Czech Mate?

We had met four years earlier, when I did the obligatory travel-thing to Europe to drink, carouse, take pictures of cathedrals and ostensibly, to 'teach.' She was eighteen, and was about to graduate the high school where I was 'teaching.' Naturally, I hit on her, and over much espresso one night, we smooched in a rainy, cobble-stone alley, the most picturesque romantic moment. From then on, she and I emailed, a lot at first, and then gradually less so. I felt it had run its course. I could only ask about her family's health so many times.

When, a year ago, she arrived in St. Paul to study, I was startled. I thought it was a joke. No way could she be living less than five miles from me. Along with forty other foreign students, she was in fact staying and studying at St. Thomas. We immediately met at a cafe near the campus, and began to try to reconnect after so many years. She was at University, and yes, her family was doing well. She also told me that, in the four years since we had met, she hadn't dated anyone. That started to gnaw on me.

It made me wonder if she was defective in some critical, irreconcilable way that I was incapable of seeing. It wasn't that she was unattractive, quite to the contrary. She was pretty in the same way that Czech women tend to be. The European traits were there: she didn't wear deodorant, and was a runner, a lethal olfactory combo. On dates, I found myself indiscreetly sniffing my armpits, hoping it wasn't me. Neither did she wear a bra, or much else. Her nipples were constantly exposed, and I would catch people staring. She had the whole cultural superiority thing which pissed me off, like everyone there spends their time painting, writing, and debating ballet, while Americans jerk-off while watching Judge Joe Brown.

She would stare at me for long periods. I don't mind locking eyes from time to time, but it got a bit unnerving. I would turn my head to check for oncoming traffic before merging, and she would quickly look my way, thinking I was looking at her. I wasn't. I just have a thing about keeping my eyes on the road. Plus, her intractable stare was always accompanied by a creepy half-grin, like she had it all figured out, life's mysteries unlocked, as only a college student with a freely financed trip to America can think.

Her expectations were unrealistic. A few years before she came here on scholarship, her mother had mailed two cassette tapes and a twenty page booklet on the Czech language, which is harder to learn than string theory. Worse still, the tapes didn't correspond with the book, so I was hopelessly lost. The entire package quickly found itself in the trash, replaced by Pink Floyd tapes. I don't know what Astronomy Domain's lyrics are supposed to represent, but at least they're sung in the Queen's English. Her Japanese roommate had told her that the average person should learn fifteen new foreign words a week. However she arrived at that number, I was apparently sub-par. Every time we met, she would ask me how many words I had learned. I knew the word for strawberry.

When we met again here in St. Paul, after four years, one of the first things she told me was that her parents, and brother for some reason, were disappointed that I hadn't learned the language. Never mind that she had been studying English formally for damn near her entire life, and had been teaching it to kids. The Czech language has sounds and phonics that I can't create without surgically forking my tongue. And she kept mentioning how critical her brother was of me, which never made sense. The greasy pubescent and I had said maybe six words to each other, when on rare occasion he pried himself from his car-chase video games.

For my birthday, or some holiday, she gave me a book on the basic essays of Martin Heidegger, prefacing it by saying 'to best understand me, you must read this book.' There was nothing basic about any of it. It took me two whole days to get through the dedication page. To make matters worse, she would quiz me on various chapters, and was always disappointed when I would steer the conversation to St. Thomas's football team. She never attended a game, sports being too 'pedestrian.' I would rather watch a coach decide to try a fourth-down conversion than discuss free-will over shitty glasses of wine.

Most warm-blooded mammals want physical affection at some point or another. She never really wanted so much as a fondling, or make-out session. I would try to offer her some booze in hopes of lightening her up, but all she kept ordering when we'd go out were things that most bars don't have; stuff like strawberry juice. She acted indignant when told they didn't carry it.

She wanted me to move to Prague with her. It was another one of her delusions, like I was going to quit my job, sell my car, and move to a country without knowing a lick of their language, having no means of income, and with all my belongings in a suitcase. Right. She took my quite logical refusal badly, and accused me of putting material matters, like eating, my own job, friends and family ahead of her. How selfishly wrong of me. She increased the frequency of her phone calls to over ten a day, and I canceled her invitation to Thanksgiving with my parents. I didn't want to get stared at while trying to watch the Detroit Lions get spanked.

At some point in a relationship, talk has to revolve around shared cultural experiences, and pop-references in order to fill the gaps. It can't all be about predestination and personality profiles, nihilism, existentialism and any other ism that has nothing to do with simply enjoying company. She probably had all kinds of theories about fun and excitement, but hadn't gotten to the chapters on their execution. She was by no means a bad person, and to have had the opportunity to see her again is still something I can't wrap my head around. Maybe, hopefully, she's doing well in school, and will one day be a leading academic. I just hope she's been kissed by someone else.