Somewhere on the 2, The Man from Břeclav

In transit: Prague, Czechia -> Vienna, Austria; Late October 2023

I find a seat tucked away in the back of an empty and silent train car. Normally I listen to music on my train ride, but even that feels like a way to dissociate lately by drowning in noise. I can’t handle the complete silence though. I open my sudoku booklet to a random page and start solving a puzzle. I occasionally look up from my seat watching the rain pour down and the fields, buildings and trees roll by in a blur of yellows, grays and greens. It’s four hours or so to Vienna.

2.5 hours in, someone is motioning to sit in the seat next to me. The train is slowly filling up with noise and people. I simply nod, not really looking and go back to my puzzle.

Sudku? I finally look up. I don’t understand.

Sorry, I only speak English.

No, sudku! I stare at him and feel embarrassed.

I’m sorry, I really don’t understand.

He points down at my booklet. You play sudoku?

Oh! Yes, yes I do. I’m still embarrassed, but relieved. It always feels like a small win these days when I can understand someone.

You speak English! Can I practice my English with you?

Sure. I hadn’t spoken a full sentence in weeks or heard my own voice in awhile. It would be nice to have a proper conversation.

Where are you from?

The U.S.

You were born there?

No, the Philippines. I’m Filipino.

Okay. This doesn’t mean anything to him.

I’m Asian, I offer.

Oh, he says surprised. He looks at me quizzically. I laugh.

He seems baffled by this response. It didn’t occur to me that maybe he had never seen an Asian person. Or maybe he has, but it is not what he pictures in his mind.

Are those things still possible? In this day and age? Is the world still so big?

What are you doing here? Are you traveling alone?

I weigh my answers. I decide I can trust him.

Yes. On vacation. I need someone to know the truth, if only for a moment.

Oh, wow! How long in Europe? You aren’t afraid? Are people friendly?

Three months. No, I’m not afraid. And yes, they are. Most of the time.

That’s all it is. The people, he says.

Yes, it really is.

He asks me if I know any other languages. I do. I tell him it can be lonely not knowing a language though—and Czech is particularly hard for me, even the simple phrases. He nods, but I can see he is trying to keep up and understand what I am saying. I realize that I might be alone in this confession. Perhaps I was speaking too fast, saying too much.

He tells me he’s studying to be an accountant. He’s learning German and English so he can get a job in Vienna.

They don’t pay well here, he says.

He’s shopping today, buying new shoes and staying in Břeclav for now as it’s closer to Vienna and he can go back and forth for school.

At some point, he stares at me open, curious, honest. Straw blond hair, black rimmed glasses, gray sweater, black jeans, a watch, and tennis shoes. For some reason I remember this, but I cannot remember his face. I feel self-conscious that I am staring too much, not looking enough. I don’t know why it makes me so nervous, the staring earnestly. I fidget. All my fidgeting causes him to look down at my hands.

He stares down at the many rings on my finger and pauses mid-conversation.

Are you—are you married?