Nikki pretended to read the menu. None of the waiters had approached, so she had had plenty of time to pretend that she could read Cyrillic. But truthfully, it was no different to her than Korean, Arabic, or the ham-fisted keyboard poundings of an inebriated chimpanzee. She thought about her dyslexic cousin Carl, and muttered an apologetic prayer for him.
A worker in milkmaid braids placed a tall drink beside Nikki, and offered the first Russian smile that Nikki had seen all day.
"That's a vente mochacino," the man at the next table said, in a flat American cadence. "I'm gonna warn you; it's even sweeter than you remember. Hope you enjoy it."
"Thank you," Nikki replied.
He leaned closer, without leaving his seat. "Also, I told her you were Nikki Minaj, without the wig. She's still a thing here. It's the only way you're going to get anything close to Starbucks service around here." He pulled out his camera. "If I take your picture, do you think you can do that caffeinated, 'Got Milk' smile thing she does?"
Nikki obliged with a pose. The stranger showed her the result; it was perfect.
"Y'know," he said, "I could have also said you were the grown-up little cousin from 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air'. That's still a thing here, too."
Nikki sipped her drink - and reeled from the sweetness. "Wow, you weren't kidding! Thank you. You can sit here, if you like."
The stranger shook his head. "I'm here with somebody - and you should be. Where's your entourage?"
"My family's at the hotel. We're on our way to Sochi, but we're being tourists first. They're upstairs planning the next leg of the tour, and I just wanted to go someplace like home ...ish."
"Yeah, it's not quite, but it's close enough to get me out of my apartment: sweet coffee, internet signal, some james taylor on the stereo once in a while. For a minute or two, I think I'm home again. The next minute, I see or hear something, it snaps me out of it."
Nikki took a second sip, savoring the drink this time. "So, what are you doing here? In Russia?"
The stranger, smiling, paused to size her up. "I work in IT. So, are you enjoying it out here?"
"It's too cold! I thought I dressed for the weather, but I had to buy this when we got off the plane!"
"You got gouged, I'm sure."
"And people are so... I don't wanna say rude-"
"Cold?"
Nikki chuckled. "Is that bad? Am I being rude?"
"They are the way they are, with strangers. But they're warm with friends; you'll have to be a friend, first. The older you are, the longer it'll take. I got a landlady who acts like she still lives in the Soviet days, I still can't tell if she's going to kill me in my sleep. My friends swear no, but I can't tell."
A bald man, reading a newspaper at another table, glared at Nikki. Nikki smirked and said to her stranger, "Maybe she thinks she's being watched."
The stranger leaned toward her conspirationally and replied, "How does she know she's not?"
Nikki laughed, but the stranger continued. "Seriously, she probably remembers back in the day when all the walls had ears, and you never knew what you could be arrested for, or pulled into. Eyes and ears everywhere - and you know what? She's got a point.
"You're going to Sochi, where Russia's trying to show how far they're come - but you count how many cameras you see, how many cops, how many soldiers with Kalishnikovs you see walking around with the public. Now, you may think, 'Russia's still pretty hardcore', but check out Paris on your way home, or London. And you might - might - be seeing the future of New York, DC... who knows? I mean, you're from Atlanta, I'm from Carolina -"
"How do you know I'm from Atlanta?"
"um, accent - the point is, America's becoming more like the world, even as the world's becoming more like America. And it's not all going to be a perfect fit - I mean, we're sitting in a prime example right now, y'know? And all the countries are trying to pick and choose what changes they're going to embrace, and what they're going to keep, but the truth is - they won't be able to keep everything they want."
The stranger saw the worry on Nikki's face. "I'm sorry, my coffee's kicking in Not so great at keeping stuff to myself, people say. I don't want to mess up your trip, so - there's a poet that said something like, we journey and journey, and when we get home, we see it for the first time. Do that. Enjoy Sochi. Take home lots of good memories. And when you get home, see all the stuff that's only at home, and embrace it, for as long as you can.
"I have to go-" The stranger looked at his phone as he stood up. "-so I suggest calling somebody from your 'entourage' to get you. Maybe your dad or your cousin."
"How did-"
The bald man was standing, waiting to follow the American stranger out. "I just found you on Facebook. Let me leave you with a joke: do you know the recipe for a Black Russian? It's coffee and vodka."
Nikki sighed, and smiled. "All I need's the vodka-"
"-and you'll fit right in. But don't overdo it." And the stranger left.
As she had her final sips, she thought casually about the stranger, and the things he said. But it was drifting from her mind before she emptied her cup. Then, she called her family at the hotel, so they would know where she was.
inspired by the Discover Magazine article, "Edward Snowden, the NSA, and the Never-Ending End of Privacy"
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