Dove posso trovare del burro di...

My mind goes blank. How is this happening? My friend just gave me the bloody word, and I have already forgotten it. I seem to recall a mixture of consonants, even some vowel sounds in random order, but nothing even closely resembling anything of linguistic function. I try to garble out of my mouth a random permutation and immediately regret the attempt. The employee and I stand there, face-to-face, communicating with blank expressions like two desperados realizing they just brought air horns to a gunfight.

Frustrated beyond measure, I attempt to communicate using the universal art of sign language, motioning with my fingers, outlining the minuscule object in question. The employee must think I am squeezing the udders of a cow, because he gives a little chuckle, motioning me toward the milk section. With both sides defeated, I drop the case (or he just left, I don't know).

Come on, it's peanut butter!

I guess I should have asked for the international food section. La sezione di cibo internazionale. After all, I knew how to say that. It's practically English.

**********

Those who know me know that language is not my strong suit. It is a wonder that English has survived Andrew Trees for as long as it has (some friends of mine claim it hasn't). Even so, hardly content with butchering one language to a pulp, I now continue my path of destruction into the pure-hearted romance languages; virgin with their crisp texture, melodic pacing, and exact pronunciation.

I have taken just enough Spanish in my life (four years high school, a semester in university) where it is in my head to some degree. Then I took a semester of Italian, which is pretty much Spanish with different spelling, different (often opposite) grammar, and pretty much different everything. Two years and no practice later, here I am. I'd say I can speak one language well: 3/4 English and 1/4 Spantalian.

To make matters worse, since I am in an international economics school, I have made friends from all over the world (a blessing, in itself). I hear English in my head, Spanish on the tram, Italian in class, and Brazilian (which for some reason they call Portuguese) at lunch. Whenever I want to say anything, my mouth feels like a trash compactor, loaded to erupt into my victim's ears its putrid concoction of sounds that dogs cannot hear. I cover my mouth in shame, open it for the prescribed dose, and wince as my patient takes the medicine. Then we both cry.

Not that I am satisfied or proud of this in any manner. Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back of frustration for me. I hung my head low as I returned via tram from the supermarket to my dorm, passing graffiti-covered walls on the outskirts of town, far from the inoculation of American or English-speaking influence. Those walls--I had failed them.

I feel like showing up to a foreign country without bringing the language with you is sort of like showing up to a sandlot game without bringing a glove. Sure, people will smile and be polite. You might be able to take a few fastballs with your bare hands. Maybe someone can even spot you their old beat-up little-league glove for a while. However, you just don't want to be that guy. It sucks. For everyone.

**********

My thoughts shamefully drift toward my largely unopened Italian immersion course materials in my dorm. I reluctantly make my way for the colossal tower of Nutella (why do they love this stuff so much?!) for discount in the center of the supermarket.

After all, I'm mute, not blind!