It Happened on the Last Train I Entered

It’s morning in early October and I patiently wait for the train at Berlin Hauptbanhoff. I read something on my e-book. But I’m not really reading, I just scan the letters on a blank stare. My mind is lost somewhere else. I have been traveling quite a lot lately. Not for work, but simply because my job gives me the freedom to work from anywhere I want.

This time I’m going home, to Paris, which is my home of late. Home is a complicated concept to me. I need one, as humans usually do, but I never truly want one. I like the idea that I’ll never really own a house, and that there will always be one waiting for me to rent, for a few months at least. Rather than a home filled with things and comfort, I like homes from which I can depart whenever I want. Without ceremony, with no looking back.

My house is ephemeral. It’s constantly built and rebuilt on things related to my heart, of what it desires. But I don’t believe in things that connote metaphysical values to an organ, so it must be something else. Truth is that I often feel empty these days. Hard to say empty of what. It could be of ideas, of energy, of passion for life. It’s just a sort of emptiness. Maybe the world starts losing its colours after so many years trying to make sense of it. Or I guess my dispassion is the result of so many heartbreaks. With time, a protective and senseless layer started covering me with cynicism.

When the train arrives at the platform, I take a moment to appreciate those who will be traveling with me. There are not many, perhaps only one-third of the carriage’s full capacity. Most are dressed for business, the kind that doesn’t really interest me. There’s a group of young travelers. They talk in a language I can’t understand, probably Norwegian. There’s an elderly couple who seems to be taking the train only for the joy of it. They whisper and smile at each other constantly. There’s a lonely woman, probably a solo traveler. She looks content, perhaps relieved for having found the right train or for making it in time. While I examine her, she fixes her gaze at me. I look away. There’s also a mother traveling with her two children, a boy and a girl. The girl sits quietly with a book while the boy keeps running on the corridor, annoying some of the business travelers. The mom tries to stop him, but she’s not very enthusiastic about it. She looks tired. While I watch the boy run, I notice the solo woman still looking in my direction.

It dawns on me that she may be looking into me, not simply at me. She may be looking for something. She must have embarked on her travel with high expectations, and now she is doing her part to fulfill them.

Yes, I’m looking at you.

Don’t be a coward and look away just because you weren’t prepared for this.

There must’ve been hundreds of people who stared at you like this in your life, so you must know the game here.

For a moment I feel sorry for her. I’m not the type of person one should grow expectations about. But if she is looking, what does that make of me? Am I looking for anything? Am I waiting for something to happen? I glimpse at her with my head down, and she is not looking at me anymore.

Yes, it was probably nothing. I realize how fast it is for me to construct her character without even talking to her. She may very well be the opposite of everything I imagined about her. Tired of trying to decipher people, I go back to reading my book.

Some twenty minutes pass and I start feeling my eyes heavy. The train sounds always invite me to nap, even though I never actually manage to sleep. I feel drowsy, half-asleep, but sleeping with so many strange people around is a step too far for me, regardless of how many trains I’ve taken in my life.

I suddenly see the solo traveler standing up and walking towards me. She locks her gaze on me. It’s intimidating, so I once again look away. But then, on a second thought, I accept the challenge and return the gaze. We do this until she walks past me and heads to the toilet.

As expected, on the way back, she stops by my side. She asks me whether I’m going to Paris. Then she asks me if I can show her how to change stations.

“Sure,” I say. “Where are you heading?”

“I’m going to Barcelona,” she replies.

Also, please show me you’re as interesting as you appear.

“You’re not going to stay in Paris?” I ask.

“Not this time. My flight back home leaves from Paris, so I’ll be in Paris on my last days.”

I want to save the best for last.

To spend the final days with someone really interesting.

Hopefully.

“Oh, I understand,” I say.

“I’m from Canada,” she says as she sits on an empty seat in front of me.

Ok, you seem interesting enough so far, so let me get more comfortable here and see what happens on this train ride.

Now that she’s sitting right across me I realize how beautiful she is. Her hair is not very long and her face is delicate. She wears no makeup, and that, to me, makes her even more beautiful.

“What about you?” she asks with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t belong anywhere. I’ve lived in so many countries that it’d be unfair to say where I’m from.”

Hmm.

Mysterious.

“Ok, but you were born somewhere, right?” she asks.

“Yes, but it’s not the kind of country you easily find on a map. If I tell you, you’ll probably never have heard of it.”

Definitely a mysterious person.

I like that.

“Stop the mystery. You already convinced me that you’re mysterious,” she says.

“Ok, I was born in Saint Kitts and Nevis.”

“Ok.”

“Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, it’s in the Caribbean.”

“Good one. Most people never heard of it.”

“I’m an expert in geography, just so you know.”

I’m a fucking expert in geography.

Just so you know.

“Yes, I guess you are,” I say.

“So, what do you do in Paris?” she asks while she leans back on the seat in order to get more comfortable.

“I live there now.”

“Wow. It must be amazing.”

“Yes, it is, until it’s not.”

More mystery.

I definitely like it.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Nothing. But tell me, what are you doing here?”

“Just traveling. I took six weeks off from work and decided to come to Europe.”

“Is that why you’re going to Barcelona?”

“Yes, I’ve never been there.”

“You’ll like it. But I thought you were going for other reasons.”

Hmm?

What do you know of my life?

“What other reasons?” she asks.

“I don’t know, maybe meet someone. Someone lucky.”

He’s interested.

He’s playing the game.

Ok, stay cool.

Be evasive, as if you were taking one step back here.

But was his comment too soon?

Was it?

She laughs. I fear that my comment may have been placed too early.

“God, you’re quick, aren’t you?” she says.

“What? Why?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I swear it was an innocent question,” I say with a smile.

“Ok, ok.”

“I meant nothing by it.”

Ha ha.

“Do you know Barcelona?” she asks.

“Yes, I lived there once.”

“Of course you did. But I’m going there only to see the sights and breathe in the city. I’m not going to meet anyone specific. In fact, I haven’t met anyone truly interesting on this trip.”

“How long have you been traveling?”

“Three weeks.”

“I’m sure things will still happen.”

“Yes, my story could be changing right now and I don’t know yet.”

There.

I think I should be clear that we’re playing the same game here.

But was it too soon from my part?

I hope it doesn't sound like I’m coming out desperate here.

“With me?” I ask.

“Yes, with you.”

“Now you’re the one going fast.”

Game on!

We both laugh. Then we talk about the countries she visited and the countries I lived. It doesn’t take long to realize that her travel is not simply an endeavour to satisfy a desire to see new places and take pictures. She’s looking for herself in the world, and I see myself reflected in her eyes. She seems to be on the verge of finding something new, a force that’s highly seductive to lost wanderers. She slowly reveals herself as an unconventional, delightful person. One worthy of having long conversations in the dark. Conversations charged with laughters that cross the border of dawn on nights deprived of too much sanity.

“Do you know what’s the best part of traveling?” I ask.

“No. Tell me.”

“It’s the part between departure and destination.”

God, what a dumb thing to say.

But ok.

At least he’s trying to impress me.

“Sorry, but isn’t that too much of a cliché to say?” she asks.

“I guess you may qualify it as a cliché, but to me it’s already an axiom. The journey is the point where what you visualize of the destination is yours and yours alone. It’s also when you feel things you never thought you could feel about the city you’re leaving.”

Deep, but still somewhat dumb, I guess.

What do I make of it?

Well, I should reply on the same tone, I guess.

“I guess that says a lot about you, doesn’t it?” she says. “I mean, you don’t like the idea of staying in one place for too long. So, when you move so often, it’s a way of living these feelings over and over.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s not that romantic though. But you’re right.”

“And what about relationships? Doesn’t this life you chose affect them?”

Tell me why you’re single, my friend.

I want to know why someone like you is traveling here alone.

I want to know how ephemeral are the relationships in this wandering life of yours.

“All the time,” I say.

“And don’t you regret your choices sometimes?”

“No. Do you regret breathing?”

What?

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Oxygen is associated with aging. Not all, but some forms of oxygen. Yet here you’re, breathing oxygen. Breathing to live, to see, and to die as you age.”

Hmm.

Clever.

Mental note: check relation between oxygen and aging.

“Ok, I see your point,” she says.

“You can’t separate heartbreak from love. If your heart was never broken, then you never loved. That’s how I see it.”

Dumb!

What a cheap philosophy.

Minus five points to you.

“So when was the last time you broke your heart?” she asks.

“A couple of months ago.”

“And you must be a master of heartbreaks, no? With all these experiences and lost loves?”

“Not really. Being bitten by snakes is always painful, no matter how immune you’re to the venom.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Ok, that one was clever.

“What are you really looking for here?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m looking for something, yes. But it’d be too arrogant to say I know what it is. Am I looking for love? Maybe. For experiences? Definitely. I’m looking for something new, something that only traveling may show what is there to be found.”

“I see.”

That’s all you’re going to say?

“And what about you? What are you looking for?” she asks.

“I think it’s similar to you. I also look for something. I guess the only difference between you and me so far is that I’ve been preparing myself for the possibility that there’s nothing there to be found.”

“Maybe find yourself at the end?”

“No. Not even that.”

“C’mon, you must give me something.”

“Ok. I think it'd be nice to find someone to be by my side.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Yes, we do. That is, until that person becomes too real, too human to be with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wanted someone to be with me. I mean really with me. No matter how crazy or dark my world may seem.”

“A dark, tall stranger, aren’t you?”

I chuckle with her words.

“If you say so,” I reply.

We continue talking for a long time. The conversation flows very well, as though we are already old friends. When we reach Paris, as promised, I take her to the station she needs to be to continue her journey. It takes my time, but I honestly want to help her. It feels nice to help a fellow traveler. Also, more than that, I’m now completely overwhelmed by her beauty and the way she seems to always look into me, not simply at me. Her smile is also an invitation to great adventures on lands lost in time, when traveling was still a perilous and long activity.

While riding the subway towards the train station, she gives me her number and we decide to meet when she returns to Paris.

Sorry, I just have to meet you again.

Don’t you feel the same?

At the train station, we pretend to say goodbye, but then I prolong it. I tell her that I want to leave her at the platform, so we continue walking together. I tease her. I tell her that I want to make sure she’s on the right platform. But that’s not what’s on my mind. It turns out that it’s already hard to say goodbye.

Can something still happen here?

It feels like such a waste to wait until I return to Paris.

Do we share the same feeling right now?

We finally say goodbye at the platform. Two kisses, one on each cheek. It could be just one, or three, or simply a handshake, but we go for the double. Hard to know what to do with so many cultures crossing our lives. However, as we kiss each other’s cheeks, a miscalculated movement causes our lips to touch for a fraction of a second.

Was that intentional?

Was it my fault?

Was it yours?

I leave her there. Not without taking a last look at her from the staircase. She waves her hands, I wave back. When I’m already past a point where she can’t see me, I feel my phone vibrate.

“Are you really leaving?” she asks on the message.

“I have to,” I reply.

“Ok,” she messages back with a sad emoji.

I can’t believe nothing else happened.

Did I do anything wrong?

Will things be like this when I return to Paris?

God, why do I feel like this?

I can’t believe I didn’t try anything.

I can see that the train is still at the platform. I take a few steps down the stair, trying to find her there, still waiting. She’s not there. Three further steps down make me have thoughts of acting impulsively. Should I message her? Should I call her? Should I walk? Yes, walking is the key. But which way? In or out?

I didn't receive any more messages.

Maybe things are meant to happen slowly.

Maybe the—

“Excuse me, are you going to Barcelona?” I ask her as I walk past her seat, pretending to be a clueless tourist. My sudden presence startles her. But not for long. Her surprise is quickly replaced by a grin.

“You?” she says.

“Yes. I had to buy a ticket to see how far this ride goes.”

I sit by her side. Her smile is endless and invites me to the mythical places I haven’t visited in a while. But I don’t share her smile. I go for the kiss. She accepts it. There’s passion in it. Some desperation, too. But there’s also a good treasure in there. Perhaps something never found before? There’s no way to tell. Yet.

We’re still kissing when the train finally departs towards Barcelona. A city ridden with heartbreaks. I have my share of them. I’m no angel. I’m also no devil. But now the story seems to be different. My hope makes it different. She seems different too.

I can’t believe this is happening.

What will happen when we reach Barcelona?

This is happening too fast.

Am I doing the right thing by letting him come along?

It’s ok.

I’ll worry when the time comes.

Now on to Barcelona.

In Barcelona we stop at Sants station. The city is still immersed in a suffocating residual heat from the summer. We take the subway and get off at Plaça Catalunya. The square is vibrant, colourful. Colours I haven’t seen in a while.

“So, what now?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says.

I really don’t know.

“Have you booked anything?”

“No. Nothing.”

“So, it’s just you and me now?”

“Yes.”

“This travel is making a traveler out of you, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“How far do you want to go?”

“The whole world.”

“And how long do you think it’s going to take?”

“I don’t know. Forever.”

I extend my arm and we interlace fingers. She smiles. Something catches fire inside.

“Let's go.”