All characters are above the age of 18 unless otherwise specified.
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Fuck Europe.
Rarely did I use that word. It was reserved for very special occasions. I wasn't a prude or anything. I just tried to get more creative in my cursing, so that if I ever did use it, it carried more weight.
But fuck Europe.
I was sitting on an overnight train dashing from Milan to Prague. Taking in far more of Europe than I personally would have wanted.
Maybe I was uncultured. I could appreciate the history, the art, everything. But I was born in America, raised in America, lived in America. And there was a reason for that. I liked it there. I didn't want to deal with 17 different foreign languages, different currency, different customs, weird people, border crossing, everything.
Unfortunately I married a person who loved Europe and loved traveling. Unfortunate only for me, that is; my late husband Brian was a fantastically cultured and well-rounded man. I probably hadn't deserved him.
A drunk driver ripped him away from our family a year and a half earlier.
The shock and adjustment had worn away, to the extent that it ever can. The pain really hadn't. It left just me and our son Eli in the household.
And in my husband's will was his wish to have us travel Europe together in the event that he passed unexpectedly. To recreate the travels he had in his early 20's and scatter a small portion of his ashes in every city we went through. And to use it as a opportunity to come together closer as a mother and son.
Of course I was never going to shirk away from that. Being able to spend a few weeks with just my son was amazing. And I never in a million years wouldn't have upheld my Brian's final wish.
But did it really have to be in Europe??
It was 10 pm.
Eli and I had boarded our train a few hours earlier after a day in Milan. The city itself was undeniably very cool, if a bit touristy, and certainly a highlight of the trip.
We weren't set to arrive in Prague until the next day. I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I booked an overnight train instead of a flight in the planning process a few months earlier. But I must have figured the money savings was worth the trade-off.
I was questioning that now. The train was nice enough. Eli and I were splitting an overnight car, and the accommodations were good. Dinner had been fairly okay, and I was grateful that I'd been able to get a bottle of wine, now already half-empty.
Eli was happy too. He was 19, just finished up with his freshman year of college. Back home, he had just over a year before he could drink. Here though, he was freely allowed to be drinking the beers he had set down on the little table in our car.
We were 4 hours into the trip. We'd watched some TV together, and played a game of travel Scrabble that I'd bought from some street vendor in Rome. The instructions were in Italian but we remembered how to play.
I rifled through the small trinkets I'd picked up in Milan. Eli facetimed with one of his friends about the upcoming fantasy football season. We watched the countryside of Austria go by, the gorgeous sunset having faded down the horizon an hour or two ago.
There was only so much you could do in a train car though.
"I'm bored," I announced. Sounding a bit like a petulant child even though I was the 47-year-old.
"Well we've got...," Eli paused to check his watch. "10 hours before we're supposed to get into Prague. So, buckle up." He was sitting across from me, having changed into casual attire of a tight white t-shirt and gym shorts. He'd been hitting the gym a lot this summer and at school, I noticed. His arms were definitely bigger.
Eli got his father's height, about 6'2 (nearly a whole foot taller than me). He'd also gotten his slightly-curly brown hair and most of his dashing good looks. But he had my eyes. Bright blue. I was so proud of how he'd developed into a strapping young man.
With his grades and plans to go to business school, I couldn't have been a prouder mom. He was dating a wonderful girl in college too, although I'd only met her once.
We'd done a pretty good job with him as our only son. I was just sad Brian wasn't here to see it through.
My eyes darted over to our bags, on one end of the bench in the room. Inside Eli's backpack was a small container with the rest of my husband. Mostly emptied at this point in the trip, but still. It felt like he was here with us, in a way. That even if I hated where we were doing this trip, we were doing it together, as a family. And that was the important part.
"So we're gonna get in at like 8 am?" I asked.
Eli checked his phone again, pulling up the train's itinerary.
"Says 8:30. But yeah."
"Okay so in by 8:30 means fully dressed by 8 at the latest. My shower at 7:15, yours at 7, breakfast at 6:30, up by 6:15. Right?"
"You're the expert," Eli deferred to me.
"Well that sounds right. But if it's already 10, it means we should get to bed soon."
"Yeah I guess. You're bored anyway, so I doubt you'll be complaining."
"I mean, the wine's only half-empty," I pointed out. "I won't have the chance to finish it."
"There's always tomorrow."
"True."
I sat for a second with my glass, feeling the little bit of buzz that came with two healthy glasses. I quickly downed the remainder of my glass, and corked up the rest of the bottle.
"I'm changing first?" I inquired.
"I changed after dinner," Eli pointed out.
"Oh, yeah," I responded, feeling like a bit of an idiot. "Nevermind."
I ruffled through one of my bags, grabbing my usual sleeping attire of a tank top and gym shorts.
Well,
usually
my sleeping attire was nothing, but that's not really an option when you're splitting a bedroom with your son.