He Had Always Wanted to Go to Europe

He had always wanted to go to Europe. Or South America. The two locations held what, in his mind, were the necessary ingredients to a happier life. But they were distant, both financially and logistically, and of course, geographically. He thought of these countries in the same way as he thought of falling in love with a woman. Lovely, and yet a remote possibility. Something had always prevented him from going, he felt. There was school to finish, a career to start. His father had always pressed upon him the idea of stability. There was the time he went broke from trying to start a small business. There was the time his mother got sick, and died.

And then, there was the philosophical opposition in his mind against traveling. It wasn’t because he was a square, or neurotic, or too straight-laced, or something like that. In fact it was quite the opposite. He was adventurous, whimsical, and possessed exactly the average amount of courage, as was the norm for everyone else. Rather, it was in his nature to be different that kept him from travelling. These days, everyone traveled, he thought. Everyone studies abroad and travels to Spain after they graduate from college. His sister was in France this moment with one of her sorority friends, drinking wine and pretending they were cultured and adventurous. She had probably slept with someone, some young French artist, it would have been the thing to do.

He thought of travelling as a bourgeoisie luxury. He didn’t want to be living a life of bourgeoisie luxury.

So when someone had offered him the chance to go to Belgium for a rather unusual task, he didn’t know what to say.

“John,” they said. “We would like you to go to Belgium, our nephew, well….he broke his leg. He was drunk and missed his train to Luxembourg. He was traveling the world, first with friends, and then by himself. He was scheduled to go home the next day. He would like some help getting back. Our little precious you know, he’s nineteen.”

“Why, me?” he asked.

“Well, you’ve always been such a hard worker for us, and, well, you don’t have a girlfriend, or a family, do you?”

He shook his head.

“And well…” the woman faltered in her speech at this point “…you’ve seemed a little, well, mopey lately.”

“Mopey?”

“Well, yes, I mean sad, not like, lazy.”

Her husband shook his head in agreement.
He, John, didn’t say anything.

He was halfway to Belgium at midnight the next day, flying over the Atlantic Ocean. His employer’s nephew was waiting for him in the Hilton. John could barely contain his excitement to be in Europe. This other kid however, his name was Chad, or Chuck, something like that, was depressed and tired of Europe. They had three days before their plane left. John wanted to go explore the city. And so he did. He went on a train, he went a canal ride and he walked the streets. He ate waffles and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes on an outdoor patio. Drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes on an outdoor patio beneath a Venetian sort of hanging was something he had always wanted to do. This other kid, Charlie or whatever, just sat in the Hotel watching American Reality T.V. shows.

A week later, he was back. The nephew, returned safely, his older employers happy, and he, John, had visited Europe. Now that he had visited Europe however, he was not sure what else he had to look forward to.