We met at Bremen Hauptbahnhof

The meeting went on forever. All I want is to get home now, kick off these shoes and get into bed. I’m exhausted, and hungry, and nauseous. I’m tired of being exhausted and hungry and nauseous. The scone made me sick. I retch at the meaty aroma of kebap mingled with the pungent smell of chinese food as I cross the Bahnhofstrasse. One beggar shakes his empty coffee cup, his eyes fixed on me as I walk by. I can’t. Not today. 

Tram 4 whizzes by on its way to Borgfeld. Now I can cross the Bahnhofsplatz, quickly, before Arsten-bound number 4 crosses my path, and while passengers are boarding bus 72 to Brinkum.

‘Repent!’ Cries the preacher to anyone looking his way. ‘Repent! The end is nigh!’ He thrusts a blue booklet into the outstretched hand of a young woman dressed in torn clothes. She throws it back at him and curses. A young punk joins her with his scraggly dog on a string, spoiling for a fight. Two police officers look on, arms crossed, legs spread slightly apart. 

‘Oh Jesus!

Jesus!

Oh Jesus!

Jesus is coming, oh yes, I

Yes I know!

Oh, yes I know!

Yes, I know

Oh, yes, I know, oh

Yes, I know!’

I spot the choir by one of the kiosks. Are they here with the doomsday preacher? I can’t tell. I want out of here. I don’t need any more talk about the future and what it may have in store for me. I hope it’s bright.

Mike, the man-lady in a bright green skirt scowls at me. I nod and walk on, past Ulrike sitting on her stone staring at me. Why do I have to know these people by name? I understand that they are people, just like you and me, but they don’t care about social norms and I feel embarrassed when they call out to me. I’m not their friend and I don’t inhabit their world of chaos and lack of social norms.  I really should broach the subject with my husband. I don’t want him introducing me to his strange friends. 

The hot and stale air of the Bahnhof welcomes me as I walk in, causing another wave of nausea as I scan the boards for my train. R41 will leave on time from platform 9, so I have fifteen minutes to kill.  I’ll go to the newsagent’s and look at books for a few minutes. 

And then I see him. At first, it’s just a military backpack on the back of a tall young man. I don’t know why it catches my eye, it just does and I look at it for a few seconds until I spot the name sewn to the backpack: Kellerman.  

Can it be? What are the chances? He did join the forces a few years back, I remember him telling me about it. There’s only one way to find out and I call out to him; ‘David Kellerman?’

He turns around, looking for the source of the voice, and spots me. ‘David Kellerman?’ I repeat, knowing it is him, recognizing the features I’ve stared at so many times. 

‘Rachel Juliette Medina Gil’, he responds, looking straight at me, his face breaking into a smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I live here’ I respond. ‘I moved here three months ago when I got married. What are you doing here?’

‘You’re married? Really? Wow…. ' 

‘Yes, and we’re going to have a baby later this year.’

‘Wow.. that’s… congratulations!’

‘Thank you. So what are you doing here?’

‘ I live here. I’m studying at Bremen University. Biology’

‘Biology? I thought you were a doctor.’ 

‘No, I decided against medicine. It’s biology for me. So do you have a job, señorita Medina Gil?’

‘Not yet, and it would be señora de Fontaine.’

‘Madame de Fontaine! So he’s French? Your man?’

‘No, just of French descent. He doesn’t speak French.’

‘Well well.. Fancy meeting you like this. It’s surreal.’

‘Yeah it is. Where do you live?’ 

‘In Habenhausen. How about you? Do you live in the city?’

‘No, we live in the suburbs, in Lower Saxony. I’m afraid I have a train to catch. It was nice to meet you in person, finally.’

‘Yes, yes, I won’t make you late. Maybe see you around?’

‘Yes, of course’

And we part ways. I don’t take his number and he doesn’t take mine. He turns around and walks away without as much as a handshake. 

I walk up to the platform and stamp my ticket; the nausea and tiredness arrested by the excitement and wonder at having run into him, him of all people, in the city I now call home. Why didn’t I suggest sitting down somewhere for a cup of tea or something? 

David and I met online in the early days of online meeting and dating, well before Tinder. ICQ’s little flower became my best friend on those long and cold evenings in my lonely apartment. The beeping and buzzing sound of my dial-up connection signalised the beginning of the closest thing to a date I enjoyed those days. ‘My sweet Rachel Juliette’, he called me. David was my companion, my friend, the one I wanted to talk to every evening for  months. We talked on the phone, we wrote letters, we talked about meeting, but we never did meet. I broke contact with him when my now husband and I began our relationship.  I’m a married woman. Should I try to reach out to him? I still have his email address. Maybe I should write to him and we can meet up.  But I can’t tell my husband. Would this be betrayal?  

I board the train and take a window seat. I like watching the city houses disappear and give way to fields, barns and horses. I’m always relieved that I get to leave the hustle and bustle of the city behind. My little home out in Lower Saxony is my refuge. Today, I don’t notice the houses as we fly by. I take no notice of the change in the scenery as we leave the city behind. I’m lost in feeling long lost sensations. He’s real, a real man that I have never touched with my hands. I had him right there, standing before me, and I didn’t hug him. I craved a hug from him for so long and then, well, I just let the chance slip between my fingers, didn't I? I’m hungry for a hug now. 

I close my eyes for a few minutes and the hungry, nauseous exhaustion overwhelms me. I want to cry now. I wish I hadn’t met David Kellerman at Bremen Hauptbahnhof. My life is here, with my husband and my unborn baby in our little house in Lower Saxony. 

The tinny voice wakes me from my slumber; ‘Next stop, Rotenburg’. I stand up and walk down the aisle to the doors. We roll into the station and there’s my husband, waiting for me. 

Goodbye, Bremen Hauptbahnhof. Goodbye, David Kellerman.