Photo by Jean Gerber on Unsplash
A very long time ago I was part of a foreign exchange program. For less than $1,000 we could spend a month in Europe with students our age. We’d learn to speak the language, immerse ourselves in the culture, and enjoy the privilege of being young, dumb college kids.
We’d be paired up with someone in the host country. The requirement for participating was paying our own way for travel and providing a place for our foreign partners to stay when they visited. They would visit America first. Then we’d fly over to Europe a few months later.
I was privileged to travel overseas my last summer in college. It was the first time I’d left the United States. And it was the first time my parents spent this kind of money on anything frivolous for me. I was astounded when they said yes, and I agreed to use some of my part-time job earnings to help pay for the trip.
I was paired with a young woman from Russia. However, she warned me that during the month I’d be in her host country, she’d be gone until the last few days. Summer is a huge holiday time for Europeans, and she was able to lend me her flat for the month because she’d be going back home to Russia.
Shortly after arriving, I met a local university student named Daniel. He was one of the volunteers who showed the American transplants around town. Like the person in the program I was partnered with, he was from Russia, as were many of the college students in this town.
Daniel was…odd-looking. I picked up pretty quickly that he was insecure around women, and I caught him looking forlornly at the attractive American women in our group who ignored him.
But Daniel was kind. He took me all over town and showed me the fun places. He knew I had a boyfriend back home, so our relationship was formally platonic from the start. He introduced me to the other volunteers and pretty soon I was being whisked away on day trips to the larger cities with them, as well as longer trips to the surrounding countries.
Daniel was always hovering, always making sure that I had him to come back to. It was sweet. He knew I wanted to regale my tales of adventure since I wasn’t able to communicate with my boyfriend at the time (international calling was too expensive back then and email was inaccessible).
I don’t know what it was about Daniel and me. We both seemed to sense something in each other, something vulnerable and hurt. If I had to take a guess, I would say he was used to rejection from women and I was easy to get along with since I wasn’t a threat. But I was also lonely, introverted, and in search of new experiences and friendships. I needed something from him, too.
We were a natural fit. We became besties immediately. We hung out as much as possible while I was there.
He worked and went to school, so we’d meet up when he was free, usually a few weeknights and on the weekends. He tried to get his studies and homework done during the day when I was frolicking with the other exchange students so we could maximize our time together.
This was a long time ago and many of the memories are now a blur. But I remember spending a lot of time hanging out in his dormitory room listening to music, hearing stories about his life growing up, and talking about our dreams for the future. What I liked about Daniel was that he had a different attitude than the other men looking to score with American women. He seemed to genuinely care about what I thought on an intellectual level. He was curious about America, our customs, our beliefs, and our mannerisms. He was also a sponge who wanted to absorb English. We spent so much time talking in English that I barely learned any new language skills.
The first time we quarreled was when I lost my only pair of special pants in the community laundry. The laundry system worked differently there. There were no dryers so everyone had to air dry their clothes on clotheslines. And nothing was marked so you didn’t always know which clothes belonged to whom.
Someone walked off with my pants, most likely because they were manufactured in America. They would have been prized and expensive in Europe. I had only been there for a week when this happened so I was panicked. Looking back, I was an asshole who was concerned more about my material possessions than my friend. I snapped at Daniel when we couldn’t find my pants and he insisted that I have faith that they would turn up.
I asked for his help to compose a note that I posted on every floor of the building I was staying in. He indicated that I was being obsessive about my things and not to worry, they would turn up. I yelled at him and he left.
My pants showed up on my doorstep the next day.
I groveled and apologized. Daniel accepted me back.
Daniel was also my tour guide for the underground sex culture in that area. I was curious about the rumors I’d heard and wondered about the European sex trade.
I wrote about my experience of visiting the red-light district with him here:
One of my most fond memories of our time together was when Daniel introduced me to a special, regional dish. He took me to a restaurant that served the best version of it that we could get in town. He talked it up for days before we went. He even had to make a reservation to secure our spot there.
The dish was translated to “white asparagus”. The asparagus was pale and somewhat translucent. It was twice the size of the green asparagus back home. I remember it was served with a warm cream sauce poured over it. We paired it with the local craft brew.
It was expensive but considered to be a delicacy. I could tell Daniel’s background was more like mine — he wasn’t used to being spoiled. We carried on as if we were rich university students, although we carefully calculated the bill at the end and even paid some in coin.
We had a great night. The locals were drinking beer all around us, and everyone was merry. Summer there was just a magical time.
One afternoon when I came back to my borrowed flat I found a folded and taped piece of paper waiting for me under the door. It was the heyday of our friendship and I was thrilled to receive something from him. I remember it was a note on ruled, light green paper, Kerokerokeroppi letterhead. Keroppi was a famous Japanese cartoon frog. Daniel was into cute, innocent things like that. I remember he was a fan of Hello Kitty, too.
When I opened it up, I realized it was a poem.
But when I read it I was filled with intense sadness. I didn’t understand the meaning. It was for me and yet it was really for him. He wanted to express himself so badly to someone else, someone who would love him back in the way he wanted, but I was the only one there. I didn’t understand that at the moment.
I looked for him that night and asked him about the poem. He avoided the question and got embarrassed. We didn’t talk about it again.
Towards the end of the trip, something had changed in Daniel. I could tell we were both dreading my departure. We were such great friends by that point and we had begun to rely on our time together.
One night I hung out in his room a little too late. We were both drinking and he was feeling down. We didn’t talk much about his insecurities with women, but he broached the subject that night. I felt bad for him and tried to cheer him up, but he was stuck in his thoughts.
At one point I hugged him to put him at ease. Physical affection was not foreign to us. We kept it innocent and sweet, as friends.
But the hug lingered a little too long on his side. And when we pulled out of the embrace he turned his head at the last minute and tried to kiss me.
It was a momentary lapse in judgment.
But I was uncomfortable. I left amidst his profuse apologies. I knew he was sorry and didn’t mean it. But I wouldn’t take any chances. I was loyal to my boyfriend and I didn’t feel like that towards Daniel.
It was confusing.
It was sad.
I stopped hanging out with Daniel.
I almost missed my flight back to the States. It’s a story for another day. I barely hugged the woman whom I was partnered with as I rushed out the door to catch the 3 am train. She had just gotten back from Russia a couple of days before.
I hadn’t seen Daniel since the almost kiss incident, and my heart hurt. I had thought about him a lot in those final days and wished things were different.
Email was a thing back then but it was new and it wasn’t accessible on all computers. We didn’t have smartphones, tablets, or wireless internet access. At the college I attended, you could only use email if you had the proper email program installed on the computer you were using, which meant that email was only accessible through a desktop computer. Laptops were still relatively new and expensive so we used desktops all over campus. Because it was so inconvenient, we only checked email a few times a week.
A month after I got back, the woman whom I was partnered with emailed me. When I departed Europe, she had asked that we keep in touch. I hadn’t heard from her for a few weeks and was delighted to receive her email.
But, as we all know, happiness is fleeting.
She said she had some bad news. “Everyone is sad,” she had written. I still remember her words clearly to this day.
Daniel had died in his sleep. He had been found a few days before in his bed.
What everyone didn’t know, even me, was that he had a rare blood disease. He knew his days were numbered. But he kept that secret from his university friends and lived life to its fullest, trying as much as possible to be a normal kid. I had remembered him sharing vague details about his Mom not agreeing with his choice to attend university. Trying to be respectful, I had never pressed him to learn why.
I cried for days.
To this day, I still have the poem he gifted me.
Once there was a little boy
Passion ruled his mind
Anger was his playtoy
Living was his bind
All the rumored happiness
Never touched his realm
Deluged by meaningless
Depression overwhelmed
Existence itself
A bane
Never shall someone come my way
To alleviate the pain
I miss you, Daniel. Thank you for your friendship.