After Sonia, there was another friend I made in Austin and without her, I probably wouldn’t have earned an A in French II. I feel pretty never mentioning Patricia much on my site. We lost touch pretty quickly due to the language barrier, apathy, my need to support myself becoming more urgent as 1994 was rapidly turning into 1995 (saving that for the upcoming Twelve Days of Christmas III) and probably a tad of misperception over what my interest in her was.
We met through my first Austin French teacher, the amazing polyglot Khier Dekar. I learned quickly during a post-class gathering at Les Amis that he was also a part-time matchmaker. One night he told me to go sit next to a female classmate around my age. “She likes you! I know these things. I’m a teacher!” It’s still comical because his French-Algerian accent reminded me of Pepe Le Pew, another incurable romantic.
Undeterred, I continued to attend the informal gatherings at Les Amis after the class since Khier invited other French-speaking guests to help us out and in exchange these people were looking for assistance with their English. I thought it was a great deal. I was already doing this at my private dorm job but most of those residents were from Latin America, South Korea or Japan. Not many from Europe. On one such Les Amis evening, Khier introduced me to Patricia. In numerous ways she was a perfect tutor because she had a similar background in France. Patricia’s father was in the French army so her family had moved around every couple hours as he was stationed at various bases. Oddly, they never went abroad which continues to puzzle me. France withdrew from NATO in 1960 yet I know they must have bases in the South Pacific, Caribbean and South America. Didn’t matter then, I thought it was cool to meet a French equivalent and this also meant Patricia was more familiar with the various accents of her native country. I figured I had a good grasp on America and Canada’s having resided in the Midwest, East, Great Plains and Texas.
We hung out a couple more times over the Summer of 1994 and for a while I didn’t see Patricia much until I landed my apartment in August. I guess her host family (more like captors) kept her busy raising their ubermensch or she wanted to make sure I wasn’t dangerous. Then after the Fall semester kicked off at ACC, Patricia was a frequent guest on Friday nights and Sundays: picnics, movies and watching cable. She was quite voracious over learning our slang which is more colorful than French argot. One of her favorite shows was Beavis and Butt-head because she wanted to master their frequent expression, “this sucks.” Watching a French woman imitate Butt-head’s laugh is a sight to marvel too. I’m sure Patricia is relieved that YouTube didn’t exist for another decade, preventing this ability of hers to be immortalized for the world.
Being around her improved my French enormously. One time, we were buying picnic food at Central Market and as we went through the checkout, the clerk complimented me on my English. This brought chuckles as I had to explain, “Well I hope it is. I’m from Illinois.” Pronunciation and French’s “weird” word order (grammar) continued to plague me but Patricia could understand the gist of what I was trying to communicate. It’s like having a secret language only a friend understands! Her patience and tutoring was invaluable toward me earning an A in French II under Mr. Prevost; he even said it was noticeable in my work.
Sadly, Patricia’s time in America came to end on this day. Back in the Nineties, the US only issued three-month work visas to the French (and the French reciprocate) but she had been in Austin for almost a year through this shadowy nanny arrangement (borderline enslavement with a lawyer couple who knew they were violating immigration law). She calculated that the INS wouldn’t let her back into the States for a couple years as punishment because her violation wasn’t serious. I only hope Patricia gambled wisely since America’s visitation and travel policies were amended by idiots: how safe I feel every time I have to take my shoes at the airport.
During our final week of hanging out, Patricia introduced me to her successor Isabelle; The host family wised up with Isabelle by recruiting her through agency which covered all the immigration legalities. Going to dinner with the two of them resulted in my greatest French-speaking faux pas. Thanks to it being mid-December, they contracted colds from the shift in the weather. Therefore, Isabelle had little appetite at Trudy’s. Since she was initially shy and didn’t speak much English (yet), I tried to impress her with my French by asking, “Est-ce que tu es pleine?” which is English for “Are you full?” This resulted in an odd stare from Isabelle and Patricia gagging. I thought, “Oh crap!” Patricia smiled and said the question should be “Are you not hungry?” or “Est-ce que tu as faim?” I asked why but received no explanation beyond, you just do.
Bewildered, I quizzed Mr. Prevost. He chuckled and said I asked Isabelle if she was pregnant. Indignant, I replied, “No way, pregnant is enceinte.” It is for humans, he retorted, plein(e) is for animals. Smooth move on my part. At least I gave Patricia a great anecdote to tell her fellow Parisians when she returned!
So today, 15 years ago, Patricia came by my apartment to say goodbye. Her flight was leaving for Houston in a couple hours followed by a connecting flight to Paris. We cried a bit but we exchanged addresses and I got the phone number to her parents’ house in Provence. I remember the voice message she left on my home phone for Christmas. It really cheered me up because matters really went to Hell shortly after she left. Again, those matters are reserved for later.
Isabelle and I went to a couple movies post-Patricia but she didn’t like me very much so I lost my French assistance. I wasn’t distraught, I felt she was rather snobby and I probably came off like the American stereotype to her: pushy, loud and boorish. Other problems in my life came to the forefront to keep me from pondering it much yet I always missed Patricia, she was more willing to check out what Americans normally do.
If only Internet access were 5-10 years ahead of what it was then, I have a feeling I could’ve stayed in touch with Patricia better. With my friend Bryant’s assistance and mastery of French, letters and gifts to her would’ve made more grammatical sense.
I still think about her and hope everything has worked out well these past 15 years. One day I would like to reconnect with Patricia but I have a feeling that paying a French detective is cost-prohibitive. France is almost as big as Texas.