On Noticing Things
Vignettes and occasional long-form stories on the tiny moments that make life full.
Are we there yet?
At the other end of the car ride, Lukáš and Marek waited for him. Each visit could have been the first.
Bibo’s floppy ears tensed and rotated like a radar. Excitement gave way to sneezing fits. His tongue lapped around his black nose. He gasped for air through a yawn.
We parked in the garden. Bibo yelped for his valet to open the door.
Rural torture
“It’ll be a total blast,” they said. The journey to Kyjov in Moravia took most of the day.
Luboš’s brothers insisted I tour their wine cellar. They insisted even harder that I sample all the types of homemade slivovice. The only way out of the cellar was to crawl—otherwise they would feel insulted.
Cradled in the couch, I woke to the smell of frying schnitzel and more slivovice. The eldest brother looked at me and laughed.
Intermezzo
We meet for coffee every week. Her eyes widen with surprise each time.
She orders for us. When the mood strikes, I splurge on a cappuccino. I take the same seat. I know it’s the same seat because of the hot chocolate stain. The barista gifts us one branded napkin.
An hour and a half passes—sometimes two. Then I apologize for taking too much of her time.
The universe conspires
We messaged for over a year. He lived in Karlovy Vary when Prague still captured my attention.
The annual Film Festival approached, which gave me the perfect cover. If it didn’t feel right, the festival could absorb me.
He waited at the Tržnice station. He stepped on his cigarette and smiled. We already knew.
Sunny side up
She leaned over her shopping cart. Folds of skin draped over the handle. Despite her housedress emblazoned with an entire botanical garden, she frowned.
In the aisle, I gave way so that she could get to the eggs too. She observed me as I inspected them for cracks. Had she also been disappointed the last time?
She told me that large cartons would be on sale from tomorrow at another supermarket. We both needed them today.
Going places
I couldn’t wait to get to the future if it looked like the inside of this hotel. Through its open belly, monorail trains would glide in and out. My electric train set back at home couldn’t do anything like that.
Our family stood on the platform. It felt like the entire Magic Kingdom was ours. That’s when the nice Disney lady told me that if I could guess the color of the stripe on the next monorail before it reached the station, we could sit up front with the driver.
The train was coming. Dad hoisted me onto his shoulders. “Purple!” I shouted.
His mission
Tom was driving as he retold the story of Jan Hus being burned at the stake for heresy. It felt too accurate and remarkably boring for Instagram.
Expectations drew me into the comments. And there it sat, camouflaged as a comment. “Nice,” it read, before scolding Czechs about atheism and imploring them to “seek the truth.”
I wondered if the evangelical had found his.
Can I ask for
Kamil watched the woman from across the street. Her dyed blonde hair caused her dark skin and black eyebrows to stand out even more. She had already asked four passersby for a cigarette.
We were eating lunch at La Republica yesterday. Not for the food, but for the outdoor seating. Kamil could enjoy his super slims in peace there. Our conversation had veered down another interesting rabbit hole. I wanted his opinion.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the woman crossing the street, a younger brother or cousin in tow. They were headed straight for us.
What's in a name?
I used to spin the globe. Then I’d imagine living wherever my finger had landed.
I asked my Dad how to pronounce it. He stumbled with variations on “Massa-two-sets.” “Don’t worry, you’ll never live there,” he said. I asked him the same question when it was Czechoslovakia’s spin. His face winced, and another “Don’t worry, you’ll never live there” followed.
Maybe I didn’t choose the easiest places. But he still tells me it’s the best move I ever made.
On standby
We had just gotten over tearful goodbyes with my parents at the Rome airport. They had remedied our previous honeymoon with a new one.
After the Wizz Air crew member fell ill, a plea was made for aviation professionals to help. David looked at me like I should ding the call bell. Years had passed, but it’s impossible to forget the reasons for tucking thumbs under armpits when landing or gripping the door handle.
The senior flight attendant questioned, then briefed me. I slid into the jump seat.