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Language Barrier

Bruna slapped the beverage out of Fernanda’s hand as she fought to keep her cloudy head clear. Music played at a deafening volume as Bruna yanked her girlfriend along while looking for an exit in the middle of a corridor as people danced. How do you say help in French? Where was the exit? People scantily dressed danced, smoked, and drank. The smell of booze and pot waffled through the air. No one cared she wanted out. Strobe lights degraded visibility as a group of people dressed in patient Johnny gowns bumped each other in a kind of mosh pit. Bodies pierced with IV drips and catheters shoved against each other aggressively.

The young American women looked in disbelief at the foreign scene while being bumped, grinded, and felt up. Bruna prayed for a way out. An adrenaline rush propelled her forward while clutching Fernanda. Pushing through the crowd they made it to a door with a red neon sign. Bruna recognized the word ‘Sortie’ to mean ‘Exit’ from a language learning app. The metal door remained shut after repeated kicks but easily opened after Bruna gently pushed down on the exit handle. They ran down 3 flights of stairs before reaching a door leading them outside. Their screams rivaled the loud music playing as they ran from the building without looking back.

***

‘48 Hours Earlier’

As she hurried through the airport, Fernanda’s travel case hit her ankle every step of the way, causing more discomfort than the heeled shoes she wore. “Ai!” she yelled then cursed in Portuguese for the fourth time, stopping briefly to rub the bruised spot on her leg that was turning red against her pale white skin.

“Apresse –se Fernanda! You have to move faster if we are going to make our flight! Bruna chastised in their native Portuguese language. She was fluent in English and Portuguese. Fernanda, comfortable living on Ferry Street in a Lusophone community, spoke substandard English. Surrounded by people of her culture most of the time, she had no desire to improve a second language and spoke in Portuguese often.

“Pull the case at your side, not behind you, like I’m doing. It will roll easier and not bump your feet. We have to check in and get on the fly list as soon as possible, Bruna emphasized. Fernanda’s brother Alberto, worked for French-E Airline. He provided them with two complimentary stand-by boarding passes to Paris. Alberto advised his sister to arrive at New York’s LaGuardia airport three hours early to pass through TSA, the Transportation Security Administration checkpoint. After passing security, they had to get on the waiting list for seats left over after paying passengers bordered. French-E flight number 1175 LGA to CDG, LaGuardia to Roissy Airport, Paris France, was leaving in forty-five minutes.

“We're not going to make it,” Bruna worried, walking at a fast pace. Before they left home, she reminded Fernanda to dress for comfort as she. White walking shoes, black jogger pants, white and tan tee top with a tan blazer on top of the tucked-in tee. Bruna picked up the pace. Fernanda, not heeding the advice, wore green five-inch heels, dark green pleated ankle pants accenting a peridot ruby bracelet, and an avocado off-the-shoulder body suit that allowed her breasts to move freely under the leafy color garments as she tried to keep pace with Bruna.

“Oh my god, stop rushing Bruna,” Fernanda said as they approached the security check-in line. “All we have to do is ask for a wheelchair. You tell them that I have trouble walking and need to express through check-in so we don’t miss our flight.” Bruna stopped walking and stared at her best friend. They hadn’t left the States yet and she already had a crazy idea that could get them in trouble. She shook her head in disbelief.

“That is a burro idea. Security is not stupid. They will see right through that ruse,” Bruna advised. “I saw a lady do it on YouTube,” Fernanda said. “She asked security for a wheelchair because she had trouble walking. They rolled her to the front of the line. We can do the same.” Without waiting for Bruna’s response, Fernanda limped over to a black security officer. She asked for a wheelchair in Portuguese. "Eu poderia por favor ter uma cadeira de rodas?"

“Excuse me?” he responded, a little too harshly. After working 13 hours of a double shift, all airport pleasantries were cut from his voice as he eyed the young woman. Fernanda assumed he spoke Portuguese like everyone on Ferry Street. As he stared her down, she communicated in her version of English.

“A, um…I nee da, ahh,” Fernanda thought about how to say wheelchair in English. It came out “Carriage for sit,” she said to the TSA officer. “You know, chair on the wheel,” she continued.

“You need a wheelchair miss?” The officer asked sternly.

“Yeah, that one,” Fernanda replied. “My leg… can’t go, need a wheelchair,” she said.

The TSA officer eyed her with suspicion. He saw a twenty-something brunette wearing tights and stilettos asking for a wheelchair with no obvious illness. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, as he observed a bewildered Fernanda. “What medical condition do you have that requires a wheelchair?” He asked as clearly as possible, hackles up along with his voice. Before she could mutilate the English language further Bruna stepped closer to them, hoping to come up with a convincing lie to get them out of a situation her girlfriend was creating. Could they be arrested? Then she remembered something she watched on a crime drama series. Add truth to a lie to make it believable. An idea formed as she read the name on the uniform above the officer’s badge.

“Officer Thompson, this is my girlfriend Fernanda. We are traveling together. She injured her ankle rushing to the airport. Her English is not fluent as you can tell, but the reason she is asking for a wheelchair is to take the weight off the injury and prevent swelling,” Bruna said in a voice she hoped sounded truthful.

The officer looked down at the high heel pumps and then at the two women, unconvinced. “Let me see your boarding passes,” he requested. Bruna promptly gave Officer Thompson her pass. Fernanda looked through her carry-on bag for what felt like hours.

“Use your phone,” Bruna insisted. I put the pass on your phone in case you misplaced the printed one,” she said in Portuguese. Officer Thompson eyed Bruna suspiciously as she switched languages.

“Okay ladies, these buddy passes won’t be honored on this flight,” the officer eventually said after viewing their documents. Bruna thought how would he know they wouldn’t be honored? He was in charge of security, not boarding. She fumed internally but kept her thoughts to herself. It was Fernanda that got them into this situation, not the TSA officer. She wondered why Fernanda was her best friend for the third time today.

The observant officer read Bruna’s facial expressions so he provided more details. “If I allowed you to move up to the front of the line, which I’m not, you still wouldn’t get on with buddy passes. It will be fully booked because of the Paris Summer Festivals which are popular this time of year. I suggest you go through the checkpoints like everybody else,” he emphasized “like-everybody-else” by enunciating each word and looking at Fernanda. Was he making fun of Fernanda’s English?

“You can walk over to the check-in line on the right, without a carriage for sit,” he said coldly. “Once they tell you what I already know, you can wait for the next flight out,” he advised sending them on their way. Bruna decided he was making fun of Fernanda’s English while treating them both like children.

The screening line moved faster than expected. Bruna and Fernanda were able to make it to the boarding gate in time for the flight with five minutes to spare. However, the TSA officer was correct. The plane was filled with paying passengers. They were put on standby for the next flight, leaving in seven hours.

***

Bruna sat on the small air pillow she pulled from her carry-on bag. The versatile use of the blowup cushion made the hard floor in the secure check-in area bearable. Fernanda sat on her over stuffed carryon after removing a brown bag from one of the compartments. “What are we going to do for the next six and a half hours?” Bruna said as she looked around the isle at other people waiting. Some played games on phones or slept in chairs. Others cuddled in light embraces.

Fernanda said cheerfully, “I know what to do. Let’s go to the French-E Clubhouse. It’s in the secure area so we don’t have to go through a checkpoint again,” she reasoned. The Clubhouse has free food and drink. We can watch TV and sit on comfortable lounge chairs.” She assured.

“The Clubhouse amenities are for ticketed passengers, which we are not. That’s the price we paid for standby. The price paid for standby,” Bruna repeated. She chuckled to herself at the conundrum they were in. “Standby doesn’t include the freebies paying passengers have. Next time we get discounted tickets from your brother and a guaranteed seat,” Bruna concluded as she watched Fernanda take a mini shot bottle from the brown bag she was holding. She swallowed half and offered the rest to Bruna.

“How, how did you get alcohol pass security?” Bruna asked while taking the little bottle and finishing the remaining liquor left inside.

“It was easy. I saw it on YouTube,” Fernanda said proudly while taking two more bottles from her stash bag. Bruna took another sip and smiled, happy that they were best friends.

***

‘Paris France’

Bruna measured the distance to the exit stairs from their hotel room by walking heel to toe. “185 feet,” she calculated. Then she took a picture of the red door sign with the French word ‘Sortie.’ The travel app on her phone translated it as ‘Exit.’ Bruna was about to time how many seconds it took to run from the hotel room to the fire exit when she noticed Fernanda watching incredulously.

“What are you looking at?” Bruna asked defensively.

“I’m looking at a worry wart. Nothing’s going to happen to us. We're safe as can be,” Fernanda responded in Portuguese.

“It can’t hurt to know where the exits are and the quickest way outside,” Bruna shot back in English.

***

First Night Out

Fernanda looked at one of the flyers she found scattered in the hotel lobby. It had black text in the background of a shattered mirror with nurses dancing around a disco ball. On the ball written in French was Le Derniere Danse. A housekeeper at the hotel told Fernanda the words on the disco ball meant last dance, displaying the address location under that. For their first night out on the town, Fernanda wanted to go to this last dance. It had to be a French rave dance party.

The event started at 10:00 pm.

“I asked the front desk to call a taxi to pick us up,” Fernanda said. We’ll have a good time. I want to compare a French rave to an American rave,” she pointed out. And of course show off my dance moves,” she bragged.

“I’d like to ask the housekeeper you spoke to what she knows about this place before we go,” Bruna cautioned. “We need more information before we go,” Bruna insisted. A car pulled into the parking lot. The driver started honking the horn in a pattern of 3 bursts.

“That’s our ride,” Fernanda said gesturing to Bruna to follow her lead to the taxi. Bruna let out a sigh but trailed behind. A fifty-ish driver with black and gray hair stepped out of the car and then opened the door for the approaching women.

"Ah, Mesdames," he said smiling. His voice was gravelly but warm. "My name is Guillaume. Where would you like to be swept away on this fine Parisian evening?"

“Go here,” Fernanda said, handing him the flyer from the lobby.

Guillaume looked at the address. After a few minutes, he turned to the women. “This is not a tourist location,” he said. “Where you suggest Mesdames is a desolate side of town. You are tourists, no? How about I give you the Paris tour? France is best savored slowly, like fine wine.” He gestured around him. “The Louvre is a treasure trove of history. The Eiffel Tower is magnificent, yes?” he smiled. “We finish with a walk along the Champs-Élysées; watch the Parisians stroll, and sip coffee at a sidewalk café.

Bruna looked at the man, then Fernanda. She wanted a personal guided tour of the city of love, but she promised Fernanda she had dibs planning their first night out on the town. Fernanda shot Bruna a look that read this night is non-negotiable.

“I thank you very much for the offer but I promised my girlfriend she could choose the itinerary on our first night out. How about giving us the Parisian tour tomorrow? I’d be grateful for someone to show us around.”Bruna admitted. The driver thought a moment, then smiled again.

“I’d be happy to do so,” he said. “Here is my business card. Give me a call when you want the best tour guide ever.” Bruna took the fancy card with his name, number, and slogan: Guillaume Globetrotter, see the world one day at a time. “For now I’ll take you where you requested,” he said.

***

Le Derniere Danse

The taxi driver stopped on a dirt access road leading to a 3 story neglected brick building. “Wait one second please,” Bruna asked the driver as she got out of the car and surveyed the area. Weeds and overgrown grass surrounded a recessed brick building with cracked windows on each floor. The second and third-floor windows were covered with black paint. A glimmer of light slipped through the dark windows for a second confirming some sort of activity. The first-floor windows were clear enough to reveal an artist painting a portrait of a woman in a wheel chair while other people watched. Bruna heard music playing in the decrepit building as Fernanda got of the car. She waved the driver to go.

“Hey! I’m still checking our surroundings,” she yelled as the driver sped off. Bruna dialed the number on the business card the driver left but their location had no cell phone coverage. “Great, just great. I don’t have any signal bars on my phone. Try yours,” she fretted. Fernanda sheepishly looked at Bruna.

“I can’t try my phone. I forgot to swap out my USA SIM card for an international one,” she confessed. Fernanda watched Bruna’s upper lip tighten revealing her teeth. This was a tell that Bruna was getting angry.

“I’ll still check it,” Fernanda said quickly turning on her phone. “My phone still works,” she insisted. I’ll have an expensive bill but it will work,” she stated matter of fact.

“Do you have a signal?” Bruna asked again.

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter about the sim card. Maybe there’s a line phone inside we can use,” Bruna suggested. “We may as well join the party,” she acquiesced.

***

Bruna surveyed the building again before walking up to the front door. A rusty metal door had a recently oiled door knocker below a cracked view window. Bruna tapped the knocker twice. The door opened slowly. A man dressed in a baseball uniform stared at them. His face was covered in tattoos. Bruna hoped they were painted on temporarily for the rave.

“Mot De Passe,” he said in French, looking at Fernanda.

“What?” Fernanda said in English. “Is the rave party, here?” she switched up to Portuguese.

“Mot De Passe!” he asked again sternly, in French.

“I think he wants a password to come in,” Fernanda quivered.

Bruna looked at the flyer from the hotel. She remembered what the housekeeper said the words meant. Le Derniere Danse was the name or theme of the rave. Bruna looked at the tattooed man.

“Last Dance?” she guessed. “Derniere Danse,” she said in her best possible French translation.

The tattooed man bowed. “Tres Serre,” he said waving them in.

“That was the password?” Fernanda asked.

“Probably close enough,” Bruna said.

***

The women tried to get inside the room where the artist was painting another portrait. This one of a man holding himself upright on crutches as the artist sketched. Baseball uniform man blocked their way, directing them to a staircase leading to the upper levels. Reaching the 2nd floor, Bruna opened the door. Inside were lighted candles and several people in wheelchairs. Some were on hospital beds. All of them had IV’s attached to their bodies. The room, smelling of raspberry and citrus failed to overpower the sterile scent of disinfectant. The surreal sight triggered Bruna’s memory of her grandmother’s final hospital days.

“What is this place?” Fernanda gasped.

“I don’t know but we are out of here!” shrieked Bruna. They ran down the stairs only to be stopped by the man in the baseball uniform holding a bat. He held it in a menacing way as he took steps towards them.

“Up, up, up! Back up the stairs!” Bruna yelled. Fernanda screamed as she ran back to the 2nd-floor door. “Keep going to the 3rd floor,” Bruna instructed, pushing Fernanda forward. The women looked down the stars but did not see the man with the bat following.

“Since it’s not safe to go back we go forward and hopefully out,” Bruna reasoned as they opened the door on the 3rd floor. Inside, bodies pulsed in a kaleidoscope of colors under a strobing light. Fog machines churned out a swirling vortex that hid disabilities for a moment but revealed others. Bruna and Fernanda saw people with arm and leg amputations. Some had yellowish skin that wasn’t from makeup. Others had bloody head bandages. A strong smell of weed filled the air where Bruna and Fernanda were standing. These people didn’t care about their injuries. They were having fun, maybe for the last time.

“I think I know what this is,” Bruna said, feeling lightheaded from the strong pot.

“What?” Fernanda yelled back. Someone had turned up the music making conversation difficult. On the side of the wall were two young girls dressed in dark Goth pouring drinks in plastic cups. A line formed as people drank a purplish punch. Fernanda smiled at the girls and grabbed one as well.

“The flyer is for chronically ill people. They are partying one last time before dying. That’s why it’s called last dance,” Bruna told Fernanda. This is a suicide assist party. We got to get out of here!”

***

Bruna and Fernanda walked on a narrow roadway about half a mile before service was restored to their mobile phones. Bruna dialed Guillaume’s number, but the line went straight to voicemail.

“He’s not picking up,” Bruna said. I’ll try getting an Uber. My account is linked for international transactions.” Bruna pressed the app button and waited for a driver to pick up the ride. After 3 minutes a driver accepted the ride location. Bruna confirmed the pickup.

“I almost drank the Kool-Aid,” Fernanda wept. “Thanks to you we got out of there in one piece,” she said drying her tears.

“That guy dressed as a Warrior gang member with the bat was the scariest,” said Bruna.

“Warrior gang member?” Fernanda repeated.

“I mean he looked like a character in a movie from 1979. Add painting sick people portraits, the weed, the Kool-Aid and you got one hell of a story to tell when we get home.” Bruna said.

A car coming towards them matched the description of the car Bruna requested. As it stopped next to them, Bruna checked the license plate number to the one on her phone.

“He checks out,” Bruna said.

“We can get in.” The driver spoke to the women in French. They smiled but didn’t add to his conversation. The app provided the hotel location so Bruna sat back and enjoyed the ride with Fernanda.

“I’m never going to complain when you check stuff out for us on the rest of this trip,” Fernanda said sniffling.

“We’ll see,” Bruna said as she smiled at her best friend. “We’ll see.”

***