Sneltram

I have been thinking a lot about this story. I've been looking for any excuse not to write it, I've talked about it several times with Cecilia who, god bless her, has been close to me since the day we met in this disconnected and hyper-connected world. She made me realize that this story is the craziest, most wonderful, terrible and absurd story I could ever tell.  

In 2019 I took a gap year and started visiting my friends around the world, the first was Magdalena in France. I was randomly assigned a sit on the plane I took from Bologna, where I lived, to Marseille. Beside me there was him, Marco, we made eye-contact trying to check the hostess out and laughed. We started talking and I found out he was younger and had taken a gap year between high school and college. He liked poetry, had enrolled in humanities, and had worked in a factory in Ancona until ten days before, when a machine pierced his finger and he was rushed to the hospital, where they stitched it up. He was going to Paris because he had never seen it; I was in Paris because the ticket to Marseille was more expensive than a plane-train stopover in the capital. I stayed the night in a hostel in the 16th arrondissement, he had the b&b downtown, so we said goodbye at the metro entrance and I wished him the best of luck. The next day at lunchtime I was with Magdalena at the old port of Marseille. We walked around the city reminiscing the times when we worked together in a bar in Bologna. We had a great few days, walking a lot and drinking just as much, almost forgetting to eat. One night we ended up drunk and, as we rushed to her house to have sex, she told me that her flatmate was bringing home a guy she had met the night before, that he was a peculiar guy, and that she was very nervous. Of course, I said that I had no problem with it at all, that in twenty seconds we would be in her room anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. When we went up the stairs kissing and almost breaking down the wooden door, I almost didn't want to believe what I saw. The flatmate was up making coffee, even though it was two o'clock in the morning, and leaning on the kitchen table was Marco. I forgot where I was and we hugged, bursting out laughing, almost out of male solidarity, but especially out of relief. I was glad to find an accomplice in that situation, he was glad not have found himself some maniac who maybe didn't like his presence in the house. We ended up getting drunker, the four of us, together at that table, with warm Pastis that was leftover in the cupboard, laughing and screaming until dawn called us back to attention. Magdalene forgot my presence that morning and fell into a coma as soon as we touched the bed, and I was ok with that. When we woke up that afternoon, Marco was already gone, leaving a portrait on Magdalene's roommate's desk. I felt a little bad about it but at the same time I was beginning to admire the little bad boy I had met so casually and who entered people's lives as lightly as he left them.  

I called Isabel and, three days later, she picked me up at the Eindhoven airport with a huge smile. We greeted so loudly I was almost worried that security would come and frisk us. When I see Isabel I go dumb, we met in Spain and she's the funniest girl I know. I never slept with her; in fact, we helped each other out with our Tinder dates. Fortunately, Isabel had a car, so we had a chance to catch up while putting on our favorite songs that reminded us of happy times in Barcelona. I left my backpack in her trunk when we decided to stay directly in downtown Utrecht, since she lived slightly outside. The rest of the day was a blackout; I got drunk fast so I don't remember exactly how I arrived at the Basis nightclub across the canal. Isabel was trying to explain me how to get back to her home with the Sneltram. What is the Sneltram? Isabel wanted to go home because she was driving and couldn't drink anymore, but I was hyped and had started flirting with a friend of hers, so I begged her to leave me in there and meet me home. What followed was a source of more regret for the next morning. At this club they recycled the cups, so when you brought ten back they gave you a free beer, so in total darkness, physical and mental, I tried to do it. I had my shirt pocket full of stacked cups when I ran into Isabel's friend who I was hitting on. She asked me where have I been, I said that I was going to eat, because I didn't know how to lie to her, since I didn't want to look that drunk. She was obviously puzzled by the answer, since we were in a nightclub, but she laughed and tapped the cups in my pocket. She said, "Are you collecting them?" it was a clear attempt to tell me she didn't care I was weird, she liked me. I didn't get it, so I laughed, told her I had the car leaving any minute (I meant to say bus, but foreign languages and alcohol don't mix) and drove off giving her two very awkward kisses on the cheeks, which she interpreted first as a very clumsy attempt to kiss her, then as an escape. The thing that really hurt, I thought as I walked on the banks of the Uraniumkanaal, was the fact that after a split second of discomfort, I had sensed that she would be ok to kiss me when I said goodbye to her. Instead, I was walking alone with cups stacked in my shirt pocket, in a cold city I knew nothing about. The homecoming, or rather, the attempted homecoming was a predictable disaster. I found myself in an industrial area outside the city after changing two Sneltrams, that I later found out was simply a bus. I squatted down on the ground to put my thoughts back in place, when I heard another tap on the cups in my pocket. "I was told the Netherlands was environmentally friendly, but letting tourists clean the streets seems excessive." I manly started crying as I jumped on Marco hugging him like he was my childhood friend, he laughed and went along. He told me that he had taken inspiration from my Paris-Marseille trip to save money. He had taken a hostel in that area of Utrecht; the next day he had a train to Rotterdam. I told him my disastrous evening in twenty slobbering seconds, and he took me under his arm and told me I would stay with him tonight, because I was in no condition to wander around the Netherlands looking for an address I did not have. In the hostel he told me about his journey from Marseille to Brussels, hitchhiking. He Couchsurfed one night there, met some Neapolitans who recommended Rotterdam as a spectacular alternative to Amsterdam, and the next day he took the train. We said goodbye early the next morning, I promised him I would visit him in Rotterdam soon and I dragged myself to Isabel's house, whose home address was sent to me in that moment. When I saw her, I apologized twenty times, told her I would never leave her alone again, and she, in response, told me that her roommate had just found a two-month internship in the European Parliament in Luxembourg, so a room was free where I could stay as long as I wanted. I took the chance, I quickly found a job as a private driver for events, and I loved it. One evening, I left work late and joined Isabel, who had insisted on meeting her downtown at a bar that I didn't like so much, plus I was very tired. When I arrived she met me with her usual smile, next to her was that girl I was hitting on at that club. "I hope you remember Cecilia," she told me. I was shocked more by the fact that I never knew her name than by the fact that she was there. She was amazing, more than I remembered. Tall, thin, wavy black hair, exactly the way I like it. "I see you lost your cups," she said, laughing. I laughed too, embarrassed, and took the opportunity to apologize. She told me that there was nothing to apologize for, and that in fact I had seemed nice to her in my enormous difficulty; after all, she understood me perfectly. We kissed on the bar sofa two hours later, had a date two days later, and started sleeping together regularly two weeks later. Her black hair kept me pinned in bed every morning because I couldn't stop stroking it, it felt like touching silk. We would listen to Isabel coming and going, and we would be stuck in each other's bodies as we heard her going up and down the stairs of the building. It felt awesome.

Dante and Amanda's call came just before Isabel's former roommate's two-month internship ended. The little Mexican philosopher and the little crazy Brazilian girl, whom Isabel and I had introduced in Barcelona, would get married in Rio de Janeiro three weeks later. We asked Cecilia to come with us to Brazil while we watched The City of God, a film hardly suited to positively promote that magical land, but she agreed, almost crying with joy. We got our tickets the next morning.

We arrived at the Rio airport with Amanda's parents waiting for us outside with the car. They spoke nothing but Portuguese, so we laughed a lot trying to understand each others. Dante and Amanda looked wonderful, the wedding would take place two days later, but first there were a ton of ceremonies to be done. The vows, the party, the samba and the churrasco. I have never had so much alcohol without getting drunk; the caipirinha the Brazilians make is designed to make you dance, to fall in love, to laugh, but never to lose control. Dante and Amanda exchanged vows on the beach the next day. I couldn't believe how my Mexican friend had gotten so good at speaking Portuguese. They were both dressed in white and I couldn't stop imagining them in that little club in Barcelona where they met, dancing like animals on each other, sweaty and promiscuous. I was happy. Isabel was happy. Cecilia was happy. Dante and Amanda were on another planet. The official ceremony was quieter, there were many toasts, and I was able to practice the Portuguese I was trying to learn in those days by talking to friends and family, introducing everyone to my Cecilia, whom I was increasingly convinced I loved. I had never seen a person adapt so easily to situations; by the end of the evening I saw her dancing reggaeton with Amanda, whom she had officially met a few days earlier. As we stood on the beach at nine in the evening, after the ceremony was over, with the bride and groom and close friends, I decided that once we were back in Europe I would ask her to live move in together. I hated the Netherlands, it was cold and people weren't like in Naples, however, that country had given me Cecilia, I owed them my life. 

Around eleven I finally had those ten minutes of attention that the groom can give you personally at weddings. Dante told me that a friend of Amanda's brother was playing techno that night in a club in Rio. I didn't really know what to do, I would have loved to, but the next day we had the bus to Iguazu Falls, which I definitely wanted to see after all the stories my parents and then Amanda's parents had told me. I asked him how far it was and he assured me that by Uber it only took twenty minutes to go and twenty minutes to come back. The girls told me smilingly that they were not coming, so it was just me and the bride and groom going. I gave a huge kiss to my best friend and my, basically, girlfriend. When we got to the club, it was just what I liked: a dark club with techno and a ton of people just enjoying the music. We had drinks and went dancing. I don't usually like to get near the dj booth, but that night they insisted because in Latin America, "you either dance glued to each other or you don't dance," so I threw myself in. After a half-hour of dancing with my eyes closed to hear the music better, I opened them again and for a split second I thought I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. In front of me, drink in hand, looking at me standing still in all that chaos was Marco. We made so much noise when we greeted that this time the bouncers really came and asked us what was wrong. We calmed them down and went to talk near the bar, as we gulped down shots of cachaça. Before telling me about his absurd trip he scolded me like a professor for not going to Rotterdam, but when I explained why and offered him a round of shots, he mellowed like a child. In the Netherlands he had met a group of people who were touring Europe in minivan, had tagged along, and had seen all of central and northern Europe. When he got tired of the weather he flew to the Canary Islands and started working in a surf rental shack. He learned to surf and followed his boss to the world's most popular destinations for surfers. After Australia and California he could not help but go to Brazil, and that is how he happened upon that club, which his boss knew because the owner was a friend of his. He told me that night was our only chance to party, because he was going to Argentina two days later. At that point I was so into the situation that I did not notice that Amanda and Dante had run off to consume their wedding night on the beach, did not remember that doing drugs is an awful idea, and did not even realize that it was nine o'clock in the morning and I was stuck in a hole in Brazil. By the time Marco told me about afterparties on the beach, surf sessions, caipirinhas at the chiringuito I had stopped connecting thoughts and asked him to drive me home. Arriving at the front door Isabel and Cecilia were leaving to catch the bus. I tried to apologize, but they were obviously quite angry at me, rightly so. Isabel punched me on the arm while hinting at a smile, but I knew this was her way of telling me she was angry. Cecilia looked at me with an uncertain smile, kissed me on the lips and left. I really wanted to go but the idea of traveling hours in the middle of the forest made me want to die. I threw myself into bed, which was spinning, but I was also spinning because of drug-induced insomnia. After two hours I fell asleep, after telling Dante that I would cook diner to thank for the hospitality and to celebrate the newlyweds. I would talk to Cecilia in Europe, everything would work out. 

I woke up at ten in the evening, darkness and dead silence around, there was no one there. I picked up the phone to see what time it was and found a message. 

There is no way to know whether sometimes it is better to die or to be alive. If you ask the living, they can tell you anything, but deep inside they perfectly know the would want to be on the other side. If you find a way to ask the dead, it means it is too late to make any decision for you, no matter what they answer. When something important happens, it is very easy for us to go looking for a cause, an effect, a coincidence. If we think about every moment of our lives, we can reach back to the exact second when a seemingly pointless decision traced a specific path that led us there. This knowledge can be terrifying but at the same time exciting because it makes us realize that every path we choose to take can lead us to a series of events that can turn our lives upside down. Whether it is deciding to go shopping at one supermarket rather than another, the decisions we make all day, every day, have the power to mark the rest of our lives forever. 

The bus where Isabel and Cecilia were traveling went out of track because of rain and crashed into a cliff in southern Brazil; there were no survivors. To Isabel I had promised never to leave her alone again. The love of my life, Cecilia, god bless her, is still close to me since the day we met in this disconnected and hyperconnected world. But she died not knowing I loved her and, by the time I get the chance to apologize to her, it will be too late to make any decisions.