Excerpt Johnny Oops in France

Danielle’s friends gave me a going away party on a secluded
section of the beach that spread below the village of Ez, late in the
afternoon, the day before I left. They made a huge fire of driftwood.
Brought a ton of French wine from Pinot Blanc to red Syrah and a beer
called Biere de garde. We grilled French garlic sausages called
Saucissons a l’Ail. When you bite into them, herbed garlic and pork
juices squirt pleasantly in your mouth, a perfect counterbalance to the
strong dark beer.

Someone brought a big old-fashioned boom box, which blasted
out French party music by a wicked group called Rinôçérôse from an
album named Installation Sonore (V2) and dozens of others whose
names I can’t remember. Forget the misspelling of Rhinoceros. The
Album was made by two former French physiologists and the cover is
a picture by a psychiatric patient of a rhinoceros. He couldn’t spell
properly even in French. They gave me a copy of the Rinôçérôse
album as a going away present hoping I would introduce it at some of
the dance clubs I go to in NYC. Me and my imagination, I made a
decision on the spot never to exaggerate to the people that I care about.
The music played none stop, but no one bothered us. One of
Danielle’s friends is the son of the head gendarme or policeman. We
danced, partied, and many couples including Danielle and I snuck off
to make love behind the sand dunes.

Later, as a blazing roiled sun set behind the horizon, everyone
gathered together to toss me into the air in a blue beach blanket with a
picture of Mickey Mouse in black and red. They cheered my name.
“Johnny, Johnny, we love you,” they shouted in English. “Johnny,
Johnny, don’ go. Johnny, Johnny, come back soon.”

Why did I have to come a foreign country to find friends who
really care about me? Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a social animal
before, and maybe Danielle has brought out the best in me. I don’t
know. All I know is that I’m out, and I’m loving the togetherness. May
the party of life go on forever. I don’t want to be alone any more.