by Alison Evans
I walk past a train driver with the most amazing moustache, perfectly curled. He looks like someone out of Thomas the Tank in his uniform. There's always noise, too, in train stations in cities. They're never really quiet, unless it's four a.m. and services haven't started for the day.
A mum with three kids under the age of six is trying to get them all through the station, but they're all paying attention to everything except her. She looks so tired and I don't even know how to imagine what that's like, every day. I'm getting tired just watching them. They eventually get on their train with half a minute to spare. She's probably smiling and one of the kids will say something accidental that will brighten her whole week. And maybe they'll get off the train to meet their grandfather or something, the very youngest for the first time, and watching him with them will feel like the best thing that's happened. But I'll never know what really happened.
Three girls in their early twenties walk past with suitcases on rollers, speaking Italian and pointing to the platform at the other end of the station. One of them checks the time on their watch and realises that they're late and they start running, but the train pulls out of the station before they get there. Two of them look upset, running their fingers through their hair, looking at the big station clock, but then the other one says something and they start laughing. Reluctantly at first, especially the one with her hair up, but she joins in eventually and they walk back past me to Starbucks.
The wind chill is getting a bit much for me, especially because I've been standing in the same place, so I follow the Italian girls to get some coffee. I sit where I can look out the window to see into the station proper, but the inside of the shop turns out to be just as interesting for people watching. I can hear Italian, German, and English, as well as a language I don't recognise. I wait, listen, hear the word prosím, and realise it's Czech, though I can't really pick up anything else.
The Italian girls are chatting excitedly about something, but I can't tell what. They're too fast for me. They're looking at a tablet screen, and there's a map on it.
I don't know how long I sit. So many groups come and go, a lot of them with big bags or suitcases. There are a lot of English speakers who are just here for the WiFi.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I see a message from Roslyn. There's a warmth in my chest as I look at her words.
Text me if you need anything x
I don't reply, but I stand up, need to move. I've been here for too long.
It's stopped drizzling outside. I turn left when I leave the hauptbahnhof and avoid the pedestrians and pigeons. As I keep walking, there are fewer pedestrians than where we've been in Munich so far. I take it slow, only occasionally having to move over to avoid other walkers or cyclists. Across the road, after about ten or fifteen minutes walking, there's a tiny café that looks open, but also empty. I cross the road and grab a table.
While I wait, I get out the postcard and decide on writing one to Mum. I don't remember her postal address, so I leave that bit blank for now and start writing the message. When it's done, I lick the stamp and stick it on and shove it back in my bag, right as the barista brings over my drink.
The coffee tastes like Melbourne coffee and I immediately think I should text Roslyn. As I think it, the nothing in my chest isn't gone precisely, but it's a little less threatening, maybe something that won't look as scary.
So I text her the address of the café and tell her to come around if she wants. As soon as I hit send, I want to take it back, to keep my self-loathing hidden away for the rest of the day, but it's too late. I know I could tell her I changed my mind, I need to be alone, and she would understand and not come. And I think it's that knowledge more than anything that makes me put my phone down.
I open my book and try to concentrate on not concentrating that Roslyn's going to be here soon. It's the only English book in the share library at the hostel that looked mildly appealing. It's an old fantasy paperback that's so worn the back cover's fallen off.
I get another coffee and read about dragons and daring girl adventurers before my phone vibrates.
Coming now, let me know if you've moved since last text. Be fifteen.
And I find that there's no terror at her words. I go back to reading and don't check the time every five seconds on my phone, just wait and almost start to relax. The daring girl adventurer has just discovered that the witch she's been trying to track is not the bad guy after all, but rather the king is the evil one, when the door to the cafe opens and a freezing draft blows through it.
I look up and it's Roslyn who's opened the door. By now, it's one o'clock and she's holding bags of shopping.
"Hey," she says, briefly acknowledging me before ordering with the barista up the front. She gets two biscuits and passes me one before sitting down. "The coffee better be really good." She grins before hugging me around the table.
"It's not like," I pause and lower my voice so the barista can't hear, "the best best Melbourne coffee, but the cup isn't literally half fluffy milk, and it's so smooth, Roslyn."
"Only people from Melbourne could be this fucking pretentious, I swear to god," Roslyn laughs. "We're in fuckin Munich and we're complaining about the coffee."
"We're not complaining, we're just…" I sigh. "We are definitely pretentious Melbourne trash hipsters."
"Melbourne trash…" Roslyn muses. "That's our band name."
When Roslyn gets her coffee and takes a sip, she sighs in contentment. "My god," she says. "It is like Melbourne coffee. Holy shit. How do you say very good in German?"
"Um… oh shit, I know this. Good is gut, um." I tap the table. I know this, I know it. "Sehr. Sehr good. Gut."
Roslyn turns around and points to her coffee. "Sehr gut, danke," she says to the barista.
The barista smiles and nods. "Thank you."
"So," Roslyn says. I cringe because she's going to ask me to explain this morning. "I definitely bought too much stuff, and now you're going to have to disown me."
It takes me a moment to reply because the relief is astounding: my whole body relaxes. "Roslyn," I say. "You're going to have to carry it around forever now."
"I know, but I also got you something, so you can't hate me. And before you protest," she holds up a finger, "it's small and pretty flat, so it will take up literally no space in your bag at all." She pulls out a matchbox and hands it to me.
"Aw, Roslyn."
The box has little deer and stuff on the front. I pull out the tray and inside is a mini-woodland forest carved out of wood. There are several layers, with trees, deer, and rabbits carved into the space.
"It's amazing, thank you." I get up from my stool and hug her properly. She grips me tight and I know she's thinking about this morning. "I'm alright, I'm okay," I say when we break apart. "Honestly. Some days are just like this."
"Okay," she says. "If you ever need anything…"
"I know." I smile at her. "I really do."
"So, about that band. I can play literally no instruments, so I will have to be the lead singer who everyone adores."
I laugh. "Sounds like a plan. I can manage a guitar and the drums and bass. No problem."
"Excellent."
We sit in the café for hours. I read my book, she reads one of the ones she just bought, and we fill up on coffee and biscuits. When it's time to go, it's thankfully not raining.
On our way back to the hostel, I remember the postcard. There's a post box on our way back to the hostel, so I stop to fish it out of my bag. It's not addressed and it doesn't have a stamp, and I don't think that the message I wrote on it is true anymore.
Mum, you told me to run so I did. You made it sound like I would be free. I don't remember how to stop.
I slip it into the post box. Roslyn calls for me to hurry up, I jog a little to catch up with her, and we go inside, just before it starts to rain.
Chapter Fifteen
Roslyn
The train to Salzburg only takes an hour and a half from Munic
h, which is barely anything compared to the others. We found a bed and breakfast to stay in, but public transport doesn't go out that far. We taxi the rest of the way. It's snowing and the taxi driver doesn't want to drive up the hill, and that means we have to get out and drag our bags up the thing. In the snow.
When we finally get to the door, no one answers.
"This is the address, right?" I ask Christie.
She nods. "Yep. There's the BnB sign, too."
The sign is half-covered in snow and worn from the weather. We knock again on the door and eventually try the door handle. It's locked.
"Are we going to die out here?" I ask. "I don't want to die in the cold in Austria."
"We're definitely going to die in the cold in Austria." Christie grimaces. "Sorry. Wait here; I'll go check round the back."
I stand under the porch with the suitcases and move from foot to foot. It's started to snow and there's a little bit of snow that's gotten into my left shoe. My foot's going to freeze off before Christie comes back. If she comes back. Maybe the BnB owner has been eaten by ravenous snowmen who have magically come to life and Christie's in a battle for her soul. Dang.
I check my watch and it's been maybe three minutes since she's gone. I get out my phone and check twitter. My ads are still mostly in German, but the occasional Czech one pops up. Jalen's been live-tweeting a movie that sounds terrible and amazing, which is their favourite genre.
@roslyn: @Ja7en somtimes i wonder how fast your fingers must be working if you're tweetying this much???
I wait only a couple of seconds until they reply:
@ja7en: @roslyn pfft pls as if i cant tweet at least 300 wrds a minute
@roslyn: @Ja7en shouldn't you be asleep?
@ja7en: @roslyn shuldnt u b out adventurneng???
@roslyn: @Ja7en i am! christie's possibly been murdered by a rogue bnb owner.
@ja7en: @roslyn oh. well thts a shame. congrats on not dyfing i geuss
@roslyn: @ja7en thanks. i cna tell you're really cut up about this.
@ja7en: @roslyn that's supes insentivie! what if christiesbeen cut up?????????????????
I giggle as I read their reply, trying to pretend that missing them isn't like running out of air to breathe.
"What's so funny?" Christie asks, making me jump.
"Just laughing about the jokes I'm going to make when you die."
I then see a small old woman standing behind Christie, and she definitely looks like she could murder someone. But more in a you've crossed me for the last time and less of a I'm gonna murder you because I can kinda way, so I'm probably safe.
"Good to know you plan to be around that long, because I'm going to live for at least three hundred years. Anyway, Roslyn, this is Anna. Anna, Roslyn."
Anna smiles at me. "Come in from the cold, I've just lit the fire."
As soon as I cross the threshold, I'm warm. I breathe in the slightly smoky air and feel my shoulders relax, not realising that I'd been hunched up. Christie takes her bag and we sit in the lounge in front of the fire while Anna serves us tea and cookies and explains the rules of the BnB and gives us keys. It's more expensive than the hostels, but we're only staying here two nights, so we thought we may as well treat ourselves, because I'm going to go home soon.
@roslyn: WE HAVE A ROOM TO OURSELVES
@roslyn: I CAN LEAVE ALL MY SHIT EVERYWHRE
@roslyn: #FUC#K## Y#EA#H#########
Our room is covered in doilies and floral patterns, definitely not even nearly aesthetically pleasing, but I want to cry because it's our room and we don't have to share with randos.
When Anna leaves, I turn to Christie.
"Oh, my god. We have our own room." I grip her elbows. "I can't believe it."
Christie laughs. "Only what, five weeks in hostels and you're already breaking."
After taking off my wet layers, I flop down on my bed. The sheets smell so fresh.
"This was the best idea you've ever had," I tell her.
I breathe in as much as my lungs allow, hold it for a couple of seconds, and let it all out at once. After sitting in front of the fire, I'm warm and ready for a nap. To get here took maybe three hours, and I mean, we are in another country. I close my eyes and they're burning from exhaustion.
"You wanna nap?" Christie says.
I sigh contentedly as I roll over to face her. "Definitely."
She sits down on her bed. "Cool. I might read for a bit." She opens up her bag and pulls out a worn paperback that I haven't seen before. She must've swapped it for something at the last hostel's share library.
I get under the doona and take off my pants. The fresh sheets are so soft against my bare legs; this level of comfort should be illegal.
Chapter Sixteen
Christie
I get up to go to the toilet and Anna's in the hallway, holding a mop. She's got her hair tied back and she looks weary, but determined.
"Wow," I say. "Do you do everything around here?"
She nods, pushing back stray hairs behind her ears. "Yes, yes. So much to do."
"Do you have any children? They could help," I say, then cringe straight away. It's still built into me to ask these kinds of questions. She might be ace, she might be infertile, or she might not have wanted kids.
"No time," she says, smiling as she walks past me to clean whatever it is she needs to.
I cringe at myself again and eventually find the toilet. The whole bathroom is sparkling clean, with a huge bath and an amazing shower. The towels on the rack are a dark purple and fluffy. It feels like a proper home.
On the way back to our room, I bump into Anna again.
"Christie," she starts.
"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean to bring up children."
She raises her eyebrows and is taken aback for a few seconds. "That's okay, that's okay." She nods. "I am used to it."
Fuck.
"I just wanted to tell, I can make you dinner for fifteen extra euros. It's not something I do usually, but because you are the only ones here, why not."
"Oh!" I haven't had a home-cooked meal in ages. Unless you count the soggy pasta we got at the last hostel they'd serve for dinner. It's raining outside, so I really don't fancy going outside right now, anyway. "That'd be great, thank you."
Roslyn's still asleep when I get back. If I nap, I won't sleep later, so I don't, even though I want to.
I can't believe I said that to Anna. She said she got it all the time; maybe she's ace. Maybe it's just because everyone expects women to have children—that's probably the more likely answer. I sigh. No point dwelling, I guess.
I empty out all my stuff onto the bed and there's just… really not a lot of it. It used to make me sad, not having things, but now it isn't so bad. I make room for myself on the bed and read until Roslyn wakes up.
"Good nap?" I ask when she sits up, blinking in the light.
"The best in a long time," she says. "What do you wanna do about dinner?"
"Anna said for an extra fifteen euros, she can cook us something."
*~*~*
The stew Anna makes is delicious. She offers us seconds and then thirds, and even though I can barely fit in any more, I say yes.
"So, how long have you two been together?" Anna asks after Roslyn butters some bread for me to soak up the stew. "I didn't realise. I can move you to the room with the double bed in it."
Roslyn chokes on her stew as I laugh.
"We're not together," I say.
"No?"
"Nope."
"But you seem so…"
"We're friends," I say. "Just very close."
"I never could get the... what is the word, the hang of it," Anna says. "Too much other things to do."
Maybe she is. "Too busy?" I ask.
Anna shrugs. "I had boyfriends, they would come after me. The boys." She smiles. "Sometimes the girls, too."
"None of them worked out?" I say, watching Anna closely. She's shifting in her seat, nervous.
&nbs
p; "They always wanted..." Anna sighs. "Things I didn't."
"I've never been in a relationship," I say. I need to get this out quickly, before I chicken out. I don't tell people, because it's hardly ever a good thing. People think it's weird; they think it's absolutely impossible. My hands are shaking, but I put them under the table. "I'm not interested in any of that. Relationships. Sex."
"You mean, you don't... want a… partner?" Anna presses, leaning towards me. "At all?"
"That's right."
"Oh." Anna sits back in her chair and I'm preparing for the bad things to start tumbling out of her mouth. She gets up from her chair and smoothes down the front of her top. "I think I left the oven on."
"She okay?" Roslyn asks.
"Well, I mean, at least she didn't kick us out," I say.
When Anna comes back in, she's wringing her hands together as she sits down. "I wanted partners, but not... sex." She puts her spoon down. "Is that like you?"
"I don't want partners either," I say. "But there are other people who don't want sex, but still want a romantic relationship. It's called, in English, being asexual." I spoon more stew into my mouth and my hands are still shaking like anything.
Anna looks past me and breathes slowly, not saying anything.
"Sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to er, assume."
Anna still doesn't quite look at me. "It's fine." She laughs in relief, quietly, like we're not even here. "I didn't know other people could be like that."
Roslyn looks at me, an eyebrow raised, and I think she's thinking the same thing I am: should we go?
Anna sees us glance at each other and seems to come back to the room. She claps her hands together. "This calls for a celebration, girls."
She stands up suddenly and disappears into the kitchen.
"How did you know?" Roslyn asks me.
"It was sorta obvious," I tell her. "Those things she was saying kinda sounded like the things I used to say before I knew."
Anna comes back into the dining room with a decanter of whisky and plonks it down on the table with a couple of crystal tumblers. It looks expensive and it tastes like fire. She drinks us both under the table.