My New Home

I realized that I haven't shared with you what my home looks like here.
All of the streets are narrow and winding, littered with uneven pavement and cobblestone. The little European cars and their drivers zip around corners and narrowly dodge each other in tiny lanes lined by parked cars. There are quiet, solemn buildings everywhere: dense red brick spotted with painted stucco and vibrant windows spotting them against the grey, grey skies.
The signs dictating speeds and parking and right-of-way must exist, but for now, before I find them, everyone conducts themselves in the same, lawful, mystical manner, aiding each other in the most peaceful place I've known.
But then I'll be at a dinner, and the peace falls away. People shout and talk and curse and laugh and pass food to each other like it's a complicated dance, a choreographed life that I can't hear over the noise. In a pause, I'll utter a sentence and, always, someone echoes my accent with a slight, benevolent laugh. But then people begin speaking once more. I can feel the decibels thrumming thru my eardrum, and I know I'll be deaf before the year is out.
If you follow me to a party, a real party like the BeerFest I attended tonight, you'll see Belgians offering me beer after beer after beer, not understanding why I have to say no lest I begin to vomit beer and die in the morning. You'll have blue smoke burning your eyes and your throat despite the NO SMOKING/NE FUMER PAS signs everywhere. You'll see a practical carpet of split beers and cigarette butts on the ground, all of which will be gone, POOF, come the morning.
My house seems small on the outside. The dark, red brick and the looming mahogany door seem unwelcoming, but open it up and you will see a brightly painted foyer with a piano directly in front of the door. You'll see the multi-coloured stairs and the hallway to the kitchen, living room and the sunroom.
The sun room is my favourite. It's walls are glass, but the metal framing is a bright, vivacious red. Thru the glass you can see the insane green of the grass here, the fish pond in the backyard, the stray kittens and the cows that live there as well.
If you climb the stairs, you'll see my host sister's bedroom, neat and green and purple and filled, always, with the sound of French radio. Across the landing you'll see my room, painted red and grey (my favourites) and the bed, the skylights and the desk upon which sits the tangible gifts I've been given: the house key, the cell phone and the scarf.
But more than any of that, you'll see my new family. You'll see Vero, my host mum, the chemistry teacher who is as loving and as kind as can be. She explains everything to me so clearly, without an ounce of condescension. She feeds me like I'm starving, but understands when I'm full. She laughs at my accent and lets me laugh at her attempts at English. You'll see Jack, my host dad, the nurse who works odd hours and eats raisins constantly and laughs at nothing sometimes. You'll see Auriane, my host sister, who is a month or so younger than me but protects me from being tricked in French with the fierceness of a lioness. She's always there, always explaining when the others speak to fast, always grabbing my hand to guide me thru a crowd that is far too loud, telling her horrible friend, "Stop telling her to drink, she's said no!" She's there for me, introducing me as her Canadian, always smiling when I sit with her and a friend with a blank look, knowing so well when I understand completely, or when I only understand a word or two. And today, for the first time, telling me, "You're doing well. You're understanding so much. Soon, you'll start to help me learn English, because I'll have nothing left to teach you."