The Exchange, Day 9

Week One: Love at first sight. He is precious! He is so short! Wow, look at all this stuff he can do. Was that a double back flip? Do it again. Everything. Except speak English. Heaven is two boys propped up, side by side, on Ellie’s bed watching an America film dubbed over in French with English subtitles. What is that on your shoes? Can you please take your feet off the bed? The Go-kart in constant motion, little cloud of dust weaving through the ankles of our wood. They are at the pool so often they sweat chlorine. The show and tell of a fast friendship, speed version. In half a day they are buddies for life and won’t go to bed because that means they will have to go to separate rooms.

Week Two: A day in the life of an American boy — sleeping late in sunlit bedrooms, bilingual chore lists, lots of busy and on the go: be ready here, be ready there. Are your teeth brushed? Heavy on the expect, little light on the all-set. Hurry, quick! Time to go. Time for another American institution: the car breakfast. Working through a “bucket list” Will and I made before he came. We take a trip to DC that devolves into a tour of the Washington metro public transit system: literally. Planes, trains, minivans and metro-buses. What exchange would be complete without gridlock traffic on 95? Tempers flare, feelings jar, fatigue sets in–a little. Then, in an evening visit to Three Lakes Park in a pack of spilled children made of many ages, many colors, they are immediately swarmed by playground shalom and sincerity: Hi! Wanna play our game? 

Week Three: Our highlights come during this week, the trip to Kings Dominion and the days spent on a lake. Essence of an American summer. The leave-taking begins, only days in. Too soon. At the very end, he grows more distant and Will a bit moody. Now when they are together they don’t quarrel at all. Will takes care of him. Gives up and does his chores, too. They back off on besting; Will completely abandons the in-house rule about who sits in front; Camille blasts sax music on his speaker. The go-kart pouts in the garage and the pool loses its appeal. Sometimes I find them, mes deux, just sitting on the back patio scratching in the dirt with sticks, or wandering around the garage and driveway, not connecting, but not apart. He is amused to show me his driving record from the Go- kart place,  where they have entered his name: Camille Burk. We celebrate Ellie’s birthday for only the second family meal managed in a three-week span and he is happy, quiet and patient at my side. He sits on my left and is strangely subdued, conversant even. Highlight: decides he “very like” the lemon meringue pie and sneaks a second piece when no one is looking.