Amsterdam Redux
Jara smokes
January 17, 2003
Pauline never made it to the Paris train station. She missed her train, or skipped her train, or for whatever reason didn't get off the train as I stood there waiting and watching. I finally got hold of her after trying a dozen times to dial her Dutch cell phone from a Paris pay phone and charging it to my American calling card. Nope, she wasn't coming—but she'd still be in Amsterdam when I arrive, so let's meet up then and there, okay? Okay.
So I stood around the Paris train station and looked at the plastic cups filled with piss and waited for my train. Cold. The train came and I got on. I drifted off to sleep as the Canadian girls across the aisle giggled about boys and birthdays. I opened my eyes, and where was I? I looked out the window, and it looked like Indiana. Green fields cut by highways. Small gas stations at the crossroads. Is that a fucking McDonald's sign on the horizon? Yup. The train sounds like the ocean. Brussels? Already? Time flies on a high-speed train.
Finally, pull into Amsterdam around 8 PM. I get in a cab and tell the driver to take me to Erste Leeghwaterstraat—where's that? He doesn't know—I don't either. I know the general direction, and he starts down the wrong way. Fuck. Let me out here—there's a pay phone. I use the last two minutes on my calling card to call Jara, and she rides her bike out to find me. She's sick. Complaints about her period and her fever, and the fluorescent green snot clogging her nose. We go to her place and unload my luggage, and talk. She makes me a grilled cheese sandwich, and we talk some more, and she mixes up herbal concoctions and stores them in empty plastic yogurt containers. "PMS," she writes on one and puts it in the cabinet with the others. She's sick, I'm tired, we watch some TV, and fall asleep. The next morning, Pauline calls, wakes me up—she's leaving in a few hours, let's meet for breakfast. Okay. I jump on the bus and meet her at Centraal Station. We have coffee and omelettes, and she smokes, and we try to catch up on everything we’ve been up since we saw each other last. There’s hardly time to cram it all in. She's been in Africa and tells me funny stories about the African men. She's tall and white and has a nice ass, so she's very popular there. Popular everywhere, I imagine—but especially there. She tells me crazy stories about mercenaries and curfews and discoteques. Another coffee? Yes. Another cigarette and another coffee, and she has to go. A nice big hug good goodbye—when are you coming to New York? Soon—soon.
I run back to Jara’s place to meet her for lunch, and off we go. More coffee. She has to go to work, so I wander around alone. I feel tired. I feel sick. I puke in some bushes as I lean against a tree. Then I'm fine. Go back to Jara's, take a short nap. When I wake up, the sky is purple, and I'm as good as new. The town is quiet as I walk around. I hear drunks on the stoop complaining that Amsterdam is small, that nothing is going on. All the places that in the Summer had people spilling out onto the streets—all those places that I couldn't stand to be in because they were too crowded—all quiet and empty now. I stand on a canal bridge and watch the water reflecting the purple sky. The moon looks full. Is it? Can't tell. I met Jara at the restaurant where she works with Eilidh. They cook, wait tables, and sit with me when they can. Eilidh thought I was here another night. Nope. Oh shit! She can't stay out long tonight. But she’ll come out for a little while. They close the restaurant and we all go out for a drink. We play with a box of Legos at the bar and make the little Lego guys do pervy stuff and take pictures and laugh. Eilidh has to go. With a hug and a kiss and a few promises, she's gone. Jara and I have one more drink, and then we get a snack and walk home. Jara tells me about the guys in the snack shop and how three out of four of them sexually harass her, and I tell her about the pizza guy in Florence and how he copped a feel. I'm up and out the next morning. A note goodbye, a taxi to the airport, and I'm on my way. And now I'm back. Dizzy. Disoriented. Tired and heavy. I could sleep for a thousand years. Maybe I will.
