On the Train to Nice

This is one story in a series of stories that tell about a backpack trip to Europe in the spring of 1976 by myself in an effort to run away from the pain of a broken heart. (To read from the beginning Google "The Ramblings of an Aging Baby Boomer" and go back to March 27th, "I'll Never Find Love Again.")

Saturday, April 3, 1976  (On a train to Nice, France)

I'm on a train to Nice. There is a couple from California (Jim and Randy) sitting across from me. They seem pleasant enough, but I don't feel like being social.

Yesterday Willem and Charles managed to catch the train to Nice; I didn't. I missed it. But I'm on my way now, just one day later than planned. The hotel clerk--I'll call him "E"--let me stay at the hotel one more night for no charge. He also gave me access to a second floor empty bar area with a view of the boulevard below. I wanted a place with ambiance because I thought it would inspire my writing; it didn't. I watched the people below, each one walking with purpose in their steps. Couples strolled by holding hands, sharing intimate conversations.  Everyone around me is happy, except me. I've ruined my life. I had someone who loved me, someone who wanted to take care of me, but I blew it.

I need to mention a few things about E, the hotel clerk. He walked me to the train station this morning and gave me a basket of French bread and fruit for my trip. But it was what happened last night that is worth mentioning. I will need to sort through it later before I understand exactly what did and did not happen. But, for the first time since leaving the love of my life back in Indiana, I wanted to be in someone else's arms.

From the time I first arrived at the hotel on Wednesday, E has been especially attentive to me. He's handsome but I don't think he knows just how good looking he is because he has a humbleness about him. He wants all of the guests to be comfortable and have what they need. To serve others is his nature; I can just tell. I find that characteristic to be endearing, so when he asked me if he could take me to dinner last night, I said yes. He was concerned because I had missed my train and my friends left without me.

We finished dinner around eleven, but we walked for several miles around the city until midnight. The streets were crowded with people just getting started to celebrate the night. Barcelona stays up late, very late, but I had an early train to catch so I told E I needed to get back to my room. About a block from the hotel, he took my hand and put it to his cheek. That's when I saw the ring. I couldn't believe that I hadn't noticed it before.  So I came right out and asked him if he was married, but he told me that just that morning he and his wife had separated and he forgot to take off the ring. Talk about coincidence and timing.

Like a gentleman, E walked me to my room, took my hands in his and said he would walk me to the train station the next morning. Then he said the sweetest thing. I will miss you.

I was in bed but still not asleep when I heard a light tapping noise. I covered up with a sheet and cracked opened to door. It was E. He was sad, he said. I noticed that his wedding ring was gone. He asked if he could just come in for a little while. He wanted to spend the little time that was left with me. So I opened the door and let him in.

E