There are stories I love to tell, and some others I kept for myself.
This is one I never told anyone.
We met on a long distance train, traveling to the most unusual destination for two young people. In something more than twenty-four hours, we would have reached Lourdes. A small village on the French Pyrenees. I noticed her soon after our departure: open blond hair, happily running down the train’s corridor.
I loved to tease her for the funny green hat she was wearing. I guess I started already that first day, and I did not stop even after our first kiss. Twenty years passed since that summer, and I still remember the way she was looking at me.
Then he arrived — once again.
I was not the only young man on that train. There was a tall, and very confident guy, traveling with us. I knew him very well: we were attending the same high school, and he was not just fifteen centimeters taller, but also one year older than me. Both distances whose gaps I never thought I could possibly fill. That very same guy who, back at school, was talking with all those pretty girls in his own class.
We were sitting one in front of the other, on the way back from the Pyrenees: I was making some fun of her way to talk, and the cute dimples on her cheeks. She was laughing, her green eyes flickering. Then he arrived — once again — and stood by. I want to talk to you, he said. They moved away, and I stayed there, sitting alone with my angst.
She touched my hands
It passed some hour. Or maybe just few minutes. I first heard her steps, then I saw her golden hair. “He asked me to date, once we will be back home.” — My dear friends, I would like to write now that I said something smart. I will be honest: I did not. I just looked at my own hands. And I felt my head empty. To die, I though, should be something like this.
She touched my hands and sat on my side. “I told him no.” — without breathing, I asked why. That guy was the perfect idiot any pretty girl would like to have at her side. She looked at me. And I can still hear her voice, saying in a kiss: “Because I like you.”
She was sixteen
I was nineteen at the time, she was sixteen. It lasted some few months. We were eating ice creams, and she was wearing short skirts and colorful sunglasses. I do not know where she is today. I like to think that she has a nice husband and a daughter with the same green eyes and long bright hair. And that they live in a nice house, with a garden. I wonder if she ever thinks about that summer. I just hope she is happy.
More stories on dating
- A girl I met on a train.
- The girl next door.
- A brunette playing some sport.
- A blond Russian girl.
- Ten girls I have been dating.
- How to break up.
- I never had a black girlfriend.
I did not think about her for many years, until I saw these pictures of Jennifer Lawrence. This girl of Louisville, Kentucky, reminds me so much of that love of a far away summer. I do not have any picture of those days. And sometimes I think it is better so. Memories are often more interesting than prints.