As I boarded the train from Berlin to Prague, I passed a young woman with flowing brown hair, striking blue eyes, a kind smile, and, to be honest, a perfect body. "Woah." I meant to say it in my head, but I think it was said out loud. I don't believe in love at first sight, but this was the kind of girl that makes you believe in things that are impossible and do things that are irrational. Instead of starting a conversation, I went to my assigned seat. Like going to the cathedrals, gardens, and castles around Europe, one appreciates seeing a thing of great beauty. It is pleasure enough to just be witness.
Toward the end of the ride, I went to get some food and passed the young woman in the dinning car eating a cheese plate and reading a novel. I ordered a salad, and sat at the adjacent table across the isle facing in the opposite direction. Being witness is far less fun than being a participant, so I threw out my best pick up line: "Do you speak English?"
She did, and quite well. Like me, she was American and traveling prior to starting a graduate program; though unlike me, she'll graduate with the title of Doctor. She explained that the book The Unbearable Lightness of Being was written by a Czech author, takes place in Prague, and inspired her to visit the city. She planned to leave it in a coffee shop or with someone who would find it as moving as she. Self deprecatingly, she said it was a silly reason to visit a city. I couldn't think of a better one. I tried my best to charm her between bites, reading about my adventures in Amsterdam and Berlin. She made me voice the characters, which I struggled to do with any authenticity. (Thank God there were no Australians in my stories. I find their accent impossible.) We spoke for the remaining hour of the ride, and as we pulled into the station I tried nonchalantly to suggest that we meet up while in Prague. She seemed interested, but the chances were slim. "We'll message each other on Facebook and see if we can work something out." I was skeptical that I was even going to get a friend request...
But the next day she friended me, and I decided at that moment that I was going to make every effort to see her again. It's not often that you meet a beautiful, adventurous, PhD student. The next two and a half days Jaclyn and I struggled to find a place and time that worked for two people who were living entirely in the moment. With each failed attempt, I became more committed to seeing her. I couldn't stop thinking about the encounter on the train, and took advantage of our Facebook friendship to peruse her photos, hoping for a glimpse those stunning blue eyes.
On Saturday, her last day in Prague, she gave me her travel buddy Liz's cell phone number as a last ditch effort to connect. But of course, a comedy of errors ensued whereby I wasn't able to get through, ran out of money on my SIM card, bought a faulty new one, tried calling on Skype... If it weren't for the generous efforts of two shady Bulgarians, who were inspired by my story of trying to meet up with the girl with the blue eyes and let me use their phone, the story would have ended here.
I finally met up with Jaclyn and her friend Liz at a restaurant in Old Town Square just before the trumpet player and astrological clock announced the arrival of the 9:00 hour. I ordered a drink, and the conversation flowed easily. Her dry wit and bitting sense of humor were particularly attractive, as she found a number of opportunities to poke fun at me. Like when they asked me to take a perfect photo of the two of them, and when I took a few pictures to make sure that one suited their standards, Jac gave me a hard time for exaggerating the imperfections in the first few.
As if I weren't intrigued enough with this fun loving and attractive woman (one of the Czech waiters clearly agreed and kept inviting her to take free tequila shots with him), Jaclyn dropped a bombshell: She is a diehard fan of Current TV, the original Current TV. She can recount the network's entire history and content (pod) library. She's able to recall Vanguard episodes with Christof (From Russia with Hate), her love for infoMania (which explains our mutual Facebook friend, Brett Erlich), and how lame it was when Max and Jason were hocking Axe Hair products. (I chose to omit that I wrote the script that she was railing against.) She then listened with rapture as I described what it was like from the inside when Laura Ling was captured in North Korea. The passion that I had felt for the original Current was clearly shared.
The rest of the evening was memorable and intimate, and I couldn't control the feeling that I was falling for this girl I had just met. At the end of the night, Jaclyn handed me the book that she had been reading on the train. "Maybe you're supposed to have it." I couldn't quite tell if she wanted to give me the book or felt like she was supposed to. But I knew that the book meant a lot to her, and that it was a profound gift.
We said goodbye; she and Liz took the train to Vienna, and I to Budapest. Our night together was as special as I had hoped it would be. That initial reaction that I had felt when seeing her on the train had grown so strong in such a short period of time; I felt consumed by it.
During the next few days, Jaclyn and I shared how the evening together had impacted us. I told her that what I would remember most was her inner confidence and sense of self. She wrote back, "Maybe it's the transient nature of traveling or maybe it's something all together different, but I know that you brought something out in me that felt beautiful and very much alive... I hope we meet again. I'll keep an eye out in every train's dinning car, just in case."
In my next email, I quoted a passage from the book: "Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all." I was missing someone I barely knew; I wanted to see her again. I asked what she was doing the following Sunday and Monday nights, barely a week after our night together in Prague. She responded that she was going to be in Paris and quoted a different passage from the book about the difference between fate and chance when it comes to love. Not exactly knowing what she intended by the passage, I suggested that I change my travel plans, at considerable expense, in order to join her in Paris for those two days, but only if "it really is something that you desire."
I received a response on Friday: "I would like nothing more than to spend two nights with you in Paris. But if it's impractical, please don't trouble yourself.... Were we destined to meet on that train? Maybe. And I like that possibility. But I love the possibility that out of every other connection a person can make, and out of all the infinite possibilities and decisions there are, you find each other by chance but can recognize the importance of it.... Nothing could be more romantic."
Her response left no doubt in my mind. Ignoring the cost, I immediately booked my flights, giddy with excitement that this romance was to have another chapter.
But my giddiness turned to anxiety as the trip to Paris got closer and I hadn't received a message from Jaclyn acknowledging my impending arrival. On Sunday, I headed to the airport not knowing how or where I was going to meet up with her, nor where I was going to sleep that night. Rather than fear the worst, I assumed that she hadn't gone online since Friday and therefore didn't know that I was literally on my way to see her. Nothing to do but keep moving forward.
I flew from Dubrovnik to Zagreb (within Croatia) and paid the fee to use the airport's Internet. Finally a response! She was staying in Montmartre and seeing Moulin Rouge at 11pm that night. She was excited to see me, and suggested that I meet her and Liz in front of the theater when the show got out at 1am. No mention of lodgings, but at least I knew how we were going to meet up. My anxiety began to subside and I booked a private room in a high rated hostel also in the Montmartre area.
My flight to Paris was a bit delayed, landing just before midnight at Charles de Gualle airport. Not wanting to be late, I split the cost of a taxi with a fellow passenger who was headed in the same direction, checked into the hostel and dropped off my bag, and jumped into another taxi. "Le Moulin Rouge, s'il vous plâit!" The giddiness was back, and I kept singing to myself the song Ewan McGregor sang in Baz Lerman's Moulin Rouge, "I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind. That I put down in words: How wonderful life is that you're in the world." I pulled up to the theater at 1am exactly. As I waited for Jaclyn to emerge, I purchased a white rose and stood off to the side in anticipation. I recalled what I had said to her in my email after buying the plane tickets: "I've never done anything this impulsive, and couldn't be more convinced that it's the right thing to do."
People began pouring out of the theater at about 1:15. I looked through the crowd, but didn't see her. 1:20... 1:30. No Jaclyn. With the crowd thinning out, the doormen began removing the street barriers in front of the theater and closing the front gate half way, signifying the end of the evening. 1:40 and now the can-can dancers are leaving the building. Still no sign of Jaclyn or Liz. The white rose sagged by my waist, feeling heavier than normal.
At 1:45, as I considered the possibility that I was going to spend the weekend alone, they emerged, staggering under the weight of their inebriation. I approached and mustered the courage to say, "Bonjour mademoiselle," handing Jaclyn the rose. Without acknowledgement, Liz ran off, apparently seeing something she was interested in. Jaclyn said, "Oh hi. Thanks," as she took the rose. "Can you wait right here? I gotta go get Liz. She's really drunk." "Sure," I said, trying not to sound dejected. What else was there to do?
About a minute later, they returned. Liz was really drunk. Jaclyn, far from sober, was confident she could get them back to their hotel. Together we walked the half mile. The girls were oblivious to the hungry stares of the sketchy men that sat on the benches lining Boulevard de Clichy. I felt glad to be there as a mitigating presence.
When we arrived, Jaclyn said that she was going to take Liz upstairs and would be right back. I sat down on the base of a statue and contemplated what I should say when she returned. But due to emotional and physical exhaustion or sheer confusion, I was unable to put my thoughts in order. She returned and tells me that Liz puked on the flower. "How was your evening?" She asked. "Um, I think I might have made a mistake by coming," I answer. This is as far as I had gotten in my head. I had no idea how to respond to her defensiveness at my statement, incredulous that she had done something wrong in trying to take care of her drunk friend. I tried to explain the considerable cost and effort of coming to Paris to see her, but was having a very difficult time articulating myself. This conversation was going no where good and was not the beginning a two day romance. "Let's start over," I tried. "I'm really excited to see you." I asked about her travels over the past week. She told me about the horrible sunburn she got in Italy. We were able to get past the rocky start, and before long embraced and kissed. "I'm sorry," she said. And tears began welling up in my eyes. Being that it was 3 in the morning, was it exhaustion that commanded my emotions or was that feeling of falling still so close to the surface? "Why are you crying?" she asked. "I just feel so feel so lucky," I said.
I invited her to come back with me to my hostel, but she insisted on staying with Liz. "She would be pissed if I were gone when she woke up. Plus, she cared for me when I got that bad sunburn." So we agreed that Jaclyn would text me at noon the next day, and said goodnight. I didn't realize that that was going to be the last time I saw her.
Text message conversation from the following day...
Danny, 11:13am: Phone is now working! Let me know when I should come meet you guys and we'll go out to brunch!
Danny, 12:45pm: Hey there. I think I am going to head to the Louvre.
Jaclyn, 1:16pm: Hey we just woke up
Danny, 1:40pm: Good morning! Hope Liz is feeling better. I'm about to make it into the museum. Do you want to meet me here?
Jaclyn, 1:43pm: Yeah I'll get there by 2:30. Want to meet me by the Pyramid in front?
Danny, 1:56pm: Great. Meet me at the information desk under the pyramid on the lower ground floor. I'm assuming 2:45 is more realistic.
Danny, 2:35pm: Progress update?
Jaclyn, 2:41pm: Shit sorry I didn't leave yet. Liz just woke up and she's really upset. I didn't realize last night why she got so drunk. She thinks she's breaking up with her bf.
Danny, 2:45pm: Okay. I'm going to do a 90 minute guided tour of the museum. Keep me updated about your plans.
Danny, 6:33pm: Jac, I don't mean to over interpret the silence, but I'm sorry if I freaked you out last night. I think I was really exhausted. I hope Liz is doing ok and that you've been able to make her feel a little bit better. We hanging tonight or should I make other plans?
Jaclyn, 6:48pm: Yeah I'm going to stay in with her, she's not up to dinner.
Danny, 7:03pm: Ok. I guess it was a mistake to come to Paris. Too bad. I still think you're great, and wish we would have gotten to know each other better. All the best.
That last message was hard to write. I was angry, confused, hurt... But I couldn't see how expressing any of these feelings would be helpful. In retrospect, I feel I could have said something to the effect of, "I guess you didn't feel the same way about me that I felt about you. I wish I would have known."
I'm left to analyze what went wrong. What did I miss? At what point did my passionate optimism cloud me from the truth? Here's my best guess:
From the beginning, I felt something stronger than she ever did. I'm sure that she enjoyed our night in Prague together and in theory would have liked a romantic weekend in Paris. However, she wasn't committed to it in the way that I was. How easy it could be to drink the champagne freely following at the Moulin Rouge, to get caught up in the experience with your friend, and to want to stay for every last second. I believe that she was excited to see me when I arrived in Paris, but wasn't into the heaviness of my questioning if it was worth the trip. And I think that my tears scared her. I'm guessing that looking back at that moment the next morning (or rather afternoon), she realized that we were on completely different planes, and that she should cut her losses. Did I deserve a more complete explanation? Who can say. Clearly she took the easy way out.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Perhaps it means that the easy path doesn't lead to sincere happiness. We may be compelled to pursue what is light, but that which is weighty brings us meaning. It might not be easy to take emotional risks and later to honor our commitments, but the rewards are vast. However, so often we are driven by something different...
"The goals we pursue are always veiled. A girl who longs for marriage longs for something she knows nothing about. The boy who hankers after fame has no idea what fame is. The thing that gives our every move meaning is always totally unknown to us. Sabrina was unaware of the goal that lay behind her longing to betray. The unbearable lightness of being--was that the goal?"
