Claire in Poland

Classic music echoes from the living room speakers and lightly dances its way into my room. I lay on the covers of my bed wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe with my hands raised above my head to hold a book. The heater beside my bed keeps me warm. My dog’s feet peck against the wooden floors as she trots to investigate what my mother cooks.  I make plans with friends that I’ve known for many years. I walk the same streets, eat at the same restaurants, coffee shops and ice cream parlors. I walk from my home to downtown easily to admire the bright leaves. I wear only a light jacket to venture outside. Pumpkins, fake cobwebs and skeletons decorate the passing houses. The streets are quiet at night, with only the glow from the fake candle inside the carved pumpkins to light the porches. Life seems predictable. The British newscasters alert us of the current events occurring around the world on the screen of the small TV in our living room. I sit hunched over at my tiny desk arranged

I held my breath as the plane hovered over the runway, only to exhale when I felt and heard the tire hit the asphalt. My father and I high-fived. We were in the United States of America. We were home .  I became ecstatic entering the airport with all the signs reading in English. After two months in which I was constant dependent for translation, these signs filled me with triumph. I could resume being a completely independent, functional human being again!  I whispered a chant of the national anthem as we emerged from the airport out into the pouring rain. It was much warmer than Poland. If I’d been living in India instead of Poland for the last two months, I’d probably regard the pouring rain as a sign of bad luck for our return, but the constant rain in Poland that occurred no matter bliss or suffering taught me otherwise.  While sitting in a bus on the way home, gazing outside the windows that dripped with rain drops and watching the familiar landscape of the passing

It rains. It rains and rains and rains. And then, it rains more. The trees whistle with the wind, and the water pooling on the streets splash onto the sidewalks because of the passing cars. Umbrella covered people in rain boots infest the sidewalks. The hood of my coat shields the top half of my vision, so I am left to stare at the ground while walking.  The bus windows are fogged with condensation, and the bus is dark because outside is only pale, dark colors. People seem more irritable. Everyone just wants to be out of the rain, so they push and shove more often to run away from the gloom of outside.  It’s dark when I wake up. It’s getting dark when I start homework.  It’s gray. Always gray.  Rarely, the days are crisp and sunny like Massachusetts' October. Instead, the days are foggy, gray, and wet. I am forced to stand at least ten feet away from the streets while waiting to cross in order to ensure I won't be splashed by the passing cars.  But in this dark