‘So heavy,’ he says.
I sympathize.
‘Timothy,’ he says. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Ireland,’ I say.
‘No way, I left there today. Dublin for the past week. Man, I am partied out. I nearly missed my flight.’
I laugh.
‘I don’t want to seem rude, but I desperately need a shower. I will see you later,’ he says and takes the towel from his bunk.
It’s like sliding doors; within moments, an American enters. He wears black-framed glasses and has bright blond hair. ‘Hey,’ he says and goes to the bed nearest mine. ‘What you reading?’
‘It’s a self-help book on being alive while you’re alive.’
‘Are there other ways to do it?’
‘You could be kind of dead inside?’
‘True. Well, I gotta dash.’ He sprays himself with aftershave. ‘Reuniting with some family of mine and I’ve got to get rid of this hangover. Nice meeting you. We could talk books tomorrow maybe? If you’re around? Have a good night.’
Rejuvenated by making friends, I go for another quick walk to see if I can find the Anne Frank House. I booked a ticket for it the same day I booked my flight.
I notice the I AMSTERDAM sign’s big red and white letters. Some kids hang out at the M. It’s a breezy evening but not cold. I put my phone’s camera into selfie mode, take a picture of myself in front of the sign. The light is bad so I move closer to a streetlight, to try again. I check where I am in relation to the sign and notice someone at the big red I. I blink and check again. It’s him. The fella from the flight. This night keeps improving. I trot over to him before I know what I’m going to say.
‘Julian.’ I try to sound confident. My breath increases its pace.
His eyebrows lift and crease his forehead. ‘Natalie? Wow. Hello.’
I smile broadly. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
‘Fancy that.’
‘I was trying to get a selfie with the sign in the background, but I failed.’
‘Do you want me to take it?’ he offers.
‘Okay,’ I say and he swaps places with me. I set my phone up for him, show him what to press. I smile and he seems to take a few pics. I ask if he’s got a good one.
‘Yeah, sure, but I had an idea. Why don’t you go before the S, be I AM and you. Would that be cool?’
For the next few minutes, Julian directs me for this photoshoot.
‘Be more Dutch. How about point at yourself. Okay, now point at the sky. Be someone who thought they were in Paris but found out they were in Amsterdam.’
The two of us laugh.
‘Come in,’ I say and beckon him to sit beside me in one of the letters. ‘Come in for one with me. My plane friend photographer.’
‘I’m a bit camera shy.’ He hands me the phone.
‘Really? Why? You’ve no need to be.’
His elegant face is lit by the streetlamps. His striped scarf hangs around his neck. His lips are full, his stubble light.
‘Thanks, but I am. I look weird in photos.’
I reach an arm out, lean into him, take a selfie. Then I inspect it. He looks nice but embarrassed.
‘You’re photogenic, Julian.’ I nod to reiterate it.
The two of us stay hunched in the D, unmoving. I’m pressed against his shoulder and arm. I try to ignore the pleasurable sensations swarming my pelvis.
‘You staying somewhere nice?’ I ask, looking out over Museumplein.
‘Yeah, it’s okay. Work are paying for it. Twin beds. Four stars. You?’
‘I’m in a place that’s grand for a hostel. Only problem is sharing the room with three guys.’
‘I couldn’t stay in a hostel,’ he says.
‘Why not?’
‘Too old, maybe. Need my own space.’
‘I dunno. I mean, I should be fussier but I don’t care so much about where I sleep. A hotel is lovely but you don’t meet as many people as you do in the hostels. What age are you?’
‘Nearly thirty-six, next month actually. You?’
‘Thirty-one.’
‘True about the hotels. I don’t meet many people when I’m travelling around. Maybe colleagues or conference participants. Though older couples seem to always want to talk to me. Mostly I do all the tourist shit solo.’
‘I do too. Sometimes. Well, I aim to do it solo and if I make a friend to go with, it’s a bonus. Though my last trip was with a friend and it nearly broke us up.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We had conflicted interests. But we swung it back around on the flight home. Resentment isn’t worth the pain it brings,’ I say, and pause. ‘There’s probably some friends you’ll never shake.’
‘True friends. I’ve a few of them too. And what are you doing tonight, Natalie?’
‘Now?’
‘Yeah, do you want to go for a walk with me maybe? Go for a beer?’
I hesitate for a second and look in his eyes. ‘Yeah, I do. Do you think I’ll be okay like this in a bar?’ I look at my clothes – a moss green fitted blouse and black skinny jeans, not quite sophisticated night wear. I’m glad I have at least changed since the flight.
‘Yeah, I definitely think you will be.’
His eyes are warm and attentive. I feel protected in his company, as we walk the streets I point out the things I remember from earlier.
‘There’s this really nice bridge up ahead. Look there on the right, look at that penis lamp.’
‘Every town needs a good penis lamp,’ he says.
‘There’s an ass candle holder in the window up ahead. The candle fits into it.’
‘What will they come up with next?’
‘A vagina sensor light?’
For a moment, I think he’s going for my hand, as we walk, but it’s something in front of me he reaches for. A piece of paper.
DJ AZILE, TRANCE ALL-NIGHTER – ELEMENTENSTRAAT, 12TH APRIL, DOORS 8 P.M.
‘That’s tomorrow. Sounds fun.’
‘You like to rave?’ Julian asks.
His eyes widen in my silence.
‘I can’t take the days after,’ he says. ‘I can’t do them.’
‘I know what you mean but I’m never thinking about that at the time. Are you a businessman or something, Julian? You have smart luggage for someone in their leisure wear.’
‘You’re quite observant. I could be a businessman, maybe. Or an entrepreneur. Though they don’t quite fit. I suppose the way to put it, the modern term is that I’m involved in a start-up.’
‘What kind of thing?’
He pauses. ‘Health, fitness. Nutrition. Mainly nutrition. That kind of thing.’
‘I was once a spin instructor.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I got fired though.’
‘Why?’
‘Ah Julian, it’s a long story, for another time maybe.’
‘What do you do now?’
‘I’m almost a fitness instructor. Waiting on the certs.’
‘It’s good to learn.’
‘My final exams and practicals were last week but they went well. Took me a while to find this path. Very new to it. I’m not making any money yet. Hence the room with the three young men. Hey, is this the red light district?’
The next street is teeming. The prostitutes wear lingerie and stand in the windows of the buildings like real life X-rated Barbie dolls displayed in packaging. They take selfies, or dance provocatively for the people ogling.
The canal reflects the red lights.
‘Are you going to get a girl? My god, they are beautiful-looking.’
‘Nah,’ he says, ‘not for me.’
‘Ever try?’
‘Did anyone tell you, Natalie, not to ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to?’ He stops on the street.
‘I’ll take that as a yes-but-I-don’t-want-to-discuss-it.’
‘Exactly. What’s your plan for tomorrow?’
‘I’ve booked in to the Anne Frank House for 9.30 a.m. I might do some other tourist stuff in the afternoon,’ I say.