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by Anne Nies
! The thing about falling in love is youʼre not prepared for it. I was by no means
prepared. Like many things, I had assumed love had nothing to do with me. When I
was a teenager I never thought about things that had nothing to do with me. Love was
an inconvenient and unpredictable emotion, that has no business in the rational world.
So when I saw Tim for the first time, I immediately decided, in very irrational form, that
we needed to be friends. Friends are safe. The world was tilting and folding because
the universe recognized our friendly connection. It wasnʼt me, nothing was really
changing. At least thatʼs what I said, again and again, to my friends, to myself. The
funny thing about a lie is, sometimes even when itʼs a really obvious one, people let
you keep telling it. I think they may have been amused. It was quite clear that I knew
nothing.
! I donʼt remember the first time I saw him, but I remember the first time I spoke to
him. We were standing in front of the elevator, I wasnʼt looking directly at him. Well I
glanced to make sure I had his attention, but was too afraid to stare openly. I observed
my feet, and him out of the corner of my eye. When Iʼm very nervous the world fades
responded, or even exactly what I said. That happened then, my memory is one of
blank, white, blinding terror. I can build a lot, based on what I know should have been
there. Indra was there, shorter than me, and that helped; also prettier than me, that
didnʼt. I said something about Holland, about having shipped shipments there, at my
last job. It was a jumble of words, making little to no sense, coming out too fast, with
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the emphasis in the wrong places. He was nice and smiled. I thought then that we
could be friends. I didnʼt realize, and itʼs a mercy I didnʼt, that his English was terrible.
! Holland, The Netherlands; had nothing to do with me, until that day. Heʼs tall and
towering over me, dark hair and kind eyes, for the first time in my life I feel tiny. My
ignorance is also towering over me. He explains Holland is not The Netherlands,
Holland is a province of The Netherlands. Iʼve made an idiot of myself. Iʼm still in the
blinding white panic. I imagine he was laughing at me. Perhaps he was, I canʼt be
sure, but if so it was in romance novel amusement, not teasing playground cruelty (he
still does that now, laughs at me in a way that reveals his love for me). I canʼt talk, I
choke and rush onto the elevator, before the doors are completely open, and into the
corner. Heʼs right behind me. By the time the elevator has stopped, and weʼre getting
off, we have plans. I donʼt think either of us meant to go to the first floor lobby.
! We kept running into each other and plans kept happening, day after day, week
after week. When I look back at it now, it seems that how often we happened to
stumble across each other was more than a coincidence. Iʼve brought it up, but he
always gives me a sly smile and mischievous eyes quickly changing the subject. We
never spent more than a few hours apart; class, sleeping, and such irritations. He
listened and traded crazy family stories with me when I found out that my sister had
attacked my mother in a drug induced frenzy and was sent to prison for drug use and
assault. He held me when I cried in the empty chapel after the plane hit the Pentagon,
and before I knew my Uncle, who had happened to be out of his office for a meeting at
that particular moment, was ok. That semester it felt like the world was falling apart,
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although all it really was doing was changing. Through all of it he was there, a
comforting conversation, strong warm hands touching and holding me, a solid shelter in
the maelstrom. At the end of the semester, four months later, we were quite in love. I
assumed it was because when things are bad, there must be that one reason to hold
on, or else you go mad. He was my reason, and I kept from loosing my mind in many
ways because he was there to anchor me. Although, during those months I never
allowed myself to believe that he was more than a temporary support. That kind of
! The Netherlands. He was going back. It was Christmas Eve. I was in Ohio with
my family, he was in Miami with his Aunt. For the first time I looked at my home and
truly hated it. The blue and white tiles on the kitchen floor were suddenly ugly and dull; I
had never noticed them before. I looked around and noticed that everything was
rundown. Until that moment I had only seen potential in the old farm house, then I saw
nothing but decay. I had to be with him again, he agreed, I would go to Miami. My
sisters had to be told, so I did it in the front room. The christmas tree glowed in chintzy
glory; multi colored lights, the old ornaments, and stacks of presents in mismatched and
sadness, the lights of the tree glittering in their large eyes. They said that Christmas
! I tired to explain, that he was going home, to the Netherlands, that it was far and
that I wouldnʼt get to see him again, at least not for a very long time.
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! “But itʼs Christmas, weʼre supposed to be together as a family for Christmas. You
! It was a futile argument. The decision was already made, nothing they could say
would change it. The time had come, life changes, not every Christmas is spent the
same way.
! Plane tickets on Christmas eve are expensive and difficult to come by, so I rode a
Greyhound bus from Dayton to Miami. It was a long and miserable ride, the bus was
crowded, and I was anxious. What if this was the last time we got to be together, most
likely he would forget about me as soon as he left US soil. I would be nothing more
than an American fling, fun but meaningless. I spent Christmas day in Atlanta, in a bus
terminal, because it had snowed a few inches. Atlanta doesnʼt know how to deal with
snow. It seemed as though I was the only one desperate to be at my final destination.
The other travelers were clearly weary. They seemed hopeless and half dead, moping
about, sleeping on their luggage, talking in small hushed groups. The fluorescent lights
bathed us, until everything was sterile and surreal, I couldnʼt sleep. Disconnected from
the terminal; afraid Iʼd miss my bus, or that it would fill up with passengers before I could
get to it, that I would miss my last chance with him. There were so many people, dark
! Once we were back on the road, comfortable in our blue cushioned seats, I fell
asleep. There was a child next to me, a small boy with very dark skin. When I woke up
I was holding him. His mother a seat back with two more children apologized,
concerned that he had disturbed me. For the first time on my trip I felt sad, she was
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alone, I was alone, it was the day after Christmas, and we were on a bus. At least I had
! That was the beginning. It wasnʼt the first time I had travelled. It was the first
time I travelled because I had a deep instinctual urge pushing me to. If I had sat at
home I would have died. My spirit was eating away at me from the inside, I had to be
with him. Every moment apart was more difficult. It felt as though the life was being
crushed out of me. I couldnʼt think, I couldnʼt breathe, and I tried. I knew it wasnʼt
rational or even reasonable, but the more I tried, the more I failed, and the more
desperate I became. The worst part was when I finally arrived at the Miami terminal. It
was early, just before dawn. The sky was full of steel blue clouds, and it was not nearly
as warm as I had expected, probably low 60ʼs. The station was poorly lit and only a few
bums could be seen . I was filled with the fear that he had forgotten, was still asleep and
! Shortly after I walked out of the small run down building I spotted him, and we
drove to his cousins house. He had been sleeping in a room near the garage, and
since it was early everyone was still in bed. We climbed in together still clothed, and we
laid under the covers, him holding me, as warmth flooded into me. I said that I thought
he didnʼt want me, and that maybe I had made a mistake in coming. Then he kissed
me, and my worries lost importance. I stayed with him in Miami until just after New
Years, sleeping in separate rooms, stealing chaste kisses when no-one was looking,
never talking about the future. It wasnʼt like before, when sometimes he held me so
long and so tight I thought heʼd never let go. I assumed this was the end, and although
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a bitter sadness threatened to swallow me, I was determined to bleed every second of
all it held.
! He went back to the Netherlands, and I went back to school. He had to finish his
degree, and his student visa had expired. It was the first January after 9/11, the world
was full of sadness. He wasnʼt getting another visa. Maybe a tourist visa, but not until
after the school year ended, and only if he wanted to. I didnʼt expect him to call, and
was stunned into silence when he did. Then for the first five minutes all I could say was
“I didnʼt think you would call.” What I really meant was I didnʼt think you wanted to
continue our relationship. He told me that his ex had moved out, “after letting her bird
shit all over my books, theyʼre ruined.” He invited me to visit, promising that the ex
would not be around, and that she had decided to be a lesbian. I had spring break on
the way, and a trip to Europe had been on my to do list for some time, so I booked
tickets. I allowed a small flicker of hope, that maybe this was something real; then
quickly squashed it under the pretense of getting to go on a fun trip with someone
intimidating. It wasnʼt. I didnʼt understand what it meant to leave the country. So, I
calmly sat on the plane, next to a guy twice my age, and exactly my size. I was excited
about seeing him, but not very excited about the Netherlands. The guy next to me was
excited about seeing Amsterdam, specifically the coffee houses, not anyone in
particular. He talked a lot, I didnʼt sleep; it was the longest eight hours of my life.
! Watching the flight monitors, a clean line arcing gracefully over the Arctic Circle,
I began to feel nervous. I was going very very far away from everything I knew, for a
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man I hardly knew, and I was just a girl who was trying to become a woman. It was a
scary thought, but the captainʼs voice ringing out over the speakers was deep and jovial.
If he was calm and happy, there was nothing to fear. Although, the guy next to me was
! As we neared Europe, green forms began to appear on the screen in front of me.
They were what I had looked at on maps in school, but suddenly they lost their
familiarity. I realized they had never meant anything to me, I had never paid attention,
and I was going there. The plane was cramped, the guy next to me still talking. Who
talks for eight hours straight? Something about stashing weed in a hotel, the same hotel
he was planning to stay in. Wanted to see if it was still there. Geeze, I thought, what a
looser. He was getting much more excited and I was becoming very worried. What if
Tim wasnʼt there? What if I had to ask this guy next to me for help? What if I was all
alone, in a strange city full of pot heads and prostitutes? I needed to run, or at least to
stretch my legs. I shifted and the seat moved under me, so uncomfortable, grating on
my nerves. In the past seven and a half hours I had memorized the interior of the
plane. I was loosing my mind, I had to get off, I couldnʼt make it the last 30 minutes. I
stopped I couldnʼt panic, they wouldnʼt let me back on to go home. I thought about
Canada, fields of branchless trees and bare dirt under ash skies. I thought about driving
west and the great expanse of the Mojave desert, red and orange hughes undulating
around shimmering puddles of quicksilver on the asphalt. I was an adult, I could do this.
No matter the outcome, it was an adventure. I caught my breath and the plane touched
down.
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! As I moved towards the front of the plane, shifting in a tight anxious line, I
realized that I didnʼt know this man very well. I knew how I felt about him, but now I was
at the place he came from, and I knew nothing about it. That is; I knew they grew tulips,
and I knew they had windmills, but I also realized that was probably not the real
Netherlands. Just like the Statue of Liberty, and Disney is not the real USA. I wondered
! All airports are the same, that is they feel the same. They have subtle
differences, so if youʼve travelled a time or two you know if youʼre in CDG or MIA or
LAX. But whatʼs important is that when in an airport, you know youʼre in an airport. Itʼs
safe, and predictable. There are lots of things, like signs, to help you find your way.
This makes it deceiving, because nothing about being in the airport prepares you for
being outside of the airport. You donʼt know the temperature, or the traffic conditions, or
where you are. He was there, in the crowd, he had to be, and so I was quite confident
! Heʼs tall, taller than most American men. He always stands out in a crowd. I just
look up and find the head above all the others, and Iʼve found him. That didnʼt work at
the airport, I was in a sea of giants. I was terrified. I had never before been the shortest
person in a room, and I was the shortest person out of hundreds. There were a lot of
people taller than him. He was the same height as the women, and I was reduced to
being a midget. But he found me, before I found him, and he pushed through the crowd
to sweep me up in his arms. He kissed me, and crushed me, stealing all of my air. I
thought he would never let go, and that was exactly what I wanted.
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! We left the airport, and we went to a train station. I had to jog to keep up with his
long legs, but his hand never left me. We never went outside. There was no car. We
were going to ride a train. The train was packed, the station was packed. There were
worthless. The world was behind a grey film, a few feet around me were clear, but
everything else felt dull and hazy. He was always close, within arms reach; and
! Looking around, I didnʼt see a single thing I recognized. Even the trains were
different, yellow and sleek, with funny colored interiors, like deep red, neon green, and
rotten orange. They had high backed fabric seats that faced each other. It felt like
sitting in a box, some were glassed in, like you see in movies. I could hear the
conversations around me perfectly, although everyone was very quiet. But hearing and
understanding are not the same. No-one was speaking english, there were lots of
guttural noises. I kept thinking was going to be spit on. I realized then, the train rocking
that I was a foreigner. That this was not my home, that I did not belong. He was holding
me, and that made it easier. But it also made me realize, for the first time that we were
different. That we had grown together, but that there were many parts of us that were
! At the last station we took a cab to his house. I think he realized by then that I
was too tired to keep walking. It was dark, and the roads were cobble stone. He knew
the way, and the tricks of the road; I didnʼt. It turns out that a lot of things in our
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relationship have been that way. It happens often that only one of us knows the way,
and the other has to lead. Every time, itʼs a test of trust, turns out thatʼs a test weʼre
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