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| Frites |
On my way to a small shoot, a vintage dress and heels and tons of make-up piled on my lap, I was in no mood to pretend to be romantically torn by forbidden love for the artistic screen.
But I had been asked by the filmmaker I liked (versus the one who didn't even bother to learn my name) and I'd be dancing with a favorite friend of mine to a slow 1950's love song.
So, after scribbling a secret message on the door of the cab for who I thought was the love of my life, I stared out the window. And that's when I noticed it.
The sky.
Oh there were a billion versions of New York cloudy gray skies, but this wasn't one of them. I had only seen a gray sky so filled with such light in Nijmegen, a city in the Netherlands no one outside of it ever heard of.
I loved that city. It was the Philadelphia of Holland. A good friend lived there and it was where I'd go to escape what seemed like unending unhappiness. And although I may not have known how to pronounce any of the street names in Nijmegen, I knew how to find my favorite little corners.
I was so happy, staring out that window, to be some place else, if only for a brief second, that wasn't filled with self incrimination.
...when out of nowhere, the cab driver said, "The sky looks like Europe."
"I was just thinking that. I was thinking it reminded me of a city in Holland where a friend lives."
"My brother lives in Holland!"
"Where!?"
"Oh, you wouldn't know it."
"No, tell me."
"Nijmegen."
The frites shop his brother owned and ran was one of my favorite little corners, one I visited every day for lunch.
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