The morning has a way of making the night before seem like a dream.

Almost as though the liquor did not burn her throat as she laughed and came alive with complete strangers.
So she crawls from bed jet-lagged and a bit hazy,
still drunk from absinthe and intoxicated by how the ordinary becomes breathtaking in an unfamiliar place.
Her passport is on the floor covered in stamps from places that beckoned her,
places that she never really left.

She opens the window and breathes new air into tired lungs.
A strange city stretched out before her,
looking much different from the night before.
The streetlights and Italian wine in corner pubs allow everyone to forget where they came from
and where they are going.
Long talks with strangers that become confidants,
speaking a language she has never heard but understands well.
Acquaintances, both becoming fluent in the human condition,
well-versed in loneliness and heartache.
Tonight she has the chance to be anyone she wants to be—
maybe even herself.

She sips tea with cream and sugar as she watches the sun rise above the Seine and the quaint Parisian cafes.
She listens to the footsteps on the cobblestone,
foreign tongues saying “Good morning” and “I love you.”
Maybe for the first time
or maybe the last.

She puts on her shoes and leaves the map on the nightstand.
There is nothing quite like being willfully lost in a new place that has not been felt or tasted.
She steps outside and the scent of coffee and freshly baked baguettes awaken her tired lungs;
the tourists hurry past one another headed toward the museums and attractions,
taking pictures to remember that moment they felt alive before returning home.
Capturing the one time that curiosity killed complacency.

She heads toward the station with no destination in mind
and sits on the train next to an elderly man staring out the window,
watching the French countryside pass by much like old film on a reel.
There is something intimate about sharing moments of your life with someone never to be seen again;
strangers with something to say,
a story to be told.
And after so much time spent wandering, she could use an Old Fashioned and some conversation.
She asks for his name and smiles in lieu of her own;
he sips his coffee—black with a shot of whiskey—and takes off his coat
as if her presence was disarming.

He tells her that he is returning home after visiting his children just outside of Paris.
He turns toward her and gives his coffee a stir before bringing the cup to his mouth.
His face is worn, but timeless,
like the pages of your favorite book
or a relic of a time long since passed.
He tells her that home is a vineyard just outside of Venice where he spends his days in the warm sun sipping wine,
breathing new air into tired lungs.
He tops off his coffee with more whiskey and his eyes widen as if he had just remembered something once lost;
his cracked lips give way to a smile and he begins to tell tales of first loves,
tales of lost loves—
stories meant for the big screen.
He dusts off parts of himself that have been hidden away for years.
Hours pass as borders are crossed;
the French countryside replaced by the Tuscan sun.

The train comes to a stop and brings each of them back to the moment.
Two strangers becoming confidants;
two strangers now going separate ways.
But leaving different than before.
She wanted to know more—
more of where he came from,
more of where he was going.
She felt as though she was read half of a bedtime story before the lights were turned out.
The gentleman stands up and gathers his suitcase before finishing the rest of his coffee.
He writes his address on a napkin, if she should ever find herself in Venice;
then he steps off the train and checks his watch out of habit, as if he were late.
She watches through the window as he sits on a bench glancing absent-mindedly over the train schedule
and smiling to himself.

The train begins to move and she watches him until he is no longer in sight.
She folds the napkin and places it in her wallet
next to other cards and addresses from other strangers.
Each with a story to tell.

 

Author: Monica Tores

Editor: Nicole Cameron

Image: Matthew Wiebe/Unsplash