December 06, 2004
We were interrupted by a tall, bulky man named Jacco Swart, the new Director of General Affairs for NEC. He introduced himself to John and shook my hand as well. John was very curt and completely abrupt with man, probably having been confronted several times before by various NEC members regarding Charles' career in soccer. John made himself completely clear on his negative feelings regarding Johan Neeskens, the coach, and Leen Looyen, the Director of Football Affairs before agreeing to meet with Jacco the next evening. Jacco agreed, stating that he simply wanted to hear John's story about his son and do what he could for the sake of Charles and the team. I wrote down our hotel information and John's room number before he left the VIP room and grinned at John for his forthright conversation with Jacco.I grabbed a couple more beers from the crowded bar and listened to the gentleman singing and playing guitar as he made his rounds through the sea of fans. Soon, John beckoned the man to sing to me and I was in absolute fascination of his beautiful voice and remarkable ability to make me blush. Just as I was thanking him and praising his music, Charles walked in the room. In front of our table he stood with his long black overcoat, dress suit, red tie and a warm wide mouthed grin. The sweat still glistened on his forehead as he said hello to me and extended his arm for a handshake, but I squealed and wrapped my arms around him in an instant to give him a hug. His eyes darted sideways to greet his father and his voice began in something of a stutter to recount the disappointment of the game. He asked of Jacco Swart and was happy that his father was to meet him the next day. Though less than three feet apart from one another, the distance between father and son seemed vast. I walked away to leave them and refill our glasses, hoping some affinity could be regained.
Upon my return, I had my own opportunity to talk with Charles. We spoke about the game, our travels and more - it was wonderful. He had to get going to meet his mother downstairs, but mentioned that he would return to see if we were still in the VIP room. We would not be. John wanted to leave as soon as possible and thus we were off. We caught a taxi just outside the building and headed back to the center of Nijmegen. The taxi driver dropped us off at a Discotec in town where I immediately worried about my bag and heavy jacket. I stowed my bag with my camera below our feet on a rail by the bar and asked the doorman to watch my coat. He nodded with a bit of unrelished duty.
It was loud. I sang, I danced, I rejected the forward inquiries of another patron and we left.
The town was wet and cold, just as it was when we arrived. Everything about our northern journeys after Paris seemed to drip with moist fog and darkness. I looked up into the sky and asked for some reprieve to this awkward feeling. The silence that met John's lips surrounded me. I looked up into the sky and begged of happiness between father and son. I looked down side streets and wondered of his face - if Charles would somehow appear out of the shadows that crowded in our quieted tongues. I followed the lines of the street and adhered to the footsteps beside me as we entered yet another establishment. The regulars disregarded our entry with unending conversation and we took our seats near the door. We spoke about Charles and about family in general. Tears would run down my cheeks and I could feel the liveliness of emotion curdle within my heart. I know I could not change the path of destinies at this moment. I knew I could not hold a helping hand to the pain that had driven its way into the souls of so many. I had not answers for myself, how could I hope to have answers for another? But rifts between what should be absolute solidarity in a family gripped my soul.
We spoke for a length of time, unattended, in that local bar, before returning to our hotel. Each of us had so many different, yet similar things, upon our chests that we inquired of the hotel night man to pour us each a cocktail. He did so, exclaiming that must take our respective drinks to our respective rooms since the bar was officially closed. And thus we sat, with our respective potions on our respective floors, contemplating the night as a whole, nudging our notions of life, separately in location, but together in thought. I know that neither of us finished our drinks. I know that the both of us left those concoctions sitting upon our respective night stands, allowing ourselves to fall asleep in those cradle like beds, gripping the covers in our deepest repose, digressing to the frailties of the life. And I only wish, that if ever John felt so alone, that he would have felt my company that night...