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My second language
For everyone who has done something twice

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My fiancee drives around with a book of French verbs in the back of his car. I keep mine in the back of my mind. After years and years, the verbs are still there. We went to France during the Christmas holidays of 1995. We referred to our trip as "wintering in France," and, like a winter day, it was over too soon. We had to come home to let work consume our days and our lives.

France is back in my life again, I thought once we arrived. There it was, December, and I had just returned from France three months before. France had been all I was into back when I was 16. Here was a chance to re-visit my 16-year old self.

Back then, I had an adolescent's great desire. I wanted to live an exciting, eventful, quietly flamboyant life--but it had to be in France. I know I would not have been in France in October, or December had not that 16-year old who I once was decided France was worthy of attention. France was a good story. And I could write myself into this tale and this place again and again, as so many people before me had.

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