Mitchell's Story Pt. 21 - Solo Travel

When Akemi and I separated after a fight, misunderstanding, I took a trip on my own to Europe. As it happened I had a break from work then, so the timing made sense.

I realized the journey was a mistake the first morning.

Walking on the street outside the hotel, less than an hour after getting up. What do you do with the rest of the day in a place to which you have no connection at a time when you're distracted by other concerns that block whatever interest you might have in tourist activities?

Seventeen more days. Would I be counting them down? It seemed unworthy, given that I was abroad, having an experience a lot of Americans would long for and never achieve (if they really longed for it; I think most Americans just like staying home, where it's familiar, comfortable, they don't have to exercise their brains).

"No. Sixteen." I reminded myself I'd already spend one night.

How to get through them? When you're in my state, even one hour can be long. I checked the time. Not even ten a. m. yet. Then it would be eleven and the afternoon loomed ahead as endless.

My stroll- during which I was trying to make a plan, museum visit or other- led me past a small playing court where a group was in the middle of a game. Among them was an American guy- I could tell by his voice, also he happened to be nearest the sidewalk where I was. I noticed he dressed well, better than the average in the U. S. city where I lived. I guessed he took a little care over his clothes and grooming to fit in with the others, residents of that country where, as in most of Europe, the greater part of the world, in fact, people made an effort to appear at their best in public, didn't let themselves go and walk around in poorly maintained clothes with uncombed hair. This guy, stocky- rather, sturdy, early thirties with black hair and a squarish face, black eyebrows too I noticed because they were thick, wore blue pants that looked new, anyway in good condition- the color was unusual, a good one. No, you wouldn't see most Americans dressed so nicely for a pick-up game of whatever sort it was, racquetball, bocce? I don't remember. All or at least most of the other players appeared to be local residents, natives of that country. The American spoke English to them. Everyone there, including my compatriot, looked better off than people in America. I felt envious. He had successfully, from all appearances, made a place for himself in that foreign setting. I wished I could but I'd never been able to. I'd traveled abroad before but not gotten into any society other than my own, New York. I felt stuck there.

Part of the reason for the trip was to look into options beyond it- though time apart from Akemi, giving her time without me, was its prime purpose. I just had the other thought of finally escaping overseas in the back of my mind; pretty much it always was. The American with the blue pants and relaxed matter seemed to sport a new haircut. Anyway he definitely didn't have the tattered look most of our compatriots do (do I?) Even his complexion and that of the other players on the small court looked healthier than that of people I live among in New York and throughout the U. S. Their complexions were- what would be the right word?- livelier. They had better color. No doubt they enjoyed a good local diet, didn't survive on junk food, fat and sugar that bogged Americans down, especially those who lived outside of cities, for whom daily exercise was walking from car through parking lot.

How did he do it? Assimilate to that culture. I really wished I could. Of course he was younger than me. My chances were running out. If I didn't act soon I'd be an old man ranting about wanting to cut my ties with my country even though anyone could see that was no longer possible.

Someone I met at an outdoor gathering, demonstration offered me marijuana and I accepted. It might make the time pass more quickly, anyway more interestingly. The demo was about something not clear to me since I couldn't read the signs. It didn't seem a protest, at least not an angry one. The atmosphere was friendly, quietly festive- which explains the joint passed my way, welcome I received as an outsider. I didn't join the gathering- it meant nothing to me- instead smoked while walking across from park with wind soughing in sparse high branches of trees along the edge.

I told my brother Thomas about that when we talked.

He and I had started the trip together.   We went our own ways the day after arriving- as planned; he had a destination of his own. I phoned him that first afternoon by myself, though no call was expected. I'd meant to wait a few days before contacting my Thomas, let him enjoy his independence and I guess demonstrate mine. He's my older brother, after all. I don't want to be seen as needy. But I called. Damned right I did. Going out of my mind, needing conversation, a voice I knew- of someone who knew me.

I apprised Thomas of an unexpected event in the hotel room we shared. "I masturbated the first night."

I had while thinking of Akemi. Maybe I'd woken from a dream about her. "Did you know?" I asked, slightly embarrassed at the possibility it had disturbed his sleep in the same room. Thomas' pause before answering suggested otherwise.

"Or maybe you didn't notice."

I emailed Akemi. I worried she was already with someone else. We weren't separated permanently. It was only a short break in anger. We meant to get together again. But things happen. I wrote an apology. She wrote back only "uso to iu." 嘘という. her language. Japanese. She knew I could handle a short phrase like that. "what is called a lie." She usually didn't behave so peevishly. The clipped message made clear she was still really upset and likely would be for a while. I saw how serious she was, her fierceness and that there was nothing I could do but wait and hope she came around, not a certainty. I realized there was a depth to her and a will, a fiery center that went beyond my ken much less my control, as is the case with everyone, come to think of it.

What had started our fight? Probably she'd been doing something she cared about, more likely than not related to her painting, and I'd responded to her as an attractive woman and, given the bad timing, she felt I wasn't taking her seriously, and she was right to object but I couldn't help reacting that way. It wasn't the first time I'd ignored her protests and she'd lost patience. I might even have laughed and treated her like she was cute, tried to get amorous, which made things worse.

The trip was convenient, as I mentioned; a break between semesters coming at just the right time. I thought it a good idea, a way to give us space we needed (she did, at least) but my mistake became clear immediately. It was hard staying alone with my feelings, unable to act on them, in the company of strangers leading their own lives, people who didn't need me, care if I lived or died much less about any heartbreak I might be experiencing.

It's funny- wrong word- that I no longer remember exactly what Akemi and I argued about. Had I really seemed to brush off her artwork or was there something else? She'd probably take issue If she knew I'd forgotten the source of her anger, as it was obviously important to her.