Untitled

Chapter 1

The train departed from Durham Station on the east side of town heading south. Through tears of rain condensed on the window, I could see the sadness build up in his eyes as he waved goodbye. All Too Well chimed in through my Airpods as I passed through the English countryside on the way back to London to catch my flight. My body sunk into the cramped, velvet seats as I dreamed of the day I’d be nestled in his arms once again.

November mornings in England always provide a solemn backdrop to every story, but this day proved to be the most melancholy of them all. I didn’t know it then, but this would be the final goodbye in the story of us.

Chapter 2

I met Miles on a snowy morning in Amsterdam. The sun had not yet broken the sky and I was stumbling back to my new apartment after a night out in town with friends. Unlike the city center, Amsterdam-oost is desolate and dimly lit at dawn during the winter. Snow blanketed the streets and obscured any vision beyond a 20 foot radius of my body. Buildings and shadows became eerie in the icy haze and I had an unnerving feeling that something awfully, eventful was about to occur. As I trudged my feet through piles of snow trying not to stumble in my platform boots, I could see the apparition of a dark figure watching me from the street corner ahead. I knew I had to cross paths with it as there was only one route home and the cold air had already penetrated my bones. I mouthed a silent mantra to the wind “Walk fast, You’re a New Yorker, You’re not scared, Be brave” repeatedly as I closed the distance between us. 

As I neared him, he looked taller and bigger than I imagined, almost monumental next to me even in my 7 inch heels. I pushed my shoulders back, raised my nose with confidence, trying not to make eye contact in attempts to briskly walk past him to avoid any interaction. He stopped me in my tracks, “Do you have a lighter?” The most charming, English accent broke the sound of snowfall as I turned my head to greet him. I reached into my Celine bag and handed him my lighter which was exchanged for a cigarette. 

“I’m guessing you’re from England,” my voice stuttered. 

“Yes, I am. Where are you from?” 

I still wasn’t sure how to answer that question, being raised in California, but feeling more New Yorker at heart. “New York,” I stated.

“What part of New York?” he asked with polite confidence.

“Chelsea.”

“Do you know of the Chelsea Hotel?”

I was immediately intrigued and excited by this mysterious stranger. “Yes, I’m actually reading a book about it now,” I smiled, not mentioning the fact that this hotel and the stories it encompassed was the sole reason I moved to that metropolis two years prior. 

“What book is it?”

“Legends of the Chelsea Hotel, do you know of it?”

“That book is on my nightstand right now.”

I couldn’t believe this surreal encounter unravelling before me. 

We realized we were walking in the same direction, or he was following me, as we wandered down Molukkenstraat. I always have to be on high alert when meeting strange characters in the middle of the night, but I was too eager to speak with him to tread with caution. 

We regaled each other with stories of rock n roll idols, fallen drug addicts, and all of the greats to saunter the streets of Manhattan when my apartment door loomed over us. 

“This is my place,” I said with a smile. 

“Here, let me give you my number. You can let me know if you ever want to see some live music in the city”. 

My stomach was fluttering with excitement. I saved his contact in my Iphone, knowing I wouldn’t have Wifi until I reached my flat, but I couldn’t wait to message him right away! 

We parted ways and I tried to remember which floor and room number I resided in, as I had just moved in earlier that day.

My phone could not connect to the internet faster! I tried to steady my breath and soberly type a coherent message defying the effects of several gin & tonics.

4:54 AM  Pretty glad you didn’t have a lighter tonight. Nice Meeting you. - Kelly Rose

Send.

5 minutes later, I hear a ping from the bathroom as I strip off my makeup and get ready for bed.

4:59 AM  Lovely to meet you too. Give me a shout this week and we’ll go hit up some live music x

I couldn’t stop beaming as I fell asleep.

Chapter 3

Post Valentine's Day message exchanges solidified our first date. It was planned for the following week where I would meet him in the city center for a pint. 

On the day of, I attended my film philosophy class at Amsterdam University College, painted my eyes with hues of gray and brown, and lengthened my lashes like wispy spider legs inspired by Andy Warhol’s muse Edie Sedgwick, which had been trending at New York Fashion Week that season. I wrapped myself in a black wool Marc Jacobs coat and set off for the city. 

This was my first time venturing into Amsterdam Central alone and I made sure to leave with due time in case I got lost on the way. 

The Sprinter put me right in the center of the city in exactly eight minutes and I was ready to navigate the labyrinth of the Red Light District, a daunting prospect given my moral disposition to the “working woman”. 

I followed my glitching Google Maps directions towards De Prael, the bar where we’d meet, located three minutes from the main entrance of the station (which would ostensibly take me fifteen). 

The city opened up into a maze of drunk street crawlers meandering aimlessly from bar to bar and desperate prostitutes luring lonely men into their den. This story book, pop up city felt seedier at sundown, with a shallow sense of promise around every corner. 

I didn’t want to admit I was lost, but the clock seemed to be on acceleration and everything was starting to look the same.

Narrow streets were lined with bikes balanced against brick walls, inebriated tourists stumbled into dimly lit coffee shops clouded with smoke fogging up the windows, and canals provided dead ends to every route I trekked down. Each cloned street resembled a circus show parading before me, obscuring the two little words De Prael inscribed into its walls.

After many wrong turns, I finally found the sand washed beige door frame with cursive lettering spelling out the Dutch words I was looking for.

With a hurried urgency, I flung the door ajar, acutely aware that I was late. My gaze swept the expanse of the room, questing for the gentleman whose acquaintance I had chanced upon in the heart of night. There he stood, a towering presence surpassing even the recollections of my memory. The cool fabric of a denim jacket enfolded his frame as he leaned against the bar with a pint in hand.

He presented a figure of remarkable elegance: skin akin to the finest porcelain, a cascade of chestnut tresses framed his face, his lips touched by a delicate flush. He was an artistic creation so exquisite that I would not have blinked had tales whispered he had been sculpted from African ivory by the hands of Pygmalion himself.

In the warm glow of his grin, he inquired as to my preference in beer, and my ignorance of the brews led me to cede the choice to him. He ordered and led us toward the rear of the venue, where the walls wore a tapestry of vinyl records, a testament to the days gone by. In the exchange of anecdotes that followed, we shared moments of our pasts, discussed music history, and offered discerning critiques of Hollywood.

The evening's course flowed as smoothly as a classical melody, and I was perfectly content with this inaugural encounter. Yet, unbeknownst to me, the evening held more pages. Alongside the canal's meandering waters, we embarked to the next location he had planned for us – a rooftop haven of jazz and moonlight.

At the top of Bimhuis, a breathtaking panorama opened up before us, city lights swathed in neon purples and muted yellows, reflecting like stardust on the waters below.

We took our places on a bench positioned alongside an expansive table, sitting side by side, as the musicians began to play. He moved to enfold his arm around me, a gesture that sent his beer cascading across the table, a stream of liquid which spilt onto the patrons behind us. A smile danced upon my lips, finding residence in the sight of his flushed cheeks. With haste, he snatched paper napkins to clean up the mess. I found the spectacle undeniably endearing.

We soaked in the music's echoes, then left our cozy jazz refuge. Strolling by the canal, our faces illuminated by moonlight, we found a spot at the edge of the pier to pause and share and a cigarette. His gaze, intense and unwavering, held me captivated. I was transfixed on this stranger, fervently hoping he'd kiss me. He didn't.

With purposeful steps, he steered us toward the evening’s final destination: Hannekes Boom. Mindful of my intake, I opted for water over spirits, as we settled on the terrace, engaged in each other’s company and the view of Amsterdam. Amidst the gentle sway of the waters, he spoke of dreams of one day having a wife and family and being a dad. My heart sang. It truly was a perfect evening.

We made our way back to Central Station and were sobered by the florescent lights of the train. The night was coming to an end, but I knew the memories would be forever ingrained in my head.