I was standing against the rail that surrounded Klub Lavka, letting the breeze from the Vltava River run through my hair and cool me down. I had left the club, telling Pedro, “I need some fresh air.” A lie that he recognized as a subtle way of luring him away from the groups of friends we each came with. He followed me outside, and stood behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist. We gazed at the Prague Castle, which was perched at the top of a hill, overlooking the city. It was a sight that in my three weeks of staying in Prague, I could not grow used to. Pedro had been living there for a year, and I could see the way the scene completely captivated him, shifting his attention away from me. The view was relieving. It was proof that something beautiful could stand past the brutalities of war and time. The gothic and renaissance structures were physical remnants of different rulers, and the towers precautionary marks of a state once at war. However, the illuminated castle reflected in Pedro’s eyes combined the elements common to most fairytales, creating a perfectly harmonious portrait.
Inside, we had spotted each other instantly, locking eyes when I walked onto the overpopulated dance floor. The group of girls I was with saw him too, hoping to spark his interest. He came up from behind me and asked where I was from, the Spanish rolling off his tongue in a romantic serenade. For weeks Czech speaking natives and German tourists had surrounded me. It was comforting to have a language that I knew. It wasn’t just the Spanish though, it was the brush of a hand, the flirty smile, and light caress that I understood and had once been familiar with.
He was from Portugal, but spoke a little Spanish. I was flattered that he might have thought I was from Spain, but then again, we were at a Latin Festival. The girls and I had wandered in the winding maze-like roads of Old Town, searching for a new club or lounge before we found Klub Lavka. Like Prague, it was a hidden gem, standing among the larger music clubs adjacent to the Charles Bridge. For hours we walked on uneven cobblestone roads that left our feet sore with pain. We had stopped at local pubs, and self-medicating with pints of Bernard or Pilsner Urquell. The salsa music lured us in, but was only appealing with a partner.
After our first dance, Pedro and I were a couple. Dancing only with each other, and cautioning each other when we were going to take a break to the bathroom or to talk to a friend. When I returned, I was looking for him and he was there waiting for me to take on the next song. He showed me dances from Portugal, never laughing as I struggled to match the smooth movements of his hips. The Spanish made it difficult to communicate since it was both our second languages, but it put us on a level playing field, comfortably emphasizing our immersion in a foreign place.
On the terrace, we rapidly covered every topic, as if in an interview. He had moved to Prague after falling in love with the city on his semester abroad there. I was taking a summer course at Charles University, but contemplated making the same, impulsive move. He smiled and said, “You should visit Portugal.” It was the first thing I thought when I saw his long slender frame, when I found myself fighting to turn away from his big brown eyes. I replied, “Take me.” He smiled at that, revealing dimples that carved into his sun kissed skin.
Our bodies were two opposing magnets gradually pulling each other in close. He asked if I knew the history of Prague. It’s stories and myths of love that gave rise to the Locks of Love over the canals, where couples engraved their names on locks, dispensing of the key. Of course I visited the sight, and saw the viral romance around the city. Although the Czech people did not greet you on the street or indulge in superficial conversation, lovers were posted everywhere, entangled in their affections. I’d seen teenagers making out on the metro, and middle-aged couples tonguing on benches. The city was romantic and overtly sexual. It was one of the greatest factors in my culture shock, but as I grew used to it, I also grew envious.
The sun began to peak out from behind the castle, painting the sky with light pinks and orange. Daylight replaced the light posts that accompanied the statues of saints lining each side of the Charles Bridge. Crowds of people poured into the streets and gravitated towards the food stands that awaited them. Groups of friends and newly found lovers passed by, yelling to overcome the hearing damage caused by overblown club speakers. The clash of languages, German, Czech, Spanish, and others I couldn’t identify, formed the dissonant sound of chaos. They migrated towards the metro station, Staromestska, dragging with them the aroma of freshly cut rotisserie chicken that filled their gyros and kebabs. It was clear that the clubs were closing. How much longer could we hide from our friends?
Before we parted, we had merged into one moving figure. My back was pressed against the rail from the pressure of his weight. He asked, “Why did I meet you three days before you're leaving? Where were you last week?” I didn’t answer, not because it was a rhetorical question, but because before I could his lips were closing in over mine. We were dancing again, moving our mouths in a smooth rhythm that he guided. It was our first kiss, but unfortunately, it said good-bye.
As my friends pulled me away, our romance ended. We did not exchange Facebook info, email, or phone numbers. We did not taint the night with the next day’s small talk or the complications of a relationship.
For my remaining time in Prague, I would scan the crowd in pubs and on the tightly packed trams, wondering if fate would reunite us. The thought of seeing Pedro in the day made me nervous. Maybe the light would expose my distorted perception of this "perfect" man. The mystery of him that I enjoyed could be lost in the idleness of conversation. This was just a vacation, just a small exploration of a foreign territory. Would I have enjoyed Prague the same if I was consumed by the every day hassle of work? I fell in love with the city, and with the idea of Pedro because of their aesthetics, and that was enough for me.
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