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Somerset PerryProf. TildenCreative NonfictionMarch 32, 2009The Lotus Fruit VaccineTurn off Cañada onto Olive Hill, heading west. The ponies’ pen on the left, the alwaysunsettled lot on the right. Put down the visor if the sun’s too strong but notice the mountains inthe distance and how the brightness makes them seem farther away and taller. Slow if another car crosses the little bridge at the same time as you. Stop if there’s a truck. Always slow for horses.Check for someone coming out of the Adams’ driveway. Look out for bikers in their nylon suits. Olive trees on the right before the right turn, away from the white gateposts, up thehill under the pines. If Helen’s walking with Mrs. Gessow, say hello. Still, slow for horses, andwave to their riders.Crest the hill and slip out from the pines before gliding down its other side. Mailboxes onthe right, the big oak tree that shades the postman’s nap on the left. Approach the hill to the left,nosing forward to see if someone’s coming--Dad insists--lean your whole body forward andlook. If no one’s coming, pass the trail gate on its left and give firm gas to overcome the hill’ssteep grade. Have children push on the backs of the front seats if further propulsion is needed.The canyon dropping off to the right, bay and oak trees. Once the road has leveled, continuethrough the gate and lean with the road as it sways to the left. Turn back to the right around thechestnut tree as the road begins to rise again. If the sun is hitting the oak leaves in a way thatmakes them almost twinkle, slow down and enjoy it. As you enter the driveway, avoid Papillonand see the most beloved sight in my world: home.1

Pile out of the car with brothers: Beau, Byron, Sebastian and Winslow. Wait for Sebastianto enter through the side door and open the front door. Scratch behind Papillon’s ear and call hima good, good dog, yes, a goooood dog. Bring the luggage into the foyer. If there’s gear to be putaway, tell Winslow to take it to the garage and ignore his complaints. Attempt to avoid being theone to bring Mom’s luggage to her room, but do it if you’re told. Look through the mail but don’tmake a mess of it or Mom will be angry. Look through the fridge and take a bite of whatever there is to eat. Go up to your room. Make sure everything’s the same; make sure the rug, the bed-ding and the wall paper are all blue; make sure you can see the Bay out the window; make sureyour favorite books are there.If everything’s the same, you’re home.Call a friend and tell him about your trip.*At the end of August 2007, I pack two large suitcases, a smaller roller bag, mygreen Conservation International backpack and my guitar and board an Air France flight fromSan Francisco to Paris, then another to Strasbourg, a small city in the Alsace that butts directlyagainst Germany. I return to the United States on the 21st of December, having spent my lastnight walking around the Strasbourg Cathedral, its spires hidden in fog, and pass winter break inthree U.S. cities as well as Costa RicaOn January 13th, a short four weeks later, I board another flight to Milan, better prepared,more reluctant, this time without my guitar. My twin brother Sebastian has left two days earlier for San Sebastian, Spain with our friend Charlie (I don’t how much the city’s name factored inhis decision, but it must have to some degree). In May, once spring had finally (

finally

) come toEurope, I fly home, departing from Lisbon, with Sebastian and my oldest brother Beau.2

It is my third year of college at Georgetown University and I am studying abroad, to learnFrench and Italian, to see more of the world. I am learning to live somewhere else. I am rectify-ing anti-American prejudices. I am reading works in their original. I am continuing my pilgrim-age eastward, away from San Francisco and my edge of the Western world towards its heart. Iam digging deeper in the sand to find something solid, though I’m not sure I’m digging in theright place. I am comparing California gold to the precious metals of other lands. I am not goingto meet people, necessarily; I have enough friends. I am, perhaps, pushing myself to a placewhere I can justify being lonely when I have so many reasons to feel loved, because I’ve alwayshad those lonely moments, especially when it’s raining. Or I’ve written this in my notebook. Idon’t know if I believe it. In a more positive light, I could say I am giving myself time to think,or new things to think about.I am not Odysseus, pulled away from home by obligation and kept away by fate. My ownvolition compels me, or a fragment of it does. I am like a child on a swing, kicking myself higher to see if I will come back to rest in the same place, wondering what will happen if I swing a fullcircle. I am pushing against my orbit even though I adore gravity.I am tasting the Lotus Fruit, testing its honey-sweetness against the salt of Pacific sea air.*I’ve made new friends: Matt from New Hampshire, Ingrid from Detroit, Katherine fromupstate New York. On September 18th, we sit in a McDonald’s near the Strasbourg train station because it has WiFi, or ‘weefee’ as the French call it. Our clothes are still relatively American,still show color, yet to be muted to gray, brown and black by the imminent Europeanization.3