When In Bruges
A Short Story
"Come to Bruges..." she wrote to me via instant messenger. We'd been writing to one another as online pen pals for months now. Her name was Varese and she was the most enchanting woman I'd ever met...on the Internet. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that line, "Come to Bruges". It was her home in Belgium. I'd constantly told her how I desperately wanted to get away from the little town in Iowa that I currently called home. With the summer heat brutalizing anyone who dared step outside, I gave her request some serious thought.
She told me that the temperature in Bruges averaged around 70 degrees Fahrenheit during the summer months. We were stewing in our own juices here in Iowa dealing with 90s and high humidity. She always bragged about the wondrous architecture that she promised to show me. We'd spend hours chatting about the spiraling BelfortTower that loomed over the city like a silent sentinel. She threatened to make me take a boat trip along the DijverCanal (even though I'm deathly afraid of water). Varese teased me about going to St. Salvator Cathedral especially after I mentioned my agnostic tendencies. But, she absolutely promised me she would take me to the Grote Market and buy me anything I wanted to drink or eat.
And, yet, even after all the banter and laughing I still could not convince myself to commit. I ended our correspondence with a simple, "We'll see." And we said our goodbyes before logging off for the evening.
As I stepped into the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my tired complexion in the mirror. Dark bags hung beneath my azure eyes. All the ladies admired my eyes (at least that's what my mother told me as a young boy). Even now, years later, I had to admit that my most striking feature was indeed my eyes. I guess I was kind of a handsome guy, maybe the years hadn't been the kindest to me but I thought I was doing "alright".
After my evening ritual, I made my way to the bedroom. Lying down, I stared up at the white ceiling fan circling overhead. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness, the fan almost looked like sea gulls flying overhead. However, instead of gull cries, I heard a loud terrible cough from the other side of the bed.
"Ben?" My wife asked and I rolled over onto my side.
"Yes, dearheart. It's me." She reached up with an awkward hand until she found my chin and then our lips met briefly. I could feel an unnatural heat wafting from her body. She radiated heat like a human furnace and I knew it was her sickness that caused it. The doctors said it would eventually take her life.
"Goodnight, Ben." She whispered as she tried to fight off another coughing fit.
"Goodnight, Sara." I said and rolled over so that my back was facing her. She was the love of my life and I knew I was betraying her by talking with Varese even if it was only over the Internet.
The following evening, after I fed Sara and got her ready for bed, I reluctantly made my way to the study. I turned on my computer and listened to the familiar jingle of Microsoft Windows starting up. In moments, my instant messenger window popped up and I smiled when I saw that Varese was waiting for me.
"Hello, there." I typed and waited for her response.
"Hiya." She eventually greeted and immediately she regaled me with her day. I knew a lot about Varese. She worked as a secretary for a dentist in town. She said his name was Dr. Vogel which meant "bird" in Dutch. She described him as a bird of a man with a beak nose and beady eyes.
She made me laugh and her English was surprisingly good. I once asked her about it and she grew uncharacteristically quiet. I was about to apologize when she responded with, "My ex-husband was a Language Instructor at the University." He specialized in English and insisted that she become fluent before they married.
"Ben?" My wife called from the other room, she sounded scared and in pain.
"I have to go." I quickly typed to Varese and immediately fled from my chair. I rushed down the hall and when I entered the bedroom, I found her dangling from the bed.
"Oh god, Sara." I muttered as I bent down to help her up.
"I'm so tired of lying here. I'm just so tired of it all." She whimpered and I could not fight back the tears that escaped down my cheeks.
"You're fine now. You're just fine." I said, trying to hide the tears from her.
"Don't cry, Ben. You know it's natural. The doctors said it would happen this way." She tried to soothe me as she gripped my hand within her own. Her skin looked as white and thin as paper. I could see the blue veins beneath and seeing her like this made me want to scream to the heavens. I just wanted to yell at God and denounce him for destroying such a wonderful creature like my Sara.
She told me that the temperature in Bruges averaged around 70 degrees Fahrenheit during the summer months. We were stewing in our own juices here in Iowa dealing with 90s and high humidity. She always bragged about the wondrous architecture that she promised to show me. We'd spend hours chatting about the spiraling BelfortTower that loomed over the city like a silent sentinel. She threatened to make me take a boat trip along the DijverCanal (even though I'm deathly afraid of water). Varese teased me about going to St. Salvator Cathedral especially after I mentioned my agnostic tendencies. But, she absolutely promised me she would take me to the Grote Market and buy me anything I wanted to drink or eat.
And, yet, even after all the banter and laughing I still could not convince myself to commit. I ended our correspondence with a simple, "We'll see." And we said our goodbyes before logging off for the evening.
As I stepped into the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my tired complexion in the mirror. Dark bags hung beneath my azure eyes. All the ladies admired my eyes (at least that's what my mother told me as a young boy). Even now, years later, I had to admit that my most striking feature was indeed my eyes. I guess I was kind of a handsome guy, maybe the years hadn't been the kindest to me but I thought I was doing "alright".
After my evening ritual, I made my way to the bedroom. Lying down, I stared up at the white ceiling fan circling overhead. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness, the fan almost looked like sea gulls flying overhead. However, instead of gull cries, I heard a loud terrible cough from the other side of the bed.
"Ben?" My wife asked and I rolled over onto my side.
"Yes, dearheart. It's me." She reached up with an awkward hand until she found my chin and then our lips met briefly. I could feel an unnatural heat wafting from her body. She radiated heat like a human furnace and I knew it was her sickness that caused it. The doctors said it would eventually take her life.
"Goodnight, Ben." She whispered as she tried to fight off another coughing fit.
"Goodnight, Sara." I said and rolled over so that my back was facing her. She was the love of my life and I knew I was betraying her by talking with Varese even if it was only over the Internet.
The following evening, after I fed Sara and got her ready for bed, I reluctantly made my way to the study. I turned on my computer and listened to the familiar jingle of Microsoft Windows starting up. In moments, my instant messenger window popped up and I smiled when I saw that Varese was waiting for me.
"Hello, there." I typed and waited for her response.
"Hiya." She eventually greeted and immediately she regaled me with her day. I knew a lot about Varese. She worked as a secretary for a dentist in town. She said his name was Dr. Vogel which meant "bird" in Dutch. She described him as a bird of a man with a beak nose and beady eyes.
She made me laugh and her English was surprisingly good. I once asked her about it and she grew uncharacteristically quiet. I was about to apologize when she responded with, "My ex-husband was a Language Instructor at the University." He specialized in English and insisted that she become fluent before they married.
"Ben?" My wife called from the other room, she sounded scared and in pain.
"I have to go." I quickly typed to Varese and immediately fled from my chair. I rushed down the hall and when I entered the bedroom, I found her dangling from the bed.
"Oh god, Sara." I muttered as I bent down to help her up.
"I'm so tired of lying here. I'm just so tired of it all." She whimpered and I could not fight back the tears that escaped down my cheeks.
"You're fine now. You're just fine." I said, trying to hide the tears from her.
"Don't cry, Ben. You know it's natural. The doctors said it would happen this way." She tried to soothe me as she gripped my hand within her own. Her skin looked as white and thin as paper. I could see the blue veins beneath and seeing her like this made me want to scream to the heavens. I just wanted to yell at God and denounce him for destroying such a wonderful creature like my Sara.
#
"You'll move on after I go, won't you?" Sara once asked me after she was first diagnosed. I looked at her with a furrowed brow.
"I'll never move on. You're my girl. There can be no other." I said and she took my hand, bringing it toward her face. She rested my palm against her smooth cheek and held it there for a moment.
"I've been lucky, you know that?" She queried and I just looked at her sadly. "I found true love. Not many people can say that, you know? I've lived a good life and I want you to continue living yours."
"Let's not talk about this..." I tried to interject but Sara wouldn't have it. She removed my hand and glared at me with her intense emerald eyes. I could tell that she was in a mood; her father said her temper was matched only by her fiery red hair.
"Promise me, Benjamin! Promise me you'll move on. You'll love again..."
"I...I can't make that promise." I whimpered but deep down I knew that that moment was what led me to find Varese. I knew in my heart that Sara was letting me go and that thought hurt the most.
#
Sara died three months later in November. Her funeral was very nice but I felt like a walking automaton. People gave me their condolences and I spat out some acceptable rhetoric. The only person that seemed to make even a momentary impact was Sara's father. He hugged me (and that man never hugged anyone in his life) and I couldn't hold back the tears. I let them fall and I'd be damned if I cared if anyone saw me.
After that, the days and nights seemed to blend together and I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to Varese. It must have been a month before I found myself sitting at my desk again. I turned on the computer and stared blankly at the screen. I don't know how long I sat there but soon I heard a familiar beep and a message popped up.
"Hello stranger." She wrote and I couldn't help but smile. That night something came over me and instead of letting Varese write me a novel about her day, I wrote her a tome about what I'd been going through. I told her everything and at the end I felt cleansed. I felt renewed and I was positive that Varese would want nothing to do with me. Instead, she asked me about Sara. She asked me how we first met, where we got married and then she asked me about my happiest moment with her. It was therapeutic and by the end of the night I jokingly offered to pay her for the therapy session.
Before we parted for the evening, I tentatively wrote to her: "So I've been thinking about taking a trip..." Varese took the bait. "Bruges is lovely this time of year." I couldn't help but laugh and this time I told her I was really considering booking that flight. She urged me to do so and then tell her when I would be arriving.
A week later, I came home from work to find a package waiting on my front step. To my surprise, it had been sent from Belgium. When I opened the package, I found a hideous orange overcoat inside.
It was the color of a traffic cone and it went down almost to my knees. As I stood wearing the ridiculous thing, I found a note shoved into the pocket. When I unfolded the note, I did not recognize the penmanship but it seemed distinctively feminine.
"Ben, this is for when you come to visit me. Wear this and go to the Grote Market. Look for the building with the two candles that look like eyes shining in the windows. I'll find you there."
After some serious soul searching, I got on a plane and I’ll never forget when I saw the European countryside from on high. It felt like I belonged here, almost like dèjá vu. From the airport in Bruges, I took a taxi downtown and using a Dutch-English dictionary I was able to tell the driver where I needed to go.
When he dropped me off, I thought I was standing on a movie set. The buildings in the background looked fake with their false fronts and the lights seemed a little too bright for my taste. Throngs of people walked around the market, couples holding hands while parents tried to keep their children in check. I sauntered along, my eyes focused on the windows as I searched for two candles. Two candles that looked like eyes.
My breath wafted out before me like a cloud as I worked my way through the crowd. I kept glancing up toward the skyline and saw dozens of windows with lights and candles shimmering from within. I started to give up hope until I spotted one restaurant that looked like a wooden face staring back at me with two candles for eyes.
"Stella Artois..." I read from the top of the triangular building. I recalled drinking a strong beer by that name once upon a time.
When I turned, I scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Even though I had never seen Varese, I thought I might get a sense of her. I think it was the hopeless romantic in me who believed that. And just as I was about to give up and go into the restaurant, I felt someone tug on my coat.
As I looked around, I came face to face with a short woman with mousy brown hair. She blinked at me with her hazel eyes and I saw a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her pink nose. She smiled at me and for the second time in my life I think I felt love at first sight.
"Benjamin?" She asked with just a trace of a Dutch accent.
"Varese." I replied and she smiled revealing dazzling perfect teeth that could only belong to someone who worked in a dentist’s office.
"How'd you know it was me?" I asked and she laughed as she wrapped her arm around mine.
"You stick out like a sore thumb in that awful orange coat." I laughed at that as we stood in the cold staring at one another.
“Come on." She said. "I promised you food and drink and I mean to keep that promise.”
We turned to step into the restaurant and for a brief moment I thought I could hear Sara whispering to me, telling me she approved and that someday we would see each other again…
