When I told Vivian, she asked, “Flaco, what does this mean?”
“I’ll get six-month severance and relocation back to California.” I paused before giving her the worst news. “My residence permit expires when I’m no longer the managing director. I have to leave Germany.”
Vivian stood up and made two cups of tea. Handing me one, she sat down. “I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been, here with you, my work, where we live. Because of some hijos de puta, it all explodes.”
“Move to the States with me,” I said.
Vivian shook her head. “Flaco, I don’t know anyone in California. I have no business contacts and no work permit.”
“Is that a no, then?”
She didn’t answer.
That weekend, I went alone to the Teestube to think. Mac was there. When he saw me, he sat down.
“Vivian told me everything. I have an idea. A third way. How much months do they pay you not to work?”
“Six.”
“For six months of Germany money, you live six years in Africa, India, Thailand, Java. Put on a backpack and travel cheap. The world will tell you what to do next.”
The idea seemed ridiculous at first, but over the next week, it went from ridiculous to impractical, then simply difficult. The following weekend, Vivian and I returned to the Teestube together. Once again, Mac stopped by.
“So,” he said, “what do you think of my idea?”
“What idea?” Vivian asked.
Mac told her about us backpacking the world on the cheap.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” she said.
I jumped in. “That was my first reaction, but now I’m not so sure.”
Mac took that as encouragement and began listing destinations, costs, and the practicalities of backpacking.
“What you’re talking about is fantasy. None of our problems will go away if we travel. We’ll just be putting them off.”
Mac smiled. “Sometimes problems that look big when you are near seem small when you’re far away. Maybe you see a different answer.”
A week later, over dinner, I told Vivian, “I’ve done some research. We’d be traveling on a tight budget, but we can live on less than $20 a day, excluding airfare and health insurance. Half of what we budget for the trip would be yours. No accounting to each other for how we spend it. And I’ll set up an ‘Escape from Parker’ fund with enough to get you started again in Germany without me, so you don’t feel trapped.”
I expected her to ask whether I thought I could buy her so easily. Instead, she said, “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you? It’s very generous, Flaco, but this is your dream, not mine.”
I expected her to ask whether I thought I could buy her so easily. Instead, she said, “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you? Flaco, this is your dream, not mine.”
“Live my dream now, and I’ll live your dream next.”
“What if my dream is returning to Germany?”
“In the short run, a good relationship is never fifty-fifty, but in the long run it has to be,” I said. “If you want to return to Germany, I’ll come back with you.”
Days passed. August arrived, and time began to pass more quickly. One evening, Vivian said, “I looked at an apartment today.”
The words hit me like an electric shock. The spare bachelor’s apartment that just months before Vivian had turned into a home was evaporating around us.
“Why?” I asked.
“No decision is a decision, just one I have no control over. If I don’t start looking now, I’ll end up traveling because I won’t have a place to live.”
“Will you let me stay in your basement while I hide from the immigration police? After September, it should be easier for me to find a job.”
“If they find you, they’ll deport you. You might not be allowed to return to Germany for years. That’s no solution. Besides, if it’s anything like the last time I looked for an apartment, I’ll be the one living in the basement.”
The next time I saw Mac, he asked how things were going.
“More or less where we were last time we talked, except now Vivian is looking for a new apartment without me.”
Mac was silent for a long time before he said, “Life is saying you to go, far from here, far from the States. I think you find your answers there. Sometimes we fight our dharma, our path. We don’t listen when the world speaks to us.”
Late into that night, Vivian and I talked in circles before going to bed. As we held each other in the dark, I said, “Let’s hide under the covers and hope the world will go away.”
Neither of us slept well. The next morning, Vivian woke me and said, “Germany played Argentina in my dreams last night. Argentina won.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll travel with you.”
New posts every Thursday. Join us.