At Washington Dulles International Airport, the main lobby has these huge windows that stretch up and curve around the ceiling. I am sitting here on a bench in the center of the lobby, and above me the sky is blue and bright. Next to me, a big guy is talking in a foreign language into his cell phone and gesticulating wildly. I am trying to figure out where he is from.
Fifteen minutes later, we have chatted each other up. I asked what language he was speaking, and he said to guess. I guessed Romanian. Got it! Now Lavrenti is my friend forever. I told him I knew a pop song in Romanian, and he asked which one. I told him, and then we sang a little bit of it together with lots of hand gestures. Lavrenti lives in Seattle. He is on his way to Frankfurt, where he will rent a car and drive around Europe for three months. He speaks nine languages, and he told me every single country he's ever been to. I busted out with some Polish (hello, thank you, very good, soup please), and then we were best friends. He told me that if I speak Italian, I would be able to learn Romanian if I just came there for two days. He shamed me a little bit for never coming to Bucharest, because Romania is the most beautiful country in Europe.
He just said this: (insert thick Romanian accent and roll the r's) "Maria, you are a beautiful woman, why you dress only in black? Black is okay, but not all the time. In my country, you wear black it means you have some stress, somebody dies, something is wrong, you know?" He suggested I wear more clothes the color of his suit and tie. He winked.
This is the whole point.
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