07-11-2025, 06:50 PM
There it was. Under the tree, in the shade. Covered in bird droppings—even though it had only been parked there for half an hour. My Volkswagen Golf. It was dark blue and called a 1.9 TDI Highline.
My Golf.
If I hadn't known better, I would have said I'd never owned such a dirty car. But it was parked under that tree. Because that's where I had parked it.
I had just come from the city, from the café. I was strolling down the sunny street.
A bird landed on the hood of my Golf.
My Golf, yes.
It was dangerous, life-threatening. But only as soon as I got out of it. As soon as I got back in it, I was the one who made it dangerous.
But now... there was a loud, sudden crack and the hood swung jerkily towards the windshield as if held by a previously tensioned spring.
The pigeon—I think it was a pigeon—was thrown through the air and almost hit a no-parking sign.
My Golf, yes, that was it.
He just wants to play.
Chapter
1
I did it. I finally managed to reach my home without any major damage.
Somewhere far from civilization. In the middle of the Ruhr region.
Where these scratches, which I only just noticed, came from? I didn't know. In any case, they hadn't been there before I started the trip.
So what?
If you love your car, it will love you too. Or something like that went the advertisement. Only from a hardware store.
Anyway, I was stuck in traffic, even though I could have taken a different route.
What was it supposed to do?
Me? Yes, that's me. Just turned eighteen, a little lonely, and an avid car enthusiast. My mother works, my father is dead.
And I'm gay.
At least I was home now. I'd maneuvered the Golf into the garage—a bit carelessly, perhaps, but it was just a car. Just a car? Just? It was a car! A Golf.
Not particularly beautiful. A Golf, after all. Okay, it was midnight blue, and in some places, especially at the front, you could even see the stars. And the moon of Wanne-Eickel. Stone chip, that was the correct diagnosis. The rear license plate was crooked, albeit only by a few millimeters, but it was crooked.
There was a hint of red lipstick on the driver's door. No, it was more likely the work of a bully who hadn't been able to park. But it was nice.
And now, exhausted, I staggered through the garden into the hallway. Then, as usual, I went upstairs and collapsed onto the couch in my room.
Yes, my room. It was small but nice. With carpet. And a balcony view.
Enough space for a desk, a dresser, a former bookcase that now serves as a wardrobe, reducing the usable floor space, a room divider, a shelf, a bed, and a couch. All in just under twelve square meters.
Well, there was a trick to it. The bed was a loft bed, and the couch also found its place underneath.
I sighed. Outside, it was raining again. A fine English drizzle at a pleasant nineteen degrees.
I sat there for a few more minutes, then I got tired of doing nothing. I had to do something.
Writing? Listening to music? Watching TV?
I couldn't decide, so I first put the DVD into the DVD player under the TV, then turned on the radio, and then booted up my laptop.
So there I was, sitting at my desk, distracted by a film and a rock concert, trying to write something halfway decent for school about Aurelius Augustinus.
Nothing came to mind. Less than nothing. Instead, I listened to the music—it was a guitar solo at the time—while simultaneously watching the film and typing on my laptop keyboard, uninspired.
At some point, the music disappeared from my mind, and the film increasingly took over, pushing out all other thoughts.
Except for one: "Boy, get on the internet! You have to do something!"
No sooner said than done. The movies and music continued, and now I went online. After a quick check of my email inbox, which revealed nothing but ads, I tried to chat with someone from one of my classes.
Dead silence. On a Wednesday night. No one there.
At first I thought about quickly posting a text for the school newspaper in the forum, but I left it at that and went to another page.
To the personal ads.
One click and I was in my region. Another click and I had narrowed the age of potential candidates for a spontaneous meeting down to 24 at the most.
Why twenty-four? It's such a beautiful number. Three times two to the power of three. Five to the power of two minus one. Six times four. I have no idea why.
I read the various requests with interest.
»Looking for a boy for friendship and more...« ...
Always the same thing. But one ad caught my attention.
"Lonely boy looking for someone to lean on, cuddle, and talk to." That sounded better. I quickly wrote him an email.
"Hi you. I feel the same way. I also need someone to talk to. Can we meet?"
I added my name and then clicked "Send." The response came promptly.
"Hi. Meeting sounds good. When and where? Marc."
The remaining formalities were handled via chat, and just a few minutes later I had grabbed a rain jacket and was back in the Golf.
Chapter
2
Actually, it wasn't far. But for one thing, it was raining incessantly, and for another, there had been an accident—and of course, I hadn't turned off in time.
Yes, that's me. The reincarnation of Murphy's Law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. If there's a faux pas, I'll put my foot in it. And with the greatest pleasure—or not.
So now I was standing there. In the middle of a traffic jam. In front of an accident scene. It kept raining and raining. And the evening kept getting later and later.
Slowly, the sky also grew darker. While at the beginning of my journey, a reddish glow had illuminated the bright patches between the storm clouds, now everything was dark gray, and the raindrops glistened in the light of oncoming cars.
Fortunately, we had also exchanged cell phone numbers.
So I called him.
"No connection at this number. ... No connection at this number," came the nasal voice from the cell phone.
Either I mistyped the number, or Marc was just a fantasy. A daydream.
I decided to make it a daydream; it would make it easier, I told myself. But what I felt was bitter. The way I imagined him was far too beautiful for a dream. But it seemed to remain a dream.
A loud horn brought me back from my dreams. Finally, I was moving on, finally getting closer to my destination.
But with every meter, the uncertainty grew. Was Marc real or not?
With every meter I drove further away from home, I wished more that I had never left.
Finally, I arrived at the meeting point. Hopelessly late, at least half an hour late. My watch had stopped working a few kilometers from the finish, with a delay of almost half an hour.
I opened the door and then leaned against the admittedly wet rear of my Golf. I looked around, only to find that I was the only person for miles around.
I sighed wistfully. It wasn't meant to be. Finally, the moon peeked out from behind the thick cloud cover, and the raindrops on my golf course reflected its pale, clear light. I gruffly wiped the drops away with my hand and slid down into the grass by the golf course.
My gaze rose to the sky. Yes, the moon of Wanne-Eickel was laughing mockingly, and the stars were twinkling in ecstasy. I looked pale in comparison.
But then a shooting star appeared, and I knew it was time to finally get some sleep. Not in this place, but at home, in my warm bed.
Disappointed, I got back into the Golf and decided to drive through the villages this time to clear my head of the fog that still enveloped me. This mystical fog of disappointment that hid and enveloped my thoughts like a fog makes an ancient castle disappear into the hinterland, never to be seen again.
Away with these thoughts. But the fog was still only gently swirling.
Chapter
3
I wanted to get away, away from the disappointment, to be able to casually wipe it away with my hand. I opened the driver and passenger windows and let the cool night air flow through my Golf.
The road turned left.
Suddenly there was a loud bang and my car started to skid.
The next thing I knew, I was lying headfirst in the golf course somewhere in the field.
I groaned as I turned to the side.
Hallo Murphy!
I crawled out of the wreck with difficulty.
My Golf. Scrap! Because of a single tire!
Completely devastated, I sat down in the field and stared at the Gulf.
Nothing remained of its former beauty. Beauty? Let's call it timelessness.
The roof was slightly lower, the front end was dented, the rear end was smashed in, the rear window was missing, and behind the B-pillar was a large dent lined with wood splinters. I turned around. Yes, it must have been the tree that had taken my Golf apart.
Time passed.
Suddenly all I heard was a squeak, then a clatter, and then a loud bang.
Shocked, I turned around.
The tree I had just condemned was gone. Instead, leaning vertically against the tree's remains was a badly damaged yellow compact car.
Ford KA. The shock hadn't yet blown that much out of my mind.
I don't really know what happened next.
I must have walked to this Ford KA.
Anyway, I remember again that a fireball suddenly shot out of the KA.
Chapter
4
I had pulled a person from the wreckage, and they were now hanging in my arms. Unconscious.
And male and quite young - and attractive.
What was I thinking at that moment?
Then a vehicle stopped on the side of the road. Two people got out, one apparently on the phone. The other ran to the wreckage and was able to pull a second person out.
Shortly after that, the ambulance must have arrived, because I didn't wake up until I was in a hospital.
I knew it was a hospital before I even opened my eyes. It smelled so unhealthy.
I was sitting in a room, leaning on a chair, holding the young guy's hand.
Somehow I felt very confused and disorganized.
Then I skipped school.
I took a deep breath.
Well, now I was leaving the hospital with this young guy. And I didn't know why.
The guy smiled, and I saw the daydream from Wednesday evening on a Friday morning. He looked into my eyes for an unusually long time.
I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Epilogue
"Because you're my savior."
"It was my duty."
"Yet you saved my life."
Again he smiled mischievously and I sank into his face.
“Now what?” I asked, confused, when I noticed that he was looking at me strangely.
“Shall we finally talk?” he asked.
My Golf.
If I hadn't known better, I would have said I'd never owned such a dirty car. But it was parked under that tree. Because that's where I had parked it.
I had just come from the city, from the café. I was strolling down the sunny street.
A bird landed on the hood of my Golf.
My Golf, yes.
It was dangerous, life-threatening. But only as soon as I got out of it. As soon as I got back in it, I was the one who made it dangerous.
But now... there was a loud, sudden crack and the hood swung jerkily towards the windshield as if held by a previously tensioned spring.
The pigeon—I think it was a pigeon—was thrown through the air and almost hit a no-parking sign.
My Golf, yes, that was it.
He just wants to play.
Chapter
1
I did it. I finally managed to reach my home without any major damage.
Somewhere far from civilization. In the middle of the Ruhr region.
Where these scratches, which I only just noticed, came from? I didn't know. In any case, they hadn't been there before I started the trip.
So what?
If you love your car, it will love you too. Or something like that went the advertisement. Only from a hardware store.
Anyway, I was stuck in traffic, even though I could have taken a different route.
What was it supposed to do?
Me? Yes, that's me. Just turned eighteen, a little lonely, and an avid car enthusiast. My mother works, my father is dead.
And I'm gay.
At least I was home now. I'd maneuvered the Golf into the garage—a bit carelessly, perhaps, but it was just a car. Just a car? Just? It was a car! A Golf.
Not particularly beautiful. A Golf, after all. Okay, it was midnight blue, and in some places, especially at the front, you could even see the stars. And the moon of Wanne-Eickel. Stone chip, that was the correct diagnosis. The rear license plate was crooked, albeit only by a few millimeters, but it was crooked.
There was a hint of red lipstick on the driver's door. No, it was more likely the work of a bully who hadn't been able to park. But it was nice.
And now, exhausted, I staggered through the garden into the hallway. Then, as usual, I went upstairs and collapsed onto the couch in my room.
Yes, my room. It was small but nice. With carpet. And a balcony view.
Enough space for a desk, a dresser, a former bookcase that now serves as a wardrobe, reducing the usable floor space, a room divider, a shelf, a bed, and a couch. All in just under twelve square meters.
Well, there was a trick to it. The bed was a loft bed, and the couch also found its place underneath.
I sighed. Outside, it was raining again. A fine English drizzle at a pleasant nineteen degrees.
I sat there for a few more minutes, then I got tired of doing nothing. I had to do something.
Writing? Listening to music? Watching TV?
I couldn't decide, so I first put the DVD into the DVD player under the TV, then turned on the radio, and then booted up my laptop.
So there I was, sitting at my desk, distracted by a film and a rock concert, trying to write something halfway decent for school about Aurelius Augustinus.
Nothing came to mind. Less than nothing. Instead, I listened to the music—it was a guitar solo at the time—while simultaneously watching the film and typing on my laptop keyboard, uninspired.
At some point, the music disappeared from my mind, and the film increasingly took over, pushing out all other thoughts.
Except for one: "Boy, get on the internet! You have to do something!"
No sooner said than done. The movies and music continued, and now I went online. After a quick check of my email inbox, which revealed nothing but ads, I tried to chat with someone from one of my classes.
Dead silence. On a Wednesday night. No one there.
At first I thought about quickly posting a text for the school newspaper in the forum, but I left it at that and went to another page.
To the personal ads.
One click and I was in my region. Another click and I had narrowed the age of potential candidates for a spontaneous meeting down to 24 at the most.
Why twenty-four? It's such a beautiful number. Three times two to the power of three. Five to the power of two minus one. Six times four. I have no idea why.
I read the various requests with interest.
»Looking for a boy for friendship and more...« ...
Always the same thing. But one ad caught my attention.
"Lonely boy looking for someone to lean on, cuddle, and talk to." That sounded better. I quickly wrote him an email.
"Hi you. I feel the same way. I also need someone to talk to. Can we meet?"
I added my name and then clicked "Send." The response came promptly.
"Hi. Meeting sounds good. When and where? Marc."
The remaining formalities were handled via chat, and just a few minutes later I had grabbed a rain jacket and was back in the Golf.
Chapter
2
Actually, it wasn't far. But for one thing, it was raining incessantly, and for another, there had been an accident—and of course, I hadn't turned off in time.
Yes, that's me. The reincarnation of Murphy's Law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. If there's a faux pas, I'll put my foot in it. And with the greatest pleasure—or not.
So now I was standing there. In the middle of a traffic jam. In front of an accident scene. It kept raining and raining. And the evening kept getting later and later.
Slowly, the sky also grew darker. While at the beginning of my journey, a reddish glow had illuminated the bright patches between the storm clouds, now everything was dark gray, and the raindrops glistened in the light of oncoming cars.
Fortunately, we had also exchanged cell phone numbers.
So I called him.
"No connection at this number. ... No connection at this number," came the nasal voice from the cell phone.
Either I mistyped the number, or Marc was just a fantasy. A daydream.
I decided to make it a daydream; it would make it easier, I told myself. But what I felt was bitter. The way I imagined him was far too beautiful for a dream. But it seemed to remain a dream.
A loud horn brought me back from my dreams. Finally, I was moving on, finally getting closer to my destination.
But with every meter, the uncertainty grew. Was Marc real or not?
With every meter I drove further away from home, I wished more that I had never left.
Finally, I arrived at the meeting point. Hopelessly late, at least half an hour late. My watch had stopped working a few kilometers from the finish, with a delay of almost half an hour.
I opened the door and then leaned against the admittedly wet rear of my Golf. I looked around, only to find that I was the only person for miles around.
I sighed wistfully. It wasn't meant to be. Finally, the moon peeked out from behind the thick cloud cover, and the raindrops on my golf course reflected its pale, clear light. I gruffly wiped the drops away with my hand and slid down into the grass by the golf course.
My gaze rose to the sky. Yes, the moon of Wanne-Eickel was laughing mockingly, and the stars were twinkling in ecstasy. I looked pale in comparison.
But then a shooting star appeared, and I knew it was time to finally get some sleep. Not in this place, but at home, in my warm bed.
Disappointed, I got back into the Golf and decided to drive through the villages this time to clear my head of the fog that still enveloped me. This mystical fog of disappointment that hid and enveloped my thoughts like a fog makes an ancient castle disappear into the hinterland, never to be seen again.
Away with these thoughts. But the fog was still only gently swirling.
Chapter
3
I wanted to get away, away from the disappointment, to be able to casually wipe it away with my hand. I opened the driver and passenger windows and let the cool night air flow through my Golf.
The road turned left.
Suddenly there was a loud bang and my car started to skid.
The next thing I knew, I was lying headfirst in the golf course somewhere in the field.
I groaned as I turned to the side.
Hallo Murphy!
I crawled out of the wreck with difficulty.
My Golf. Scrap! Because of a single tire!
Completely devastated, I sat down in the field and stared at the Gulf.
Nothing remained of its former beauty. Beauty? Let's call it timelessness.
The roof was slightly lower, the front end was dented, the rear end was smashed in, the rear window was missing, and behind the B-pillar was a large dent lined with wood splinters. I turned around. Yes, it must have been the tree that had taken my Golf apart.
Time passed.
Suddenly all I heard was a squeak, then a clatter, and then a loud bang.
Shocked, I turned around.
The tree I had just condemned was gone. Instead, leaning vertically against the tree's remains was a badly damaged yellow compact car.
Ford KA. The shock hadn't yet blown that much out of my mind.
I don't really know what happened next.
I must have walked to this Ford KA.
Anyway, I remember again that a fireball suddenly shot out of the KA.
Chapter
4
I had pulled a person from the wreckage, and they were now hanging in my arms. Unconscious.
And male and quite young - and attractive.
What was I thinking at that moment?
Then a vehicle stopped on the side of the road. Two people got out, one apparently on the phone. The other ran to the wreckage and was able to pull a second person out.
Shortly after that, the ambulance must have arrived, because I didn't wake up until I was in a hospital.
I knew it was a hospital before I even opened my eyes. It smelled so unhealthy.
I was sitting in a room, leaning on a chair, holding the young guy's hand.
Somehow I felt very confused and disorganized.
Then I skipped school.
I took a deep breath.
Well, now I was leaving the hospital with this young guy. And I didn't know why.
The guy smiled, and I saw the daydream from Wednesday evening on a Friday morning. He looked into my eyes for an unusually long time.
I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Epilogue
"Because you're my savior."
"It was my duty."
"Yet you saved my life."
Again he smiled mischievously and I sank into his face.
“Now what?” I asked, confused, when I noticed that he was looking at me strangely.
“Shall we finally talk?” he asked.