First Love
 To my dancing partner to the tune of the "Tennesse Waltz," which you sang to me while you danced with me in a farmer's house in La Cainderie, France.


Oh Jimmy- Do you remember when?
 I met you in an an American bar in Paris where the "prostitutes," used to come in to get warm when the nights were cold. Long after we met- on our way to La Cainderie in the south of France- we stopped for a bite to eat in a cafeteria -like place. You and Gypsy, your dog, went to get the food, while I saved the seats. A strange man appeared in front of me and said something which frightened me. Before he even said it, Gypsy raced to my side and started barking in such a menacing way that she scared the man away. From that moment on, my sweet Gypsy, you became our dog even though it was only for a few moments in time.
I cried  just as much at the Charles de Gaulle Airport leaving you as I did leaving Jimmy.
Well, Jimmy. James, when we finally arrived at your "country house," you proudy showed  me your toilet and bathtub which you bought for a lark from a brothel and then proceeded to scrub  with the French equivalents of Clorox, Fantastic, Lysol, Rubbing alcohol and who knows what else? "And, do you know? If ever there was a bathtub, there was, there was, there was! How I loved soaking in it, even though where you placed that bathtub was not attached to the house.
We spent a month there. I soaked up the sun while studying for my exams at Science- Po which would consist of a team of five professors asking me in French one question about the whole year's worth of stuff..
You always built a fire at night and the young children , few that they were,  would visit us. I can still imagine that fire in that fireplace, darling. Some nights , you slept on the floor with Gypsy, because you were so afraid that you would have a nightmare and hurt me unintentionally from memories of that goddamn awful war.But you always came back.

Mon amour,
That first morning after, in Paris, while we were having a cafe au lait, in the cafe right under your apartment, you placed both of your rough hands on my face and looked into my brown eyes while I looked right back into your blue ones. One day , if I am lucky enough to return to Paris, I will start at the Foyer where I lived. I will not use the internet. Instead, I will use an old-fashioned metro map, or I'll just remember by heart the  stops I can no longer remember in words. I'll take one train and then I'll switch. I will get off in our old neighbourhood. I will climb the stairs to our dumpy apartment and then I will go back down to our cafe and have a cafe au lait. And then, Gypsy who has long since been dead will come running to me just like before, and you will place your rough hands on my now somewhat wrinkled , but much more interesting face, even though I know you will not be there. But, do not forget, your fingerprints and handprints have been indelibly imprinted on my face on and on and forever and forever.
Page 7