Going West ...!

The last time I had flown as a passenger, on a transatlantic crossing, had been two and half years before, on my way from France to USA.

When I had at last translated my young girl’s dreams into reality.

Remembering the feelings I had been filled with, I can still and with precision bring back the images. How I had parked the nervous butterflies of excitement deep down in my heart as I was leaving France and exchanged them with the controlled purpose fitting into the adult world…when I had landed at Logan International airport in Boston.

Yes, I had jumped over the first serious stepping stone in my life and it felt good.

From the clothes I had been wearing, a light blue hand-made coat-dress, a burgundy coloured pill-box hat with matching handbag and shoes chosen by me, just like my idol Princess Grace of Monaco, who had been my true inspiration as a child entering adolescence.

I didn’t see myself as a tourist or an academic…like the French young man who was my neighbour on the flight.

I played Madame Nonchalance but at the same time, clutching my handbag from time to time, just to remind me of its exclusive contents:

A contract attesting my position as a Mother’s helper for a family living in Cambridge, Mass. and a period of one and a half years…whose duties were exclusively laid out to care of a young boy, six years old. I would earn $50,- a month, minus the reimbursement of the one-way flight ticket my American family had advanced for me.

In addition, a French driver’s license I had earned which had been a condition to get this post and finally, the most important documentation of them all…the Green Card which gave me permanent residence in the USA.

Upon landing in Boston late afternoon, a bout of tension had slowly but surely made its appearance with its tickling around my belly button.

I recognized the signs.

The anxieties of not knowing what was ahead… were letting insecurity move in anew and stress my nerves.

However when brutally and literally my flying machine had landed on the American soil, I had quickly composed myself into a relative calm and had awoken to the real world.

I was definitely on my own now…

I hadn’t rested nor slept during the eight hours flight…and poked distractedly on the airline food which I tasted frugally, careful not to mess up my appearance.

 Upon landing, I had been deeply engrossed in my own thoughts and oblivious to my surroundings.

It was such a surprise really when it all happened so quickly, so efficiently!

After having gone through U.S. immigration and Customs, here I was standing, alone, with my suitcase, in the arrival area and looking at the many happy faces that were impatiently waiting for loved ones.

What to do now, I thought?

How or where would I meet or find my employer who had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport?

Acting as always on an impulse, I had come about a brilliant idea!

I had decided that I would first look around for a possible “candidate” who would match her portrait I had imagined, be cool and with my usual cheeky way, go to this lady and ask if she was (by any chance) Mrs. E. . .

I had been in a way profiling her in my mind, given parameters in advance about her background, age; profession etc… and I thought I would use such hints to guide me forward.

If not, I would then go to the information desk and ask them to page her.

So decided so done!

My eyes intently observing the many faces…as I was slowly making my way around.

 I approached a tall and elegant woman, with demure politeness and a lively, but deferential way, and asked in a rehearsed French-English:

 -“Excuse me but are you Mrs. E.? “

 My Guardian Angel had been working overtime because the first woman I go to answers me with the most positive word of the English language:

YES!

There and then, as bizarre as it may have sounded each time I have told this story, I had begun my American Dream with quite a strange piece of luck.

                         “Intuition is a suspension of logic due to impatience…”

                                                - Rita Mae Brown -