Meet Me Halfway

"Heb jij....," the French girl stopped perplexed. She bit her lip, looking as though she was wracking her brain.

"Merde, quel est le mot?," she muttered to herself. Nadeen couldn't help but soak in each word, how each syllable seemed to dance upon her tongue.

"I'm sorry," Nadeen gulped, "I only speak English." She braced herself for a harsh comment back, having heard horrid stories of how the French treated Americans. She hated how uncultured she was as it made her feel like a little girl. What's Boston compared to a city like Amsterdam or London or Paris or Prague? American stereotypes unfortunately weren't wrong most of the time. They were self absorbed and ignorant to the rest of the world, stuck in a bubble. She didn't want to be like that.

"Oh thank god," the girl giggled. "I could not for the fucking life of me remember the word for "lighter" in Dutch." Nadeen couldn't help but feel relieved. Even though she had heard her speak English beforehand, it was clear she was fluent as each word came out more flawlessly then the next.

"Um... actually I might have one in my bag," she blushed, reaching down. She didn't smoke cigarettes, maybe the occasional one at a party, but she did decide to indulge herself at the "coffeeshops" here in Amsterdam. When in Rome do as the Romans do, right?

Her bag was littered with paperwork, plane tickets, receipts, other currencies, you name it. But it felt like destiny when she found the small blue lighter at the bottom of her bag.

"Here," she smiled, extending her hand out. The girl reached out grabbing the lighter, the lightest touch of fingers grazing hers. She felt the oddest sensation go through her, an almost lightning-like feeling travel through her fingers and down her spine. She didn't understand why this random girl had such an effect on her. She knew nothing about her and yet she felt like she knew everything. Her eyes read that she was headstrong, not afraid to take on the world. Her posture confirmed it, never allowing her shoulders to hunch. The way she pursed her lips was written with such confidence. Nadeen had never encountered someone like this before.

"Thanks," she grinned, lighting her cigarette despite the gusty air and placed the lighter back down before returning to her table. And just like that their interaction was over and Nadeen felt the zap of electricity through her body suddenly disappear. But she couldn't help but feel the lingering warm that still remain. She sat and drank her cappuccino, unable to think about anything but those beautiful curls.

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Nadeen rose to hear her alarm the next morning, its annoying sound ringing through the air. She had set it for exactly 9:30am to give herself some time to get ready. She felt embarrassed that she was going to doll herself up a bit for a girl that she would probably never see again but she couldn't help herself. Inside the dim bathroom, she slowly applied a deep shade of burgundy onto her lips, trying to follow the natural lines of her lips but she felt hopeless. Makeup was never one of her talents and it clearly wasn't today. The shade in contrast made her face look very pale, framed by even lighter hair as well. She sighed unsatisfied with her appearance but knew there wasn't much to be done. After applying a quick coat of mascara she quickly made her way out into the city once again.

Today she had decided to go to a museum and chose the Vincent Van Gogh museum, a favorite artist of her's. Once upon a time she had considered being an Art History major, falling in love with the work of early nineteen hundreds' artists. But the thought of having to pursue not only a bachelor's degree but a master's as well for a good chance of being employed seemed too daunting and she decided against it. Plus her parents had very much steered her in the direction of Journalism and she couldn't say no to them. Her mother was a published author, her father an English teacher so it seemed natural that's what she would pursue. In actuality, the thought of writing for the rest of her life terrified her. She was her own worst enemy it seemed, hating every word she ever wrote.

When she got to the museum she was pleased to see the line was very small considering it was still fairly early for the city. Amsterdam she realized was a bit late rising city as much of Europe was. She was use to the hustle and bustle of life back home but everyone here was the exact opposite and she appreciated it. For once in her life she felt like she could sit back and take in the views. And it definitely wasn't hard in such a beautiful city.

Nadeen wandered through each room, her eyes wide, focused on each painting. Van Gogh was a very depressed man she had realized, his sadness pouring out from each piece. It was a shame she thought that he was never truly appreciated until his death. She felt like she could relate to that in a sense.

She didn't even notice she had ventured through the whole building until she reached the gift shop, bright and exciting, a very different vibe than the rest of the museum. Grazing over a couple post cards, she picked a few out thinking to send some home to friends and family. It was what her mother would do at least, she could hear her voice in the back of her head saying something like, "Don't forget about Grandma!".

Nadeen purchased the postcards and exited into a huge, green field that lay in front of the museum. It was actually a beautiful day, a rarity apparently for Amsterdam seeing as most days were quite overcast. She walked over to an open, grassy spot and sat, placing her arms behind her and breathing in the cool air. She smiled as she closed her eyes and soaked in the feeling of being thousands of miles away from home in a foreign city. It was a surreal feeling, she couldn't quite describe.

"Excuseer mij," a voice suddenly appeared. Nadeen jumped as her eyes shot open. But it wasn't the voice that sent shock through her body, it was the same curly hair that had appeared in her dreams the night before.