Page 52 - Contrast2015

Evan King

On the bus ride back to Brussels, I got a call from my
mother. Uncle Kenny had died, an unexpected heart attack. I
couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Who really can with
these things? All I could say on the subject for a while was
how glad I was to have seen him that last time and to have
had all those great conversations. It had been a rare enough
occasion in recent years even to see my American relatives.
There could not have been a better or timelier way to say
goodbye, I’m sure.

We pulled into Lille, just short of the Belgian border, to
pick up more passengers. It didn’t look like a place that got a
lot of attention, certainly not from tourists. Its post-industrial
landscape smacked somewhat of Baltimore, and it was a little
like Brussels in its clumsy architectural attempt to mask it.
We stopped in the center of town, an area lined with brand
new, colorful, stunted skyscrapers that resembled IKEA
contraptions. Getting out of the bus to stretch and walk
around and absorb what I’d just learned, I walked into the
train station we’d pulled up outside of. Hopefully there would
be a bathroom better than the one that was stinking up the
bus.

I also went to a vending machine to get a snack. The
machine delivered the peanut M&M’s I requested, but
following them was a small bottle of Badoit, Kenny’s favorite
mineral water, which I had not selected or paid for.

This had been one of my uncle’s passions—he maintained
a few cases of it in his house at all times. The stuff was good
for you, imbued with almost medicinal minerals from its
naturally carbonated alpine source apparently. And it was

| 50