The Story Begins Read online

  Americans came and went and she had known far too many girls who had had their heart broken; as such, she had never entertained the notion of ever dating an American. She did understand that her life’s love could very well have been a service member; however, it simply wasn’t a risk that she was willing to take.

  She hurried in and grabbed the magazine, turning around only to find herself jumping back and almost falling on the magazine rack, startled by the soldier who stood behind her. He reached out and caught her before she could fall.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said the soldier who, apparently, had followed her in. Cassandra surmised that because he wasn’t the one settling the fuel bill. Another soldier was at the counter tending to that so this could only mean one thing. Great! So much for not being hit on, she thought. She stared at him somewhat annoyed but didn’t say a word.

  “Just my luck!” said the soldier. “Every German I’ve met so far speaks English almost perfectly but of course the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen does not.” The soldier sighed as he looked at her with visible disappointment.

  Seeing him react as he did, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Ah! You do speak English, don’t you, at least a little bit?” he said excitedly.

  “Yes, I do,” she said shyly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”

  “Go? But we just met,” he protested.

  “I must go,” she insisted. “Sorry.”

  “Can I at least know your name?” he pleaded.

  “Why?”

  “A glass slipper helped the prince find Cinderella. I don’t think you’d be willing to give me one of your shoes but with at least a name, I’ll know who to ask for when I try to find my Cinderella.” He hoped that he wasn’t sounding too terribly banal but suspected that he was.

  “You are – what is the word that I am looking for?” She paused for thought. “Ah yes, presumptuous, aren’t you?”

  “My God! I wish they taught us foreign languages this well back in the States. I almost don’t even know what that word means and I’m from the States. Either our teachers could learn a thing or two from yours, or as students we don’t do a good job of paying attention – maybe both.”

  Her phone buzzed. She looked at it. It was a text message from her brother. “I must get home. My family is waiting for me. Thank you for preventing my fall, but then should I really be thanking the cause of it in the first place?” she said, smiling.

  “Witty, aren’t you? I’m Matt but you can call me Phil.”

  “I’m Cassandra.”

  “Forgive me if you find me a bit too forward but do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No. I do not date. And if I did, it certainly would not be an American,” she answered, intending to disincline him from any further pursuit. “Now, please, I must go.” It then occurred to her that as often as she had repeated that she should be going, she had made no physical effort to do so. It was not as though he was truly impeding her movement so why weren’t her feet moving?

  “Okay, just one more question – why don’t you?”

  “Why do I not what? Date in general, or why not Americans?”

  “Both.”

  “Firstly, I’ve never met a guy I wanted anything more from than just friendship and, secondly, never will I date Americans because I’ve had a few friends who have had their hearts broken by the same. You come and then you leave. I do not intend for that to happen to me. And to dissuade you even further, the chances of me doing so are more an impossibility than remote.”

  He was very impressed by how well she articulated herself. “To dissuade me even further the chances of you doing so are more an impossibility than remote!” he repeated. “Wow! Your English really is good. I guess your reasoning is fair enough. Nonetheless, can I at least give you my number? Though I’d like to, I won’t ask you for yours. Just take mine and call if you change your mind. I’m willing to settle for just friends,” he said, rather unconvincingly.

  “Sure you are!” she said sarcastically. “That would probably make you the first guy to actually genuinely accept that answer from a girl. I honestly don’t know why I’m doing this but… okay.” Reluctantly she took his number. “Goodnight,” she said as her phone buzzed yet again.

  “I’ll say goodnight once I’ve walked you back to your car.”

  “Persistent, aren’t you?”

  “Only when it’s worth it,” he answered.

  She blushed.

  He watched her drive off, wondering if that was the first and last time that he’d ever see her.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY: A phone beeped then buzzed rather loudly. Someone in the classroom was either receiving a call or a text message; whichever it was, the professor wasn’t at all pleased.

  “What have I told you about cell phone use during class?” she asked sternly. “Come on then! Somebody tell me just how many times I’ve told you as soon as you step through that door into this classroom, all cell phones are to be turned off. Not on vibrate, not on silent but completely turned off!” she said, obviously vexed. “A thousand times, or was it perhaps just 900? Whoever’s phone that was, turn it off immediately! And for anyone else unsure regarding the status of your phone, check it right now and follow suit if need be.” She looked around the classroom expectantly; however, no one stirred. “Let’s return to the lesson then, shall we?”

  Discretely Lydia opened up the message. It was from her mother. ‘What do you girls have planned for tonight?’ she had written.

  ‘I’ll call when I’m through with class,’ Lydia stealthily wrote back.

  Cassandra, sitting beside her, threw her a quick glance and, having made eye contact, nodded towards the professor.

  Lydia smirked, pushed the send button, and then turned the phone off.

  Within minutes the class was dismissed. As comeuppance for the disturbance, the professor assigned the class additional chapters of reading. A few students grumbled and cursed quietly. Now it was the professor who smirked as the students walked past her, as though to say ‘See how it feels when some of your time is taken away from you.’

  “Who sent you a message?” Cassandra asked as they stepped into the hallway.

  “Mom,” she answered as she dialed her mother’s number.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing! She just wants to know if we have any plans for tonight.”

  “Do we?”

  “No… not yet, anyway. I wonder if she has anything in-” Her mom answered. “Hey! Que passa, Mammy?”

  “It’s Friday!” her mother exclaimed. “I’m off tomorrow and was planning on going out to the theater later tonight and watch the last showing of anything that looks good. I’m hoping you two want to come with me. Your dad can’t make it, he’s inundated with reports he has to finish up for work.”

  “Cassandra and I don’t have anything planned so I’m thinking yes. Hold on while I ask her just to be sure, okay.”

  Cassandra was already nodding in consent even as Lydia was turning to her. “She’s in, Mommy. Girls’ night out! It’ll be fun. What time are you getting home?” Lydia asked as they stepped out into the courtyard, exiting the palatial structure of the University of Mannheim.

  “I’ll be home around 1800 then at your place an hour or two later.”

  “Okay. Cassandra and I are going to Laudenbach now but we’ll be back at the apartment in time.”

  “Okay, mi amor. I’ll see you both then. Love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you too. Adios!” Lydia said.

  “Adios,” said her mom.

  The girls exited the university grounds and walked down the street.

  “I’ve always admired that, ever since we were children,” Cassandra said.

  “What’s that?” Lydia asked.

  “The way you switch languages when you talk. From German to Spanish, or to Portuguese if it’s with Dad, then back again. I’ve always thought that it’s so cool.”

  They
stopped at a traffic light and waited for the pedestrian signal.

  “You know what?” Lydia said as though realizing something for the first time.

  “What’s that?” asked Cassandra.

  “Why do you and I speak only in one language? I mean, we grew up in each other’s home and you’ve learned both Spanish and Portuguese over the years.”

  “You’re right! As strange as it is, the thought of speaking anything other than German never occurred to me. Why don’t we is really a good question,” Cassandra said, giving serious thought to why in all that time it had never occurred to them to speak in either Spanish or Portuguese.

  The light changed color, permitting them to cross.

  “Well, it’s probably always been that way because my parents could only communicate with yours in one language and the both of us simply followed along. Makes sense,” Cassandra said.

  “Yes, it does,” Lydia agreed. “Where did you park, mi amor?” she then asked, looking forward to dropping the heavy load that was her backpack.

  “Two streets over, it was the only parking I could find. Yeah, I feel the weight too.” Lydia had something on her mind for she now smiled, unaware that she was doing so. “What is it?” Cassandra asked as they walked.

  “What’s what?” Lydia asked.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was just thinking about our childhood,” Lydia shared.

  “What about it?” Cassandra asked, smiling too, as well reminiscing on fond memories.

  “It is because of us that our parents lived in the same apartment building until I decided to get an apartment. Had I decided to stay at home, never bringing up wanting to get my own place, your mom and dad never would have thought of buying a house in Laudenbach and we’d all still be in the same building.”

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Our friendship means as much to them as it does to us. You’re right, had you not gotten your own place, my parents never would have sold the apartment.” They finally arrived at the car.

  Though the car functioned well, every time Lydia laid eyes on it, she couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, it was that held it together and kept it running. It was a 25 year-old vehicle with close to 394,000 kilometers on its odometer yet it functioned as reliably as any new car.

  There could only have been two plausible explanations with regard to why the vehicle held together, she always teased Cassandra; either the engineering was truly exceptional, or God’s hand was at work. She suspected that the latter was a more tenable explanation. It was merely a matter of time before the police arrested Cassandra for keeping that eyesore on the road, she’d often tease her.

  “I know. Ours is a very special friendship,” Lydia said cheerfully as she opened the passenger-side door.

  Cassandra merged into traffic. “Want to go grab something to eat before heading back home?”

  “No, I don’t feel like anything right now.”

  There was a bit of silence before Cassandra spoke again. “Have you ever wondered if… err… b-b-boyfriends could ever find a niche in our friendship?” she stammered, making every effort not to sound nervous.

  Lydia found the question utterly random and curious as it was; Cassandra’s stuttering made it all the more intriguing. Lydia looked at her. Did Cassandra wish to make known a matter, or was the question simply one most random in nature? If random, though, why had she stammered? Never had the subject of boyfriends ever been addressed between them; at least not in a context that had any direct bearing on either of them.

  “What is it?” Cassandra asked, trying to sound as though there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary concerning her query.

  “It’s nothing. I guess I was just a bit thrown off when you mentioned boyfriends; to answer your question, though, no. That thought’s never occurred to me. I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she said, opting to believe that there wasn’t anything to it. She did think to ask that she might be certain but had then decided against it. She was ambivalent as to whether she did genuinely believe that there wasn’t anything to it; she was certain, however, that she would not particularly care for what the answer could otherwise be.

  Cassandra changed the subject back to that of food. “There’s plenty of stuff to snack on at home if you feel like it later. I, on the other hand, need to grab something now. I’m thinking a doner.”

  LATER AT LYDIA’S APARTMENT BUILDING: Climbing up the stairs to the fourth floor where Lydia had her apartment, they ran into Lydia’s mother traveling downstairs with a basket of laundry.

  “Hola,” greeted Cassandra.

  “Hola, girls! I’ll be right up, okay?” Lydia’s mother said as she continued to climb down with what looked like a heavy load.

  “Mommy,” Lydia called out after her, protesting, “come now, I can do my own laundry.”

  “I know, honey, but since I decided to come here straight from work, rather than lounge around while you were still out, I thought I’d help you clean up a bit. Go on up, this won’t take long,” her mother said, her voice trailing off the farther down she went.

  “Okay. Gracias Mama,” Lydia shouted before she and Cassandra continued up the stairs.

  “De nada, mi amor,” her mother said softly, smiling as she traveled down the last flight of stairs leading into the basement.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” Cassandra called out while walking to the door, intending to look through the peephole.

  “It’s Mommy!” Lydia’s mom answered.

  Cassandra let her in.

  “Thank you, sweetie. Good thing you girls came along when you did. I didn’t realize that I had left my key inside when I stepped out.”

  LATER THAT EVENING: Lydia set the phone down then leaned back in the chair.

  “So what times are the last showings?” her mother asked.

  “There’s a 21:45 and then 22:15 showing of-” she didn’t get to finish; Cassandra abruptly made an announcement.

  “I met someone!” Cassandra, sitting next to Lydia’s mom and nervously clutching a cushion, suddenly blurted out.

  “What?” Lydia said, with shock and disbelief in her voice.

  “I met someone,” Cassandra repeated meekly, avoiding Lydia’s eyes and looking over to her mom who, unlike Lydia, was smiling, happy that Cassandra found herself in that which bore semblance to a fledgling relationship.

  Lydia, however, was in shock. “I heard you the first time!” she said harshly. She was livid. “So you did have reason to ask what you asked earlier in the car!” she said petulantly. She rose, went to the bathroom and locked herself in.

  Cassandra became even more nervous. They had never fought or disagreed over anything, even as children. She was lost and not at all sure how she might manage the plight that had so suddenly come upon her. Her eyes swelled with tears then began streaming down her face.

  “What’s happening, Mommy?” Cassandra asked Lydia’s mom, her voice quavering.

  Lydia’s mother comforted her; she held her close and assured her that all would soon be well again. Cassandra went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Lydia refused to acknowledge the gesture, opting to remain silent.

  “Lydia, please come out,’ she entreated while sobbing, causing her speech to be barely understandable. Lydia remained recalcitrant.

  “Here, my dear,” said Lydia’s mother, taking Cassandra by the hand and leading her back to the sofa, “I’ll talk to her.”

  Penelope went to the bathroom and knocked. “Lydia, come out, sweetie. We all need to have a talk. I know that you’re upset but everything will be fine, I promise,” she coaxed.

  Still was Lydia intractable. “No, I’m not coming out. That’s not nice of her. I will not come out,” she objected in a manner reminiscent of a displeased child, for the innocence with which she still regarded the world was unconcealed in her voice.

  “Sweetie, please come o
ut. If it were you who met someone first, would you be happy if Cassandra carried on as you are now?”

  There was silence.

  “Well?” said her mom, waiting.

  “I’m thinking, Mommy,” she said, her tone very much that which may be expected of a pouting child.

  Her mother smiled. How dearly she loved them. Even though they had grown up and gone off to college, she still saw in them the sweet and naïve little girls of yesteryear. They, for all intents and purposes, still did have the same naiveté now that was theirs when they were five.

  Then the bathroom door unlocked but did not open.

  “No, sweetie, Cassandra is not going to come to you; rather you’re going to come out here. No one is at fault here, love,” her mother said softly.

  Lydia finally came out.

  Penelope then sat both girls on the sofa and seated herself opposite them on the loveseat. She explained to her beloved girls that Lydia reacted as she had for she recognized the implications this would have on the bond shared by the twain. She then explained to Cassandra that because the pair had been inseparable always, Lydia now found herself having to contend with inevitable changes. Such is the circle of life and, had the shoe been on the other foot, perhaps Cassandra, too, might have reacted similarly.

  She promised them that theirs would always be a bond that transcended human emotions and was near, if not in fact, divine. The time they had always shared and taken for granted would always be there, only now it would be meted an appropriate measure where due. She explained that though the girls may consider seeing less of one other as a peril to their remarkable friendship, in time they would come to learn that though changes occur in life, they don’t all convey messages or omens portending doom.

  Lydia was prompt to register her complaint subsequent to her mother endeavoring to assuage their fears. “I don’t like that!” she said.

  Cassandra seconded the sentiment. “Neither do I,” she said, only she had a caveat, “but I think I might like him.”