The Boy from the Choir
"Now hurry up and get ready, everyone. The concert is starting soon, and I don't want to stand for two hours," the mother urged her family in the hallway.
Father, two girls, and two boys hastily put on their long blue and green loden coats.
It was winter, and these coats had to be worn for a concert in the church.
Let’s focus on Andreas, a 15-year-old dreamer, sensitive, never the most important in class, but also not the loser. He was dark blond, with large chocolate-brown eyes. His side part was neatly styled, one of his smart, fine eyebrows almost covered by his tousled hair.
He always had to tilt his head slightly to see well, much to his mother's annoyance, who told him twice a day that he needed to go to the hairdresser.
A cool movie was currently playing on TV, and Andreas really wasn’t interested in this stupid concert by a youth choir from England, the sister city of their town, even though he sang in the choir himself and there was a girl from that choir staying at their house. But she was already at the church.
In the church, neighbors had saved seats for this family in the third row from the front on the mercilessly uncomfortable church bench.
At some point, the church door was closed when everything was packed.
After a welcome and program speech, the choir entered. At least 50 teenagers in long white robes with ruffs.
It was a combined choir of a mixed youth choir and a boys' choir.
Andreas was now attentive and captivated by this performance. They didn’t have robes in their choir, and this number came across very expressively.
When the choir began to sing, he was taken by the overall sound, a kind of sweetness, heart and belly feelings.
On the far right, from his perspective, stood a blond boy in the front row of the choir. He estimated him to be around 13 or 14. His gaze kept falling on him. He was grace personified, looking like a little angel who was devotedly concentrating and seemingly respectfully aiming at the conductor.
When this boy stepped forward with his similarly sized dark-haired singing neighbor and sang a two-part duet solo, it was all over.
Andreas got goosebumps and focused all his concentration on this boy. He was completely self-conscious and overwhelmed.
‘This angel is so close, yet so far away. An Englishman. Which family is he staying with? How will he speak, what will he be like otherwise? Is he a good guy or an asshole?’
For Andreas, it was clear: ‘Someone who can sing like that and is doing this... he must be amazing. Or does he just have strict parents who push him into something he doesn’t want to do?’
Well… Andreas knew he would never get to know him – or was there a chance? They would be in town for four days, and there were joint programs where the host families and their choir members would meet those from England.
Andreas tried to concentrate on the boy...
‘Please look at me, please pay attention to me... somehow!’
But the conductor was the target for the sweet blond boy, Andreas realized.
‘He shouldn’t have to look past the conductor so much...’
‘Ugh,’ thought Andreas, turning to his family to the right and left,
‘hopefully, they didn’t notice what’s going on with me.’
But they were fixated on the choir. ‘Good.’
After the concert, Andreas tried to spy where all the choir members from England were wandering around or hanging out. No chance!
There was a lot of activity with the host families, and somehow there was no opportunity to get closer. The host girl staying with Andreas' family was already at his mother’s side, and they were heading to the car to go home.
Once home, there was a gathering in the living room.
Andreas' parents showered the girl from the choir with praise for the concert. Andreas sat there politely, sorting out his English for the crucial words: “The solo boys had a very nice voice.” “Yes,” she replied, “Timothy and...”
Andreas: “Is Timothy the boy with the fair hair?” “Indeeeeed Andy, yes he is.”
Now he had some information: the boy’s name was Timothy.
Soon he also found out which host family Timothy was staying with in town. “Oh for heaven's sake... of all families!”, thought Andreas.
Since the host parents were good friends with Andreas' parents, he knew: ‘They are strict, you can’t just drop by, they are very wealthy people who are all “fancy pants”.’
The next day, Andreas had a hockey game and no chance to participate in the outings and programs with the guest choir.
Timothy kept haunting his mind. His singing and the whole appearance made his heart race and created a kind of longing feeling in his stomach.
Even the next day, Andreas had no opportunity to see the choir again.
However, there were now photos from the first performance in the church that the host girl brought along. Andreas immediately stole one of the prints and secretly tucked it away in his desk.
Departure day! Andreas and his family took the host girl to the meeting place where all the host families, choir members from the town, and the guest choir from England gathered.
In front of the bus, the choir performed a little serenade. Timothy was nowhere to be seen in the crowd. Andreas stretched himself in all directions, ran around the listening crowd from behind, but he did not discover him.
Finally… When everyone boarded, he saw him: Timothy! He recognized him by his blonde hair, the only one with that hairstyle! A sort of bowl cut, long bangs in front, long top hair, and the back tapering down. Actually, a very American teenage hairstyle.
Andreas felt as if he wanted to call out, but he didn’t dare.
As the blonde boy struggled through the bus with a small backpack over his shoulder, Andreas ran alongside outside.
Finally, the English boy found a seat on the bus, on the window side facing Andreas, and looked out. ‘Yes… he’s looking at me… he sees me!’ flashed through Andreas’s mind.
Andreas stopped and looked with his big chocolate eyes and sadness on his face at the boy in the bus. The boy seemed completely unfazed by the other crowd… instead, he looked directly into Andreas’s eyes. Timothy had blue eyes and actually looked much more like a Swede than an Englishman. The blonde in the bus seemed somehow excited; he clapped twice with his flat hand against the window, and that was clearly meant for Andreas. Timothy looked around the bus nervously, then back directly into Andreas’s face. Then it went “pffffffft” and the bus doors closed. Timothy slumped a bit in his seat and let one palm slide down from the window. Andreas raised his right arm, made a slow waving motion... and held his hand, slightly raised, in the air.
Timothy smiled briefly but looked sad. He pressed his lips together, and Andreas could see that the blonde had a dimple on one side.
The adult choir from the town spontaneously began to sing a song. A big wave and calls began. The bus slowly started to move.
Andreas ran alongside Timothy at the height of the vehicle, and the blonde smiled widely. He tried to convey with hand gestures that Andreas should run faster... Andreas gave it his all, but soon he could no longer keep up. The whole crowd from the town fell behind, and Andreas stood alone by the roadside, giving a final farewell wave.
Back home, Andreas trudged straight into his room. He awkwardly rummaged out the photo with the choir in the church, saw Timothy there in his white robe, and immersed himself in many thoughts... He cherished the photo like a treasure.
It was Saturday night. Andreas had taken some apples from the attic of the house, which were stored in the dark on old slats.
They were from the last harvest from the garden. He always did this when he couldn’t fall asleep, wanted to read for a long time, listened to music, or had to think about something for a long time.
Next to his bed, he had an old cassette recorder, which he also used to occasionally record his piano playing, especially when he improvised... came up with something. Andreas had received his first piano lessons at the age of 5, classical lessons, but he also played in a school band on the grand piano and keyboards.
Often he played spontaneously based on his mood. It was like writing letters for him when he was melancholic, really angry, or in a great mood.
Now he lay half upright in bed, had pushed the pillow behind his neck, and was listening to his own recordings from the cassette recorder. Meanwhile, he was munching on an apple.
Suddenly he heard a passage of his piano playing that he had to rewind and listen to again immediately. He did this a few times and then pressed stop! He jumped up and rummaged out the photo of the choir from his desk, took it to bed, and kept listening to that piano passage over and over again.
‘Yep!’ This music matched his feelings when he saw Timothy in the photo. Something hurt deeply, but he didn’t understand it.
It was just a boy, but for Andreas, he was an angel with a song that had completely moved and touched him. Andreas knew how intimate soprano singing was for a boy, and Timothy looked so noble and simply beautiful. And the scenes and gestures during his departure... It was tumbling in his head and stomach.
Andreas suddenly felt totally agitated, almost angry, because these feelings wouldn’t let him go.
He kept thinking about the boy. He was annoyed at having gotten so worked up. ‘It’s all lost anyway! Timothy is in England, and that’s it!’
Andreas buried the photo back in the desk, slammed the drawer shut, and turned off the light.
A good month had now passed since the choir from England had departed.
Andreas went to choir practice, as he did every week.
There, the choir director opened: “Dear people! You surely remember the beautiful days with the choir from our partner town in England.” Andreas widened his big chocolate-brown eyes. “In two months, we’re going over by ship, then a bus will take us there, and we’ll stay with host families.” Then he talked about the program to be performed and what all needed to be organized. Andreas’s heart almost stopped, and then it raced up to his throat!
With the note about the plan for the parents in hand, he pedaled home as fast as he could to discuss everything there.
The departure day was approaching. Andreas had repeatedly thought about what he would do or say when he saw Timothy again... when he would have to face him...
‘Will Timothy even be there? Will he have choir guests from Germany at home? I wonder if he will even remember?’ and on, and on...
Andreas decided to bring Timothy something. Something personal! No matter if he would even acknowledge him, no matter what would happen!
It was evening, and no one was home. The siblings were at friends' houses, and the parents were invited somewhere. Only Andreas sat at the piano, had the tape recorder set to ‘Record’ and played. He played and played, everything that came to mind, with all that he felt, onto the tape. Completely undisturbed. When the tape was full, he labeled it, on one side with ‘Timothy’ - on the other with ‘Andreas’, wrapped it in midnight blue paper with stars and moons on it. Then he placed the small package between his clothes in the almost packed suitcase. Again and again he took it out and wondered if it looked good... too much, or perhaps could come off as a love declaration? ‘Shock!’
In the meantime, it ended up in his backpack because Mom always repacked the entire suitcase at the end. ‘She'll notice later!’
‘Shit!’ went through his mind, ‘he'll laugh it off! What boy is so uncool with such sensitive stuff?’ Yes, Andreas was on the verge of flipping out. He hit himself on the head and wondered how stupid he actually was. Then he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway. ‘Do I look like a girl? Am I crazy? How do I actually tick...’ he pondered.
Andreas scolded himself... “Nonsense man, I’m a good boy... I don’t look bad and can also look tough if I want.”
“Damn... why do I have such soft features on my face? You can totally tell that I’m a wimp. No, I'm not!” He slammed the suitcase shut, sat down at the piano, and started banging on it...
Kiss... “Goodbye my darling and have fun! Did you bring your score? Here... have a few extra pounds. Be careful on the ship and don’t run around on deck at night... blah... blah...” That was the motherly talk right before the bus, and in such a way that everyone could hear... thought Andreas, as he finally freed himself from her grasp and boarded the bus with his backpack.
YO! It was finally starting. To England… to the ship! Pockpockpock! Andreas had just managed to snag a window seat when he turned startled to the window. ‘Mom wants something...’
Andreas understood nothing. The bus closed its doors and finally set off.
The bus trip and the ferry crossing to Harwich, as well as the subsequent bus ride to the English partner town, left Andreas hardly any room for deep thoughts. There was singing, dancing in the ship’s disco, and jokes were told in the cabin at night. The bus driver on the English side was a real joker and kept everyone entertained. He sped through England with his bus at full throttle, which made the choir director wear a worried expression.
FINALLY. Meeting at the marketplace in the English partner town with division into host families (that’s what it said on the program).
With honking, the bus turned into the square and stopped in front of a crowd... the welcoming committee, consisting of the host parents and members of the choirs from the town. Andreas was excited. His heart raced, and he scanned the waiting crowd with a strained look for... Timothy. No sign! He seemed not to have come. In fact, the boys from the boys' choir apparently had not come at all.
When Andreas' name was called for “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Andreas stepped forward, and a plump round woman in a terrible floral costume waddled toward him. But she beamed from ear to ear and said loudly: “Andrew. Very, very welcome...” Afterwards, Mrs. Smith steered an old light blue Vauxhall towards Andreas.
‘What an ugly car,’ thought Andreas. ‘But the lady is nice.’ Compliant and well-mannered, Andreas surrendered to the situation. Suitcase and backpack were loaded, he looked quite presentable: dark blue Timberland jacket, a brand new dark blue, perfectly fitting Diesel jeans, and light brown Camel shoes, a blue-and-white checkered Tom Tailor shirt. His hair was neatly styled on one side... he had even put on his CK B perfume.
Mrs. Smith was completely taken with this boy and placed him in the passenger seat. With a jerk, they were off, and Mrs. Smith talked without taking a breath. Andreas had to catch his breath too, because she was driving on the left, sitting on the right, and the way she was driving, he was still getting used to the traffic. Moreover, he understood only half of what she said; after all, he had never been to England before.
In front of a small detached house, the exciting ride came to an end. The Vauxhall still idled a bit as Mrs. Smith was already fussing around the trunk. Next to it stood an old Rover 3000. ‘Probably Mr. Smith's car.’
A lean man then opened the door of the house and warmly greeted Andreas. They went into the living room. Andreas was stuffed with homemade treats, and photos were shown back and forth, of children, siblings, parents, and Andreas was quickly renamed Andrew.
Andreas reported on the English choir visit at home, how much he enjoyed the concert, especially the soloists. "One of them was named Timothy."
"Yes! Timothy D...!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed. "He lives with his mom, 10 minutes from here. Would you like to visit Timothy?" Andreas felt like time had almost stopped: "Emmmm... no... yes... emmm... we don't know each other... perhaps... later... or..." Too late!
Mrs. Smith had already picked up the phone: "Maggy?..." She seemed to be talking to Timothy's mother... Andreas turned bright red and would have preferred to activate a trapdoor beneath him.
Crunch! Mrs. Smith had hung up the receiver, beaming from ear to ear, and indicated to Andreas that the boys had just had choir practice at the church. "His mother will send him over later!"
Andreas felt that he must have been so red that he could have been sold as a beacon. He sensed stress within him and awkwardly ran his fingers through his hair, feeling that his palms had become sweaty...
Mrs. Smith had prepared the guest room for Andreas. She was now bustling around in the kitchen, and Andreas had excused himself to "freshen up" and unpack.
He noticed fresh flowers on a dresser and an oversized bowl of sweets on a small nightstand next to the bed.
He hurriedly unpacked his suitcase and dumped the contents of his backpack onto the bed. "What should I wear now? Never mind... I'll go to the bathroom first."
He undressed, crossed the hallway in his shorts and with his toiletries, and disappeared into the bathroom that Mrs. Smith had assigned to him.
After showering, he stood in front of the mirror, rubbing his hair dry, when he heard a ring somewhere. "THE FRONT DOOR!" it shot through his mind. Electrified, he paused and listened.
He heard voices in the hallway, doors slamming. Silence!
He quickly brushed his teeth, wrapped himself in a large white bath towel that had been laid out for him, and rushed down the hallway to the door of his guest room. He heard Mrs. Smith calling from a distance: "Timothy is waiting in your roooom!"
Too late! The door to the room swung open and shook as it slammed against the doorstop.
Startled, Andreas opened his eyes wide and stood next to the door. Equally startled and with an expression of having been 'caught,' the blonde boy turned around, who had apparently been inspecting some items from Andreas' backpack that were lying on the bed.
The shock moment lasted for a moment. Andreas tried to find English words.
The blonde stood there as if rooted to the spot. He examined his counterpart with his plush blue eyes from head to toe. Upon reaching his feet, he stared at Andreas' right big toe, which was shining with a white glob of toothpaste, and suddenly a broad smile unfolded on his face, revealing a dimple next to his sweetly curved lips. 'What’s going on now?' thought Andreas and looked down. He glanced at Timothy's face, and at that moment, a small, liberating laugh erupted from both of them.
Andreas grabbed his clothes that he had taken off earlier and gestured with minimal body language that he would just put something on, left the room, and went back to the bathroom.
When Andreas re-entered the room looking smart, Timothy was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Andreas felt a slight blush creeping into his face. He had trouble looking at Timothy directly for long, as he looked so graceful and beautiful.
He was wearing an elegant black shirt, buttoned all the way up, over beige-white trousers. However, the very thick-soled dress shoes he wore were quite noticeable and well-polished.
"My name is Andreas... emm... Andrew," Andreas managed to say.
"I know! My name is Timothy." "Ok… Did Mrs. Smith tell you?" asked Andreas.
"Yes, but I’ve known your name since the day we left your city in Germany by bus!"
Surprised, Andreas looked into Timothy's eyes, which now expressed a certain mischief. Timothy recounted that not only he had seen Andreas sprinting next to the departing bus back then. The girl who had been a guest at Andreas' home and had also been on the bus had witnessed the scene and informed Timothy who the athletic boy was and how much she had enjoyed her stay with Andreas' family.
Timothy knew how many siblings Andreas had, which school he attended, that he played hockey, played the piano, and sang in the youth choir.
Andreas was stunned! Finally, he sat down next to Timothy on the edge of the bed with a bit of distance and tried to say something to Timothy in clumsy English:
"I enjoyed your performance in our church, especially your voice, your solo parts. Great!"
"Thank you, Andrew..." Pause… "I’ve seen you in the church beside your parents."
Andreas turned red and felt embarrassed again. He still remembered how much he had focused his gaze on Timothy in church.
He had respect for Timothy. There was something very clear and self-assured about him, even though he appeared half a head shorter than Andreas and was definitely one or two years younger. His speaking voice indicated that his voice had probably not yet broken, or only very gently, but it was quite pronounced. Andreas knew that; he also had a trained voice and could still sing alto at 15 and a half.
"It's great to meet you, Andrew," Timothy suddenly said, a bit quieter. He looked down at his legs, which he let dangle back and forth. Andreas glanced at him from the side.
A moment later, Timothy turned his head to Andreas, looked briefly into his eyes, and then glanced back at his dangling legs.
"I'm happy we did meet now," Andreas said… The 'happy' came out with voice, but the rest he whispered. Timothy looked back up at Andreas and smiled slightly, with dimples showing and lips pressed together in affirmation.
A gong sounded with strong strikes from the direction of the kitchen. It could only be Mrs. Smith. "Äääändruuuuuu.... Timmethäääyyyyyyy…," echoed through the hallway. 'DINNER! Yoooo!' Andreas and Timothy exchanged determined looks, nodded in sync, stood up, and headed out.
Mrs. Smith had laid out a feast and warmly indicated that it was time to dig in; nothing should be left over! Mr. Smith smiled and nodded in agreement, looking pleased at the two boys he now had at the table with his wife.
Timothy sat across from Andreas. Just as the blonde was chewing on a piece that was far too big, stuffing it into his cheek, Andreas looked him directly in the face. Timothy stopped chewing, and Andreas noticed a laugh was brewing within him.
At that moment, Andreas pointed with his eyes to a large kitschy bowl on the table, which had a duck's head with a long beak as handles on either side.
Timothy froze, his eyes wide. His diaphragm quaked, and he did everything humanly possible to keep his mouth shut. Andreas heard his quiet, painfully suppressed inner giggles and, now also on the verge of a laughing fit, focused on Timothy's increasingly mischievous blue eyes, which were becoming slightly watery. Mrs. Smith, who somehow caught on to her bowl's significance, looked at the boys.
She announced that this lovely and particularly valuable bowl came from a special shop in London; she had bought the entire set from this series...
That was too much! Timothy jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Andreas tried to compose himself and convey to the somewhat startled Mrs. Smith that Timothy had just choked… it really was a particularly beautiful bowl! Mr. Smith, with an understanding look, held his napkin to his mouth and grinned into it.
Timothy returned, his eyes were moist, and he took a deep breath.
He said something like, "Ohh… I’m very sorry... blah blah..." and after he had sat back down, he kicked Andreas hard on the shin under the table and looked at him with sparkling eyes and a fully activated dimple, mischievously.
This arrival day in the small English town was free for Andreas and the host family. The next day, there was supposed to be a reception at the town hall, followed by the first concert in the town hall that evening.
After dinner, Mrs. Smith suggested that Timothy could now show Andreas around the area before it got completely dark, and they agreed on a return time of 9 PM.
The two didn't need to be told twice, and a few minutes later, they left the house together.
They giggled once more about the funny situations during dinner, and Timothy explained that he wanted to show Andreas his school from the outside first, then his home. By the way, his mom was super nice and the best in the whole world. Andreas would get to meet her too.
Andreas couldn't always fully understand everything Timothy said, but somehow it was much more important to him not to interrupt him. He preferred to pay attention while listening and felt he 'had to' look at the blonde boy now. This way, he could explore him, in his expressions, in his entire appearance. Every little detail affected Andreas. Everything he perceived in the little English boy felt incredibly beautiful, noble, super smart, with a feeling of the sweetest infatuation in his stomach, but also a large portion of melancholy that had something to do with a sense of untouchability.
Andreas also realized now: 'Right, Timothy is about half a head shorter than I am.'
"Like your hairstyle," Timothy suddenly said in his chatter.
Andreas was pulled a bit out of his thoughts but didn't know if he had understood that correctly. He struggled to find something to reply.
"I like you a lot too!" he responded. "Pardon?" came from the other side.
Timothy looked at him as if he really hadn't understood a thing.
'Shit,' thought Andreas, 'good that he didn't understand that.'
He gathered himself in English: "I have to see the barber soon."
"No, no, no!" came the response. Andreas threw a charming glance at Timothy, whose blue eyes sparkled back smartly.
In the distance, the school was now visible. Timothy silently indicated it with a finger. He then guided Andreas around all the buildings. Afterwards, they strolled further down the street. The houses became simpler, and eventually, they found themselves among old red brick apartment buildings.
The people visible here and there seemed to be workers. Suddenly, Timothy jingled a set of keys and opened the entrance door of one of these houses. They trudged up an old staircase in a somewhat run-down stairwell to the third floor.
The blonde boy briefly turned to Andreas with a smile, pressed the doorbell, and then unlocked the apartment door. "Mom!" he called out, throwing the keyring onto a dresser. Andreas closed the apartment door behind him and stood there, looking around briefly while waiting.
The furnishings were simple but very tidy and neat. A door opened, and Timothy's mother approached them with a warm expression. 'A beautiful woman!' thought Andreas. Very athletic and aesthetically pleasing, with long blonde hair tied back into a long ponytail.
Timothy politely introduced Andreas, and the mother extended her hand to him. She asked if they wanted to go into the living room, but Timothy said he wanted to show his guest his room first.
Andreas entered Timothy's domain. Everything was orderly, and there weren't many pieces of furniture. A white robe hung from a transparent cover on a wardrobe.
"Have a seat, please," said Timothy, pointing to the edge of the bed. Obediently, Andreas took a seat.
The 'little one' rummaged a photo album down from the wardrobe and sat closely next to Andreas, making physical contact. He turned on his bedside lamp and adjusted it to illuminate the album. Then he began to tell... that his father was no longer alive... that they used to live better... but his mother was doing everything wonderfully and opened the album.
Andreas had to concentrate hard to understand the essentials. A warmth spread within him during Timothy's presentation, and he enjoyed this closeness.
He noticed the hands that were showing and explaining various things in the photo album.
Of course, these hands also had to highlight the aura of the boy next to him. They must be the softest puppy-like hands in the world, Andreas felt. He then realized that they hadn't even shaken hands.
As Timothy spoke very intensely and explained, Andreas felt a tingling sensation beginning in his neck. He got a pleasant goosebumps.
Timothy spoke softly, sometimes almost whispering. He went through vacation photos, where his father was also still visible. Andreas turned to Timothy more and more, who was fully focused on the album. He sensed his emotions, which must have been connected to the photos.
Andreas felt the urge to put his arm around Timothy and struggled internally with whether to do it or not. Suddenly, the thought of the precious time they could only have together struck him.
He did it! Gently, he placed his left arm over Timothy's shoulder, who made a brief pause but then continued as before.
Andreas wanted to slowly retract his arm, but Timothy reached back with his right hand and stopped the movement, pulling his arm back to where it had been before. Without interruption, he continued with his presentation about the photos.
Arriving at the last page of the album, Timothy left it open as it was, looked down, and fell silent. Andreas studied him with his large, dark brown, shiny doe eyes from the side. He could see that a tear had gathered in the outer corner of his neighbor's eye.
Andreas briefly pulled Timothy closer to him. Timothy slowly looked up and then smiled slightly at Andreas, sniffled once, and quickly wiped both eyes with the back of his left hand.
Andreas was emotionally overwhelmed himself. He hadn't understood everything, but he had felt everything. Timothy looked forward again, closed the album, and with a discreet, sweet smile and a slight shrug, made it clear that he was fine and that everything would continue. Andreas could tell from his expression.
Timothy wanted to get up and put the album back in its place, but Andreas held him back with his arm on his shoulders; he was startled by his own gesture, as he hadn't really intended to do that.
Timothy looked at the closed album, then forward, and then turned to Andreas. Andreas felt a kind of fear in his stomach, almost as if he needed to go to the bathroom. Timothy's eyes wandered slowly from one doe-like eye to the other; he seemed to skim over Andreas's eyebrows and face in general. Andreas noticed a certain seriousness in Timothy's face and discovered a small dot just above his counterpart's upper lip on one side. Just as he realized this, Timothy's blue sparkling eyes formed into a warmly benevolent eye smile. The corners of his eyes revealed it along with the fine eyebrows.
Timothy jumped up: "Wanna show you something," he said, reaching for a small desk and pulling out a small tin box from one of the two doors. He sat down on the floor, waved Andreas over to him, and placed the box in the middle. He took off the lid. Inside were at least 20 smaller and larger artistically sprayed and painted stones... in a kind of graffiti style. 'So this is a hobby of Timothy's.' Andreas found them beautiful, and each individual stone was quite special.
The little English boy noticed how fascinated his counterpart was by his hobby. As they took each stone out and examined them closely, Timothy began to hum softly, then a bit louder, and finally sang: "Oh happy day... oh happy dayiiieay..." Andreas laughed and joined in with a harmony. He also knew this gospel song perfectly. Timothy beamed, stood up, and both really got into it. They looked at each other to be perfectly in sync. Timothy vibrated with excitement and began to improvise over the lead voice, phrasing into his highest soprano head voice. Andreas had to concentrate hard to keep the tempo of the base singing just right. "Yeah!" Timothy shouted, approached Andreas, jumped up excitedly in one leap, and wrapped his legs around his hips. "Mom!" he called and reached with his long arm for the doorknob. "Moooom!" "Yes Timmy, I heard it! It was great!" came a call from the living room.
Timothy landed back on his feet, stood in front of Andreas, beamed at him, and asked energetically: "FRIENDS?" Andreas raised his arms for a high-five: "Friends!" he replied happily and freely. The ritual clap was loud, and the mother approached with a tray. Cookies and tea!
"Mom... mooom..." Timothy demanded... He begged his mother if Andreas could please, please, please stay with him overnight, or even for the entire duration of his stay in the city. The mother laughed sympathetically and made it clear to him that this wouldn't work, after all, Andreas was staying with the Smiths, and that couldn't be changed. But maybe they could arrange it for one night, she would discuss it with Mrs. Smith. However, today Andreas had to go back.
As she said this, she looked at her wristwatch, tapped a few times on the glass face, and alerted the boys that it would be time soon. "I will bring you back!" Timothy declared determinedly and started sorting the stones back into the tin box. Andreas watched him relaxed and happily, nibbling on a cookie in the process.
Ten to nine! Timothy had promptly brought his new friend in front of the house of the host family where Andreas was staying. "Ten minutes," he noted on his wristwatch and leaned back against Mrs. Smith's old Vauxhall. "Yes... ten minutes," Timothy confirmed and did the same.
It was dark, and a nearly full moon tried to cast a little light through passing clouds, which were sometimes thicker and sometimes thinner.
On the way, the two hadn't talked much. They had quietly hummed "Oh happy day" again to cover up the silence. Andreas was filled with the evening, and he somehow felt the same from Timothy, who had been smiling over at him while they walked.
"At night I always get the best emotions to compose and to play piano," he said dreamily. "'Would like to hear it, Andrew," Timothy replied with a questioning soft voice.
"Can I tell you something?" Andreas now cautiously trembled out.
"Indeed. What’s up?" asked the blonde boy, looking at Andreas expectantly with his blue eyes. Pause... Andreas searched for words and smiled smartly-embarrassed.
"Come on... what is it?" came the prompt again. "'Could not forget you since I saw you the first time in church. I wished to meet you so bad... the whole time..." Andreas whispered almost inaudibly and looked everywhere but into the eyes of the boy next to him. The boy said nothing at that moment.
Finally, Andreas took a fleeting glance and saw that Timothy was still looking the same way as before, but the corners of his mouth were slightly twitching towards a dimple.
Andreas began to flutter his eyelashes. Timothy could see exactly how Andreas' eyelashes moved irregularly up and down. He tried to take in Andreas' whole face, who turned slightly away when he noticed this. Timothy took his left hand out of his pocket and placed it on Andreas', who was leaning on the cold tailgate of the Vauxhall. Andreas felt the smaller silk paw, whose soft fingers tried to gently burrow beneath his. The small hand squeezed slightly, and the voice that accompanied it said very softly, but firmly: "I’m impressed." Pause...
"No one ever said things, like you did, to me before." "Really?" Andreas managed to say.
"Pardon?" came Timothy's immediate response. "Emmm...wow..." Andreas shook his head with an embarrassed grin on his face, signaling that he was clueless and at the end of his verbal creativity.
Then it seemed something occurred to him: "Wait, Timothy!" He simply left the boy standing there. He rang the bell. Mrs. Smith opened the door. "Aahhh, Andrew!" she exclaimed happily.
"I’m back in a few minutes!" Andreas hurried past her into his guest room. He rummaged through his luggage for the small package with the cassette and stormed back out, past a somewhat surprised Mrs. Smith, who was an unmistakable obstacle.
Timothy received Andreas right in front of the front door. Andreas pushed Timothy back behind the car and held out the small package to him. "For me? What’s that?... Why?" whispered the smaller boy, tense, taking the package from the frantic one, while he eyed Andreas with a slightly ducked posture and a mischievous smile.
Before Andreas could even let out that he shouldn't open it yet, the boy had already removed the paper. He stared at the cassette. "Andrew," he read aloud..., turned the cassette over, "Timothy?" he read questioningly from the other side of the gift. Andreas stood in front of him, excited, almost doubtful.
"Äääändruuuuu!" came a call from the front door. "Come in please!" it came with insistence.
Timothy blinked his blue eyes and lit up the one in whom a feeling collision was just taking off. Out of nowhere, the right paw of the blonde boy shot up, quickly clasped around Andreas' neck, pulled him close, and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. Just as quickly, he let go of him and ran out into the darkness.
Andreas stood there like a statue and replayed the film of the last few seconds in his mind a few times back and forth. Yup! He was smitten! And to the point of pain! Was that just a conquest, or had he completely thrown the little guy off balance, even caused a bit of a stir?
He finally trudged into the house. Mrs. Smith greeted him with questions about his wishes, food, drink, or sitting together. Andreas indicated that it had been a great evening, but that he was very tired now. The program plan for the next day was briefly discussed, after which he changed, crawled into the guest bed, immediately turned off the light, and let Timothy swirl in his thoughts with all the impressions of today and everything he found so fascinating about him. The huge blankets of the bed and the soft mattress were cozy, but unfamiliar.
Hardly had he calmed down a bit and let some peace settle in, when someone knocked from outside at the window. He jumped up! 'NO…!' he thought immediately, sneaking to the window, opened it, and two blue cheeky 'headlights' flashed at him! "You’re crazy!" whispered Andreas. "Come out," giggled Timothy. Andreas nervously ran his fingers through his messy hair. "Okay, but only 5 minutes," he replied.
Timothy bounced excitedly in front of the window, looking left and right. Andreas quickly slipped into some clothes and crawled out through the window. "Your mother, Timothy?" "I told her that I forgot my keys in your room... hihi!"
"Okay," whispered Andreas back with a grin and continued: "Why did you come back?"
"I forgot something," Timothy whispered softly, very close to Andreas' ear.
They both crouched down. "Hmmm?" Andreas replied. "I did not say 'Thank You' for the present!" "Of course you did!" whispered Andreas.
"How?" Timothy wondered. Small pause... "Errmmm... you kissed me."
"Yes, I did," Timothy grinned back shyly. "I was highly surprised," he hissed past Andreas' ear, causing him to get goosebumps all over his body.
The blonde blue-eyed boy positioned his shining sapphires right in front of Andreas' eyes, so that their noses almost touched. "I hope we are friends for a long time from now on, Andrew," came in a very soft and gentle voice, while Timothy supported himself with his warm hands on Andreas' knees.
Andreas had to swallow now, and warm feelings spread within him. His goosebump feeling was off the scale, and the attraction to this charming, graceful, sensitive boy compelled him to a fulfillment. Timothy noticed something in Andreas' face.
The little one was just beginning to doubt his earlier words with "Pardon?" because he didn't understand Andreas' expression. His face was now flooded with all his emotions. The doe-like eyes closed, and his lips slowly approached the right cheek of his counterpart. There, they placed the most tender kiss that Andreas had ever wanted to give someone. He waited a moment before looking Timothy in the eyes, as he suddenly became aware of what he had just done.
He cautiously pulled his head back and opened his eyes.
The blue spotlights were on, along with dimples.
Timothy sank back onto his heels and let out a breath he had been holding. Andreas raised his elegantly arched eyebrows in a slightly questioning manner.
After a brief pause: "Be assured: You will get such a kiss as well, my friend!" the little one smiled, wearing his mischievous grin with slitted eyes.
Andreas grinned back, relaxed.
"Piano?" Timothy asked cheerfully, pulling a cassette from his pocket. "Piano!" Andreas confirmed in return.
They lingered for a moment. Timothy put the cassette back.
"Tomorrow?" Timothy asked very softly, in a somewhat shy tone. "Tomorrow!" Andreas replied cheerfully in a whisper.
Andreas then stood up and climbed back into the house through the window. Timothy came to the windowsill from outside and stretched his arms up. Andreas leaned down and hugged his new friend. He briefly snuggled his face into Timothy's collar and took a deep breath through his nose. Timothy giggled softly. They released each other, and the 'little one' stepped back from the windowsill. He threw a happy glance at Andreas, set off, and whispered a 'Bye' as he walked away.
Andreas closed the window, got undressed again, and cozily nestled himself under the enormous mass of blankets. Now he realized how tired he really was. Nevertheless, he began to think about the possibilities of meeting his new friend the next day. A pretty comprehensive program lay ahead: a welcome at the town hall, a rehearsal, a dress rehearsal, and a concert in the evening. 'Well... maybe he could somehow find a bike...'
As he pondered this, the active operation in Andreas' mind switched off, and sleep took over the reins.
"Good morning!" blew into Andreas' ear from no more than 30 cm away. He opened his eyes wide and registered Mrs. Smith, who cheerfully placed a tray on the nightstand. He realized that he was no longer covered; he must have kicked off the blankets in his sleep. Quickly, he sat up, grabbed the blanket, and hastily pulled it up to his chin. Mrs. Smith threw open the window and said loudly, "Andrew, it's a wonderful day!"
She inquired if he had slept well, handed him an oversized mug from the tray. Andreas sipped from it with a grateful, obedient face and found: 'Tea with milk and at least 6 spoons of sugar!'
'Not sweet at all,' he thought, 'but lovely!' He glanced at the tray, prompting Mrs. Whirl-Smith to announce that there were toasts with special, original English delicious marmalade and that he should come for breakfast right away...
'Breakfast? What did I just get here???' he wondered, puzzled.
Andreas felt the draft caused by Mrs. Smith's speed as she cheerfully left the room.
'Wow,' he thought, letting himself fall back into the pillow for a moment.
Then he nibbled on the toasts, surely made with love, with his long teeth.
Yes... he had to eat them somehow.

The Spring of My Life
The lights of the Ferris wheel shine in colorful hues, bathing the surroundings in a warm, almost unreal light. I stand at the foot of the Ferris wheel, waiting for a few friends from the university. Dusk is setting in. I am the first to arrive at the agreed meeting point. Here in Münster, the Send is taking place again, a small folk festival in front of the castle. One by one, Cordula arrives first, followed by Michael. We greet each other and chat about our boring chemistry lab, which we are currently being tortured with at the university. I look at the many different people around us. The cold March air tickles my nose. Suddenly, I see him. My gaze falls on a boy, about my age. He weaves through the crowds and strolls toward the Ferris wheel, in our direction. Right now, at this very moment, is one of those very rare instances in life where you have to hold your breath for a moment because you see someone you believe you have encountered in your sweetest daydreams. It’s one of those moments when everything around you becomes unimportant, lights and music merge into a swirling, unreal mass. Suddenly, the boy notices my gaze and immediately returns it. I am startled and shyly look away. A balloon vendor is advertising his goods, holding a huge bunch of colorful balloons in his right hand, all wanting to soar high into the sky. They float weightlessly in the wind. But my eyes soon seek their way back to the boy. They have spotted him immediately. He comes closer – and still looks directly into my eyes. My heart races, and I look away shyly again. My gaze falls to the gray cobblestone ground. I see Cordula's shoes, then Michael's. My thoughts revolve around the mysterious boy. Suddenly, a pair of dark sneakers joins our group. My gaze climbs up them, navigating along the legs, over the torso, the arms, and further up: I look into his face, into his eyes. He smiles at me. "This is a friend of mine," Cordula explains, pointing to our newcomer. "We share a workspace in the lab for the internship." "What’s your name?" Michael asks. "My name is Timm," says the newcomer shyly and looks at me again.
Timm has large, sky-blue eyes and dark blonde hair, tousled over his ears. He hides his hands from the cold in his pockets. He wears dark pants, a red sweater, and a dark brown jacket. Along with black sneakers. Around his mouth, a hint of fine, blonde stubble is visible. And something else: I notice that he has a little cocoa mustache at the corners of his mouth. He must have just had a cup of hot chocolate. My heart races. I want to kiss his sweet mouth immediately! I feel something happening to me. I have never seen such a sweet boy in my life. That very evening, I know that I have fallen in love.
By the way, my name is Lars. I grew up in a small, rural village in northern Germany. I am slim, have short blonde hair, and green eyes. Back then at the folk festival, I was 21 years old, shy, and not out. I had just moved to Münster, started my biology studies, and was trying to master my fate far from home. What happened that evening in front of the Ferris wheel would change my life forever. I fell in love with Timm as I had never loved anyone before or since. I could no longer keep this burden, this happiness to myself. So, I decided four weeks later, on a spring day in April, to confide in my best friend Heike.
"Should I really dare? Can I do this?" I asked myself during the drive to her. Heike spent the semester break at home with her parents. The car radio played "In Your Eyes" by Sylver. A song that always made me think of Timm. My heart began to race, and a swarm of butterflies awakened in my stomach. I simply had to take the plunge!
Heike opened the front door. We greeted each other as warmly as always. "Look, I've prepared the fireplace!" she said happily, drawing my gaze to the blazing fire in the hearth. In front of it were two wicker chairs and a table set with steaming tea and cookies. On one hand, it was a very tempting picture. On the other hand, I had something important to tell her. However, here by the fireplace, every word could end up in the curious ears of Heike's parents, who were listening to the monotonous television program in the next room. Nevertheless, we made ourselves comfortable in front of the fireplace. She told me many things that I have since forgotten, as I kept fidgeting nervously in my chair, only thinking about Timm and my upcoming first coming out. Every five minutes, I glanced at my watch. Finally, I took a big sip of tea and said, "Hey, Heike, can we go to your room for a moment?" – "To my room? But it's empty! I've taken all my furniture with me for my studies." – "That's okay." I tried in vain to put a smile on my face. Heike had recognized the strange sound in my voice. Wordlessly, she walked up the stairs to her room. She opened the door. An echo greeted us. The room was icy cold. It was indeed almost empty. Only Heike's emptied wardrobe stood with its doors open against the wall like a dark gate to another world. "Shall we sit down?" I asked, directing my gaze to the green carpet. My voice trembled; I was freezing. Heike and I sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other. "What's wrong?" she asked me. Her large eyes held my gaze. "I have to tell you something!" I stammered. My face changed from what felt like blue to green. "I've fallen in love!" Seconds turned into minutes. "But that's nice!" she replied hesitantly. She was as excited as I was, and also scared. Her face color matched mine. I pinched the fabric of her pant legs with my fingers and slowly traced the lines of her jeans with my index finger. Then I took my phone out of my pocket and opened a text message from Timm. "Look," I said, trembling as I showed her the sender. "It's not a woman. It's a he!"
Did I really just say that? Did I actually say "he"? I had done it! My well-guarded secret had been revealed for the first time! I felt so relieved! My heart was still racing, and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. But I had done it! Heike said something. Unfortunately, I can no longer remember her words. However, I felt that she was encouraging me. Gradually, I calmed down. I looked at Heike, and she looked at me. After a brief silence, she said, "Now I have to tell you something too." I waited eagerly for her words. "I've been in love with you for two years!"
That evening in April 2002, both Heike and I had our coming out – each in our own way and, admittedly, surprising for the other. But it was good because we stood by our feelings and ourselves and dared to take a step. Even though, in this case, our desire for love would remain unfulfilled for both of us. 

However, the evening also left its marks. Out of fear of a similar emotional chaos, I confided in no one for over a year. After that year, everything happened very quickly. The warm summer sun awakened new courage in me. I gradually opened up to my other friends over the course of a few days and weeks. Soon, I met my first boyfriend, with whom I had a long, albeit not always easy, relationship. I used my ended single life as an opportunity to finally confide in my parents and siblings. And what can I say? Coming out was the second-best decision of my life. What the best was is another story.
Now it is the year 2007.
I am now 26 and have had a new boyfriend for a year, with whom I am very happy. I have many good friends and a strong family that supports me.
Heike now lives in the Harz Mountains, struggling through her internship as a high school teacher, and recently broke up with her long-term boyfriend. Our friendship still endures.
And Timm? I experienced an exciting and unforgettable early summer with him. We spent a lot of time together, went to concerts, to the lake, or spent nights on his balcony under the stars. Candles burned around us, Heather Nova sang "I'm on fire" for us, and the red wine dulled our senses. With him, I experienced the most erotic moments of my life, even though we never had sex. After a few months, Timm returned to his hometown of Vienna. We lost contact. He never found out that he was the love of my life.

"You really noticed that back then?" We made ourselves comfortable in my small apartment. Outside, it is already dark; after all, it's December—two weeks before Christmas, the festival of love. How fitting. Maybe he didn't really notice, but somehow he sensed it. "Even when you didn't know I was gay?" I'm surprised and fascinated at the same time. Yes, all along, or at least since the beginning of the year.
The beginning of the year! The university party. An incredible evening. By then, I had started to slowly but surely completely fall for him. We had danced for a long time—no, not with each other, but together—and I wished that the party would never end. When it eventually had to come to an end, it got even better. I was there as a helper for the party and had to help with the cleanup a bit. He immediately offered to help without being asked, and we carried beer tables together. Carried? No, the tables and benches actually floated, almost magically, with me on cloud nine.
At some point, much too early for the first subway, we slipped away and ended up on a waiting bench. How I wished I could lean against him and cuddle in his arms back then, but I wasn't able to say anything to him—not yet. That would take almost a year. So he sensed it back then... The way I looked at him, he explained to me.
I can still remember the conversation very clearly. Whether it would be worse to lose hearing or eyesight. What a topic for four in the morning! But somehow, it was just right—at least the right thing to finally enchant me. A very typical conversation for him, as I would later realize. I've never been able to talk so profoundly about seemingly unimportant topics with anyone else. Recently, we pondered whether it would be easier to build a raft or a canoe if stranded on a deserted island.
Yes, that was on that memorable evening eight days ago. We had met at the winter festival in the evening, strolled through the tents with booths, and eventually got stuck in the food tent. At some point, we ended up discussing love, whether I believed in it, he asked me. Admittedly, I am somewhat skeptical about love. Sure, it exists, and life wouldn't be half as beautiful without it, but so far, I've mostly experienced love as something tragic. Love that remains unanswered on one side, relationships that are doomed from the start because one confuses a little affection with true love on the other. At least that's how it has always been for me until now. Now we both sit here in my apartment. I look at him. How beautiful he is!
Objectively, he might not be a dream man, but to me, he is. I like his deep eyes. I like his silky, medium-length hair, his beautiful mouth, with which he says so many intelligent things. He is not as superficial as many others. I believe that primarily it is this that I have fallen so inappropriately in love with him. It’s not superficialities, but rather his character and charm that captivate me.
When we briefly go to the supermarket to get something to eat, he suggests a ready-made lasagna. "I love unhealthy food the most." I have to smile and love him a little more. How could he have enchanted me so? Whatever he says, I am fascinated by it. Even more so, I am fascinated by his silence. "The beautiful thing about us is that we can also just be quiet without everyone desperately searching for something to say. Then, in that moment, it's just right to say nothing." What a simple yet enchanting observation we made last week. Normally, I hate such situations when you've been talking and suddenly no one knows what to say anymore. With him, it's different. We just understand each other; you don't always need words.
Just like now, as we sit across from each other after dinner, each lost in our thoughts. I can't help but look at him dreamily. His eyes, his hair, his mouth. I love him and can't help it. Involuntarily, I have to laugh. "I still can't believe I really did that. I've never done anything like that before." It really was a bold move, but somehow it just had to happen. As sure as I was about my feelings after that evening, I remained unclear about his. Finally, after days, I gathered all my courage and sat down to write him a letter. A real love letter—the first in my life.
"That really made me happy, to receive a proper letter like that." I can't help but grin. – "I also put a lot of effort into it." He grins back. In the most beautiful handwriting I could manage, I had written almost two pages of text on paper, in which I not only confessed my love to him but also explained how I came to have serious hopes. It was important to me; it shouldn't look completely thoughtless. In the end, I was quite satisfied with my work. The next day – the day before yesterday – I invited him to go to the cinema with me and a few other people and handed him the letter as we said goodbye. It's incredible that I managed to get through it without any second thoughts, considering how excited I was all evening.
Then came the anxious waiting. That evening at the winter festival, when we had sat at the table for a long time after dinner and somehow got onto the topic of love, he had asked me in a serious voice if I was looking for something lasting. From that moment on, I couldn't hold back anymore. That question, along with all the other clues, could only mean one thing. There had been an immense tension in the air for the rest of the evening. But then, when I later tried to probe a little, he had, for the first time since I met him, clearly stated that he was heterosexual. That couldn't possibly fit together. Maybe he was just unsure of himself, or perhaps he was just afraid to come out, or maybe I was just piecing together complete nonsense. Anything was possible, and I was waiting to see what he would say.
He understands me, understands my thought processes, can empathize exactly with how I must have felt. "I would have found a short text message simply inappropriate," he explains to me. We agree on that. I had already considered whether I should include my email address in the letter – for some reason, we had never emailed each other despite knowing each other for over a year. I realize that I don't even know his last name. Love doesn't need a name. But it does need an email address to be able to write more than 160 characters. So all I received to read after I finally dared to open his text yesterday, after much hesitation, was the question about that very address.
Again, the waiting. It could mean anything or nothing. A love declaration via text message is tasteless, a rejection via text message is just as bad. Does a rejection via email really have more style? I don't know. After all, I had also confessed my love to him in written form. At least his rejection was the nicest one I could have imagined. "I should probably be disappointed and devastated right now, but I'm not," I wrote back to him, still completely unable to accept what I had just read and simultaneously still completely captivated by him. A text like only he could write. A soulmate connection? Me, in his eyes, a fascinating person? It all sounded so wonderful, even though it actually represented a disaster for me. 

In my eyes, he is also a fascinating person, even more so after I read the letter than ever before. I loved him even a little more immediately. He had written that this shouldn't destroy our wonderful friendship; I had already emphasized that in my letter. I reaffirmed it once again in my response and immediately invited him over for the next evening – today – to talk things over a bit. Yes, we want to continue nurturing our friendship; we agree on that. We start right away, playing a bit of chess and cards, chatting, having fun. It would actually be a really nice evening, but I am suffering.
So far, I have only ever known love as something tragic. Love that remains unanswered on one side, relationships that are doomed to fail from the start because one confuses a little affection with true love on the other. At least that has always been the case until now. Now we are both sitting here in my apartment. I look at him. He is incredibly beautiful, and love is something incredibly tragic. Even though I still haven't grasped the tragedy in its full extent, not even when we met today.
As he slowly turns to leave, I feel that the moment of bitter awakening will soon be here – it must be here. I refuse to miss the chance to walk with him to the subway. Just a nice gesture on my part? Certainly that, but not only. Perhaps a train station seems to me the most fitting place for the farewell that is about to happen. The final farewell to my dreams and hopes. I can still delay the moment of this farewell for a few more minutes. Not much, but still. Perhaps that is the real reason why I continue to walk with him. I don't want to let him go yet. I can't let him go.
But even these minutes pass quickly. The subway arrives, we say goodbye, and he smiles at me once more – is that meant to be an encouraging smile or just a friendly one? Friendly, yet still firm, he says: "But today without a note!" His last words before I leave. I struggle to resist the urge to turn around one last time. It wouldn't change anything anyway. He certainly won't be watching me leave. It would be nice... Yes, today without a note. What else was there to write? Everything has been said today, the most important things were even written yesterday.
His email. I think again about what I read in it. Since he knew I was gay, he had feared that something like this could happen. He sees our friendship as something very special – we could both just be ourselves together. What I felt as a spark was also palpable for him, just with a different meaning attached. Should he have behaved differently? I can't answer that question either. Probably not. He answers it with a sentence that I can't get out of my head, a sentence so convoluted and yet so clear that only he could have put it together: "All these considerations are just symptoms of our feelings that our mind desperately tries to organize."
My mind also desperately tries to organize the symptoms of my feelings, but it fails. I want to get away from here. To run and not stop, just to run through the nighttime city. Yet at the same time, I am so infinitely tired that I would rather not move at all. I still keep moving, and I don't start running.
My apartment greets me with memories. Everything reminds me of him, even though he has only been here for a few hours. He sat in this chair, at this table he ate lasagna with me. His plate is on mine in the kitchen, waiting to be washed. We could have fit together just as well as these two plates. If only I could snuggle up to him now! The remnants of the tomato sauce disappear down the drain. Why can't memories and pain just be washed away too? You can, but the detergent is called time. Without it, I could scrub my soul raw, yet the thoughts of him would still linger. It's incredible what time is capable of.
So what remains? Another entry in my personal list of unrequited love? I look back at its predecessors almost soberly. Will he soon feel the same way? Shouldn't there be more left of the great feelings? Time is merciless. It takes everything, whether pain, joy, good or bad memories, whether you want it or not. How time passes... childhood, youth, adulthood. Nothing stays as it was. Since I became somewhat of an adult, I can no longer stand Christmas. It feels melancholic, it reminds me of lost childhood, the years as a teenager, and especially of what could have been different. Since I became somewhat of an adult, this celebration has lost its magic for me. I have become too sober – disillusioned.
"But there must be things you believe in! Some values or... love!" he said to me when I told him about my thoughts last week. How could I have misunderstood sentences like that? Did I deliberately search for hints everywhere? Or were they just hanging in the air, waiting to be misinterpreted by me? I lie in bed and search for the mistake. I can't find it. Did I do something wrong? No, I can't be blamed for the situation. I did what I could, no missed opportunity, no inappropriate behavior. This time, I really can't be blamed. Neither can he. Some things are just not meant to be. Fate? Do I believe in fate? I don't know. Didn't he ask me that at some point? He! He, he, he! Wherever I think, it's him!
Everything could have been so perfect. I think back to how we met, how we talked for the first time for a longer time, what we did together, what kind of emails he sent me via text! All of that gave me cause to dream. As I now know, not even too far-fetched, but still not real – just a dream. Again and again I read all his texts that have accumulated in my phone over the last year without ever being deleted. Was all of that supposed to mean nothing? At least not what I had hoped for.
I just want to burst into tears, it hurts so much. I can't, I never can. I often find it hard to show my feelings openly – but I can confide in him. He has always understood me, and he still does. Why couldn't he just declare me crazy and insult me? That would have made everything much easier; then I could at least hate him. But like this? Why does he still have to be so nice to me and make everything even worse? Do I really want that? To hate him? But I also don't want to love him anymore. Damn it, how much I love him! I don't want to anymore! "If I were really gay, then the letter would have been a great start," he said. Great! But he isn't. And now?
Now I'm lying here, lonely, disappointed. I've tried to make my little apartment somewhat cozy. Inside, it's dark; after all, it's December – two weeks before Christmas, the festival of love. How fitting.

The confession
I'm sitting across from my father. That is, we are sitting across from my father! I dare not look at his face. I can't, and yes, I'm afraid! Real fear! My stomach is cramping. I feel sick! I think I'm going to throw up. He says nothing! He just sits there at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his forearms on the table top, and looks at me – and says nothing. What have I gotten us into! I'm an idiot! How did it come to this?

My dad and I were abandoned by my mother for another man. I was thirteen at the time and at the beginning of my “becoming a man”. He went through it bravely! Since those three years, we have grown together, have always trusted each other unreservedly and he has always been there for me. Understanding, empathetic, sometimes scolding but never angry or unjust! Actually, totally atypical! But everything just fit together. He really worked his ass off for us (sorry for the expression, but it's true). During the day at work, in the evening he was there for me, at night household chores. He always kept the weekends free for me! A new girlfriend? No way! No, he didn't have time for “that kind of thing,” he always said. He literally carried me on his hands. We were the perfect father-son team.

That changed when I met Sebastian about three weeks ago. He was new at our school and we got along great from the start. I soon realized that I felt more than just friendship for him. After gym class, in the shower, we stole glances at each other, grinned at each other, and my heart started racing every time. Well, I quickly understood what that meant. I didn't grow up behind the moon.

Sebastian usually came to my place, we ate together and did our homework as quickly as possible. The rest of the day we fooled around, played video games or watched DVDs. One afternoon we were fooling around on my bed and he tickled me really hard. I was lying on my back with him sitting on my thighs. We laughed and he pushed up my T-shirt while he started the next attack and continued tickling my bare skin. I realized that my pants were getting too tight. Shit, I was getting a boner! Suddenly he changed his tactics and went from tickling to gentle caressing with a grin. Oh my God! For a moment my mind went blank and I was unable to say or do anything. After the somewhat longer moment of shock, I grabbed his shirt and pulled it off him! He was still grinning, but I had lost it. Slowly, he lowered his head to me and gave me a very tender kiss on my lips. I began to tremble with excitement as he continued to touch me lovingly. Finally, I was somewhat in control of my senses again and couldn't keep my hands off him. Quietly and tenderly, he whispered in my ear.
“Shall I stop or do you want more? It's up to you!"
He sat up again, and I immediately put my right hand on his neck and slowly pulled his head down towards me again. I closed my eyes and started kissing his lips, then I slowly opened my mouth and very carefully let my tongue slide to his. I will never forget this kiss for as long as I live!
“Christopher?“
”Sebastian?“
”I've fallen in love with you.“
”Hihi, that's nothing new. I've been in love with you for a long time!“
I grinned at him and stroked his cheek.
”Christopher, is it too soon for me to want more?"
I grinned at him again
“No, Sebastian, it's not! I want you! Now! Here! Today! Right now!"
In record time, we were naked! My goodness, I was horny for this guy!
My God, he wasn't just insanely cute, but also totally sexy! His chest and abs were exactly my type, not too much and not too little, from his chest to his belly button was covered with a soft, blond downy carpet and the few, totally cute hairs under his belly button almost drove me crazy!
His beautiful body lay on top of mine, we rubbed our lower bodies tenderly together, kissing over and over again.
It didn't take long before we both felt the pleasant current flowing through our bodies.
“Oh man, that was so beautiful. Thank you!”
I was a little taken aback.
"Why thank you?”
I smiled encouragingly at him.
“Because you gave me the most beautiful thing on earth – your love!”
Oh yes, I really had!
“Then I should probably say thank you too?”
Now he looked at me questioningly.
“You gave me your love too, didn't you?”
He closed his eyes and buried his face on my neck.
“Mm hm.“
He said it so blissfully!
”Youuu?“
”Mmhmm?“ 
”I want you again.“
He grinned at me lovingly and lustfully.
”Shouldn't we shower first? I mean... we're still full of – well, you know – down there!“
”Does it bother you? Does it disgust you? I think it's hot!“
Hihi, he didn't want to say it like that, because his face could rival a red traffic light!
”On second thought – no! I'm not disgusted by myself and I'm certainly not disgusted by you!"
He got up, turned around and I experienced the famous 69 position for the first time, with all our man juice!
Wow, that was...
Once again, the big bang of masculinity was not long in coming and we came at the same time again. After that, we lay on my bed for a long time, still tightly entwined, caressing and kissing each other over and over again!
It was time to get up! Quickly shower and get dressed! Not a minute too early, because as soon as we were presentable again, I heard my dad coming home!
“Phew, that was close!"
The next few days were always the same.
At some point I asked Sebastian if his parents knew. He looked very sad and said that he couldn't tell them. They wouldn't understand ‘something like that’.
But I felt really bad about what I'd done to my father! We'd always told each other everything. So why not this?
Sebastian was afraid that my father would run straight to his parents. But I was sure that he wouldn't do that.
“Do you want to be there or would you rather me talk to him alone?”
His coolness and self-confidence had vanished.
“I'm scared, Christopher! I'm really scared shitless!”
"Come on, I could always talk to him about anything. He'll understand.”
“Well, when?“
”Today!“
”WHAT!?“
He looked at me with wide, wide-open eyes – the most beautiful eyes in the world, by the way!
”We'll do it! Besides, he wouldn't hurt you anyway."
I smiled at him.
Then I heard my father's key in the apartment door.
He wasn't even really in the apartment when we walked towards him.
“Dad, we need to talk!”
“Oh oh, that doesn't sound good! Did something happen?”
“No, yes, no. Not in the hallway! Let's sit in the kitchen”
My hands were sweaty and Sebastian's were ice cold.
I got the creeps.
We sat down and he looked at me questioningly.
“All right, what is it?”
I gathered all my courage, took Sebastian's hand and placed it on the kitchen table.
“Dad, I'm afraid I have to tell you that I'm gay and that Sebastian is not a friend, but MY friend.”
Wom - the bomb had exploded.
I looked at my father's face, it was expressionless! I got even more nervous. Was it wrong? First I looked at Sebastian, who didn't feel comfortable at all in his skin, then I looked at my father again, who was still staring at me expressionlessly, and then I lowered my eyes to our entwined hands. There was a ghostly silence. I heard the ticking of the kitchen clock.

I dare not look at his face. I can't, and yes, I'm scared! Really scared! My stomach is cramping. I feel sick! I think I'm going to throw up. He says nothing! He just sits there at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his forearms on the table, and looks at me – and says nothing. What have I gotten us into! I'm an idiot! How did it come to this?
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a question, calm, too calm for my feelings.
“Since when?”
I look at him completely irritated.
“Since when have you known that you like boys?”
I tremble, waiting for my father to erupt.
"For about three weeks.”
I couldn't say more, tears streaming down my face. Our hands clenched even more.
“I'm disappointed, Christopher, hurt and sad.”
Shit, what have I done!
I want to say something, but he shows me that I should be quiet.
“Christopher, I have always tried to be a good father to you, we trusted each other, you could always come to me, I gave up a lot for you and I was happy to do it. You always trusted me with everything. Your fears, your worries, your first pubic hair, your first wet dream!”
He falls silent again, still looking me firmly in the eye, and I start to cry like a little child.
“Christopher! I'm sad because you didn't want to trust me.”
I just heard that wrong, didn't I? What was that?
I'm staring at my father with my mouth open!
“I don't give a shit whether you love a boy or a girl, I just would have liked to have known from you right away and happily, that's all! Promise me no more secrets, nothing has changed between us.”
Am I hearing angels sing? I'm completely lost! My knees are like jelly.
My dad grins at me, gets up, walks towards me, pulls me up and gives me a hug!
“I'm so happy for you!”
I can't believe it!
When he lets go of me, I look at Sebastian, who is still standing there like a drowned rat and doesn't understand the world anymore!
My dad walks up to him and takes him in his arms.
“Welcome to our family! And don't make him unhappy!“
With his well-known smile, he winks at Sebastian.
”So guys, now finally kiss each other and then wash your faces, you look terrible. Come on.”
I grab Sebastian's hand and pull him behind me into the bathroom.
“And at seven I want to go out to eat with you, that's what celebrating looks like!”
Sebastian stops as if rooted to the spot.
“But, we can't go out if someone sees us, can we? My parents don't know anything and they won't find out anytime soon!”
My father smiles at him.
“Oh come on, I should be allowed to have dinner with my boys. In here you are a couple in love, how you behave outside is your business! So, it's settled, we'll leave at seven!“
”And one more thing, congratulations on your taste!"
He laughs out loud and disappears into the living room.
Overjoyed, I pull my darling close and celebrate a wonderfully beautiful and long French kiss with him

“Another night with open eyes
too late to sleep, too soon to rise
You're short of breath, is it a heart attack?
Hot and feverish you face the fact
you're in love and it feels like shame
because she's gone and made a fool of you in public again
You're in love and it feels like pain
because you know there's too much truth in everything she claims

So ask yourself now
Can you forgive her
if she wants you to?
Ask yourself
Can you even deliver
what she demands of you?

You drift into the strangest dreams
of youthful follies and changing teams
Admit you're wrong, oh, no, not yet
Then you wake up and remember that you can't forget
she's made you some kind of laughing stock
because you dance to disco and you don't like rock
She made fun of you and even in bed
said she was gonna go and get herself a real man instead

So ask yourself now
Can you forgive her
if she begs you to?
Ask yourself
Can you even deliver
what she demands of you?
Or do you want revenge?
But that's childish, so childish

Remember when you were more easily led
behind the cricket pavilion and the bicycle shed
Trembling as your dreams came true
you looked right into those blue eyes and knew
it was love and now you can't pretend
you've forgotten all the promises of that first friend
It's bad enough she knows how you feel
but she's not prepared to share you with a memory

So ask yourself now
Can you forgive her
if she begs you to?
Ask yourself
Can you even deliver
what she demands of you?
Ask yourself now
Can you forgive her
if she begs you to?
And ask yourself
Can you even deliver
what she demands of you?
Or do you want revenge?
But that's childish, so childish”

(Pet Shop Boys – Can you forgive her?*)

The bedroom was dark, only a little light from the streetlamps came in through the slits in the blinds, spreading in small stripes on the wall. The radio alarm clock, which was next to the bed on the bedside table, showed the time in bright green letters. Three o'clock twelve. Alex sighed as he read the display and turned on his back. He had been lying awake in bed for four hours now, trying to fall asleep for four hours, but the thoughts that were buzzing through his mind kept him from it.
Alex, whose real name was Alexander, had turned 19 a few weeks ago. He had recently started studying architecture in Munich and had moved out of his parents' house, which was in a small village in the Allgäu region. Of course, he couldn't afford his own apartment, so he had found a place to share with three other people. He had got on very well with them from the start, which was one of the reasons why he was actually enjoying his new life here.
And yet Alex was now lying here in the dark and couldn't fall asleep no matter how hard he tried. He was desperate. Not because he had a lecture tomorrow morning, which he could skip, but because of the matter with Lisa. It had all started so well...

Alex had met Lisa at university. There had been something between them from the start, there was a certain tension in the air. He liked Lisa and he thought she was quite good-looking. And she seemed to feel the same way, at least that's what his roommate Leon thought.
“Dude, she's into you.” he made it clear to Alex at some point when the whole clique, including Lisa, was out and about in one of the city's clubs one Friday evening and Leon had to watch the whole evening as Alex and Lisa cautiously circled each other, but neither dared to take it a step further.
After this announcement and another drink, Alex became more courageous. Well, at the end of the evening, the two of them were no longer responsive to the others and were more concerned with themselves, to the delight and simultaneous displeasure of Leon, who seemed very annoyed that his buddy had now found a girlfriend, unlike him.
Lisa was Alex's first girlfriend. During his school days, on the one hand, he had never been particularly interested in girls, but on the other hand, he was still quite shy. Both characteristics combined led to the fact that at some point he had to watch as almost all the guys in his circle of friends had one girlfriend after another, while he was left alone every time. At first, he hadn't even minded – what could he possibly do with a girlfriend, it was just work and all that. But when he was 16, Christian, one of his classmates at the time and a real ladies' man, had told the whole class that Alex must be gay, otherwise there was no way to explain his lack of interest in girls.
In a way, that day changed Alex's life. Before, he didn't care what others thought of him, but he couldn't let Christian's claim stand. Him, gay? Ridiculous. It was always the others who were gay, but he certainly had nothing to do with people like that. He liked playing soccer, hated shopping and the color pink, and had mostly boys, not girls, in his circle of friends.
Well, he did feel a little caught out, after all, he hadn't really been interested in girls until then, and when he did, he would look at boys without realizing it. But he only did that because he admired them, because they were role models for him, because he wanted to be like them. And as for girls, he was probably just a late bloomer, it would come, for sure.
Actually, Alex had never really cared much about how other people lived their lives. He had nothing against gays, and he didn't care about what they did with each other. Since Christian had ridiculed him in front of the whole team, however, he had to regain his reputation. Or build it up from scratch, because he had never been considered a gifted heterosexual. That's why he made sure to make it clear whenever homosexuality was mentioned that he personally would never want to do anything like that. And he made sure to deliberately look at girls, which worked quite well. It worked.
He still hadn't found a girlfriend in the rest of his school days, but he didn't need to. His occasional critical comments about gays, his fantasies about what he would like to do with different girls, which he talked about with his friends – all this led to Christian's claims soon being forgotten.
Only Alex himself had never been able to suppress them.
He was all the more satisfied when he had found Lisa. He liked her, she was funny, nice, and good-looking. And anyone who had a girlfriend couldn't possibly be gay. Of course, Alex didn't just have the relationship for that reason; after all, he liked spending time with Lisa. But it was definitely a plus.

Well, and now he lay here sleepless in bed, Lisa was gone and everything was heading for disaster. It had been looming since the first days of their relationship, but Alex had been blind to it. Now he knew better.
Sighing, he got up – there was no point anymore, he wouldn't fall asleep anyway. He put on his pajamas and shuffled into the kitchen to get something to drink. Since it was the middle of the night, Alex didn't expect to run into one of his roommates, and so he was all the more shocked when he suddenly met Emma in the kitchen.
Emma was one of the two girls who lived here with Alex and Leon, and he got along really well with her. He liked Leon, and of course the two of them stuck together as a faction of the boys, but Alex secretly got along even better with Emma. Both had similar views and a similar sense of humor, and you could talk to Emma about anything. No matter what it was about, she had always been empathetic and understanding, and Alex had had to seek out a word or two of advice from her during his relationship with Lisa.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered in surprise when he entered the room looking rumpled and tired. “You look like crap!” she added. Sometimes she was maybe a bit too honest and direct.
“Thanks, you too.” grumbled Alex. He sat down on one of the chairs around the small kitchen table. “I couldn't sleep, so I might as well get up.” He tried to explain his situation.
“Well, it's a new experience that you can't sleep.“ she winked at him. Why did Emma have to joke at this time of night? He wasn't even lucid enough to get it.
”What are you doing here?” Alex wanted to know now, because slowly he also realized that it was certainly not normal to be standing in the kitchen at half past three in the morning.
“You don't want to know!” Emma just said and then made no effort to explain anything. Hm, that's strange. If he hadn't been so desperate about his own situation, he would have gone out of his way to uncover whatever it was she was trying to hide from him.
“Is it because of Lisa?” Emma asked, hitting Alex harder than he was willing to admit. Last night, their relationship had shattered into about as many pieces as a mirror that had begun to make its final journey towards the floor in slow motion and clearly visible to everyone, and that no one could catch and save. Alex might not have cared if it hadn't been for the fact that so much was at stake. No one could ever find out the real reason why Lisa had broken up with him, otherwise he would have been a laughing stock for the rest of his life. And Alex hadn't worked for years on his reputation to have it snatched away at the first opportunity.
Of course Emma had known for some time that something was going on between him and Lisa, but she didn't know any details and thank God Lisa hadn't blabbed yet either. But Alex was sure that this could well happen in the future, because his ex-girlfriend was obviously very annoyed and unfortunately rather unpredictable. So it was best to take his chance now, while he still had it and while he was still able to fight for his honor.
“Yes, it's about Lisa,” he finally answered, hesitating before saying what he now had to say.
“I broke up with her yesterday. I couldn't do it anymore, we weren't right for each other.” Well, at least the second part wasn't technically a lie. ”She didn't understand and was extremely angry, almost sounded like she wanted revenge. So if she shows up here anytime soon telling some story or other, it's best not to take her too seriously. Just like always, really.”
He tried to make it sound like a joke and laughed briefly, but stopped when he realized that Emma was looking at him questioningly. Obviously, she didn't find the story as funny as he did, but probably for a different reason. Although he felt a bit bad for having lied to a good friend, he knew that he had no other choice. He had to get to Lisa before she blindsided the others with the truth.
“Alex...” Emma seemed to consider her words very carefully before she finally spoke. She seemed worried; obviously she didn't completely buy the story. “First of all, I'm sorry. I've noticed that there's been tension between you two. But isn't this a bit harsh on Lisa?”
Of course she suspected something. Why did Emma always have to be so damn righteous? Normally, that was one of the qualities he particularly liked about her, because she seemed to stand up for just about anyone who was treated unfairly. But did she really have to stab him in the back like this? He couldn't look her in the eye, otherwise she would probably have convicted him immediately.
“Well, maybe you're right. I'm sorry. After all, it's the middle of the night...” he tried to straighten things out again. He was very happy to apologize for his choice of words; he himself realized that it was mean to talk about his ex-girlfriend in this way just a few hours after breaking up. And as long as he discussed the choice of words with her, she hopefully wouldn't get the idea to question the content of his words. As long as Emma remembered that Lisa was only out for revenge and that she shouldn't believe everything she said, he was satisfied.
“It's okay, Alex, I don't know if I would have been fair in your situation either.” If only she knew what his situation really was. ”As I said, I'm very sorry that your relationship fell apart, but then she probably just wasn't the right one for you. From what I know of you, you are a very empathetic, sensitive and kind person and you definitely deserve someone who loves you for who you are. I really hope that you can find that person one day, since it was obviously not Lisa.”
Why did she say that in such a strange way? And why did she consistently use the gender-neutral formulation? For a brief moment, Alex had the feeling that everyone was now conspiring against him. No, he thought, it's nothing more than a coincidence.
“If you want to talk about it...” Emma followed up. For a brief moment, Alex was overcome with the desire to tell her the truth – the whole truth. His web of lies and half-truths would collapse and he could feel free again. It would be easy and it would be a relief, but he wasn't ready yet. He could almost admit to himself that he had been lying to himself all these years, but he wanted to cling to his last hopes for a while, especially in front of others.
That meant that if he talked to Emma now, he would have to lie, and he didn't want to do that again. So it was best to go back to bed, wallow in self-pity and just not say anything at all.
“Thanks, but not right now, I don't think so... Have fun with whatever it is you were doing here that I definitely don't want to know about, I'm going back to bed,” he said, giving Emma a brief nod as she looked at him with a frown, then turning around and making his way back to his room.

The drama had begun when he had visited Lisa the night before. According to drama theory, exposition and the moment of rising tension (but not the actual words) had already passed, the action was heading straight for the climax, and the final catastrophe was only a matter of time. If his private life were a theater performance and Alex were just a spectator, he would almost certainly have been thrilled.
The two had been together for two months, but apart from a bit of kissing and fumbling, not much had happened between them yet. Lisa wanted to, but Alex had always held her back. He just didn't feel ready for it yet, at least that's what he kept telling himself.
But it was clear that Lisa would have to get her way eventually, because even before that, she had repeatedly teased Alex about it, saying that he must be a total wimp if he had rejected her again. If it went on like this, she would have to find herself a real man at some point, she joked.
Alex didn't think it was funny and he didn't laugh either, but Lisa just said that he obviously had no sense of humor – no wonder if he could never laugh at the Till Schweiger movies that he sometimes had to watch with Lisa out of obligation.
Last night was different, though, as Alex realized as soon as he arrived in the hallway of Lisa's apartment. Lisa lived alone in the not-so-tiny apartment, which was understandably rather unusual for a first-semester student without a side job. Wealthy parents was the keyword.
They had a delicious dinner (Lisa was an excellent cook, definitely one of the biggest advantages of their relationship, Alex thought) and had a drink or two – nothing new in itself. But throughout the evening, Lisa had made some very suggestive remarks that increasingly unsettled Alex.
When the plates were finally empty, Lisa came over to him, hugged him and sat on Alex's lap. After a few passionate kisses on her part, which Alex returned slightly shocked, she whispered suggestively in his ear, “I want to sleep with you. Now!”
Alex was nervous and a little afraid. And he wasn't aroused by any stretch of the imagination – it was all just happening way too fast for him. Lisa seemed to be different, she seemed really wild about him and couldn't wait any longer. Alex let her lead him to the bedroom via a few intermediate stops, doing his best. Until then, he still had hope that he could change the inevitable outcome of the story.
Even hours later, Alex still saw the scene that followed over and over again in his mind's eye. His top had been lost in the heat of the moment; he found it later in the hallway when he was leaving the apartment, fleeing from Lisa's anger. Lisa herself was standing topless in front of him, which for almost any other boy his age would have been the best moment of the year. Alex had never been able to do anything with breasts, at least he had been able to admit that – he didn't understand why his old classmates had always made such a big deal about it. Nevertheless, he had always tried hard not to let it show.
Alex was finally betrayed by his own best friend when Lisa set about removing his trousers to get at her object of desire. The result was sobering and did not change even when Lisa finally pulled his underpants down in disbelief. His penis was about as limp as it would be if he had just taken a cold shower or was at a senior yoga class in the locker room. In retrospect, he gave Lisa credit for not saying a word and just staring at him – in her gaze, he could see a mixture of anger and “I knew it after all”.
What followed, however, was not so nice. The disappointment slowly disappeared from Lisa's face and turned into an almost diabolical grin.
“I think you'd better go now, little fagot,” she said before he finally managed to find his scattered clothes and leave the apartment with as much dignity as possible.