A foreign affair

It was in sweet New Orleans. New Orleans, where fools go to die and be reborn in a new man, only to find that over time he falls back down again. The same old fool, the same old heart. All thanks to Mardi Gras
I went to the night club with an old friend of mine. It was, as always, loud music, young people being drunk and most of all, really not my thing. I dropped my friend off and waited for him to get drunk and pick up girls. I then left him and went outside for a drink. I found a small café and sat down at the bar. I ordered a cup of mint tea and warmed myself. Looking around I saw 3 elderly men and an older woman playing cards, some construction workers smoking cigarettes and drinking through the night, a man sitting in the back reading a book and a waitress bringing around glasses of whiskey, beer and wine. I turned back around and noticed the bartender walking back over to me.

"The name's Frank." he introduced himself. "William." I replied, shaking his hand. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asked with one eyebrow lifted. The wrinkles on his forehead caught my attention. I was wondering how old he was as I answered. "No, I'm not. I'm on vacation with a friend of mine. We flew over from Belgium last night." "Belgium, that's in Europe right?" I nodded conformingly. "Yeah, my wife loves your chocolate. Your capital is Bruges right?" God, I hate it that ignorance. Make one movie in a city and that city is automatically and immediately promoted to the capital of its country. "No, it's Brussels.", I replied, obviously agitated. "So where's your friend now?", he asked. "By now, he's probably scoring some chicks in the local club here. I last saw him talking to a leggy blonde at the bar." "Why aren't you with him?" "Those kind of places aren't my thing.", I replied. "I'd rather have a nice and quiet bar in a dark alley than a loud and crowded club." "Amen to that!", Frank replied. "Well, son. Welcome to the city. Welcome to New Orleans." I smirked and laughed at this old bartender as he stood there with his arms high and wide. Frank walked away to help some other costumers. I stared out of the window and wondered about my friend and how he was doing. A few doom scenarios popped into my head, but I quickly discarded them, convincing myself he could take care of himself.

A girl walked in and sat down at the other end of the bar. I checked her out and try to take up every little detail. She had long brown hair that covered her shoulders as an autumn blanket. She was wearing a dark red overcoat and a brown scarf. She was wearing tight black jeans that beautifully brought out her legs and thighs. I caught only a glimpse of her eyes and lips, but even then I could see how intoxicating they were.
I found myself staring at her so I abruptly turned my head, hoping she didn’t notice.
Frank walked over to her and they started chatting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them waving from time to time. At a certain point I noticed that Frank was pointing at me and that the girl turned her head to look at me. I acted like I didn’t notice and kept staring into my tea. Frank walks away from the girl and starts to wash some glasses. I was looking out the window when she sat down next to me. I heard a soft, soothing voice behind me. “Hey...” I turned around and saw her beautiful brown eyes. I stopped thinking for a sec as I gazed into them. I slowly answered. “Hey, how are you?” “Fine. And You?” “I’m doing okay. So what’s your name, might I ask?” “The name’s Alice.”, she replied. “Alice Waits. And yours?” “William.” I said, while offering my hand. “William Magits.” She was surprised at first, but then shook my hand. I felt her soft skin and looked at her slim fingers. Slender but not bony. It was the hand of a girl that takes pride in her appearance, but isn’t arrogant or posh. Everything about her gave me this impression. She cared for her clothes and body, things I often forget I must admit. “So where are you from, William?” “Belgium. I’m on vacation with an old friend of mine. We’ve just graduated from high school so we decided to come to New Orleans to see where Jazz was made.” “Well, welcome I guess.” “Thanks” “Belgium...Belgium...isn’t the Belgian capital Antwerp?”

We had seated ourselves at a table in the back next to a window and talked all night. She told me about all her favourite spots in New Orleans. The street behind the church, the little café at the end of the main street and her hide-away on top of the old movie theatre. She talked about her little brother who was trying to do everything she did. About her singing career and her gigs in several bars in New Orleans. As time went by we had switched from mint tea and hot chocolate milk to wine and whiskey. We discussed all the topics that come to mind with small talk. The weather, school, health, politics and family. And evidently we ended up at the topic everyone wants to discuss. Love. She told me about her last relationship and how that ended because her boyfriend winded up in bed with another girl. He broke her heart, but accepted that he had fallen in love with this other girl.

“It was a Saturday night. I came home from going out with some friends and when I entered the bedroom I saw him on top of this blonde haired girl. I stormed out the door and just started walking beneath the street lights. I cried the whole time, not caring about what others were thinking. I eventually ended up in a bar, where I started drinking. It was almost closing time when the bartender walked over to me and asked what was wrong. I told him the whole story, from how I met him to what had happened. He didn’t say a word during. He just listened. He stayed with me until the morning light came through the windows. He didn’t force me to talk. He let me decide what I said and what I didn’t. And in the end, I felt relieved. The weight on my heart had been lifted and I could think freely again.” “That must have been some bartender.” “He was. And he still is.” “You really should take me to that bar. I’d love to meet that guy.” “You already did. Frank was the one that helped me through that night. He made sure I saw that morning light. Ever since that night, he has tried to help me find someone who’ll treat me right and won’t ditch me for any other girl. And that’s why he told me to come and talk to you.” “Me?” “Yes, you. He told me that you’re a calm and mellow guy and that I should certainly come talk to you and welcome you. And I’m definitely not sorry about doing so.”
I looked at Frank and silently thanked him. We decided to leave. I proposed to walk her home, seeing a city at night isn’t the place to be for a girl like her. She said yes and so we were on our way. We strolled down some streets and talked about the vacations we had had. She told me she always wanted to go to India for several weeks, because of its diversity. We eventually ended up at her doorstep. The porch light sprung on.

“This is it.”, she said, pointing at a house with a large brown door. We walked up a small flight of stairs, ending up right in front of her house. “Thanks for the wonderful evening.” ”You’re welcome.”, I replied with my hands in my pockets. “I’m really glad Frank told me to come and talk to you.” I start to blush and look down. “Mind if I come in for a cup of coffee?”, I asked softly, tilting my to look into her eyes.”Make it a whiskey and we’ve got a deal.” I smirked and looked up. “Alright, a whiskey then.” We both smiled as she led me into her house.

The following hours we talked about our hopes and dreams, eventually falling asleep on the couch in each others’ arms to the sweet melody of “P.S. I love you”. The next couple of days we went sightseeing and every night we went to Frank’s bar. The end seemed years away and yet every night we were overcome with the knowledge that I would be leaving soon and every time there was Frank to pull us through. We spent most of the nights at her place and would meet up with my friend in the afternoon. We went to some clubs together and almost every night my friend scored some other chick. As they went to the hotel, we went to Alice’s.

It was my last night in New Orleans. I hadn’t heard from Alice the whole day. I went to Congo Square with my friend, as a last homage to the birthplace of Jazz. Evening was coming up and the moon slides into place. It seemed that Alice wasn’t coming that day. So I went to see Frank. I sat down and ordered a whiskey. The bar was empty and the streets were dead. My friend had gone back to the hotel room to pack.
I stared down into my glass, drowning in sorrow, before drowning in the liquor itself.
After a while Frank walked up to me and we started talking.

“Well, if it isn’t one of the two love birds. Where is Alice?” I kept staring into my shot glass and answered: “ I don’t know, Frank. I don’t know. I’m leaving tomorrow and I haven’t seen her all day.” Frank looked at me, worrying, and stayed silent. “ We’ve had the most wonderful two weeks of our lives and now she won’t even come say goodbye. Hard or not, you at least come and say goodbye to the one you love.” “She just got her heart broken, son. Maybe she’s afraid meeting you will break it again.”, Frank answered softly. I started to feel like a fool for not thinking of that, but that self-pity quickly turned into anger. “But what about my heart? I’m leaving a lover too. And I don’t even get the chance to bid her farewell. That’s just cruel. I mean how can she do that to me?” Frank started shaking his head and walked away, deciding that I was lost for reason.

I ordered one glass after the other, but because my mind was full of sorrow and remnants of her, the glasses emptied slowly. I only looked up from my yellow mirror to search for Frank or to see Alice come in every time the door opened, which resulted in disappointment every single time. Hours passed, people entered and left. But only Frank and I stayed, like figures from ‘Nighthawks at the diner’. Everyone had left and Frank was putting the chairs onto the tables. I had been talking continuously, reminiscing about all I had discovered in New Orleans, sometimes remembering in pain and sometimes in nostalgia. I was just telling the story of how we went to her place after going to a theater, when the bell of Frank’s bar rang one more time.

I slightly turned my head to see her walk in, wearing her red overcoat. Frank was wondering how this would turn out, as she stood there, completely still, and looked at me. She seated herself next to me, facing me. She wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to start. So I opened for her: “You’ve come to say you’re sorry. To say you shouldn’t have stayed away, but come and spend my last day of New Orleans with me. But the pain and sorrow, that comes with all goodbyes, was too big. And you hope I can forgive you. Well, the problem is: the day has passed, so sorry is too late and I’m leaving in a few hours, so you’ve missed your chance. So why don’t you just say goodbye and walk right back out of here, because I don’t know if I can forgive you.” She just sat there and listened. She didn’t interrupt me or even made a sound. She just waited and listened. And when I was done talking, she looked at me and at the glass in my hand.

“I really have come to ask forgiveness, because I wasn’t there for you. But not because of the reasons you’ve told me. I’ve no problem with saying goodbye. I’ve done it enough to cope with the pain. I couldn’t come because you’re different. You aren’t like any other guy I’ve met. In a way, you gave me back some hope for men. And I couldn’t come, because…saying goodbye to you, would mean saying goodbye to that hope. But I’ve noticed that even if you’d go, the hope won’t die out. And that’s why I’m here. To thank you and say goodbye. Hope you can forgive me.”

It was cold that morning. The cats were running into old buildings for shelter and everyone was wearing a scarf. But we didn’t notice the cold. Alice and I were still sitting at the bar, reminiscing about our time together. Frank didn’t say a word but just came over to refill our drinks when we asked him too. He even put on our song. The sun had come up and New Orleans was throwing off her night gown. Frank eventually came over and told us it was half past 9 and that I should be leaving to catch my plane. Alice and I looked at each other and went off to my last few hours in New Orleans.

We met up with my friend at the hotel and went to the airport. We went to the check-in stand and that's we’re we had to say goodbye. “Goodbye, Arne!” Goodbye, Alice!” Arne checked in and left me and Alice alone for a few minutes. “So I guess this is it huh?”, I said softly. “Yep!”, she replied. We both stayed silent for a few seconds. “I”ll always miss you, you know.” “I know baby and I’ll miss you.” “Alice?” “ Yeah?” “Be happy for me, please. Find someone right for you and do everything you can to be happy together.” She smirked and shook her head. “I’ll try, William. I’ll try” She gave me one last kiss and then I had to check in. I looked back one last time before boarding the plane to Brussels and to somewhere far away from the girl I love.

And now every time I go to a bar, I drink a mug of hot chocolate milk in her honor. And every time I hear Lee Morgan play that song, I look at the door, hoping she will enter and capture my heart all over again. And if anyone asks if I still miss her, I say no. I never show the scar she left me with. Only in my song, my poem and in the middle of the night, I show it. As a sign of my courage and my victory. As a sign I dared to love, knowing it would end very soon.