A Tale Of Two Amys

This is the story of two Amys. There’s the Amy in America - the savvy woman about town, who jumps in a van and drives from home to school and gig to gig, with a working knowledge of dozens of major cities in North America. Friends and acquaintances with all kinds of people from artists and lawyers in Manhattan to singer/songwriters in L.A. and Nashville to schoolteachers in Alaska. Hell, related to at least a couple hundred Italian Americans in the NY/PA/DC area alone. And several dozen North Carolinians, thanks to a previous marriage. This Amy knows the exit number for every Starbucks on or near I-95, and the names and sauce configurations of barbq places all over the south. The call letters of radio stations from Maine to Santa Cruz and the approximate location or projected opening date of every Trader Joe’s east of the Mississippi.

Then there’s the Amy in France. This Amy walks around in a state of amazement and befuddlement. Suffers several small humiliations daily as she fumbles with a language familiar only from high school and French films. This Amy knows no one, except Eric, her French-speaking English boyfriend, some estate agent friends and the banker who okayed the mortgage. And a sympathetic shopkeeper here and there, but not by name.

One day her main achievement was telling a man on the other end of the telephone (the first and only time it has ever rung, because who’s going to call?) that he had the wrong number. A major accomplishment at Christmas was buying Eric a pair of pajamas in a village shop, in the right size, and somehow counting out the correct amount of money. Funny how making an attempt at even a small joke and getting a smile in return (even if it is possibly one of bemused tolerance) can seem like a huge victory.

After years of endless driving, she has yet to get behind the wheel in France. The cars around here are all manual transmission and it’s one more thing to learn but has become a priority as walking will only get you so far in the country.

Amy in America writes songs and plays and sings, even making a living at it some years. The Amy in France has a vague memory of how to do these things, but at the moment is more concerned with how to turn on the oven, why there are so many cows around but very little fresh milk and how in the world she’s ever going to try every kind of wine, meat and cheese in the store. US Amy is used to seeing a Walgreen’s on every other corner, but is flabbergasted at the density of stars and the utter darkness of the sky. Amy in America would think it was trite and corny to rave about the beauty of nature but Amy in France says, screw that, I’ve never seen anything so wonderful.