Quarry lake couple
Jens stormed in and flung his backpack behind the large yucca palm in the seating area.
“Hey, what's the point!!”
"Retard...”
Jenny and Tatjana from the eighth grade had taken possession of the couch, sipping Kiba and discussing the latest world-shattering Facebook news, when they almost fell victim to Jens' dynamic appearance. It's unthinkable that the deep red juice would have spilled over their expensive miniskirts and smartphones if the bullet had hit them...
Jens didn't care about the outraged cackling for a second and came over to the pool table, where I was just pushing the balls around with Finn, Pasquale and Denis. The sixth graders managed to pot the balls rather by chance, but that didn't harm their zeal.
“Hey, Moritz!“ Jens came over. ‘You, I urgently need to have a chat with you... wow, you won't believe it, but it's impossible...’
”Hey, Jens! Okay, no problem. I'll just finish this round."
I sunk two balls and then lost my next shot so as not to show off in front of the boys.
“Great, when you need your social worker right away...“ Jens grinned ironically and continued his excited torrent of words.
”You won't believe what happened to me. It's a total scandal... Nasty... Now get on with it!“ he snapped at Denis, who was planning his next shot rather laboriously.
”Oh man, what a sacrifice...”
Denis missed the targeted ball and glared angrily at the man who was a head and a half taller than him.
“Piss off!”
“Jens, stay out of this. Get yourself a drink and find a quiet corner, I'll be right there and can devote myself fully to your cause,” I intervened again to prevent Denis' cue from hurting either of them.
“All right, man. Dude, I've been trying to catch you all day. You always disappeared during the breaks. It's best if we go to your office right away. So go for it and crush them...” Jens disappeared to the bar. Bar – that was the rustic wooden counter where students could buy soft drinks, juice cocktails, and sweets.
Looking after the school club four afternoons a week was one of my main tasks at the Willy-Brandt-Realschule. In addition to various leisure activities, it was mainly a place to 'hang out' and it was easy to get in touch with the students. Over time, trust developed, and it was not uncommon for me to be the point of contact for problems and concerns of all kinds, both academic and non-academic. Taking these seriously and discussing them was just the job I was paid for and enjoyed doing. Since I had a good relationship with many students as well as with the teaching staff, I was able to mediate in most cases of conflict and thus relieve the school day for everyone.
Pasquale, who was my teammate, managed to sink our last ball. After loudly celebrating and high-fiving me, he aimed for the black one. Missed...
The school club was a spacious room next to the boiler room. When I started the job a few years ago, I had completely renovated and redesigned it together with the students during the summer holidays. A donation run had raised a decent sum, which was used to purchase paints, sofa covers, cozy floor lamps and, of course, the pool table. Foosball, darts and a ping-pong table were already available. Worn seating from all over the community was saved from the bulky waste and brought in by tractor, which the grandpa of an older student provided. The same was true for a used refrigerator for the bar. The project contributed significantly to the students identifying with the room and enjoying spending time in it. They also realized that they could achieve something and make a difference through joint effort. This was also expressed by the visual highlight to the right of the bar. An Obama caricature with the graffiti slogan 'Yes we can!' Of course, you can smile about it now, but at the time the wave of euphoria was huge and had taken hold of us; the slogan in particular was just right.
Denis and Finn burst into gleeful cheers when Pasquale pocketed the black ball in the next round. The little half-Italian looked at me with consternation.
“Shit... revenge?!”
"Unfortunately, I can't make it, I promised Jens I'd come. Maybe later. You can do it on your own!”
I shook his hand again, then I strolled over to the bar, where Jens was flirting with Gül. The bar service was taken over by the graduating classes, which, surprisingly, was an extremely popular task. Perhaps it was because it also included control of the music system, so the 'barkeepers' could try their hand at being 'DJs'. Today, however, Gül seemed rather bored. There was hardly anything going on. With the hot summer weather, the young people were probably spending most of their time at the outdoor pool.
“Hey Gül, a glass of water, please.” I found anything else in this heat simply disgusting.
“Wow, you're a real tough guy,” Jens teased.
“Says the boy with the glass of cola!” I nudged him lightly.
“Hey, that's Captain Morgan in there! Right, Gül?“ Jens joked back.
Gül just shrugged and put my water glass down in front of me.
”Okay, but don't you dare throw up. Thanks, Gül!“
”So can we finally get started?“
”Well, you're burning to get to the office today, aren't you?”
My office was located at one end of the club room and, in addition to my desk and bookshelf, also housed another seating area. Many conversations required a more confidential atmosphere than was possible in the main room, despite the background music. A huge glass front ensured that I was still able to fulfill my supervisory duties. Jens sat down on the sofa with his back to the window, so that I could see the entire club behind him.
“So, Jens, go ahead!”
"I found out something that's really weird. Something has to be done about it immediately!”
“Hmm, I'm curious."
I had known Jens since he was a fifth grader and one of the youngest to take part in the renovation project, covered in paint from head to toe as he painted the walls. At first glance, his hyper and over-motivated nature seemed exhausting and had not only made him friends among teachers and classmates at school. However, I thought he was a thoroughly honest and affectionate guy and not least because I had stood by him through some of his crises together, a special, buddy-like relationship developed between us. Of course, this only applied to my role as a social worker; I strictly maintained the boundary with me as a private person. Anything else would have been highly unprofessional. Nevertheless, some referred to Jens as my 'biggest fan' or, somewhat more maliciously, as my 'stalker'.
"Yesterday I was with buddies from the rowing club at the quarry pond in Oberbirkenheim. Guess who I saw there?”
“No idea... Lady Gaga?“ Oberbirkenheim was about half an hour's drive away on the other side of the next largest city. I didn't know anyone there and had only been to the quarry pond once.
”Haha, you're so funny. No... Hartmann. But he wasn't alone...”
Jens made an elaborate pause, leaned forward to me and looked at me intently. I forced myself to hold his gaze. Mr. Hartmann was his German and social studies teacher.
“...but with some guy. They were necking and groping all the time... Disgusting! Hartmann is a lousy fag!” Jens gestured indignantly.
Jens' words pierced me. It was only with great effort that I was able to maintain my composure.
“Excuse me?“, I stammered, aghast.
”Hartmann is a dirty fag! They were lying on her blanket, groping each other and making out like a couple of lovers. Wow. You wouldn't have thought that either, would you? And the guy's a teacher, too!” Jens was getting worked up. At the same time, he was eyeing me, waiting for my reaction.
“Are you sure?” I knew Mr. Hartmann, and that didn't fit into the picture at all.
“One hundred percent. One hundred percent. He didn't recognize me because we were a bit behind them, but it was definitely him. He has that snake tattoo on his arm. It's so gay. Why would he do that? It's totally fucked up! Shit, ugh, I don't even want to know what they were doing when they ran off! Perverted fagots!”
Damn, that was intense. I had to pull myself together. Stay professional! Everything else is unimportant right now. I took a deep breath to calm my pulse.
"What do you think of that? You have to report this to Mirrleger immediately! He certainly doesn't suspect what a pervert is teaching him!”
“Okay, hold on Jens. You saw Mr. Hartmann with another man. The two were kissing and touching each other. Right? You conclude that your teacher is obviously gay and now you have a problem with that?“
”I don't have a problem,” Jens snapped, ”he has a problem! He should be locked up, that cocksucker!”
“Hey, now calm down, will you? It upsets you, and we can talk about it, but I don't like the swear words. I don't want to hear them. Okay?“
”Why? Everyone uses them! There are no other words for it! They're totally sick! Don't tell me you think that's okay?!”
I took another breath. Jens was pretty much pushing me against the wall.
“Jens, that's not the point at all. I can't judge what Mr. Hartmann does in his free time. It's not my place, it's his private business.”
“No, it's not!” Jens flashed at me and jumped up. “That asshole is a teacher here! At this school!”
“What exactly does that have to do with it?“
”Well, you know! They're all child molesters... I mean, they're totally into little boys, totally perverted... You know that! In any case, they're horny for young guys!“
”How do you know that? Who says so?”
“Everyone... my buddies... my father... or watch it on TV! The guy Hartmann was messing around with was a young one, too! A blond, campy pretty boy... maybe three years older than me... well, maybe five."
I had to swallow. Jens plopped back down on the couch and grimaced.
“Ugh, what if he wanks off to me and my buddies? I'll report it to Mr. Mirrleger, I swear! What do you think my father will do if I tell him!"
Jens was shaking with anger and rammed his fist into a sofa cushion. Mr. Mirrleger was, by the way, the headmaster of the Willy-Brandt-Realschule.
“Your father?“ I had had a few parent-teacher meetings with Chief Inspector Schulz. Meetings in the broadest sense, if you can call unyielding tirades of hatred and insults that.
”My old man hates fags!” He noticed my furrowed brows. ”Sorry, but it's true. He won't let him keep swearing at us. He'll kill him.”
A shiver ran down my spine despite the heat.
"Has Mr. Hartmann ever behaved incorrectly towards you or your buddies?”
“Why? No...“ Jens paused for the first time.
”Why do you think he's 'fag-hagging' you, but so far you haven't noticed anything, have you? Why should that change now just because you've found out he's probably gay?”
“Well... so far he's been one of the coolest teachers, that's for sure. So understanding and all, but he also teaches you stuff. We all actually respect him, even though he's not strict or anything.”
Jens hesitated. Slowly the conversation developed in a constructive direction. But then his face darkened again.
"Ugh, exactly, that's just his trick, that's how he gets us around... Now I get it. He's made us all gay... just on the cool side, he wants to make us all gay. Subconsciously! But now I'm not falling for it anymore!”
I looked past Jens through the glass. Jenny and Tatjana had disappeared. The three boys were still playing pool, and Adrian from their parallel class had joined them. Gül yawned and played on her cell phone. Obama grinned, as always. Everything was fine.
“Jens, I can reassure you. Being gay is not contagious, and you can't make someone gay. You either are, or you're not.“
”Pah, how do you want to be sure? It has to come from somewhere! Ask my father, he'll tell you something different...”
“Do you actually know anyone who's gay? Does your father know anyone? I mean, personally?“
Jens looked at me in amazement.
”No. Of course not! You should stay away from them, they contaminate society...“
”...says your father?"
I sighed. Jens stared at me defiantly.
“Man Moritz, what are you doing hanging out with the good social worker again... now come out of your 'everyone should love each other' role for a moment and agree with me that this is really not possible. Someone like that just can't be a teacher! He's a danger to us!"
I ventured a push forward. Hopefully it didn't backfire...
“Jens... I don't like to remind you, but do you remember seventh grade?“
He visibly slumped a bit. I had hit a very sore spot, but maybe that was just what was needed.
”Um... yeah, sure, I remember... Dude, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Hmm, think about it.“
”No way! That was totally different! You're not serious, are you?“
”Sure, there are many different labels you can be pigeonholed with. Does it really make a huge difference?“
Jens avoided my gaze.
”Well, I wasn't a psycho at all. The others just thought that. But Hartmann i-s-t gay, I've s-e-e-n it!
"Have you also seen that he's jerking off to you? That he's into you, his students? That he wants to turn you gay? Or are these prejudices because someone doesn't behave quite as normally as you know?”
I could see how Jens was struggling with himself and his memories. A good three years ago, his best friend moved away first, then the classes were restructured due to a new choice of subjects. Jens became an outsider and, because of his fidgety nature, soon a target. He started skipping school, which of course did not go unnoticed. His father raged and sometimes became violent. The mother didn't know what else to do and, following the advice of the class teacher, she took Jens to a child psychologist. The psychologist prescribed the appropriate medication for the maladjusted boy. It made him quieter, but not happier, and his behavior became even more of a mystery to his classmates, which fueled the bullying. Especially when a classmate discovered Jens' pills on a school trip. Since then, he was only 'the psychopath'. Jens started wearing only black clothes and a little later, scars began to appear on his forearms. For the others, this fit into their image.
Jens took a deep breath. The air in the office was stifling. He buried his head in his hands.
“Well... I don't know,“ he murmured some time later.
”Imagine how Mr. Hartmann will feel if you start a campaign against him now. Even though he has always been a proper and committed teacher here at the school. Just because you happened to notice that in his private life he is involved with another man...” The word ‘in love’ wouldn't come out of my mouth. I quietly added, “…erm, is together with another man.”
“Do you really think that they are just normally in love with each other?”
My stomach tightened. I suppressed the feeling. Jens didn't sound so confident anymore. He had openly asked the question.
“Hmm, normal? What is normal?“
”Well, like a guy and a girl...“
”Why is that normal?“

On the right bank
It was a sultry Sunday afternoon. An especially sultry one... one of those where everything melts... one of those where you don't leave the house... one of those where you curse yourself and the world because the apartment is not equipped with air conditioning.

I stared at the curtain and could have sworn I saw movements. The white fabric did move... But only in my imagination... It was one of those fascinating moments when my subconscious came to the surface. Everyone has these moments... If you think of something specific and open a book, the eye can glide through the jungle of letters and find these and only these words for a moment. It seems as if they appear in a brighter light. A moment and this moment is gone again... The jungle comes back, slowly but surely the eye no longer sees the truth, all the black letters lined up, but words... sentences... paragraphs... and automatically it glides up to the top of the page... and it begins to read, to interpret... A whiff of reality and a life according to conventions and rules. Our eyes know so well what we SHOULD do with the book, how we know what place we have in this society, and what is expected of us.

A light wind blew the long, white curtains, which appeared almost yellow in the late afternoon light. The room breathed a sigh of relief for a moment, as shadows and light awakened... Julia moaned briefly and turned over next to me. On afternoons like this, our bodies never touched. It never made sense. And she never did what didn't make sense. And neither did I. I watched her long brown hair, her figure under the thin velvet... She was beautiful. And she was my everything.

“Kevin! How many times do I have to tell you not to drive so fast? And turn down the ventilation, will you? It's messing up my hair! My hair, yeah? This thing that I have to work on forever, and you'll never be able to appreciate!”

“Come on, honey! I told you...“ I wanted to praise her again from the bottom of my heart.

”That I'm beautiful? That I'm pretty? That I'm sexy? When? An hour ago? Kevin, this is not a permanent condition! If you don't like me, then you should tell me right away!“

”But I did say you were beautiful!”

“Yes, well, I can't do much with empty words!“ she hissed back.

”But they're not empty words! And you know it!“ I almost burst into tears.

”Oh yeah? When was the last time you invited me to a restaurant? Or when did we go to the opera?” she shouted at me.

“But we're doing it now! And besides, I'm not even...“

”Out with your buddies? That's outrageous! Tell me, am I asking too much when I say you should stay home on Friday nights?“

”But that's the only night of the week I get to...” I tried desperately to reason.

“Great! So I'm not even worth enough for you to stay with me on Friday night? Not even that much?” she screamed as I parked. Silently, I got out of the car.

“Think about it! You have a choice: me or your buddies! After the screening, you will tell me your decision! Do you hear me?” Julia screamed in my face as I opened the door for her.

“And another thing... This is a special screening! That means we'll meet the artists afterwards! So please... if you have to chase after me anyway, do me a favor and don't open your mouth!?!”, she added.

I was the culprit, and I already regretted all the hours when I wasn't at home but playing pool with my childhood buddies. Okay, it was only an hour, but at least I left my Julia alone. I felt sad and guilty. Silently, I pressed the red button, sighed and took a deep breath. The orange fire of the indicator glowed in two eyes that watched me intently. My heartbeat quickened, the fire in those eyes broke down in a split second all the slowly and hard-built walls with which I wanted to protect my feelings. I felt naked and exposed. Exposed and naked in front of a man I had never seen before. A man who, biting his lower lip, raised his left eyebrow and lazily blinked. With a similarly lazy look, he looked at me very closely, from head to toe. I felt the fire of his eyes, his gaze, on my skin.

“Tell me, are you frozen? What's the matter with you? How can you just leave me standing here?” A familiar voice interrupted the most intense moment I've ever experienced with a person, in the most blatant way.

Was it pity or just sadness? I couldn't really decide, and I didn't want to. I thought it was much more important to look after this divine figure, as he slowly walked away from Julia, evasively, in his long white blazer.

Julia angrily rejected my arm when I offered it to her. I felt sick. How can I be like this? She is my everything! Since I no longer have family, I have learned that I only have her. And that I can only trust her. She only wants what's best for us. For me...

The lights went out and everyone looked at the stage... Everyone except me. Of course, where else should you look at a ballet performance? I slowly observed the audience and realized that Julia and I fit perfectly into the picture: dressed accordingly, a beautiful couple with noble, cultural aspirations... At least that was fine. Very carefully, I looked at Julia, who sat quite contentedly next to me. She felt good.

I tried to concentrate on the plot. In this scene, the boy and his friends appear... Then the first great love... Very nobly designed. What should the boy choose now? You can only have one of them... What will the boy choose? Love is selfish... And it is so seductive... The boyfriend and girlfriend appear on stage. A duel between two important personalities in his life, and he stands there, powerless and at a loss. She is seductively beautiful, he is childishly honest. She is his future, he his past. He associates him with childhood, but how does he want to live now? Still as a little boy or rather as a man?

With graceful movements, the friend tries to be convincing, but he loses. Love conquers, the boy becomes a man and childhood is now a closed chapter. The friend lies destroyed at the edge of the stage and looks at the audience. And then at... at... me? Or am I just imagining it? No, those are the eyes of the boy from the parking garage... The searching glances, which in their endless sadness, can once again reach the depths of my soul. “And what do you choose?” he asks me.

I can no longer withstand his gaze. Why do I have to answer that now? Why do I have to choose? Hundreds of hands give my despair a voice. My heart would like to scream as loudly as those clapping hands. But Julia is right. At some point, you have to let go of the past and turn to the future. And who my future is is more than clear.

“So?“ Julia looks at me cheerfully.

”Do you already have the answer?” she adds with a somewhat exaggerated grin for my current state of mind. If only she knew how difficult this decision is for me.

“Yes. I have,“ I squeeze the words out barely audibly.

”Of course I choose you,“ my mind says, but my heart screams. For the first time in a long time, however, my mind loses...

”...but...“

”Excuse me?” Julia's barely audible word tears her out of her happy and contented state.

“But what? No buts! The task was clear, wasn't it? Unbelievable!” she turns her back on me and mingles with the crowd.

I feel dizzy, the world is spinning much too fast. I can't stay in this chaos of tails, evening dresses and ties, in this jungle of perfume and in this exhibition of artificial smiles painted on faces any longer. I need to gather my strength and restore my old, good and meaningful balance. Like the fox from the hounds, I desperately try to find a hiding place. Exhausted, with the last strength of my soul, I force a smile on myself and walk towards the patio door. It is cool in the garden, the night is clear and kind to me. Shadows move on a semi-light background. I flee to the farthest corner of the terrace and lean against the stone railing. The singing of the crickets and the flames of the garden torches enliven the night. It is quiet here. In the shelter of the night, secrets and feelings can be guarded. The fire of knowledge is a guide. In contrast to the brightness of the hall, where you are at the mercy of the many people, you can be alone here. The night is simply...

“Dark and sheltered, safe and personal, fascinating and enticing...” a voice startles me.

“That's what the night is for me...” he finishes his train of thought and leans against the railing next to me.

“I love the night. The night is always yours. Whether alone or with your lover, the night remains loyal to you. It embraces you when you lie alone in your bed, or scatters sleep over your lover's eyes so that you can analyze your feelings and make your decisions in peace. The night is your eternal best friend.”

I look at the stranger in wonder. His medium-length blond curls move slightly in the evening breeze. His profile is like that of a Greek statue. His forehead and nose are simply perfect. He looks at me with interest.

“Or don't you agree with that?” he adds playfully. A perfect smile.

“If I have to give up this friend too, then I don't want him as a friend!“ I say quite bitterly and am amazed at my honesty.

”The world is not black and white. Life is colorful, Kevin. Avoid extremes!” And again that searching look, but this time so warm and caressing.

“When the world has lost all color and is only black, you are glad when you discover a bit of white. And then you hold on to it accordingly,” I answer him from the depths of my soul.

“White is much more than what it seems. Don't be afraid to put the white through a glass prism. You may be very surprised.” He sits down and leans his back against the marble railing.

“The colors remind me of my childhood. These colors formed a happy white at some point, but that was a long time ago. It was followed by the hopeless black. And then everything was gone. Then everything seemed to have lost its color. And I never want to experience that again. I could never bear it again,” I reply and sit down next to him.

He looks at me a little puzzled, plays with his glass a little sheepishly, and slowly shakes the champagne.

Man, I felt awful. Back pain without end, only the damn painkillers made my life bearable.
So, pills in, into the shower, quickly two coffees and out of the house at six o'clock, so that I could get to the nearest big city by car on time.
It takes at least half an hour to drive to this terrible workplace.
I had been working in a hospital pharmacy for a good two years, and I had expected so much from it.
Finally public service, finally regular working hours, good social benefits, no more hassle with a boss who is also the salary payer and of course always wants to squeeze the most out of you...
At the time, I thought, this is your chance, start a new life with a new job.
Unfortunately, that didn't work out.
At some point, my nice colleagues and the boss started ganging up against me. At first, it was only small things that they found fault with me for, but I kept looking for the mistakes in myself over and over again, convincing myself that I had to pull myself together... get better.
Far from it. I was being bullied mercilessly, which I realized in a flash at some point.
Too late. I was a victim. I was already mentally and physically broken and it was easy to foist various things on me, to insinuate that I was a fag, would only just about manage to pass the exams, so that in the end my GP took me out of circulation to prevent anything worse from happening.
I am still grateful to him today, because they stopped at nothing.
Eight weeks of psychosomatic rehabilitation, antidepressants, group and individual therapy broke down the wall I had built up over many years, gave me the courage to finally stand by myself and to focus only on myself and my well-being for the time being.
All of this helped me to get rid of my pain completely.
Ok. I always knew it, I was gay. I now had to radically change something in and about my life, otherwise I would perish.
I began to accept myself as I should have done when I was 20.
That was, as I saw it at the time, my last chance.
To some extent I became selfish, that's how I felt at the time.
So I sat down at the computer, did a bit of surfing to see what gay communities were out there, and registered with the blue pages.
I had to do it all secretly, because I had a girlfriend...
Yes, I had had a girlfriend for many years.
We had both cut ourselves off from each other a bit over the long period of time, but each of us was there for the other.
I didn't find that particularly strange, it was no different with my homophobic parents.
For decades, I had seen every day how people could live past each other.
They had almost perfected this over many years of marriage.
The fact that she had been playing role-playing games online for hours on end until late into the night for a good year now was just the way it was. I thought it was normal to a certain extent.
Later, I would think differently.
After rehab, I was on sick leave for a while.
Burnout...
Back to the bullies? No! Look for a new job? Get well first.
I was actually well past the gay sell-by date, but maybe that's why I still had some brain in my skull to realize relatively quickly... this is only about sex.
Sure, I wanted to, but I didn't want to immediately.
I wanted to meet someone who understood me, shared my interests and with whom I wanted to do more at some point when I was ready.
It was sobering.
I sat in front of the computer for three months, looking at great washboard abs, great pectoral muscles and, of course, the rest that I could see thanks to my Plus account.
Going out on the scene? I might have been recognized...
As they say, at 38 I was still a perfect virgin and a closet case, and of course I was in the closet.
A quickie? A quick date to get to know each other? Nah. Maybe I'll meet someone by chance while shopping?
So the days went by, and I was about to unsubscribe when someone without a picture in their profile messaged me.
I don't know why, but we liked each other immediately.
He was interested in ME?
So two weeks went by easily.
Every evening I waited for him to come online.
I only noticed one thing:
He asked me from front to back.
At some point I turned the tables, laughed and also at some point we exchanged our facepics.
Mhmmm, I thought to myself. He looks very gay. Wait? What does a gay guy look like? It's me, isn't it? Shouldn't I be more tolerant?
At some point we exchanged numbers and talked on the phone for hours every evening until we decided to meet up.
First date? Canceled by him.
Second date? Also canceled.
I was so disappointed that I didn't want to give him another chance... I let him wait for a few days.
So it finally came to a meeting on the third time, although I didn't really expect anything anymore.
I saw him coming from afar, tall, slim, athletic, blond and he made no secret of it... everyone could see it on his face... he was gay, full stop, exclamation mark.
Mhhhmmm, what now? I could still leave quickly, he probably hasn't spotted me yet.
Oh, what the hell, if you leave now, you'll never know, so go for it, was my thought.
You can always leave later...
We went to a gay café, where we were both asked for coffee directly by the counter fag... and... already fucked?
I almost sank into the comfortable plush armchair and, I think, was as red as one could possibly be.
He was no different. Ok, I thought, if he's blushing too, he can't be that hard-boiled.
Out, everyone knows and sees it and still a bit shy.
My knees were shaking... pay up, get out of here, eat something first, but not there anymore.
So off to the next bakery, where we also met people who stared at me like I was the seventh wonder of the world.
Apparently he was known everywhere, but that was clear, he had lived here for a long time.
Nowhere could you find peace and quiet, I thought to myself, but didn't say anything, just watched him closely the whole time.
He seemed to enjoy being seen with me, like a parade hete, which I wanted to portray at the time and could also portray credibly.
My whole brain was somehow glued together, as if I had eaten a whole jar of Nutella...
Was that love somehow? Despite, or maybe because of his presence and the strange situation, I no longer felt in control of my senses.
Hmmm, I realized only one thing, I needed to get some fresh air.
Finally get a clear head.
So we walked then as if compelled, trying, almost aimlessly through the city, I bought CDs, we didn't talk much anymore.
I was annoyed that he was always on his cell phone.
But somehow I was fine with that, taking deep breaths, twenty-one, twenty-two.
I couldn't make sense of my feelings at all; my head felt clearer again by now, but I was so nervous.
Ice-cold hands, ice-cold feet, it was February, after all.
I didn't want to wander around this strange city anymore.
So I offered to drive him home. He still lived with his ex, which made me wonder over and over again, why?
You can't live in a shared flat with an ex, can you?
He pulled me out of my ruminations. He seemed to have noticed that something was bothering me a lot.
He thought it would be great if I took him home, so we could spend a few more moments together.
Together?
Was I ready yet?
All right, into the car.
I was so nervous that we didn't talk at all, he just described the way to his, or rather to their shared apartment.
I was just about to leave and forget the whole thing when he asked me in for a coffee.
Okay.
I didn't want sex on the first date, I made that clear, at which he blushed again.
I should have known better...
He presented me with his well-formed butt in his tight camouflage pants because he absolutely had to look for a CD in the closet, and I got all hot.
I sat on the couch like a rabbit caught in the headlights; I couldn't have gotten up even if I'd wanted to... I had a massive bulge in my pants. I didn't want him to see how horny his appearance made me right away.
When he turned around smiling and presented me with his slightly up-slipped shirt his flat, beautiful belly and his belly button piercing, my good intentions were gone like a soap bubble and I started licking his belly and his piercing like a complete idiot...
I didn't know this side of me at all, but I was out of control at that moment.
In no time at all, my trousers were down and my cock in his mouth...
It was the best thing I've felt in a long time.
We couldn't get any further.
Boom, the front door slammed, his ex had to come home any minute.
I couldn't have cared less, but I did.
I said goodbye very quickly, got into the car.
I was shaking all over.
Was this what I wanted?
I had turned off my mind, like the bedside reading lamp.
No. That wasn't me, I didn't want to be like that.
The decent, honorable person who was always there for everyone but himself.
I wanted to be that person again.
I wanted to be in control again. I would not let them out of my hands again.
I don't remember how long it took me to get home.
I didn't sleep a wink that night. I had a heavy, moral hangover.
I had cheated on my longtime girlfriend.
Tell her? Admit that I was weak, that after all these years I was just a fag and I even had sex with a man?
Never in my life. I had to get these crazy ideas out of my head quickly.
Why was I so careless as to give him my cell phone number?
Who could I talk to about this? No, I didn't want to talk to anyone.
I might be betrayed.

It all started with me claiming that my father was a Swedish astronaut and that he was in space observing a satellite that he had named after me.
A real space expert, who was traveling somewhere between Mars and the Moon and saw things that we other people could only dream of.
Nice story, sold well. The truth, however, was just sobering. There was no stupid satellite called Gyps, nor was there a Swedish astronaut who was my father. Actually, there wasn't even a Gyps father, nor was there a Gyps at all.
Of course, I existed and my name really was Gyps, but since a person is made of atoms, there wasn't one Gyps, but a Gyps that was randomly composed of millions of small Gyps atoms.
Complicated, I know. That was probably why I had to go to a remedial class and was a hopeless case. I never understood my existence.
It was a bit like math. If you didn't know your basic arithmetic, there was no point in starting with geometry, algebra or fractions...
“Do you think the guy will cut our throats at the border and steal my shoes?” Aligraleph emerged from the bushes where he had disappeared to pee.
I briefly grimaced, then looked up at the sky again. Full of stars, but poor in Swedish dad astronauts.
“Why does he steal your shoes, of all things?” I finally asked, snorting. ”He might as well steal mine...”
“Why?” Aligraleph asked, raising his eyebrows arrogantly as soon as he climbed onto the hood of the old Mercedes next to me. ”Why would the guy steal my shoes? Gyps, please! Just look at your old Aldi kicks, then at my noble footwear, and then think hard about your question, Dr. Watson...”
I laughed, even though I didn't find the saying funny at all and the guy was a really nice man who looked a bit like one of the Klitschko brothers. His funny jacket and his good taste in music had allowed us to get into his car in the first place.
He was a really nice man. Of course, it could have gone really wrong, but the Russian guy was not a weird guy. He hadn't looked at us strangely, nor had he demanded that one of us sit next to him in the passenger seat.
He had chatted with us over the rearview mirror the whole way and proudly told us about his daughter, who was studying medicine in St. Petersburg. She was a really smart girl. A lady who knew what she wanted.
“The sky!” Aligraleph suddenly shouted loudly and punched me hard in the upper arm. ”Look at this sky, man! Is that cool or what?”
Although I had only been friends with Aligraleph for six days, two of them on a really crazy trip, I could already say that this was typical of Aligraleph. He shouted the most obvious things out into the world, as if mere mortals would NEVER come up with them without his shouting.
The facts were obvious. Even a slow thinker like me got it. But what could you do about it? That was Aligraleph of Mochenstein for you.
He stomped through the world with his expensive clothes, his mafia face and the unshakable belief that six billion people would have to die unsuspectingly if he didn't regularly shout out his comments.
“All right, boys?” The Russian came out of the gas station, legs apart, looking like a real cowboy with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Like a real and communist cowboy with sweatpants and a funny fur jacket.
“Sure,” Aligraleph said, and it sounded like he wasn't afraid at all. Not afraid of the long drive back. Not afraid of the trouble we would surely get into. Not afraid of being expelled from school, which was waiting for him in our hometown, and not afraid of the snotty boarding school that his idiot parents would guarantee to put him in when he returned.
The Russian climbed groaning between me and Aligraleph and stared up at the sky as well. He smoked his stinky cigarette for a while, then asked seriously:
“Are you really not in trouble? I mean, how old are you? Fifteen? What you're doing here is pretty dangerous. Do you know that?”
I nodded seriously as well, but Aligraleph just laughed and stretched out his hand towards the main road near the gas station.
“It's all good, man. Just give us a ride into town.”
The Russian just nodded and watched the passing cars for a while. Bright spots that disappeared again into the dark distance.
“Okay, I understand,” he said. ”It's your business. But I'll take you into town.”
I think if I ever wrote a book about my life, my journey, Aligraleph and the thing with my father, I would choose a different ending. I wouldn't have us driven back home in a rickety car, but rather ride horses into the sunset with a Johnny Cash song playing in the background.
Yes, that would be a successful exit. It would have style and be a bit like a movie or something.
But where on earth should I start with my book? With my fear of bacteria? With the broken window of our caravan? With the invention of everything, or was it actually just about the invention of my life?
I was still dizzy when the Russian pushed an ice-cold bottle of beer into my hands. I was only fifteen years old, but who cared? Certainly not the fur-jacket Russian.
“What are your names, anyway?” the Russian finally asked. ”First your names, then the deal with the train station will be done.”
“I'm John Kibbur and this here guy,” Aligraleph said quickly, pointing at me, ”is my faithful friend Gypsy Rodrick. I'm Jewish and he's a Gypsy. You know, a wandering people. It's totally normal for us, boys our age, to be on the road alone.”
I really was a 'gypsy boy', but how Aligraleph came up with this nonsense about John Kibbur and Jew was a real mystery to me.
“Sure,” the Russian laughed and tapped his crooked nose. ”And I'm the Federal President, you morons. But I don't care. Get in already. So to the municipal train station?”
Aligraleph nodded and climbed down from the car. “Correct. What do you think, Gypsy Rodrick?”
I shrugged my shoulders and stared at the bottle in my hands.
I didn't know what I wanted. Did I want to go back to my crazy mom who thought she was a fortune teller? Did I want to go back to school? Did I want to go back to my rickety bike? Back to the bright red trailer?
“I don't care,” I said. ”I don't even know how to start my story.”
And it was the truth. Nothing but the pure and crazy truth. Where the hell should I start my story again?
I was a lazy beneficiary of the state school system and a dyslexic by conviction when Aligraleph von Mochenstein came to my class.
He was already sixteen, suffered from a severe case of rebelliousness and had not only been given a lot of money up his ass by his parents, but also a really weird upbringing.
Aligraleph of Mochenstein was already an outsider as soon as he entered the classroom.
With his expensive clothes, upturned shirt collar and mobster-like face, he just didn't fit into our class.
I wouldn't say I was unpopular. I just didn't matter to my classmates, teachers, or myself. I dozed off at school, stared purposefully at the ground during breaks, and chewed so slowly during meals that you fell asleep from boredom just watching me.
But Aligraleph – oh man. He had a really weird name, which the teachers and my classmates found completely suspicious. I mean, if you weren't called Tom, Tim, Jan, Anna or Lisa in my class, you were immediately considered an oddball.
We had what felt like four Tims, three Lauras, two Annas and ten Jans or something. Even the teachers' first names were somehow all the same, although it was weird enough that teachers had first names at all.
I had always been the weird kid with my name Gyps, but now a brand-name guy with an “von” in his name came along and challenged my place as the struggling outsider.
Even in gym class, I was no longer the most hopeless student, because this Aligraleph was constantly handing in self-written excuses to the teacher. Sometimes he was sick, as if he had disappeared off the face of the earth, or smelled so strongly of cigarette smoke that our always-yelling gym teacher, Mr. Falke, sent him home with a nasty note.
I was quite good at art, but I got worse as soon as this Aligraleph sat next to me. He kept staring at my easel and tried to copy me completely obviously. I mean, how pathetic was that? Copying someone was okay, not everyone could be as motivated as our three nerdy Lauras, who really wanted to get out of the remedial class and into the normal education class. But copying one person?
It was sad, really sad. No matter what I slapped on the paper, this Aligraleph squinted his eyes as if he had to concentrate terribly, swayed slightly in his chair and had incredibly shaky fingers while painting exactly the same picture as me.
My art teacher didn't even notice this nonsense because she lived in her own world and you could even sleep in her class without her saying anything.
No teacher said anything about Aligraleph. He collected blue letters like a fanatic, occasionally fell asleep or simply didn't show up for an entire school day.
When he was there, he never had a school bag with him, and when he did participate in class, he spoke in a strangely high-brow manner. He apparently had a penchant for swearing.
When Ms. Gergel asked him to repeat the content of the last history topic, the weird weirdo launched into a ten-minute lecture that contained a damn lot of technical terms, but also a whole parade of the worst swearwords.
Ms. Gergel was actually a calm woman, but as soon as Aligraleph had closed his mouth again, she had become completely hysterical. She had screamed at him for the remaining twenty minutes of the lesson.
Man, my eardrums almost burst even in the back row. Everyone was terribly intimidated, except for this Aligraleph. He had lounged in his chair with his legs apart, kept running his fingers through his short, black hair and yawning bored.
Nobody wanted to talk to Aligraleph, nobody wanted the guy anywhere near them, and pretty much everyone agreed that the weirdo should leave. Nobody knew where he came from or why he ended up with us “learning disabled” people. He wasn't stupid, in fact he was surprisingly quick and clever when speaking.
I don't think I would ever have exchanged a single word with this weird guy, never have gotten involved in this mindless hunt, if Aligraleph hadn't suddenly written me a message during art class.
He just wrote it on the blank paper we were supposed to draw an oriental city on. His letters were huge and somehow... squiggly.
I think my mother would kiss my feet and give me more pocket money if I could write as neatly as Aligraleph. Provided she would even notice that I was there, through the veil of her fortune telling.
Aligraleph's writing was actually kind of nice. Nice in the sense of legible and pretty, even though the words he wrote on the paper were kind of ugly and quite direct.
Your fly is open, man. Or why do you think that stupid cunt next to you is giggling all the time?
At first I didn't understand anything, then I looked at one of the Annas sitting next to me and realized that she was actually giggling. Slowly, really very slowly, I looked down and saw that the idiot was absolutely right.
My pants were open and since I had already gone to pee two hours ago, pretty much everyone must have seen it. Except me, of course. Damn, it's a classic.
I quickly zipped up my pants, but the milk had already boiled over. The blonde Anna next to me burst out laughing. No joke, but I just wanted to cry.
After school, I had grabbed my jacket as quickly as possible, pulled my cap down low over my forehead and set off. A few of the class called stupid things after me, the girls were still giggling and I actually cried as I pushed my bike past the large shopping center.
The sight of this huge building just broke me. Where the ugly and much too expensive thing now stood, there had been many small shops before. Really pretty shops, where I, as a small child, had always gotten something for free. Above all, I missed the small bookstore. The owner hadn't been that old, had red hair and looked like a goblin because she always wore green clothes.
In my mind, the demolition men had simply torn down the goblin woman along with her bookshop. Poof! Gone. No more children's books, but expensive shoe shops and pharmacies where you had to take a number before you were served.
I was sure that things had only got really bad when the small shops were demolished. Since the glass case was there, the apartment blocks were newly renovated and “more expensive,” as my mother always put it.
Besides, more and more people were moving to our trailer park on the outskirts of town. Silver cars were always parked nearby and men with shoes and trousers that were much too elegant stomped over the dirt paths, carrying measuring devices.
I cried really hard and it was kind of embarrassing, but I felt like my head would burst otherwise.
Suddenly, something behind me rang. It sounded like the bell of a bicycle and I instinctively moved to the side without turning around.
I pulled my cap down over my eyes, hoping that they wouldn't see my tear-stained eyes.
However, the bicycle didn't overtake, but rode alongside me for a while.
“There's no reason to be ashamed, man. I cry sometimes, too. And take off that stupid cap, you've got really beautiful hair, man. Seriously, those curls are awesome.”
I knew the voice, even though I'd rather not have known it. Of all people, it was Aligraleph von Mochenstein riding next to me on his brand-new mountain bike.
If you believed the rumors that were circulating in the schoolyard, Aligraleph even had four different bikes and two mopeds. Besides, one of the Tims also claimed that he had once seen Aligraleph being driven to school on a Monday morning by a really expensive car with tinted windows.
I sniffed loudly, quickened my pace and tried to wipe the traces of tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of my jacket, but the idiot stayed close beside me.
This stupid idiot rode his damn bike next to me like we were friends. He even rang some melodies in a completely exaggerated way.
“I can even ring a Jewish wedding song. My parents are Jewish, you know? Do you want to hear it? The song is really cool...”
I demonstratively covered my ears and hoped that Aligraleph would soon lose interest in this game and finally turn off.
He definitely didn't live near me. Guys like Aligraleph lived in big houses with a view of the big lake and the adjacent forest, which was really beautiful in the fall. Or in such noble apartments in the banking district of the city center, but certainly not near the outskirts.
Guys like me howled with embarrassment and lived in the trailer park on the outskirts.
Aligraleph rode next to me for a while, then finally got off, pushed the bike nonchalantly and whistled a completely stupid tune.
My bike looked like a damn freak next to his bike.
“You're crying like a total sissy,” he finally said, and I just ignored him. Two more blocks, then along the bumpy road towards the river and I'd be home. I would then take off my shoes, hide in my small room and hope that school would be canceled tomorrow because of the fire.
“Your name is Gyps, isn't it? Gyps Wroskall. Do you really live in a trailer? I once heard that ugly Tim call you a gypsy. What's the matter? Can't you talk or what's going on?”
I walked faster, Aligraleph just got back on his bike and rode next to me.
“Come on, man. Or can't you really talk?”
“Which Tim do you mean?“ I finally asked, pushing my cap out of my eyes.
“What?” Aligraleph got off his bike again.
“Which Tim do you mean?” I asked, still looking tear-stained. ”We have several Tims in class.”
Aligraleph seemed to be thinking hard, because he furrowed his brow and asked annoyed: “How many Tims do we have in this crappy class?”
“A hundred, or so…”
I had no idea why I had let that out of the bag, but it hit like a bomb.
Aligraleph grinned, showing perfect teeth, and I liked him even less. My teeth weren't perfect, they were even a little weird. I think they were even a little crooked.
“You even have a sense of humor, man!” Aligraleph was still grinning. It wasn't a friendly grin, more of a suit-and-tie grin.
Like those guys who always drove up in their silver cars, looked at our trailers, and then disappeared shortly thereafter, only to show up again a few days later with their measuring devices to mark nearby trees and attach sensors.
These guys knew they were making us nervous, but they didn't even say hello, they just ignored us. Only once had a measuring guy noticed me. He had looked at me briefly and then offered me a cigarette when I stood next to him and asked what he was doing here.
Measuring, kid. I'm surveying this place to make it more beautiful. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? Do you want a cigarette? What? Haha, you're only fifteen? I started smoking when I was nine, kid...
I stared at the ground, trying to ignore the annoyance of Aligraleph. I managed quite well until the idiot rode over my right foot with his damn bike.
I started crying a second time from shock, pain and frustration. For the second time, Aligraleph saw everything and instead of apologizing, he just got off his bike and laughed.
“You cry really gay, gypsy. Are you gay? I'm thinking about becoming gay. My mother is a whore, man. I'd rather fuck a guy than a woman again. Have you ever actually fucked?”
I walked faster, bit my lower lip hard and tried to finally stop crying. My foot hurt like hell and Aligraleph laughed again.
“Now you're limping funny. Just get on your bike, man.”
I narrowed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath and finally turned to Aligraleph. That idiot on his stupid bike. The guy who ran over my foot and laughed.
I spat right in his face, right between his blue eyes, which one of the Lisas from class found really beautiful. I didn't care. I didn't care about Aligraleph from Mochenstein at all.
He could tell everyone that he had caught me crying. Everyone in the remedial class could know that the quiet and unfocused gypsy had cried.
Curly-haired Gyps was a crybaby. He was the kind of guy that only talked to girls when they had no one else to chat with.
I was a nobody and that was a good thing. Nobodies were not allowed to cry. Nobodies were not unpopular, they were just a gray mass that neither itched nor bothered anyone.
The only thing that distinguished me were my poor grades in math and the fact that I had a “transposed digits”.
I just didn't understand why, for example, when you said the number 56, you said the 6 first, and only then the 5.
“Hey, your bike is kind of scrap metal, but it's pretty cool. Do you want to swap?” Aligraleph was standing right in front of me with his luxury bike and kept pushing it into my path so that I couldn't just walk past him.
But I didn't like the game and I just kicked him angrily in the front wheel.
“Listen, you damn asshole!” I shouted angrily and tearfully. ”My dad is a Swedish astronaut and he'll crush you if you don't get lost! He steers a satellite in space and even named it after me!”

Man, it's boring again today. I've been wasting away in the local forestry office for hours already and I'm bored to death. The time before Christmas is always a slow time in my department. People only buy plots of land with forest again when they are drawn to the forest to go for a walk or do something else. Especially in spring, I always have a lot to do, deciding on sales license requests. But in winter, and if you're not responsible for Christmas trees, not much happens. I quickly took care of the little paperwork that did exist. And now? You can't just drink coffee and listen to the gossip and scandal of who's sleeping with whom, the deaths, unwanted pregnancies and marital crises of a small town. I'm not particularly interested in that anyway. I prefer to stay in my small office and pretend to be busy.
Luckily, I had bought the latest smartphone in a mini version, with an internet flat rate, of course. At least I can use the time sensibly and visit my favorite sites on the net, which offer enough entertainment. I just shouldn't get caught, that would not only cause gossip among the staff, but also trouble with the boss. But I'm clever enough. Besides, my hearing is good enough to hear the overweight ladies in the department stomping down the aisle. It pays off to have the last office in the row.
So once again I arrange the alibi files on my desk, open one or two of them, add a half-written sheet of paper and a pen, and place my smartphone in front of me. Then I'm ready to go. I have my favorite sites stored in my browser. I quickly check my favorite forum and go to the reading corner. I can't even remember how I found this forum. In any case, I was so taken with the stories there that I myself published a few minor works in the past. So I always follow the news and comments with interest. Today, the call for entries for this year's Advent contest caught my eye. Curious, I took a look at the conditions there. There are supposed to be extra points for certain terms. Hm, that should make for a nice, schmaltzy story. Something along the lines of poor Hartz IV recipient Basti walking around the Christmas market with a potbelly, inhaling the scent of marzipan, cookies and gingerbread, since he can't buy the goodies, and meeting the love of his life under the market's huge Christmas tree, who is carrying an advent wreath she just bought under her arm. Too much of a stretch? Come on, it can't be cheesy enough at Christmas and in the time leading up to it. And anyway, who comes up with such terms? Oh, the moderators? Well, if that's the case... then I won't be so picky.
On the spur of the moment, I start writing an Advent story. Of course, I can't use the PC sitting on my desk for that. Even I'm not that stupid. No, I have to use the traditional method, with pen and paper. I'm happy to take on the effort of typing the whole thing into the PC at home for data protection reasons.
Besides, I have no plans for the evening, or for the evenings in the past and future. I've been living alone since my divorce about half a year ago. It happened quite suddenly that I found myself and the few personal belongings in front of my apartment door and had to find a new place to live. It was all a bit of a mess. Who could have guessed that my ex would return early from a wellness weekend that she wanted to enjoy with one of her stupid friends and surprise me in the marital bed while I was engaged in a rather explicit activity? The fact that I was with a man didn't exactly make our separation any easier. To this day, I still don't understand why she was so upset about it. After all, she knew I was bisexual. She never asked questions when I had to “work in the office” for an unusually long time and still came home in a good mood and relaxed. My little slip-ups couldn't have really escaped her notice. In return, I had always tolerated her need for wellness and never asked who she spent her weekends with. We generally allowed ourselves a certain amount of freedom. And then this happened. I had the impression that she might have forgiven me for having an affair with a woman. You just don't understand women. Fortunately, we don't have any children, so the divorce went quite quickly.
The desire to have children is another matter. I like children and would have liked to have had two or three. It would have given not only our marriage, but also our lives a completely different meaning. We would have been a real family and would certainly still be together today. But my ex didn't want children. They were too loud and too much work for her. Instead, I now have my overprotective mother on my back, who is constantly intruding on my life. Admittedly, it's convenient to have someone clean and do the laundry. I also have nothing against her cooking. Especially now in the run-up to Christmas, I never run out of homemade cookies and gingerbread. To spare my figure, I had to provide my female colleagues with them. They are particularly impressed by the homemade marzipan. My mother even bought the Advent wreath on my living room table and placed it on a Christmas tablecloth. But as nice as it is to be lovingly cared for, it can become a nuisance in the long run. Unfortunately, my mother lacks the necessary distance. In particular, her surprise and disparaging looks have already scared off some overnight guests. She would meet my rebukes with hurt eyes and the silent reproach of ingratitude, which always disarms me and makes me give in. Somehow I have the feeling that she is the only winner of my divorce.
I let out a rather loud sigh. Startled, I listen to see if it was heard. But the soundscape that reaches me does not change. I breathe a sigh of relief and admonish myself to be more careful. Determined, I now set about implementing my plan and continue writing the Advent story.
I had already drafted a few sketches for the story and put the keywords in position when there was a knock on my office door. Surprised by the interruption, I hid what I had written, just quickly enough before the door was opened without being asked. I am slowly feeling annoyed. Is there no decency left at all? At least one “come in” or “yes please” can be waited for. Besides, I don't have to have time for everyone, do I? I look at the door with displeasure. My mood improves the moment I realize that none of my obese colleagues is seeking entry. She lifts up as the office door reveals a – admittedly rather portly – young guy, who immediately locks eyes with me with two dark brown eyes. He is a little shorter than me, wearing one of those down jackets that are currently fashionable and seems a little too big. His brown hair spills out from under a knitted cap and curls slightly. However, I will never understand what is so great about jeans that suggest you have no ass in your pants.
“Hello,” he greets before I am able to close my slightly open mouth.
My slightly slurred facial expressions must have looked a bit foolish, as his cheeky grin reveals.
“Am I disturbing you?”
I urgently need to get myself under control before it gets really embarrassing for me. I quickly close my mouth and my eyes, take a short breath, gather myself and turn to him, now completely professional again. Although all this happens in the shortest possible time, the delay does not go unnoticed by him. His knowing grin deepens. This little devil knows only too well what effect he has. Is he gay? God, what am I thinking? As soon as a customer comes in, young, slim, good-looking, and my thoughts are already focused on the one thing again. Somehow I feel caught and feel the heat rising to my face. The only thing that helps is to take the bull by the horns.
“Excuse me. I wasn't expecting anyone.”
With a welcoming hand gesture, I invite him in. Now he smiles in an almost disarming way. Two cute dimples appear on his pretty face. I can't believe the effect the little guy has on me. Fortunately, I'm sitting down.
“I'm here to see Mr. Schuster.”
Once again, I am impressed by the timbre of his pleasantly dark voice, which wonderfully matches his appearance. But I don't let myself be distracted.
“You've come to the right place.”
He beams. What have I done to deserve that?
“Tom Schuster?” he asks hopefully.
“That's me. What can I do for you?”
He grins.
“A coffee wouldn't be bad.”
What? Cheeky guy. I still can't be angry with him.
“Anything else, maybe some biscuits?”
He grins broadly and nods cheekily.
“Gladly. May I sit down?”
“Of course.”
He takes off his jacket, sits down on the chair right in front of my desk, and looks at me expectantly. He has left his cap on. It suits him, I realize. However, his behavior seems rather strange to me. He is not only overconfident for someone his age. There is more to it, something I don't yet realize and that is beginning to make me feel insecure. I remain defensive for the time being, looking at him kindly and invitingly. He seems to be waiting for something, letting his gaze wander. What's the matter with him, doesn't he even want to start? Well, I'm not starting the conversation. After all, he came to me, not the other way around. I like his game and I have time, lots of time. Any change is welcome, especially when it's as cute as the one in front of me. He's still silent, turns to me again. I can't quite interpret his look, and start brooding. Slowly, I get the feeling that I have forgotten something.
“Ah yes, the coffee,“ I remember.
“And the biscuits,” he adds.
The little guy is pretty cool, I'm kind of impressed. Smiling, I go to the kitchen to get what he wants and also take a cup. It's the fourth today. I urgently need to cut down on my coffee consumption. But not today. Back in my office, I place one of the cups on his desk in front of him. I take the tin of Christmas biscuits my mother baked out of the cupboard and put it next to the cup.
“Thank you.”
He takes a sip from the cup and then reaches for a Florentine without hesitation.
“Good,“ he says, praising it, and then takes another one.
“I'm glad,” I reply and decide to remain on the defensive. It's fun to see how much he likes it. My mother would be thrilled.
“Do you know a Manuela Huhn?” he suddenly addresses me.
Puzzled, I look up from the box of biscuits that I am about to take a vanilla croissant from. Of course I recognize the name despite the many years, how could I not? But what does this boy have to do with Manuela?
“Who wants to know?“ I dodge for now.
“I'm her son. Sebastian. You can call me Basti,” he introduces himself.
Well, that's a surprise. Pleased, I take his outstretched hand and return the pleasantly firm handshake.
“Of course I know Manuela,” I now admit.
Now that he mentions it, I can see the similarity between him and his mother. They have the same dark hair and eyes, long eyelashes, open smile and pretty face. It's amazing how similar they look. I look at Basti kindly.
“It was a long time ago. How is she?”
“She died half a year ago.”
Shocked, I stop moving and stare at him. It takes me quite a while to process the meaning of the words and to pull myself together.
“Oh. I'm sorry.”
I really am. I liked Manuela.
“Thanks. I'm slowly getting over it.”
Somehow I don't really believe him. He could have called to give me this news. He must have seen the doubt in my eyes.
“It's hard without her,” he adds quietly.
“And you... who are you with now?”
I switched to the familiar ‘you’ as a matter of course. He doesn't comment on it.
“Stepfather,“ he replies curtly.
Uh-oh, that doesn't sound so good.
“Problems?”