Deviare

uno

This is how Nicomaine will meet the love of her life.

It will happen in the middle of the Paris Gare de Lyon station during a late Thursday afternoon. Passengers and travelers of all ages and sizes will be flocking to the terminal with trolleys and bags in tow. Waves of hello and goodbye will be given and received, and tears of laughter and despair as one arrives and leaves will be seen.

She will stand perfectly still in the middle of a place where motion is the norm and concentrate on a worn-out map of Europe she's holding in her hands. It was given on her last day at the advertising agency she was holed up in for 5 years. It came with a tiny note that told her to "Start moving!!!"

Then she will find herself still going at it one year later, still in constant motion, moving from cities to towns to countries, crossing borders and trying to learn languages along the way. She picks places by covering her eyes and pointing to a spot on the map, letting fate decide her next stop. Armed with a backpack that's almost as tall as she was, she will lose count of the new places she's been as soon as she arrives in France.

She will be looking up at the old split-flap display above her, taking note of which train leaves for where and at what time, alternately checking her map to see where a place exactly is.

Nicomaine will be too engrossed at the constantly changing screen, and by the time the last number on the last row flipped up, she will have decided which city to go to next.

***

This is how Richard will meet the love of his life.

He will be among the sea of people walking towards Paris Gare de Lyon, decked in an all black suit and a crisp white shirt, pulling a black trolley, with a black messenger bag slung over his shoulder. It was the first Thursday of the month and like most first Thursdays, he can be found in this train station, buying a ticket for the 6:23 P.M. trip to Freiburg, Germany. His presence was needed in his bookstore's branch in the city to participate in monthly board meetings in lieu of his father.

He will usually be ready an hour before his train leaves, so he will head to the tiny cafe a few meters away from the gate and sit in the right corner table for one. He will be reviewing spreadsheets and graphs, scribbling reminders for the staff in Freiburg for the next meeting, and sipping a piping hot cup of espresso to kill the time.

But on this particular Thursday, Richard will get stuck in two meetings in a row with investors, and then deal with an irate client on the phone before heading out of his office door. He will arrive at the terminal 23 minutes before departure, barely making it to the ticket booth.

Holding his phone on one hand while reading text messages and emails that have remained untouched since this morning, he will be hurriedly making his away across the now-crowded floor, taking quick glances at the giant split-flap display.

***

"Excuzes-moi, mademoiselle! Ne restez pas là!" He looked down to find a young lady with a backpack as tall as her, lying face flat on the floor.

She lifted her head up and saw a man in all-black suit with a face sporting a stern look and a furrowed brow. "Je suis désolé, I do not speak French."

Not today, he muttered to himself as he slowly hoisted her up, unintentionally looking into her hazel-colored eyes.

"I'm sorry, monsieur. I'm trying to find Como on my map, which is now torn apart because you were not watching where you were going!"

"You're in the Paris Gare de Lyon. It's a weekday afternoon. And you're standing there blocking the way, mon Dieu." He looked at his watch. 6:08 P.M.

He then turned towards the young woman who was not listening and is now writing in a black journal. Beads of sweat began forming on her crinkled forehead, as she projects a puzzling look on her face.

"There is a 7:11 P.M. trip to Milan Centrale. From there, ride a train to Varenna-Esino and you're in Como in no time."

She looked up and tapped the pen on her temple. Then her eyes widened and her face lit up like she just had an epiphany. "Merci! Have you been to Como, monsieur...?"

"Richard."

"Bonjour Richard! Je suis Nicomaine." She held out her hand and he met it with a tight grip. She noticed his hands were soft, unlikely for someone who looks as tough as he does.

"Bonjour. Oui, Como is a very special place."

She caught the faint sigh at the end of his statement, prompting her head to think of something that she's not sure would be a good idea. "Well, why don't you show me around there? I don't have a map with me and my Italian is orrible!"

He shook his head and let out a hearty laugh, "Crazy woman! You would go with me, a stranger, to a place you've never been?"

Now flashing a grin, with her hands holding on to the straps of her bag, she says, "Well, why not? I don't mind. You seem like a pretty nice guy. Serious, but nice."

Richard thought about the possible 12-hour trip with this beautiful stranger versus the 5 hours spent heading to another day-long meeting with people whose faces he didn't want to see. And what would he tell his associates, his father? That he opted to go to Como, a city he knows like the back of his hand?

He looked back to Nicomaine and saw her staring at the split-flap display again, with the same intensity she had right before he accidentally pushed her to the ground. He swore he could see sparks in her eyes as she fixed her gaze towards the monitor.

And before she could ask again, Richard found himself crumpling the train ticket to Freiburg he has been holding onto in his right pocket all this time.