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OLD AGE WAS A FOREIGN COUNTRY. SO WAS FRANCE
The Uncertainty Was Over At Last
Deciding to move to France wasn’t easy, but I’d arrived; the hard part was over
I’d breathed a sigh of relief when we checked in at the airline ticket counter, and felt it again as we boarded the plane. Finally. We were on our way. The vague dream had become a reality. I was moving to France.
A slight mental disturbance as the plane flew over Los Angeles. I nudged Joe.
“You think our luggage will be ok?”
“I was sleeping,” he said. “Didn’t sleep last night.”
“What if they put them on the wrong plane in Istanbul? What — ”
“What d’you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep.”
In the frenzy of last-minute packing, what to leave, what to bring, there was the question of my mum’s ashes. I’d wrapped the box in a blue checkered scarf tied in a little knot at the top, put that in a plastic bag along with the doll in the blue hat and dress but no knickers. Then I’d tucked everything into one of the three suitcases.
The dimly lit cabin felt warm and claustrophobic. I turned on the little fan above my seat. Then I felt too cold. I’d been predicting…
