On the Train

“Can I kiss you?” Ha! Though it’s now ten years later, the memory of that cringe-worthy train ride still makes me smirk and shake my head. I will always remember the way his young daughter looked at him when he reached across the seat to gently pet my knee. Judging by her confused expression, she and I might have been thinking similar thoughts; something along the lines of, “Uhh… what’s happening right now…?” A nineteen year old exploring Europe by herself should probably keep her guard up at all times, but in my naivety I suspected no ulterior motives from a doting father traveling with his daughter.

While journeying from Mannheim to Paris on a crowded train one summer, I found myself seated next to a South African man and his little girl. He spoke English, and I was traveling alone, so I was glad for the company when we struck up a conversation. He was pleasant enough. We spoke about where we were from, why we were heading to Paris, what we did for work, and several other boring pleasantries of a similar nature while passing the time. There was nothing suggestive or alluring about our mundane topics of choice, so imagine my surprise when, in the middle of a stodgy discussion about affordable tourist destinations in the US, his hand abruptly found its way to my knee. I stared at him with what I imagine was a very shocked and questioning expression, but I found myself at a total loss for words. He continued to caress my knee for the longest few seconds of my life and then, smiling, he asked with hope and longing in his thick South African accent, “Can I kiss you?” The question was even more startling than the unsolicited knee touching.

The answer in my head was a huge, resounding, “Hell no!” but in actuality, all I could think to stammer in response was, “I… I don’t even know you.”

At my words, he finally withdrew his hand from my knee, but it wasn't to relieve my obvious discomfort. He did it in order to check his watch and confidently declare, “We’ve known each other for three hours.”

That was a valid argument, I suppose… After a short and awkward discussion about why I would not be allowing him to kiss me, I spent the rest of the ride back to Paris pretending to be asleep.