I'll admit, I was not smiling for most of the day preceding his arrival. I had been greeted for the past two days with squirms and assurances so superficial, that they felt like warnings. The airports in Europe were overflowing with stranded travellers--there were delays even in ever-punctual Germany. I had no idea whether Evan had made it to Milan, where he had a tortuous 8-hour delay. I also belatedly realized that the way I had written down my cell phone number could be confusing for anyone who had never called a European before. No one could drag my eyes from my computer screen (nor my teeth from my fingernails) as I watched his flight delay by 1 hour, then 2, then 3. It would have been impossible to catch his train to Freiburg at this point. I was a bad girlfriend, wasn't I? Why didn't I pick him up at the airport? Why did I leave him to the frustration all by himself--to save a little money?
Then, a moment of relief. With a 50-minute train delay, it would be possible for him to catch the train--IF he was among the first to pick up his bags, IF he didn't get lost in the sprawling Frankfurt airport, IF he didn't heed my previous advice that "German trains are always on time." If...
I busied myself as best as I could, watching "Leave it to Beaver," folding clothes, making pesto. When I couldn't wait any longer, I walked down to the train station, dark and deserted. His train would be the last to arrive for the night. I paced back and forth on the platform, sharing commiserating eyes with two strangers also waiting for their loved ones.
The approaching hum of the train (it was a fancy ICE train, nothing like the clumsy kerplunk of Amtrak), the whizz of white and red. I found myself chasing the train, as if it might not stop; searching for Evan's blonde hair, his red flannel coat, the bulge of his backpack.
It stopped. He climbed out. I had no words. I love you ran on repeat through my head.
He didn't smell as bad as I'd predicted.
awhhh
ReplyDeleteWhere's the pictures?
ReplyDelete