friends, when someone sounded the doorbell.  Thinking it was our friend, Yannick, who we'd been expecting to pick us up, I buzzed him up.  I opened the door to face Stéfan, her boyfriend, suitcase in hand.  He was trembling a bit. "Elle est toute nue," was all I could come up with, pointing to the bathroom door.  In my surprise to see him, I had just told Stéfan that Hélène was barenaked in the bathroom.  He stepped inside, closed the door, and they spoke in excited, hushed voices. When they exited the bathroom, I went in to finish my makeup.  Lying on the counter was his wedding ring. Now I understood, the ring, the suitcase.  He'd finally left his wife.  Transfixed, I stared at it, that simple gold band became the saddest thing I'd ever seen.  I imagined a wife tucking in her two daughters, holding back tears as she explained that Papa wouldn't be living at home any longer.

It had taken me awhile to understand the... intricacies... of their relationship.  I had asked too many questions, like "Why do you only see each other Friday afternoons? Why doesn't Stéfan go on your holiday to Tunisia with you? You're not planning to spend Christmas with him? Would you like to have a double date when Jim comes to visit me?"  Fed up with my naïve questions, Hélène finally revealed the truth, she had met the love of her life too young, and when they finally found one another again, he was married with two kids.  I supposed I was always programmed to automatically detest the "other woman," yet here I was living with her. I was her friend. I felt for her.  My perspective changed.  How could someone who had had the heart to take me in, who had shown me such kindness, truly be... bad? Not to say I agreed with her choices, but I was a supportive ear to her throughout, and did not judge.

Just as she had taken me into her home without a second thought, she prepared space in her closet for Stéfan's belongings.  In the space of three months, her household had grown from two to four inhabitants.  When she told me he'd be moving in with us, I had a sinking feeling inside. She asked me if it would bother me, and I assured her that it was fine, but within, I knew that the entire dynamic in the apartment was about to change. And change it did.  Nicolas's behavior plummeted, and Stéfan made no attempt to mask his disdain for his presence.  Hélène became a stranger to me. She was constantly occupied with Stéfan, whether it was arguing, cuddling, or discussing their new lives together.  The three started taking meals together.  I felt like an outsider.  I withdrew to my room often, because I felt uncomfortable, as though I was intruding on their new "family."  

I developed severe resentment toward Stéfan.  Now I had to wake up even earlier to have a prayer of getting into the bathroom before him.  I'd avert my eyes quickly if our paths crossed when he walked around in boxers, afraid he'd think I was checking him out.  Arrogant ass, he probably thought so anyway. He constantly mocked my accent whenever I spoke, causing me to become nearly mute in his presence.  He strode around with an air of entitlement, helped himself to my shelf in the fridge, walking into my room uninvited to check out the view of the cathedral.  He also took it upon himself to lecture Nicolas about his 'unacceptable behavior.'

Hélène seemed more anxious than ever.  She clearly would have preferred to have been able to openly date Stéfan as a normal couple after having to keep their relationship clandestine for over two years.  To go from hardly seeing him to living with him in a snap was taking its toll on her.  On our trip to the covered market, for the first time since knowing her, I watched Hélène purchase a gigantic slab of beef.  A self proclaimed disaster in the kitchen, Hélène normally only prepared very simple meals, but now Stéfan was here, and he demanded MEAT.  He did not help with the preparation or the cleanup of the meals, nor did he compliment the chef.

I digress. I could go on for hours about the discomfort of the past two months, but it simply doesn't matter.  The fact is, I was hiding inside my own home.  I was an outsider. Still, could I complain about the great location, cheap rent, and unlimited exposure to French language? Plus, the fact that she asked if I was okay with Stéfan's moving in implied that I was safe... right?

Wrong.

Fast forward to last week.  One of my best friends and I were three days into a two week whirlwind tour of five European countries. It was a dream trip we had been planning for years.  We had just enjoyed a fantastic day in Bruges when a text message from Hélène popped up.  "Hello Jamie, sorry to have to tell you this now, but you'll have to find a new place to live.  I need to recover your room as soon as possible. The sooner the better. Thank you. Have a nice vacation despite all."

I was already on an expensive trip I couldn't afford with tons of unforeseen expenses. I burst into tears.  I would never find another place with such affordable rent, and with the bulk of the trip ahead of me, I wondered if I should cancel and go back.  What really struck me was the cold tone of the text message. Why notify me by text, and why tell me when I'm on vacation, powerless to do something about it?  Trembling, I called her immediately, despite the obscene charges on my cell phone. I began in French, but after a few shaky sentences, I had to switch to English.  Over and over again, I asked her what I did wrong and apologized for whatever it was.

She remained completely expressionless, and quietly replied that there were too many people in the apartment now, that she needed to focus on her new life, and that it was too much for her.  It was so unlike her to be so cold, so heartless, that I wonder if Stéfan might have been sitting beside her as she received my phone call.  She said that there was a chance that Stéfan's children would be staying in the apartment as well, and that the situation was too stressful.  

Needless to say, the prospect of not knowing where I would live and if I would have enough money cast a shadow over the rest of my trip with Genna.  Not only the physical problem of housing, but the emotional aspect of knowing that I would not be seeing my supposed best friend in France, her lovely parents, her friends, and most of all, her son, Nicolas, again. To just disappear out of their lives like this, made me feel so... divorced.   

Genna was clearly distressed by my reaction to this situation, which she had a right to be. After all, she had spent a great deal on this extravagant trip as well, and my tearful anxiety attack definitely put a damper on it for her, and probably sparked one of her own. But at the end of the trip, she knew where she'd be living, she had a reliable income, she would go back to the states where she had loved ones around her.  What would I be returning to?  I tried to keep the pain and panic inside, for fear of upsetting her more.  But she definitely noticed when I became quiet and withdrawn for extended periods of time, or when I snapped.  Overall, I resolved to make the trip as enjoyable as possible, and succeeded most of the time, but I cried into my pillow every night, yearning to be able to talk about it with someone.  Limited contact with Jim and my family made me feel that much more alone.  

Just a few days earlier, I had wanted desperately to renew my contract for another year, but suddenly I've lost the will to stay in France altogether.  I know the actions of one person don't represent the will of an entire country, but I feel as though France herself has rejected me.  

So much for my "Miracle in the Cathedral." I guess the circumstances of our meeting weren't miraculous at all.  Visions flash through my mind of our weekend with her parents in the countryside, our long walks, our movie nights, the Christmas markets in Germany, our intimate conversations over Belgian beer, our shopping trips... it's over, our little international family.  I'm confounded. I don't get it. 

I'm feeling more alone than ever.

Miracle in the Cathedral

I've officially decided that the Cathédrale Saint-Etienne has special powers. This morning, I was bemoaning the fact that I still had not secured housing outside of the god-forsaken foyer I've been staying in.  I had posted online inquiries and scoured the French colocation websites and housing sections of Metz newspapers.  

My entire reason for coming to France was to improve my fluency in French, my dream since the age of 12.  The best way to accomplish this would be to live with French people, and to speak it constantly.  I preferred a family to simply a roommate situation, because it could potentially offer a better chance for conversation and meals together, and a vision of the French way of life. However, I was about to give up and simply rent a studio for myself, since all the familial housing opportunities wanted either an au pair or someone to teach the children English, which would defeat the purpose of living with French speakers.  Some of the fellow assistants told me I was probably asking for too much, and I was beginning to believe it.

At breakfast, I met a French woman from Lille who was passing through Metz, and we ended up having a long conversation (regrettably, she wanted to practice her English, but I indulged her to be polite).  I explained my housing dilemma, and she replied that I should seek help from the church.  "Just introduce yourself to the priest, and he will definitely help you find something in the parish," she explained with confidence.  That idea had not yet occurred to me, but since I was already planning on attending Mass at the Cathedral today, it seemed simple enough.  

Quickly, I designed a flyer featuring a photo and brief description of myself and that I was seeking a family environment to improve my French and learn about French culture.  I stashed several copies in my purse, and headed off to Mass.  I introduced myself to the priest, and explained my situation.  He took one of my flyers and told me he'd look into it and call me if he found anyone in the parish.  I thanked him profusely and walked away, in my head saying: God, I know you're not simply going to drop this out of the sky... but I would really appreciate it if you could...

Just then, I received a tap on my shoulder.  I turned to meet a slightly familiar face.  "You're that American, aren't you?" The stylish French woman in her mid-thirties smiled gently.  I was still trying to place her face, so she continued, "I don't know if you remember me, but a few weeks ago, I stood behind you in line at the cell phone shop.  I really regretted not taking your information, because I know how difficult it must be in a new country and a new language, not knowing anybody.  Actually, I saw your name on the cell phone contract you signed, and tried to search for you on Facebook, but couldn't find you. There are so many Alexanders!"

It all flooded back! It was my first day in Metz, and I had been complimented on my French by the salesman, as well as the woman in line behind me.  She had encouraged me to stay strong and that I would be fine.  I too had regretted not taking her information, because she had been so kind to me on one of the most difficult and chaotic days of my life.  As it turns out, she sings in the choir at the cathedral every Sunday for 10am Mass.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked.  

"Well, I'm currently staying in a foyer, but would really love a family to stay with, if you happen to know anybody who might--"

"Why don't you come live with me?" She asked, without wasting a breath.

I laughed, thinking it was a joke, but she continued, "I have a room in my apartment you may like.  I'm divorced and live with my 10 year-old son.  I will talk to him today and see if we can work something out. You can meet him and see how things progress."

I replied that she was very kind, but that it seemed like a lot to take on, so I'd understand if she changed her mind.  She took my flyer, and promised to call.  At this point, I was still doubting that something like this could just happen, so I didn't hold out too much hope.  Perhaps she was speaking in the heat of the moment. But, sure enough, a few hours later, Hélène called me, asking me to meet her and her son, Nicolas, at the Café des Arts in Place Saint-Jacques.

We had talked over cappuccino topped with luscious whipped cream, while Nicolas sipped on an iced tea.  I brought a photo album as an ice breaker, and he went crazy for the photos of my dog, Sherlock.  "We have a cat!" he told me eagerly. "Can you meet our cat today? Her name is Dorine!"  In the same breath, he exclaimed "Maman, I'm hungry! Can we have Croque-Monsieur tonight?" A Croque-Monsieur is a delicious ham and cheese sandwich prepared with a panini iron.  Hélène eyed me with a smile, and asked if I'd like to come over for dinner.  "Oui, bien sûr!" I exclaimed. "Of course!"

They live about 25 minutes from the city center on foot, but are also connected by the bus lines, which would mean a convenient trip to work every morning!  A large supermarket is across the street.  The apartment is chic and lovely, complete with internet access. Hélène did all the painting and decorating herself, and the colors are warm and inviting.  She showed me the beautiful little room I would have, which has a striking view of the city of Metz, including the Cathedral!  "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but we'll be speaking French here."  I smiled broadly.  "This is exactly what I want!" I assured her.

Dinner was simple and delicious: Croque-Monsieur with tomato and fresh grapes for dessert. Nicolas scurried about the apartment, showing me his beautiful siamese cat, his keyboard, performing his part in the school play for me, and talking a mile a minute.  He kept declaring to his mother that I would be his grande soeur (big sister), and that I was very pretty. Unfortunately, my American accent (which I have been trying desperately to repress) is the most hilarious thing in the world to him, and he kept repeating my French with an exaggerated accent and cracking up.  I suppose this is motivation to improve myself!  Good-naturedly, I challenged him to pronounce the English number 'three', since French people struggle with the TH sound.  More laughter ensued. It really felt like I had a little brother!

When the subject of rent arose, Hélène said, "Since you're only renting a room, and probably won't be making much money as a teacher, I couldn't dream of charging you more than, say, 100 Euro, or 120 Euro at the most."

I almost fell out of my chair.  Since I am currently paying over 400 Euro at the foyer, this is an absolute steal.  I told her I could pay her more, but she replied that that was all she wanted.  I promised I would help out wherever she needed, if she wanted me to walk Nicolas home from school or anything like that.  She agreed.

They walked me back to the bus stop, and Nicolas hugged and kissed me goodbye, asking over and over again when I'd be coming to stay. I have to give my foyer 15 days notice before leaving, which I will do first thing tomorrow. Hélène told me I could come earlier if I wanted, so I may very well take her up on that offer.

Back at the foyer, I Skyped my family and Jim, who were celebrating my sister Liz's 19th birthday at a big gathering at my house.  My parents, grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the dining room table to talk to me on Jim's laptop, and I shared the good news with everyone. I also got to chat with Jim and my sister separately, which was lovely. Everyone seemed so excited for me, and it was just an enormous boost to my morale.

My dad, a believer in miracles, was convinced that this was no accident, and I'm leaning towards his opinion. 

When I look at the amount of coincidence at work here, I begin to wonder if there is such thing as coincidence.  What if I hadn't arrived in Metz that day, or chosen that particular cell phone store (seemingly at random) from the multitude of cell phone stores in Metz, at that particular time? Metz is a fairly large city! What if I hadn't met that woman at breakfast who encouraged me to go to church? What if I had attended the 8am, 9am, or 11:30am Mass, and not the 10am Mass at the Cathedral, or gone to one of the other beautiful churches all over the city? What if I had walked up to a different priest at a different part of the massive church, since there had been several walking around to choose from? It's amazing Hélène even saw me among so many people, or that she recognized me at all! Amazing how so much can change in the space of a few hours, and how sometimes, prayer really is answered by a gift falling from the sky... or at least, a choir loft.