Train to nowhere

I'd been outside of United States before but never to a place where English wasn't the first language. I felt a fair amount of trepidation as we boarded the train for France, wishing I'd taken better advantage of the "French" app Brandon had downloaded to my phone 6 weeks earlier. The loudspeaker came on above us as we worked to fit our luggage like tetris pieces into the undersized storage areas. Announcements first in English, then in French. My heart quickened. My sweetheart settled in by the window after offering it to me multiple times. It's his favorite place in the world, the window seat. I cozied into the isle seat next to him and and plugged my headphones into the splitter so I could listen to the cliff notes of "how to learn just enough French to survive in France."

Pardon moi, parlez vous Anglais?

My eyes began to wander, taking note of our fellow passengers. A late 20-something man across the isle, a French hipster? Clean cut, handsome, pre-occupied by something electronic. In the seat next to him was a willowy Asian girl. Her eyes caught mine and she quickly held up a piece of paper. "Excuse me?" She said in extremely broken English. She stood up and strained over the man to hand me the paper, a train ticket, her train ticket. "Paris?" she asked? I handed it over to my trusty travel agent who confirmed that yes, she had the correct ticket, and yes, she was on the train to Paris. She nodded her head in gratitude and a look of relief joined her easy smile as she sat back in her seat. Loud speaker, English, French, and the train begins to pull out of the station. I look back at the girl. Maybe early 20s? Beautiful, long, black hair pulled over to one side, that cascaded down her shoulder and arm. Flawless skin that glowed from the inside out and a smile that played on her lips for the entirety of the night. She amazed me. How brave she was traveling by herself at such a young age. I envied her adventurous spirit, her confidence and I wanted to tell her as much, but I didn't. Because there was a hipster and a language barrier separating us.

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 We pulled into the station, loudspeaker, French. The doors opened, the tetris pieces were picked up and dragged awkwardly out into the empty building. All of the sudden everyone was French. The passengers that had surrounded us moved adeptly to the kiosks, purchasing tickets to the Metro. We jumped in line. Our turn. Screen is in French. Surprise, American credit cards work in England but not in France. No euros. No Metro. And as quickly as the station had filled up it was empty. It was the middle of the night, every window closed, every worker gone. I began to panic. And then she was by my side, gesturing for help, with the kiosk. I could tell our presence was a comfort to her, a safe, middle aged couple she could trust. I tried to explain that we were stuck too as we watched Brandon try to navigate the kiosk, then the station map. "You are pretty." She said as clear as day. And instead of rewarding her for extending a compliment and using perfect English I felt embarrassed, and repeated different words back to her, in a questioning manner, as if I hadn't understood. She was crest fallen. We parted ways to look for help, breaking off into a dark, silent station. Why did I let her go on her own? Why hadn't I locked my arm thru hers and stayed with her until I knew she was taken care of? Why hadn't I accepted her compliment?  And told her just how amazing I thought she was?

I thought about her all that night, and for the next few days. And I still think about her from time to time.

Some people we just never get second chances with.