I was impressed that Sinbad had picked up the ball again after I’d let it drop.  I hadn’t been expecting to hear from him, and I texted him back quickly with my free hours on Friday.  Most people had off on Friday, turning the holiday into a four day weekend, but I had to teach one class on Friday afternoon.  Drat the luck:

 

“Sounds great. I’m free before 1:30 or after 5:00.” 

 

I went back to bed and drifted for a moment… content.  Then, remembering our last encounter, I wished I hadn’t mentioned that I was free before 1:30.  I didn’t want to have another rushed meeting with a pre-determined ending.  I wanted this thing to go on and on.  I got up and read his message again.  Aha!  He’d suggested getting together in the afternoon.  That made an early meeting almost impossible.  I texted again:

 

“Ignore my last text.  It doesn’t make sense.  Let’s meet after 5.”

 

Satisfied with that, I went to take a shower.  When I got out of the shower, still a bit woozy, I saw that there was a text message for me.  I expected it to be from Sinbad, but it was an invitation from the Ice Man to hang out at Letna Park (the scene of the crime of my inebriation).  I thought it would be good to at least get out of the house and not make the day a total waste, so I said that I would go.  He wanted me to meet him in the center in half an hour, and I wasn’t even dressed yet.  My hair was still wet, and I was still in my PJ’s. 

 

I made my best attempt at hurrying, but it still took me over an hour to get there, made worse by the fact that I got lost.  But, since the Ice Man is on Brazilian time, it seemed that I arrived right on time. 

 

We took a roundabout way to the park, hopping on and off trams, trudging up hills and hopping on trams again.  Most of the time, it was standing room only on the trams, and at one point, feeling weak in the knees, I just grabbed one of the steel posts, leaned my head against it, and closed my eyes.

 

“Look at you!” hooted the Ice Man.  “You used to be such a good little girl and here you are sleeping on trams.” 

 

“I was never as good as you thought,” I told him.

 

We finally made it to the park where a friend of the Ice Man’s was waiting for us.  The Ice Man started to introduce us, and the guy said,

 

“I’ve seen you before.  Do you know Rasta Man?”  This turned out to be the German guy that was with Rasta Man when I met him in that little café with Fanny Farmer.  I didn’t recognize him, because he’d cut off his long hair in preparation for his upcoming marriage to a girl in Malaysia.  It never ceases to amaze me how incestuous the  expat community is in Prague.  Sooner or later, everyone you know ends up knowing everyone else you know.  The night before, I’d even found out that some of my acting friends knew the Ice Man.  God help me if any of those expats ever get their hands on this blog.  There’s no way they wouldn’t recognize at least some of the characters.

 

Anyway, as I sat there in the grass, enjoying the ambience of the park and helping the Ice Man check out chicks, I thought this would be the perfect spot for my rendezvous with Sinbad the following day.  I checked my phone for messages, but there was still nothing.

 

By the time I woke up on Friday morning, there was still no confirmation from Sinbad, but expecting that something would come through during the day, I dressed for the occasion.  This time, I was going for the innocent look. 

 

I put on a pale purple cotton dress that had two tones of darker purple splotches, kind of in the shapes of leaves.  The print looks sort of like a monochromatic impressionistic watercolor painting.  It made me look a bit like I just came out of a Sunday school class, but was very form fitting and showed off my waist and hips without diminishing my chest.  I kept my hair down and my legs bare (I hate stockings), and wore a pair of what I think are kind of sexy, high-heeled sandals… a very natural look.  I felt good wearing this dress all day.  I felt pretty in it.

 

On the way to my afternoon class, I checked my phone for messages.  Still nothing from Sinbad.  I wondered what I would do if I didn’t hear from him by the time my class was over.  I really didn’t want to have to call and confirm… too much like nagging… too desperate.  But I also didn’t want to go all the way back home if it wasn’t going to happen.  I’d much rather go straight to Letna Park with my book and enjoy the sunshine while it lasted.

 

My class finished, and as I’d feared, there was still no word from Sinbad.  I was somewhat annoyed, because I really didn’t know how to read that.  Was he just assuming that I’d be home and he could pop over?  Or was he blowing me off?  He hadn’t actually ever blown me off before, so I had to give him the benefit of a doubt.   Could he be out of credit on his phone and waiting for me to call?  I didn’t want to send a text in case he didn’t answer, because then I really wouldn’t know what to think.

 

Part of me just wanted to write him off as a lost cause and just go to the park, but I knew it would bug me all night, and I would probably regret not having taken any action.  A quick phone call to confirm would take care of everything.  That way, I would know for sure, either way.

 

Some of you know about my fear of phoning.  It felt like walking off the precipice, but I did it.  Sinbad sounded kind of out of it when he answered.

 

“Ahoj!” I said, putting a smile into my voice, “Are you still sleeping?”  (it sure sounded like he was.

 

“No, no,” he mumbled and stuttered.  “Ummm… I can’t make it until 5 o’clock… I don’t know…” his voice trailed off incoherently.  It was only 4, and I realized that I was calling a little early, but I didn’t expect him to be so groggy or nervous, or whatever it was that he was.

 

“It’s okay,” I said.  “There’s no hurry.  I’m going to go to Letna Park and hang out for a while.  Just give me a call whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Yes, okay… thank you.” 

 

I had no idea why he sounded so nervous, but it didn’t sound good, and I prepared myself to be stood up.  True, he had never stood me up before, but there was always a first time and he was long overdue.  I mean… that’s what guys do, isn’t it?

 

I jumped on a tram and went to the park… walked around a bit… found a bench to sit on… read a bit… watched the dogs and their people… it was a pleasant way to while away the afternoon.  Sooner or later, though, all good things must come to an end, and around a little past 6:00, I had to pee and couldn’t find a toilet.  I was already resigned to the idea that I wasn’t going to see Sinbad that night, so I figured the easiest thing to do would be to go home and pee there.  It was a bit of a journey, but once there, if I still wanted to be outside, there were some small parks in the neighborhood that I could avail myself of.

 

I started walking back toward the tram stop, and before I got out of the park, my phone rang.  It was Sinbad.  He was all out of breath and said that he was almost to the square by my house.  That was a surprise.  I guess we’d miscommunicated again.  

 

He apologized for being out of breath, because he’d been running.  I told him not to run.  It was going to take me 20 or 30 minutes to get there anyway.  We agreed to meet in front of the cathedral on the square in 30 minutes.  He said that would give him time to buy something.   I could barely understand anything else he was saying, so we ended the call, and I hurried toward the tram stop.

 

My urge to pee was getting the best of me, and so I stopped in the pay toilets in the metro station.  I took the time to apply a touch of lipstick and blush and comb my hair.  I might get there a little late, but I’d get there looking good, and anyway, it was about time he had to wait for me instead of the other way around… not too long though.  Didn’t want him to elude me.

 

I entered the square on the side farthest from the cathedral.  As I approached, I saw a young guy sprawled on the cathedral steps, knees spread wide apart, and squinting or glaring into the sun.  His long hair was pulled back, but tighter than I’d ever seen Sinbad pull it back, and it didn’t look like the right color.  I didn’t get very close, but it didn’t look much like him, and he didn’t look at me, so I guessed that it probably wasn’t him and went to find a bench to sit on while I waited. 

 

I sat there for a few minutes… every once in a while looking at the guy on the steps.  He had a piece of paper in his hands.  Sinbad had said that he might even bring some paper with him (sketches?).  Was that him after all?  I felt funny about walking up to check the guy out again if it wasn’t him. 

 

There were very few other people on the wide, cement staircase… a girl on the opposite side of the steps and someone else near the top.  As I was observing him, the guy looked right at me and fixed his gaze on me for a full minute before turning away, so I supposed I’d better go and check out the situation.

 

I walked over toward the steps, and as I got close, the guy stood up, and I could see that it was him.  I gave him a wide grin…

 

“That is you!” 

 

He came down the steps and took my hand in both of his.  God!  I could melt in the warmth of those hands.  As he held my hand, I drank him in.  No wonder I hadn’t recognized him from afar.  This boy had seen a lot of sunshine in recent days.  His normally pale skin had turned a light, golden brown, and his black ringlets were now reddish brown and pulled back from his face and off his shoulders, although they couldn’t be tamed completely...  a few wild curls tumbled down around his ears.   Even his eyes had a slightly Asiatic look that I’d never noticed before. 

 

“Thank you for saying I’m multitalented,” he said, “but I’m just helping the architect.”

 

Funny how that would seem needy in someone that I didn’t find attractive, but for him to repeat that to me for the third time… I just found it endearing. 

 

“I’m sure you have many talents,” I said absentmindedly, my premeditated intention of turning that line into a flirtation dissipated as my attention was drawn to his bare neck where I noticed, for the first time, a little tattoo, just below and behind his left ear.  I touched it lightly.

 

“Is this a new tattoo?”

 

“No, I’ve had that for a long time… it’s a long story.”

 

Then, he let go of my hand saying,

 

“I have a present for you,” and he pulled a new pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. 

 

“How sweet!”

 

“And now,” he said, “I think we should get a bottle of wine for your throat, so it won’t get sore from the smoke.”

 

“Oh no!  No wine,” I said.  And I explained to him how I’d wasted the entire holiday trying to hold my guts together.  He asked if I had been drinking white or red.  I told him it was white, and he suggested that we try red, but I was adamant.  No wine.  Maybe a juice.

 

“How about a beer?” he asked. 

 

“Okay, maybe a little beer.  Just to wet my throat.”

 

As we headed down the street toward the potravinny, he pulled a sketch pad out of his pocket. 

 

“I drew this while I was waiting,” he said.  It was a drawing of some cartoon mice for the kitchen cabinets.  They weren’t shaped like spaghetti, but they were really cute!  Adorable, really.  I oohed and aahed over them.

 

As we were walking and talking, he slipped a swear word into the conversation and immediately excused himself for it.

 

“I don’t know why people are always apologizing to me lately for their language.  I mean, it’s not like I never heard those words before.”

 

“It’s because you looks like a lady,” he said.  I smiled.

 

We got onto the topic of gentlemanly behavior, and I said that, where I come from, there are no more gentlemen… that men here were much more polite.

 

“So, do you like it?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, it’s alright,” I said, “it’s not bad.”

 

The first potravinny that we went into had a whole wall of wine bottles but only canned beer.  We agreed that it tasted better out of a bottle, so I led him a fair distance away to a potravinny near my flat.  I have to admit, I felt rather proud walking into this little neighborhood Vietnamese potravinny where I often did my shopping, and having the girls there see me with this gorgeous guy.  How silly is that?  What do I have to be proud of.  It’s not like I made him or anything.  Still, it felt nice.

 

He asked if I wanted one or two bottles.  I said just one, so he grabbed one for me and two for himself, and I let him pay, because it seemed understood and uncomplicated that way.  That may have been the first time in my life that I haven’t even offered to pay.  

 

We took our bottles and headed for a park that I knew.  Note, the beer bottles in the Czech Republic are about twice the size of a beer bottle in the States, so we had a goodly supply.

 

As we walked toward the park, we got on the topic of his work, and he explained how he didn’t know anything about building houses.  He just did what the guy told him to do. 

 

“It’s always that way,” he said, “Even when I helped my ex-girlfriend in her shop… she has a second hand shop.. I didn’t know anything what I was doing.  I just did it… maybe make a lot of mistakes.”  I was happy to note that he was still referring to her as his ex, and a whole discussion of second hand clothes ensued, since that’s a passion of mine, and turns out to be something that we have in common.  He said that you’re more likely to find quality, name brand clothes in a second hand shop, because they’re made well, and those are the ones that usually survive long enough to make it to the second hand.  I never thought about it that way, but I guess it’s true.

 

We got to the park, and he asked where I wanted to sit. 

 

“Oh, any patch of grass will do,” I answered.

 

“You want to sit on the grass?” he asked.  “Won’t you get dirty?”  I guess he thought I’d want to sit on a bench.

 

“Nope.  I have a blanket with me.”

 

He picked out a hilly spot, and watched in amazement as I pulled a blanket out of my tote bag.

 

“I’ll never understand those things that women carry around,” he said.  I just spread the blanket, and we sat down.  Now, it was my turn to watch with amusement as he opened our beer bottles with a key.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.  I teased him a little more about his many talents.  It’s so easy to stroke this guy’s ego, and so rewarding.  He has got to have one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen.

 

As we sat and talked and sipped our beers, I felt like I belonged in this little park, together with this comfortable companion.  It was so easy to talk with him about anything and about nothing in particular.  We got to watching all the dogs running around and I remarked on how it really was true that dogs look a lot like their humans.  He agreed. 

 

“What kind of dog would I be?” I asked him.  He thought for a minute and said,

 

“I don’t know what the name is, but it’s tall and really skinny…”

 

“A greyhound?”

 

“Yeah, I think a greyhound is one of these dogs.”

 

I told him that I really missed having animals in my life, and how much I missed my cats.  He said that he didn’t used to like cats until his family got one.  Then, the cat didn’t like him much at first, because he was a bit over enthusiastic in petting it.

 

“Aha… you were treating it like a dog,” I said.  “Just be gentle with it.. touch it like you would touch a woman, and you’ll be alright.”

 

He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, and a grin that was at once sheepish and impish spread across his face. 

 

“Well, not exactly the same,” I said.

 

“No, I didn’t mean that,” he laughed.  “It’s just that… I’m not always so gentle.  I mean… I’m gentle, but sometimes…I’m… not.” 

 

“Ahhhh….”

 

“I tried to be submissive man, but it doesn’t work for me.  I think man need to be dominant.”

 

“Mmmm, I’m not really into dominance or submission.  I like… equality.”  God, I sounded like a poster child for feminist propaganda… not that there’s anything wrong with that.. it’s just not very romantic.

 

“Yeah, yeah, but sometimes a man need to lead…”

 

“Oh sure…leading is good.  Yeah, I know what you mean.  I’ve dated some guys who were pretty passive and always wanted me to make all the decisions.”

 

“That’s just lazy.” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

I have no idea if we were talking about the same thing or not.  I’m not sure what he was talking about, and I’m not even completely sure what I was talking about.  I hoped we weren’t talking about S&M, though.  If there’s one thing I’m not into, it’s pain.

 

But more to the point, I thought he might be saying that he preferred to take the lead in making things happen… maybe I should lay off a bit?  But then, did I give him the impression that I like to take the lead and maybe he should lay off?  I hoped not.  Damn, I think too much!

 

He turned to me suddenly and asked,

 

“Have you ever lived with a man?”  That one really came out of the blue.  The feeling it gave me was as if he had asked me if I had ever slept with a man. 

 

“Yeah, of course,” I said.  “I’ve lived with a few men.  I was even married once.”

 

“Do you have any children?”

 

“No!  No, no, no, no….”

 

“Don’t like, or can’t have?”

 

“Don’t like”

 

He let out a little squeal that I found hard to interpret.  I remembered asking him the same question when I’d had him over to my flat.  He’d said that he didn’t have any children.  At least he was pretty sure… there was only one possibility, but no..  he was pretty sure he didn’t.  I had commended him on being careful, and he seemed to agree that it was important.

 

So, was he squealing with delight that he might not have to worry about me wanting children (really projecting, here) or was it a squeal of surprise at meeting a woman who didn’t want children?  His next remark seemed to imply that he approved.

 

“There are too many people on the planet already… especially Chinese.”

 

“Chinese?  Oh yeah, I guess there are a lot of people there.  Everywhere else, too.   I guess that’s one of the reasons I don’t want kids, but it’s not just that.  I’m just too selfish.  I want the freedom to pick up and move whenever and wherever I want.  I never seem to stay in one place for very long.”

 

“Were you a hippy?”

 

I laughed.  “No, I wasn’t born early enough to have been a hippy, but I would have fit in very well.  I don’t look the part, but I’m more free spirited than most of the people you see wandering around in their dreadlocks and everything.  The only difference is that I don’t do drugs.”

 

That got him to reminiscing about a birthday “cocktail” that he had when he was about 18.  He started listing the “ingredients.”… ecstasy, heroin, LSD, etc., etc.

 

“You took heroin?” I asked.

 

“Yeah, it was a nice cocktail.”

 

‘Definitely going to have to use a condom with this one,’ I thought.  Out loud, I said,

 

“You’re lucky you’re still alive.”   

 

I asked him about the LSD, if he ever had flashbacks.  He said he used to, but it starts going away after some time, and the flashbacks aren’t as intense as the trip.  It was interesting.   I told him that I’d never tried anything harder than pot, but it didn’t do anything to me.  He seemed surprised.

 

I said, “Well, it was hash, but that’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Well, pot and hashish are the same thing in the way that beer and rum are the same thing.”

 

“But which is stronger?”

 

I didn’t really understand the answer.  There was a lull in the conversation, and he reached over and casually caressed my bare leg.

 

“So, you want to learn how to smoke?”

 

“Well, I don’t really want to, but I guess I should.”

 

He wanted to put the smoking lesson in context, so he asked about the film.  I told him that I played a woman who felt worthless because of having had hip replacement surgery.  In the smoking scene, she’s in a miserable mood and lighting a cigarette, and then we cut away to another scene.

 

He said,

 

“Well, first, take off the plastic wrapping like any other package,” and he did that for me and handed me the box. 

 

“Then, you open the box by pulling this backwards…” He pointed to the lid, and I pulled.

 

“But not so far, because, see… now you have broken it.”

 

“Oops.”

 

“Okay, now, you take this off.”

 

I started, with some difficulty, to pull a cigarette out.

 

“No, no… first you take this off.”  He pointed to a little sheet of aluminum foil in front of the cigarettes.  Man, cigarette packaging has come a long way since I gave ‘em up at the age of 13.  I quickly did away with the foil and fished out a cigarette.

 

“Now.  What does the cigarette mean to you?”

 

“What does it mean to me?”

 

“Yeah.  It means different things to different people.  And you show that in the way you hold it.  Like maybe it’s a lover.  For other people, it’s… how do you say it?  A nail?”

 

“Yeah, a coffin nail!”

 

“Yeah, that too, but something that nails you back to reality.. a reality check.”

 

“Aha.  Hmmm.  Well, I’m not really sure what it means to me…”

 

“Okay, well let’s talk about how you hold it.  You can put it between your fingers like this…” he put his cigarette between his index and middle fingers.

 

“Oh, yeah… I’ve never understood why people hold them that way.  When I smoked in junior high, I used to hold it like this,” I held my cigarette up, pinching it between my index finger and thumb, “just to be a tough little shit, you know.”

 

“You can hold it that way, too.  However you feel comfortable.  It doesn’t matter.”

 

I played with a few different ways of holding the cigarette.  Holding it the traditional way, between my index and middle fingers didn’t seem quite so awkward to me as it had at 13. 

 

“You can use it to talk with,” he suggested, and I tried my hand at expressing myself and punctuating a few sentences with a swish of the still unlit fag.  Suddenly, I saw my mother’s fingers holding that cigarette!

 

“Oh my god!  I look like my mother!  I don’t want to look like my mother!”

 

“Was your mother smoking?”

 

I nodded.  He looked sympathetic.

 

“Okay… are you ready to try?”

 

“Not really, but here goes… should I breathe all the way in while I’m lighting it?”

 

“That depends.  Some women breathe all the way in while a guy is lighting their cigarette, because they want to impress the guy, but I think, for a beginner, maybe it’s best to just suck the smoke into your mouth and then inhale after that.”

 

I put the cigarette in my mouth… the first time I had done that since about six years before he was born… and he reached over with his lighter to light it for me.  It was the first time a guy had ever lit a cigarette for me.  And now, looking back, I see that it had so much romantic potential.  But at the time, I was just concentrating on getting the smoking right… as if I really still had a role to practice for.

 

I took a drag and coughed just a little.  We laughed over how much trouble I had flicking the ashes off.  I was all thumbs when it came to that.  I couldn’t believe how quickly the thing burned down while I was chatting with Sinbad!  I only managed to get about three drags off the whole cigarette. 

 

“Do you want to try another?” he offered.

 

“No… I think I’ve got the hang of it.  You can have the rest of the pack, if you want.”

 

“No, no… save them.  You never know… I mean, I hope it doesn’t happen, but you never know… sometimes there are soldiers around… and people might not have money, but they always have cigarettes.  You know why?”

 

“To pay off the soldiers?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I laughed.  “Okay… I’ll keep them around for the next war.  Hopefully, they won’t go stale by then.  By the way, did you get your tin soldiers yet?”

 

“Not yet, but they arrive in a week and a half.”  His eyes brightened and he broke out into a broad grin.  I couldn’t help but feel happy for him, even though I knew that those tin soldiers were going to take him out of circulation for  awhile. 

 

The sun had gone down, and it was getting a bit chilly.  I pulled a sweater out of my bag and put it on. 

 

“It’s getting cold,” he said.  “Maybe we should go.”

 

That was the last thing I wanted.  “No, it’s so nice to sit here.  Did you see the sun set over there?”  I pointed.

 

“No, I don’t usually pass by here, because it’s out of my way.”

 

“No.  I mean half an hour ago.  The sun set, and you were here.  Did you see it?”

 

“Oh.  Ha ha.. no, I didn’t notice.” 

 

I had a sudden urge to lie on my back let him get a look at me with my gravity face lift, but since we were on a hill, I was afraid that gravity would pull my jowls down, so I stayed where I was, feeling a little self-conscious.

 

We chatted a bit more… about how much we both hate to work (at a job), and how I really needed to start learning Czech.  He taught me a few words and complimented my pronunciation.  Then, he told me that when he and Pegleg are talking in the kitchen, sometimes Ms. L comes in and interrupts them, saying,

 

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!”

 

“I don’t think she even tries to learn Czech,” he said. 

 

“I know.  She told me she’s not interested,”  I said, and added, “When I lived at the Crow’s Nest, I used to love to listen to you and Pegleg talking to each other.  It was like music to my ears.”  He smiled and checked the time on his mobile phone. 

 

“It’s only nine o’clock,” he said.   “It’s not so late, but I have to leave by midnight.”

 

Another curfew!  Damn!

 

“I’ve never known anyone who was always so busy,” I said.

 

“Not so busy.  Just the last bus for my home leaves at midnight.  But I think it’s time to go.  It’s getting cold, and you have naked legs.”

 

I appreciated his concern, but I really didn’t want to go.

 

“My legs don’t get cold very easily,” I protested weakly, but I got up and packed the blanket, because he seemed like he really meant it this time.  As we walked off, I asked,

 

“Where’s home?”

 

He turned around and pointed to somewhere over the twilit hills. 

 

“Your Mom’s home?” I asked hopefully.

 

He nodded. 

 

As we walked toward my flat, I mentioned that a friend of mine was starting a web page and was looking for a cartoonist to do some drawings.  I thought Sinbad’s style would be perfect.  He laughed,

 

“Only two problems.. one: no time, and two: I’m too lazy.”  We had a good chuckle about that.  It felt so good, so comfortable, to be walking and talking with him.

 

I suddenly noticed how green everything had become around us.  When had all the trees sprouted so many leaves?  I remarked that it looked like we were in Paris.  The tree branches reached toward each other and met over the street we were crossing.  The perfume of cherry blossoms and magnolias was in the air.  What a romantic evening!  I desperately hoped it wasn’t about to come to an end. 

 

We were getting very near my flat, and I noticed that Sinbad still hadn’t opened up his second bottle of beer.

 

“You can come up and drink your beer in my flat, if you want to,” I offered.  “It’s better than drinking it while you walk down the street.”

 

“Sometimes, I like to just wander around on the street with my beer, looking at the people…” he said.

 

Hmmmm.  Sounded like he wanted to get going.  Sadly, I resigned myself to the idea that that’s what was going to happen.  We turned the corner and approached my front door.  Without looking at him, I put the key in the hole and opened the door, expecting him to start saying goodbye to me.  I walked in the door, and… miraculously… he followed me!  We walked up the stairs together…

 

To be continued…