Strangers in Vienna

by Angela L.

  Anyway, I stopped two years ago when I was fifteen because, for some reason, the juice just stopped flowing for me. Every time I held a pen in my hands, my brain felt blank and dead. But it wasn’t like my writing was good anyway. I only wrote them because they were therapeutic, and it was better than going mad.

  I had a certain urge to just grab my unfinished book and bury my mind in the pages, but I knew that this was my chance to explore and get distracted. This was my chance to write my own unfinished song of my life.

  Still, the thought of stepping outside the apartment scared me. I’d been confined within my town my whole life, associating with the same people, eating the same food, living in an unchanging environment. I went to school with the same kids from preschool to high school and would probably see them in college in the future. It was quite depressing actually.

  But right here in Vienna, the unusual streets and buildings overwhelmed me. That was what I liked about books. I could go anywhere and be anyone, but at the end of the day I was physically safe.

  I forced myself to get dressed and leave the apartment. The minute I heard the door shut behind me, I walked faster so that I wouldn’t have the chance to change my mind and crawl back into bed with my book like a coward.

  There wasn’t much around Marcel’s apartment besides a few restaurants and small shops that sold overpriced jewelry. I took a look at them, though, through the glass panels. I didn’t want to walk in the store and get confronted by the workers. I didn’t know if it was just me, but workers always cornered me. It was annoying and overwhelming, especially when they tried to shove stuff in my hands to try on, and then they’d pressure me to buy them.

  With one last glimpse at the jewelry, I moved on. My stomach grumbled as I walked past the restaurants because it seemed like every one of them had a different aroma that wove in and out of the atmosphere outside their doors.

  My hands ran across the cracked walls of Vienna. The bumpy yellow paint had split with age, and it made me wonder who else had walked past these streets before me.

  I entered the café that we went to last night and ordered a cup of coffee and a Kaiserschmarrn.

  I could tell the waiter was trying not to laugh when I pronounced “Kaiserschmarrn” in my dumb American accent.

  When the waiter brought my food, I noticed that a Kaiserschmarrn was just a fancy pancake that was extremely thick.

  I thought about where I was going to go today. I didn’t know if I should go far considering I didn’t speak German, plus getting lost in a foreign place wasn't exactly on my bucket list.

  “Bratwurst mit kartoffelpüree?"

  My hands tightened around the coffee cup, and I looked up from drinking, startled.

  It was the violin boy from last night.

  “What?” I said and placed the cup gently down on the table.

  He looked at me as if he was trying to analyze my facial features. “You don’t put sugar in your coffee?”

  He wasn’t dressed in rags anymore. In a navy blue T-shirt and shorts, he looked like he was only a little older than me. His dark brown hair didn’t look like a bird’s nest, but it was still ruffled a bit. It suited him though.

  “Nope,” I said, not knowing why he was talking to me. I looked around and there were only four other customers. Maybe he’s here to meet someone, or maybe he’s just bored. I played along.

  “Oh. I get it. You’re one of those hardcore caffeine people,” he said. He had an accent, but I couldn’t place what it was. It was definitely German mixed with something else. British? I’d never been good at differentiating accents.

  “No. I just don’t use sugar. My mom didn’t, so I guess I just got into the habit of not using it, either,” I explained. “So, um, do you need something?”

  He was cute and his ruffled hair made him look like an adorable puppy; yet, at the same time, there was something charming and sexy the way his eyes looked at me, as if they were hiding a million dark secrets. “Can’t a guy sit down and talk to a nice girl without a hidden motive?” he replied.

  “Well, yes, but usually there’s a motive.” I stared at him.

  “Wow, I got to say, you’re quite straightforward, but honestly, I’m just a really boring guy with no hidden motives,” he responded casually. His teeth were so white that they put my coffee cup to shame.

  “And I should believe you because…?” I asked.

  “Are you going to eat that?” He ignored my question and pointed at the Kaiserschmarrn.

  I realized I was picking all the raisins out without even thinking. Now there were random holes in the Kaiserschmarrn. “I’m going to,” I said and stopped ruining my food. It was sort of all crumbled now. “You want some?”

  “I’m good.” He looked like he was about to give up trying to convince me he didn’t want anything from me. “You know, according to one legend, the Austrian emperor’s kitchen staff would sometimes ruin the pancakes for the emperor, creating an ‘emperor’s mess,’ which is why it’s called Kaiserschmarrn, and when the people found out, the kitchen staff had to eat them themselves.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson,” I responded sarcastically, then realized I sounded like a total brat.

  “Then I guess I should also inform you that the Kaiserschmarrn is eaten for lunch, not breakfast,” he said. “And that the waiter wasn’t looking at you weirdly due to your pronunciation, but the fact that you’re ordering a Kaiserschmarrn at this time of the day.” He smirked.

  “How was I supposed to know that?” I said. “I’m not from here.”

  “Clearly.” He chuckled.

  “And in my opinion, I think we should eat steak for breakfast and pancakes for dinner. Why must we discriminate against food at different times of the day?”

  “You make an excellent point.” He laughed. “And why should we also differentiate dinner and dessert? Why not eat dessert, then dinner? It seems quite fair.”

  “Exactly!” I chuckled. “Could have told the Austrian king that a long time ago so that this could be eaten at dinner time now.”

  “Oh, that would be interesting. Too bad a king’s got to be proper. He doesn’t have time to eat a Kaiserschmarrn for dinner.”

  “At least they weren’t sent to jail,” I continued, thinking on how they were forced to eat the Kaiserschmarrn themselves after screwing it up. If I were the emperor, especially back then when everything was so brutal, I would have most likely chopped off their heads for messing with me.

  “You’re right. I would eat ruined pancakes over going to jail any time of the day.”

  “I think ninety-nine percent of the people on earth would rather eat screwed up pancakes than go to jail,” I pointed out.

  “What about you?”

  I hesitated and thought for a second. If the kitchen staff wanted to risk their job by ruining the pancakes for the emperor, then they must have hated cooking for him. They couldn’t have quit or else they would have just done it. Compared to going to jail, working at a place you hated so badly and being trapped like a caged bird wasn’t that much of a difference. Of course, I was just assuming the job was that horrible.

  “Same. I would eat ruined pancakes over going to jail any time of the day,” I said, realizing I had been thinking for a while.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “It took you a long time to think of an answer. I’m guessing you chose jail but said pancakes because it was the better answer and a more common choice,” he replied.

  “You’re quite annoying,” I joked.

  “I’m annoying because I’m right,” he said. He looked past my shoulders and for a second his face lit up as if he’d found what he was looking for. “It was nice talking to you, but I think the person that I mistook you for is here,” he announced and left.

  I turned around and saw a blonde lady. She didn’t look like me at all. She looked older than me, with her hair chopped to her neck while my brown hair flowed dow
n freely below my shoulders. Either this guy was blind or he was just screwing around. He was probably just screwing around.

  I watched him walk over, grabbing a chair before sitting down. They spoke in German but for some reason they were whispering, even though it didn’t seem like anybody in the café was interested in listening to them.

  Turning my focus back to my Kaiserschmarrn, I realized I kind of wanted him to come back. Talking to him for that brief moment was…what was the word? Refreshing.

  He didn’t know who I was.

  I didn’t know who he was.

  A clean start, and I was free to be whoever I wanted to be. I would be a person with no past, no screw-ups, and no damage. I could see where Raya was coming from when she told Marcel about that “fresh start.” That was pretty hard from where I come from, where everyone lived so close to each other that you knew almost every one of your neighbors’ birthdays.

  As I sipped my bitter coffee, I realized I had no roots here in Vienna. I was free—and the thought was the beginning of endless possibilities.

  All I needed to do was to get out of my comfort zone and, unfortunately, it was easier said than done. So I decided to quickly forget all of my irrational fears and to just jump on a reckless adventure.

  After looking at a tourist map that was displayed with the other brochures in the café, I decided to check out Krems an der Donau, a city outside of Vienna. I knew it wasn’t safe for me to go that far. Marcel would be furious if he found out, then Raya would have a panic attack with a little bit of it caused by the baby. I looked at the tourist map and knew I needed this. It was time for me to get a taste of life.

  It was ridiculous, right? I could have just taken the metro and looked at one of those boring museums in Vienna and called it a day. I didn’t know why Krems an der Donau caught my attention. It was the last one on the recommendations list, and the picture of Krems an der Donau was sunny and joyful and totally cliché. It depicted streets filled with bakeries, bookstores, and cafés with ridiculously happy families and friends spending time with each other. According to the image, Krems an der Donau was where perfect families lived or lovers met. Besides, I was too lazy to flip back and carefully choose between the other bazillion attractions.

  What was that quote? “It only takes twenty seconds of insane courage and stupid bravery”? I didn’t know the exact words, but I guessed I’d be doing that today.

  The metro was confusing. I clutched the map that I took from the café and tugged the straps of my backpack on my shoulders. Half of me felt like I was standing in a never-ending maze and the other half of me just wanted to go back home and bury my head back in my book. But no. I was doing this. I was forcing myself to step out of those pages and into the real world—my world. My story’s new beginning.

  I must have been out of my mind.

  From across the area, I spotted a group of tourists, judging by their raised flags. They were all speaking English as well.

  “Hi, do you know how to get to Krems an der Donau?” I asked the tour guide.

  “Of course. You are going to love it there, magnificent architecture and the food is to die for,” he said and started pointing out the stops. I wanted to tell the guy that I wasn’t part of his tour group so he didn’t have to sound like he was selling me the place. That was what tour guides did. They oversold a place, but they usually said the same things. “The food is great” or “It’s rich in history.” Almost every place on earth was rich in history.

  “After you get out of the metro, you’re going to have to take a railway called Franz-Josefs that goes directly to Krems an der Donau. There’s usually a tourist group at the train stop or somebody who can speak English over there if you need help.”

  “Thank you,” I said and left.

  The whole process from Vienna to Krems an der Donau took about one hour. I listened to the radio on the train that was blasting out Beethoven and Bach even though I didn’t like classical music.

  I couldn’t help but notice that everyone aboard was either a family or a couple. I’d never traveled with my family before. I did remember going to New Mexico as a kid with my parents, but after that I spent most of my breaks at home. Sometimes I would take road trips with my friends out of town. My friend Noelle learned how to drive a car at a young age and even though it was illegal, she’d been “borrowing” her mom’s car for a while now. No one noticed since she looked a lot older than her age. But the places we visited were always close enough to home that we could just drive back within a few hours in case of emergencies. Like one time when Benji, one of my idiotic friends, got so drunk that he sneaked out, ran into a tree, and broke his nose.

  After the train halted, I followed the group of tourists to the Steinertor Gate, which led me into the city of Krems an der Donau.

  Chapter Three

  (July 27, 1992, in Vienna)

  Krems an der Donau looked like one of those places you would imagine when reading a fairytale to a five-year-old girl. The sun-tanned roofs and peach-painted buildings stood out amongst the trees and the clear blue sky matched as if it was especially painted for the city.

  If only I could live here. I could live here for the rest of my life and never go back to Missouri.

  The rows of houses were all different in some way. The unusual exterior features gave each house character and from far away, a clock tower rose above the other buildings. A church, maybe?

  I wandered through the red-paved cement streets. Tourists huddled in groups in front of shops; others crowded in restaurants as the waiters rushed full speed to take their orders. I didn’t know how they managed to run back and forth while wearing black from head to toe in this hot weather. I couldn’t even stand the sunlight that was scalding my back, and I was only wearing a thin tank top.

  I stopped where the road diverged into two separate paths. I was indecisive about which road to take and that feeling of obscurity rushed over me suddenly. Where would I end up if I took the left path? Would the right path be a better choice? Should I flip a coin? After thinking for a long time, I finally took the left one after noticing it was way less crowded and decided to just leave it at that.

  There was a farmer’s market selling dried fruits, and beside it, an old lady was making homemade bracelets with yarn. Her fragile hands delicately braided the strings together on the wooden board, so steady that you would think it was a twenty-year-old with total control doing it.

  I wanted to buy one of the bracelets she made, but I didn’t have enough money. One of them had beautiful wave-like patterns of yellow, blue, and white.

  She looked up from her work and realized I was staring. She smiled before placing the yellow, blue, and white patterned bracelet around my wrist.

  It looked so delicate and lovely.

  “Thank you…but I can’t buy this,” I said and gave it back to her even though I desperately wanted to buy it.

  “Muffin?”

  A boy popped up next to me. He was adorable, dressed in a mini chef outfit as he handed me a sample of muffins.

  “Thanks,” I said and smiled at him. He was so cute, and I could see his father in the bakery from across the street, looking at him proudly.

  I proceeded walking down the narrow streets, blending alongside the other American tourist groups.

  I stopped in my tracks when I noticed the violin boy sitting down at a restaurant a few feet away.

  He’s here.

  I could recognize his ruffled hair from a mile away. Was he following me?

  No, he couldn’t be. He was eating dessert with another woman in a tight black dress. Business?

  Even though they were sitting under an umbrella, the lady was still wearing her sunglasses.

  I walked closer, but not so close that he could see me. Although I could hear the woman’s voice, his voice was so much softer that it was drowned in the background noise of the restaurant.

  She placed her fork on the table after she took another bite of her cake and left without
her belongings. Probably going to the bathroom.

  I watched the violin boy reach across the table to grab the woman’s wallet. The way he did it was so natural, like he’d done it a thousand times before. The way his hands moved swiftly from across the table and into her purse. He didn’t even have to look through it. It was as if he knew where the wallet was, exactly from experience.

  He folded and placed the wad of cash into his side pocket without counting it. He then beckoned for the waiter to bring the check, and he left after he paid with the money he’d just stolen.

  Wow. I rolled my eyes. He’s such a gentleman; he stole money but was still well mannered enough to pay the bill. I should have left by then because the moment he got up, he noticed me and made eye contact.

  I lowered my head dramatically and walked away, which made it even worse because then he knew that I saw him steal.

  Just keep walking. Just keep walking. Just keep walking.

  I turned a corner quickly, but I didn’t dare to look back. I hoped I had lost him.

  “Hey, Kaffee Mädchen.”

  “Whoa!” I should have paid attention to where I was heading.

  “What brings you here?” he said. I kept on walking. He followed.

  “Why can’t I be here?” I answered him. It was a trick I had developed with my parents. Whenever they asked something I couldn’t answer, I asked another question and prayed to God the topic would lead somewhere else.

  “Are you following me?” he asked.

  “Now why would I want to do that? You do realize I have better things to do than follow you around?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” he said and stopped right in front of me, blocking my way. Argh. He’s using my tactic.

  “Stop it,” I snapped back and walked past him.

  “Stop what?”

  “You know, answering my questions with a question. It’s annoying.”