Last Night in Barcs

                Last night was a farewell dinner at Csillág Étterem. This was the place we’d celebrated Stephanie’s 40^th birthday, an evening that was one of my fondest of the year; at that time, we’d pre-ordered large plates of meat and bowls of soup, and the place was buzzing with activity; behind us, a stage with some microphones was set for even louder occasions. Last night the place was empty. They’d remodeled: the walls were patterned in brick to resemble a Tuscan taverna, and the stage was now gone. Midway through our meal the chef went home.

                G.Kata told a great story from her childhood, how she and her friends had drawn with dusty sticks that turned out not to be sticks; I made an awkward but heartfelt speech twice, the same one, about how good they had all been to me, about how every moment they made me feel so happy I was also saddened the rest of my family was missing it, how I had hoped to be satisfied by this trip and instead how the opposite was true: I feel even more strongly that I must return, with Stephanie, Sophie, Amelia and Maisie.
                The emptiness of the room sometimes spread over our table; I wanted to be a better host and tell stories and provide observations and even smile more, much more than I did, but there was too much absence in the moment: Stephanie far away, myself soon to go, all in fierce contrast to the presence of beloved friendships in the room, located very specifically in space and time. Kriszta had said that in the morning, every time she looked at me in the faculty room, she was reminded that I was soon to leave, the desk I occupied empty; I felt this too and said nothing. But the evening at the restaurant formalized our goodbye, and I am grateful for that; and I am grateful too for the difficulty of the departure, for a tearful Zoé, the strong hug from Kriszta, the ferocity of my own response to it all.
                Kata and Kornél accompanied me to Budapest again. I’m always nervous about Hungarian trains and maybe it’s ridiculous, but this time our train did indeed arrive and depart 15 minutes ahead of schedule and so we missed it. It’s the exact thing I always expect to happen, why I always want to arrive early, because I always think the train will show up and leave before we can get there, something that never happens. What it meant today was that I missed lunch in Budapest with Annamária, the dorm mom of Fulbright Hungary of whom Stephanie and our cadre of teachers are so very fond; she met us anyway, very briefly, and she treated us three to coffee (or, as I panicked on the bus watching the clock tick down to my departure, what I called in my head spaz-juice); and then Annamária accompanied me to the subway with a ticket for the bus, and I only had time to grieve the abbreviation of our meeting in advance; the departure from Kata and from Annamária was merciful and quick, the sadness only hitting me now that I am safely on the plane, 15 minutes to spare at my gate.
                It seems appropriate, really. The sorrowful wheeze of a goodbye and then the sudden rush of departure. As I told Kata, this two weeks have felt both long and fast. The slowness of it is achieved by the return of a profoundly and unexpectedly familiar world of being, these two weeks telescoping into the full year of our lives in Barcs. Yet this was only two weeks.
                After the 40 hour trip back to Seattle, I will have only half a day before I return to Roosevelt, to 110 short stories demanding careful feedback, 110 independent reading projects, meetings with parents and counselors who have patiently been awaiting my return, meetings with department chairs and meetings with various professional groups, and I don’t want to dwell on what else.
                If I hold tightly enough to my little girl Maisie, and to my wonderfully affectionate Amelia, and my sweet Sophie; if I bury myself deeply enough into Stephanie’s hair, they will all feel the loving farewells from Barcs and the hunger of my hello, and perhaps I can hide for one more night.