Dear Lucie,

This one has to be in English . Sorry but somehow French does not seem to apply to what I have to write just now.

The train chief just announced that we are leaving Willcombe, Delaware. Where is Willcombe Delaware, exactly, is not very clear to me.

I sometimes raise my eyes from the keyboard. They dwell on tiny greyish houses, with their small porch, their American flag, their sparkling SUV and Basketball loop. Suburban America. My eyes feel so new while looking at this unfamiliar landscape. Yet I know it from somewhere. From the movies, from Daniel Clowes’ comic books. It feels strange. Then there are the warehouses, the Wal Marts, the Office Depot, the Dunkin Donuts, filled with their parking spaces. I wonder what it is like to grow up in Willcombe, Delaware.

Delaware, Lucie! Doesn’t it remind you of when we used to read those Indian stories? John Long Rifle? It was right there, in Delaware. It’s hard to imagine now our heroes of yesterday crouching there in the forest on some exciting adventure.

Now the warehouses give way to lakes and forests, and for a minute I can see the Atlantic, our beloved Atlantic. But from the other side. You know I remember when I used to sit in Ile d’Oleron, on the beach, when I was small. My grand father liked to point at the horizon and say “Look, on the other side, it’s America! Can’t you see the Statue of Liberty? New York, look, just over there!”. If I squirted my eyes hard enough, I could see a skyscraper or two, jut over the waves. Now as I ride on this train to Washington, I think of my grand father. I feel like waving my arms and shout “Hey, granpa, can you see me? I am on the other side!”. I hope he can see me, wherever he is, and knows I think of him.

This now Baltimore, and I must say I am a bit homesick. Funny how the US does that to me.

Soon, it will be Washington. I am looking forward to a hug, on arrival. It will be good, after this week, to see a friend. I am back tomorrow, and thinking of you.

Je t’embrasse.

Ton Amie.