The End

So we had a going-away party with the homeowners. The Spy surprised everyone, by leading the dancing festivities. He moved with skill and grace and inclusion, pulling women on the dance floor to join him, and making them into better dancers by knowing how to move his own body. He and I did a comic dance together, because no amount of skill and grace from my partner will turn me into a good dancer, but I can always be funny.


The Spy Also Dances 

They gave us bottles of wine to take home (which I silently cursed, because my bag is heavy enough) and then they kissed us on the cheeks and wished us safe journeys home.

Part of our hearts were torn, because we knew that another group was coming in a couple of days, and we wondered how much of the going away party was routine for the ones left behind, and how much of the speeches were recycled from group to group. I imagined another American woman in a week, head over heals for Peter, and I decided it didn’t matter. He’s engaged, and I’m not looking for a relationship anyway (much less one in Hungary), so it’s time to relax and let it all slide. It’s water off a duck’s back. That’s the new me. Free and easy.

Yep.

Besides, even if the homeowners in Csurgo see new groups every two weeks, I still believe that we were special. We worked hard side by side and we played well together. We reached out to each other, and we offered them soccer rematches and dancing invitations and cooperation on the job site. It sounds sappy, but I still say we made good partners for two weeks, and that’s the best we could do.


Farewell to Homeowners