7. Life, Shared

Some 30 minutes from the Dutch border, I noticed a sign showing a roadside restaurant in 1,5 kilometres. “Take the next exit to the restaurant, girlfriend. I am hungry and I have to pee. Badly.” Despite all my bravado, I had the jitters for the first time exposing ourselves in public as Siamese twins.

The highway restaurant was a functional, cafeteria-style stop attached to a Texaco fuel station. Our first stop was the restroom. It was one of those things: if you did not pay your 50 cents, a turnstile blocked access. It took some coordination with Sylvia still outside and with me already within. There was a waiting line for the ladies. Why is it that no one understands the need for women’s restrooms to have three times as many stalls as men’s restrooms? So we waited. And waited. I was getting more and more nervous. With five women before us, Sylvia did one of her signature roleplay things.

“Excuse me, I have this prisoner with me, and she is getting really nervous now.” As proof of her claim, she held her arm up with the chain leading unmistakably towards me. “And when she is nervous, she might be dangerous. I don’t think you are in immediate danger, but I would prefer if we took no chances. Do you ladies mind if we take the next free stall?” The ladies did not mind when I made uncontrollable hand movements with my left hand.

“Thank you, all,” Sylvia smiled sweetly, and we disappeared both into the cramped toilet stall. Sylvia gestured I should go first, and that was good advice. I almost didn’t make it. I looked up from the seat. Sylvia smiled. I swear. She smiled. Not one that reached her eyes, but it was a start. I finished as soon as I could, wiped and made room for her. It made me think of times long gone. Sylvia was often the one who started some crazy story, full of confidence and 100% serious. I was used to adjusting within seconds and playing my part.

After Sylvia was done, we washed our hands and walked into the busy restaurant. At the counter they sold hearty Belgian comfort food such as stoofvlees with fries, spaghetti and meatballs, alongside grab-and-go sandwiches and strong self-serve coffee. We attracted quite a bit of attention at the counter. There was a moment, I think, when everyone was looking at us. Sylvia acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and instinctively I followed her lead. We talked softly about Sandor’s journey. Before he left, he asked me to feed the animals. After Ilse moved in with Sandor, numerous animals appeared on the old farm. Suddenly there were chickens, a rooster, rabbits, and two cats.

We found a quiet spot to eat the comfort food we badly needed. At least I needed it badly.

“Are you OK?,” I asked. “With all this?” My eyes turned to the chain.

“This is so unlike you, so not your thing, Zuzanna. I still need to know why on earth you did such a brazen thing?”

“It was the only thing I could come up with.” I admitted. “You seem to have lost your zest for life. If I let you have your way, there will come a time when I won’t be able to get to you in time. That thought is unbearable. This is very embarrassing and perhaps completely out of my comfort zone, but I can keep a close eye on you and it brings life to the party. It is time my life should finally come to life again.”

“So you are doing this not for me, but to have your own adventures?” Sylvia teased.

“Yes”, I said simply.

“I don’t understand,” Sylvia said.

“I get up at six o’clock in the morning. Not because I set my alarm, but my internal clock is telling me to get out of bed. A brief shower. Breakfast. At seven in the morning, I’m sitting in my chair wondering if I will read my book, do a Sudoku-puzzle or clean my kitchen. Sometimes I deliberately make such a mess of my kitchen during breakfast that it takes me an hour to clean everything up again. After an exciting visit to the library and the groceries that are on offer at the Jumbo, I go back home. Two in the afternoon. Too early for television, too early for booze, too early for my vibrator. So I go for another walk, talk with the dog owners around my house about the weather or their lovely dogs. I have 103 channels on my TV, and most evenings it’s off. Nothing there that I haven’t seen a thousand times before. So I get a book, my Sodoku-puzzle and on Fridays my vibrator and go to bed. Only to wake up the next day at six.”

We were quiet. Sylvia grabbed my hand and said, “You could go to work again, doing a volunteer job?”

I shook her hand away from mine. “I have done my share of work for the community. Why should I go to work without being paid? Do not feel sorry for me, Sylvia. I enjoy being retired. I like the nothingness of zero obligations. Don’t flatter yourself thinking your antics are a reason for me to chain you to me. I wish we could have just been friends, doing whatever friends do. I was so looking forward to it. And now, eight years after taking care of Johan, I am forced to take care of you. Not because I like to be locked onto you, but because I have no other choice. You better start prepping about forty excuses, because you are going to make me so incredibly angry in the future. I can already feel the rising tension. I am going to hate you with a vengeance. But I will not let you go. Ever. Know now that even if I want to string you up myself, I will not set you free.” Unintentionally, my voice rose and sounded perhaps a bit nasty. I sounded like the white guy who locked Nelson Mandela up.