Where the Hell are you?

Do you ever wonder what happened to old friends? About once a month, I think about what my friend from France is doing. Did she kill herself as I fear? Did she end up dumping her drug habit and going to school? Did she hook up with some German tourist who smelled like Drakkar Noir and have a bunch of babies?

The last time I heard from her was seven years ago. It was the summer between high school and college. I was working for my aunt and uncle, who owned a motel and a coffee/icecream/sandwich shoppe (that's how they spelled it) in mountains in Colorado. They liked to hire foreign exchange students to work for them, so it made sense that the first person I ever had to share a room with was half Japanese, half French.

Her name was Miya, her father was a Japanese sleep scientist working in France and her mother was French and had killed herself by jumping off of a building shortly before Miya came to the U.S.

I guess I'd lived a pretty sheltered life, and she was a breath of scary, fresh air. Her first day, she showed up wearing a sports bra and some floppy pants, highlighting her diamond encrusted belly button ring. I'd never been around someone who I knew had a belly button ring.

I wasn't sure about her at first, she came off as very worldly and intimidating. However, because I can't help myself and love to tell other people how to do things, I started helping her understand both American slang and culture, and we became very good friends.

The beginning was rough. We got up early every morning, walked down the mountain to the motel, then worked until noon as maids cleaning and making beds. After an hour lunch break, we'd go to work in the ice cream shop.

On one of our days off, I came back to our shared room at my aunt an uncle's very large house to find her passed out on the floor of the bathroom. Oh, did I forget to say that she was an anorexic/bulemic who'd been taking her dead mother's antidepressants and other medications? She'd evidently binged on a jar of peanut butter from the pantry and smeared it all over the walls of the bathroom before passing out.

I called my aunt, who took away Miya's stolen medications and I think had a serious talk with her. I was freaked out by this, but wanted to help her get better.

For the rest of the summer, we had a lot of fun and I introduced her to Beavis and Butthead, one of my favorite movies "French Kiss" (She said Kevin Kline's accent was horrible), horseback riding, the natural hot springs, and even driving.

While I didn't bring my car with me to Colorado, (hence I walked/hiked everywhere and was in the best shape of my life), I did have a high school friend come visit me and I taught Miya to drive his car. Despite being a few years older than me, living in France had not afforded her the chance to ever get behind the wheel. She was delighted for the experience and taught me a smattering of French that summer.

She told me she had an older sister in Germany who kind of looked out for her and a younger brother that was still living with her dad in France. She didn't know what she was going to do once she got back to France, but she did say she was going to move out of her boyfriend's apartment. She said she'd thought about suicide before, but didn't think she could do it. She wouldn't really talk about her mom, understandable. We didn't really talk about guys much, but she did manage to pick up a few of the single motel guests.

When I left to go to college at the end of summer, she stayed on for another month in Colorado. She sent me a few pictures a month later. I wrote to her in Colorado and in France, but have never heard back from her.

I still wonder what she's doing, or if she's even alive. And I always think of her when I smell the perfume magique noir.