The Older Gentleman

Reminiscing to a time spent travelling abroad where - for lack of a better term - I was "swept off my feet" by a much older, foreign man.

Dear honey, 

I was young and naive, yet bursting with ambition on that gloomy winter’s evening when you first laid eyes on me. I tell a lie, because really we had seen each other before " but only a small glimpse over the top of our gluhwiens, without a second thought here or there.  I was living in a foreign land, away from all that I knew back home " I guess you could say I was doing that British student thing, the “gap year”, moving as far away as possible from Mum and Dad, to try and prove the unprovable point that I could manage on my own. It must have been the young rebel inside me, either that or I had one ‘grosses bier’ too many, but you had suddenly caught my attention and you were so fascinating that I was immediately drawn towards you. You had such an incredible aura and it was so much more than your traditional style and good looks; you had an inner beauty instantly visible to me. It was a confidence; a presence in the crowded bar where you played on your guitar into the night and sang words I didn’t understand. I never did have a flair for European languages; looking back, it took me almost 3 days to learn how to pronounce your name properly, but it didn’t matter " I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. We stepped outside and I asked you, the man with the guitar, for a cigarette, to which you willingly obliged and sat on the frozen steps beside me. You must have been so cold that evening; wearing those patriotic leather shorts you adore, with snow all around us, but I couldn’t complain when you put your arm around me to keep warm. Your English wasn’t the best, but your pocket dictionary was certainly a welcome addition on our dates to the local bar. The story teller in me liked to think of it as a fairy tale, something like Cinderella, on those evenings where you would sit and wait for me with a beer, sometimes for hours, until I finished my tiresome, underpaid work. We had awkward conversations, with lots of pointing at everyday objects and references to the dictionary, trying to find the right words to allow us to understand each other. It didn’t matter to me though, I was still as mesmerised by you as I was that evening in the bar when I first noticed you properly and the night we sat once again on those steps, where you sang a song you wrote for me.

Leaving you was hard, I had grown fond of our nights spent talking about anything and everything " just enjoying each other’s company and the morning’s spent trying to sneak you out of my room past my boss who I innocently believed was unaware you had spent the night with me. I was going back to my old life, back at home with my parents and my friends, doing childish things like skipping lectures at university, smoking cigarettes in the woods and driving far too fast with our newly acquired licenses. This time in your life had been and gone a long time ago and had you became a father in your teenage years, it would be the turn of your children to be doing such things now. It was instances like these that really highlighted the distance between us. Although we would soon be living 1,218 miles apart, the huge differences in our very separate lives were something which we would have to work hard to overcome " and not just the large age and culture gap between us.

As I left, you gave me your necklace and made me promise not to forget you. How could I possibly forget you, honey? I still smile every time I hear you call me honey, over and over in my head.

I came back to visit you and we stayed with your parents. The weekend was full of awkward conversation and dubious English translation, but I enjoyed every second. All those times you continuously apologised for talking with your family in a language I couldn’t understand, I wasn’t lying when I said it didn’t matter. I was totally content within myself, just absorbing the surroundings of the beautiful country that had become a second home to me. I wanted to embrace your culture and I was so happy when you bought me some traditional dress of your country. I loved the simplicity of outings with you in these clothes, where no one could recognise we were any different from each other. My modern lifestyle was hard for you to get used to, next to your traditional roots. The concept of standing for an hour in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing my long hair and applying make-up was totally alien to you, especially for us to then spend an afternoon walking in the hills. You always told me how naturally beautiful I am despite my constant denial. It must have been one of these afternoons, where we walked for hours just enjoying each other’s company and you playing ‘tour guide’, that I realised I loved you there and then. There was no going back, I had dived head first into this complicated, mature kind of love and should anything tear us part, this one was going to hurt. Hurt even more than the tearful goodbyes we shared in airports across the country where our whirlwind weekends, when we just allowed ourselves to forget the world for a short time, came to an abrupt end. No matter how long we spent together, it was never enough. There was always more to talk about, more to visit and so much more to learn from each other. Your wisdom intrigued me; you had a story to tell about everything and you quickly became so much more than just a boyfriend.