Sam and Delilah [Chapter 3]

Dinner had never been so awkward. As the three young adults sat around the small kitchen table, suffocated in an unnatural silence, Samantha couldn’t help but swallow audibly. It felt as though a thick lump had been growing within her throat, pulsating painfully with her rapid heartbeat. Whilst being with Delilah, even with their little encounter in the museum, hadn’t been awkward as such, the addition of Sam’s boyfriend made the whole atmosphere tense. 

Why?

Nothing serious had happened between Sam and Delilah, after all. There was no kiss, no soft-spoken word. They had just grazed fingers, perhaps even by accident. Why, then, did she feel such a pressing guilt that made it impossible to accept having the two of them in the same room? Usually, Sam played the otherwise uncharacteristic role of the talkative host. On any other occasion, she would find something for the others to comment on; something that they, in the faintest, had in common. This time, however, there was nothing she could conjure up from her bag of tricks. Too ashamed to even look up at them, she kept her beautiful blue eyes plastered on the half-eaten mashed potatoes, swirling them around awkwardly in a circle. 

Whilst Sam picked at her food unhappily, a sort of silent conversation went on between Delilah and Matthew, unseen by the dark-haired girl between them. Delilah stared at the boy who occupied the metal fold-out chair that usually stood in the bathroom, green eyes narrowed to a skeptical state. She, from time to time, would take her glass of water and sip it quietly, but never really stopped looking away. It was no different with Matthew. Take a bit, stare. Take a sip, stare. 

It all started, this immense tension and horrid noiselessness, only moments before. It had been a harmless conversation as such, in which the brunette male attempted to get to know his girlfriend’s roommate just a little better. There were laughs and an exchanging of different adolescent stories, accompanied by filthy jokes or snarky comments. All was fine up until that fateful moment, when Matthew decided to get personal. 

“So Delilah, do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“I can’t imagine why not. Sam tells me all about you and you’re obviously not too shy.”

“Well, what can I say?”

“You’re not one of those queers, are you?”

Silence hit. In a split second, Delilah’s face went from amused to dead serious. Matthew realized his mistake but was far too thick-headed to take it back, let alone apologize. Sam just shrunk back, mortified and bemused. She had, come to think of it, seen Delilah bring women in and out of the apartment on several occasions but never really thought anything of it. She had felt the spark in the moment when their hands touched, thought something of it, but ferociously denied the significance within her mind. After all, how was she to know that it was mutual and not just her bicurious pining, if even that?

Now, nearly ten minutes later, not another word was said. Instead, their silent debate went on heatedly in a room where one could hear a pin drop and clatter.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re a bigot.”

“If I’d have known, I would’ve never let her move in with you.”

“She’s too good for you.” 

Abruptly, Delilah stood. Pulling a cigarette from the pack on the window sill behind her, she slid from the table and began to walk towards the balcony. Fresh air. The sudden gust of crisp air that greeted her when she opened the door was refreshing and made her realize just how hot and stuffy it had been in the kitchen that entire time. It was as though the anger both Matthew and Delilah felt had somehow made the room temperature rise to something awful. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her arm, Delilah shot one last glance to the incriminating person right across the room. 

His eyes spoke loud and clear:

“Stay away from my girlfriend.”

So did Delilah’s:

“Make me.”

Sam and Delilah [Chapter Two]

A cold wind blew against the two dainty figures as they hurried out of the subway station, ascending dirtied concrete stairs until they reached the surface.  The sidewalk was full of pedestrians, all of whom looked as though they worked in some very official, very important place. Sam and Delilah stuck out from the masses, each dressed in their own, casual manner and not at all mingling with the business-suit clad masses.  

Months passed by quickly in the two room apartment. As different as the girls were from one another, they had grown close. Where Sam’s jogging routine had once seemed laughable to Delilah, she now encouraged her roommate or even accompanied her on occasion. On the same note, Sam had dismissed her initial dislike for Delilah’s particular sense of fashion and even let the eccentric red-head advise her on their rare (but all the more enjoyable) shopping tours. 

Dry, brown leaves cracked beneath their boots as they hurried to their destination; an art gallery in the middle of the city. Both the girls were interested in art. Sam studied Art History as a major and Delilah had a blatant love for anything provocative or emotional. Therefore, the new gallery seemed like the person place for an outing. Given the mass of exams the last few weeks, they hadn’t actually had a chance to spend much time together, despite sharing the cramped apartment. 

“And then I told that idiot to get out of my face. Can you believe him? I mean, it was just once, right?” 

Coffee-to-go in one hand and cigarette in the other, Delilah looked like the type of girl that was always on the run. Upon first glance, she was a busy and important student. In truth, Samantha knew that she hardly went to her seminars and went out nearly every night. Though she had been greatly bothered by the constant visits from various man and women of every imaginable age group, Sam had learned to deal with it. When such visits did occur, she simply put on headphones to block out any obscene sounds or went outside to phone her boyfriend. 

“Oh… No way. What a dork.” She hesitantly agreed, shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly. It was always easier to simply fake a smile and pretend, when it came to Delilah’s precarious lifestyle. She wasn’t in any position to criticize her roommate and avoiding confrontation just seemed like the most intelligent way to go about things. Content with the notion that her companion accepted her agreeing statement, Sam directed her attention to the large building ahead- the gallery. 

Delilah stubbed her cigarette out on a nearby trashcan and tossed away her half-empty coffee, shrugging at the apparent idiocy of her one-night-stand. The two girls hurried inside the towering structure before them in order to escape the biting cold. Surprisingly, there weren’t all too many people wandering the spacious halls, which left the students with their much needed privacy. After hanging their thick coats in the wardrobe (both of which were a tad thin for late autumn but served more as a fashion statement than warmth), they set out to soak up as much culture as possible before the place closed. 

After nearly two hours, they had skimmed over every last painting, sculpture and scribble. Delilah found herself sitting in a tiny, dark room that was sparsely furnished with a single cushioned bench. Tightly surrounded by black walls, she sat beside Sam. The two bathed in the glow of the movie projection on the front wall, only half-paying attention and half-resting from scurrying around.  The film was in black and white, spoken in French with English subtitles, and portrayed the odd mating habits of various animals, such as sea horses or octopi. It was more of a documentary and hardly had anything to do with ‘art’, as far as Delilah was concerned. Still, she was captivated by the abnormality of seeing an octopus mate by sticking a special tentacle into a female octopus’ respiratory tube. 

When that segment was over and the mating of jellyfish was shown, her thoughts drifted even further away from the actual movie. Since the dawn of time, people had contemplated over the terms ‘normality’ and ‘love’. Her lifestyle and perspective of ‘love’ wasn’t exactly ‘normal’ either, albeit more orthodox than poking her tentacle in her partner’s respiratory tube or laying her eggs in a male’s pouch. 

On that notion, her gaze shifted to Sam, who sat to her right and appeared to be captivated by the jellyfish dancing on screen. Her radiant blue eyes reflected the creatures, serving as shimmering, curved mirrors. Delilah felt her heart throb within her chest, threatening to burst out of her body at any given second. Her own eyes jumped all over her companion’s face, tracing every shadow that was cast in the dim lighting. Every word spoken on screen seemed to slow down, drowning out until Delilah could hear nothing but Sam’s breathing and heartbeat.

Slowly, she shifted. Slender fingers glided over the smooth surface of the bench beneath them, until certain warmth crept over her skin. In the darkness, she had inched over until her fingertips just barely grazed the back of Sam’s hand. Delilah felt her mouth go impossibly dry, rendered utterly helpless by something that was, in any case, completely juvenile and meaningless. 

Still, Sam didn’t pull her hand away.

Sam and Delilah [Additional News]

I created and posted this video on Youtube, in hopes of gaining a bit of attention to it.
It is undoubtedly nothing special but I felt the distinct need to capture my inspiration in something visual, for further reference.
Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

I'd like to offer my thanks to my friends once more, for their support. My dear friend Janine even took the pictures seen in the video with one helluva gash in her finger, without a single complaint. I honestly don't know how I would survive without these people.


---
On an added note, as you may have noticed in the video, I have finally decided upon a penname of sorts. COM, or 'CryOhMy'. It's a mixture between a particular horse on the Sopranos, in case anyone remembers, and Dacryphilia, I suppose. It seemed like something catchy.



~COM

Sam and Delilah

After an agonizingly long dry-spell, I believe I've managed to regain my lost inspiration; my muse; my soul. I'd like to thank my dearest friends from the bottom of my heart for this refreshing breath of life. An inexplicable feeling rushes through my body now and I feel more alive than I believe I ever have, in terms of creativity. This story, which until further notice will simply be named "Delilah and Sam." marks the turn of a new era. It is a homosexual romance that I devised over the hours this fine June afternoon and is the first work that I will officially submit. Whilst it will not actually be entered in the Christopher Street Day short story contest, I do hope that they will post it on their website. (Because it is not in German, it can't be submitted. Still, the manager(s) were very kind and offered, should they like it, to present it at various cities in the event and/or post it online.) This story, while it may not be a traditional "short story" anymore, follows the relationship of two young women who become roommates after Samantha enrolls in an (unnamed) university and moves to a new city and ends up living shoulder-to-shoulder with the precarious and destructive Delilah. As the story unfolds, it comes clear that both girls have their burden and skeletons in their closets. Still, the longing for understanding and security fuel a classic love-against-the-odds.

Chapter One

At that very moment, trillions of things were happening. Someone was falling in love. Someone’s heart was beginning to break. Someone’s heart was beginning to mend. Someone’s heart shattered beyond repair. A baby was born. Someone’s uncle passed away. Someone was falling asleep whilst someone else was awakening, all in the same city.

One woman was stepping off a bus. She stopped for a moment as the double doors closed behind her and took a moment to glance around. Before her stood a façade of old houses, most of them restored to look as they had before second world war. Whilst they had been mended, she couldn’t help but imagine that this renewal somehow robbed the bricks of their individuality. Insofar  they had personality. It seemed a tad odd, to say the least, thinking about the persona a rock might have, but Sam was a bit of a dreamer. Before she could even realize what was going on around her, the second bus pulled up behind her and several people brushed passed her to go on their way. Fifteen minutes had passed, apparently, as the bus came at such intervals. This, she knew from her mother. Sam  was far too young to remember actually living there; she had been nearly a year old. Twenty years passed since then and a quick glance at her watch confirmed that the bus plan at not changed since then.

At the same time the girl stared at a brick wall, contemplating its cognitive functions or lack thereof, another young woman was sitting in her apartment only a block away. The late summer sun shone brightly in the living room, warming the wood-panel flooring below her bare feet. She loved the large windows. She loved her apartment. [-describes apartment-]

Delilah wandered to the tiny balcony, lighting a pristine, white Pal Mall cigarette and inhaling deeply. Her attention fell on the pansies below in the narrow box, her eyes narrowing behind her faux Ray Ban’s. Who was that flower trying to kid? Sure, it looked cute; but that was all it was. It was laughably temporary and worthless. She leaned over, thrusting a stream of grey, wafting smoke against the frail petals. 

Eyes cast to the painted clay ashtray, a fond smile slid on her painted lips. She used to be a pansy; ‘cute’ and senseless. The mere thought brought up a mocking laugh that she spat out as though with noticeable disgust. The stringy mutt-blonde hair was cut, washed and dyed red. She was no longer short and chubby but simply small in size; delicate as opposed to frumpy. Vibrant, skillfully applied makeup decorated her face instead of acne.  Her previously blunt and bushy eyebrows were sculpted, arched and high, giving her a proud appearance and larger eyes.

[possible filler]

Half an hour passed by since a certain girl got off the bus, whilst another girl warmed her bare feet in the glass-filtered sun. The doorbell rang. Delilah got up to press the intercom button after reluctantly setting her novel down with the pages pressed on the floor. She rarely ever used bookmarks, which one could see by the book’s spine; strained and creased from this habit.

“Yes?” She leaned in to speak to the cream-coloured box, though she knew who she was speaking to before hearing the timid voice on the other end.

“Uh… Hello. It’s Samantha. We talked on the phone?”

Without another word, Delilah pressed the second button, which triggered a very nerve-wrecking buzzing noise, allowing her new roommate to enter the complex. She opened her door and leaned against the thick white frame, running a hand through her pixie-style hair over and over until it was frayed and askew. Having gotten it shortened just the other day, she couldn’t help but toy with it at any given second, as though it were completely alien, albeit only an inch shorter than before.

Soon, the distinct rustling of a person carrying many bags echoed through the halls, accompanied by a soft panting noise. Slowly, a dark head bobbed into view, then her baggage-laden body. She was a good head taller than Delilah, her body presumably slender but hidden under an unflatteringly baggy and plain T-shirt. “Looks heavy.” The redhead commented, quirking her arched brow, though she made no move to actually assist Sam.

Her companion lifted her head up, gazing up at Delilah, who in turn felt her breath hitch in her throat. The bluest eyes imaginable met her own, positioned on either side of a very finely curved, dainty nose. Compelled as she was to speak, she couldn’t. Her attention was frozen, the icy colour and intensity far too fascinating. Was this the feeling Romeo got when first setting eyes on Juliet? When Basil first saw Dorian Gray?

The silence and thick heat hung around them like a wet towel. Seconds dragged on agonizingly, matched rhythmically by a dog’s barking somewhere outside. Sam, unnerved by the petite female’s abrupt, inexplicable change in behavior, was the first to speak . “So… I’m here.” It was possibly the lamest thing she could think of and the only thing her vocal chords could manage. Finally, she squatted down and rid her shoulders of the awesome weight of two duffle bags and a backpack.

Meanwhile, Delilah had come back down to Earth and even grabbed one of the monstrous bags, tugging it inside clumsily. “So how do you like it here?” The typical get-to-know-each-other-chitchat was gratuitous, as they had already spoken on the phone and kept in contact via email for the last two months, ever since Sam received her letter of acceptance to her first university of choice. This was their first face-to-face conversation nonetheless, which was partially why it was so ungainly. By this time, Delilah had completely recovered from her initial shock, bombarding Sam with a plethora of questions before she even had a chance to respond to the first.

“So, you said you have a boyfriend, right?” Sam couldn’t escape her intent gaze, tugging the remaining two bags inside and shutting the door. Each one weighed roughly twenty kilos and required a strain that had become visible on her face in the form of a thin sheet of perspiration. Her chest rising and falling rapidly as she leaned against the brightly painted green wall to catch her breath, the interrogation continuing mercilessly. “So this is like a long-distance thing now, huh? He’s probably jaded, amiright?” Her voice drifted off but was still clearly audible as Delilah walked to the kitchen.

Filler

Due to my lack of inspiration mixed with a horrid amount of schoolwork, I haven't been able to complete the third chapter of Caring for Julian just yet. I made the mistake long ago when I first started the story of simply skipping this chapter because I found everything that would happen between the second and fourth to be... well.. uninteresting to write.

Nevertheless, I feel the need to make this belated update and will instead post a short story. This little excerpt literally came to me in a dream. My dreams are often very odd and even unnerving. If I remember them, then with great detail. If not, then it as though I'd never dreamt at all.
Without further senseless chit-chat;

Untitled Dream #1:

Awakening was horribly similar to falling from what felt like a three story building. Her whole body jerked as though she’d hit hard pavement, although she quickly realized that nothing of the sort had happened; she was simply lying in bed. This would’ve been a fairly ordinary occurrence, had it not been for the fact that she was in a place she’d never seen before.

Through the thick darkness, she could still make out the general structure of the room; at what angle the wall should be tilted or where the window should’ve been. Everything was strange and unfamiliar. The biting smell of turpentine flooded her nostrils and strung within her head, triggering a pained cough. A dizzy sensation swept over her mind and, if only for a brief moment, she closed her eyes to try to think clearly. The thumping of her heart was literally the only thing that could be heard for the longest time in the eerie silence.

Smells slowly mixed together within the room, as though it were very crowded. Cigar smoke, peppermint candies, and the distinct smells of perfumed makeup surrounded her and seemed to cover her face like a damp towel. It became harder and harder to breathe. Despite this sensation of being crowded, there was another notion of dreadful loneliness that was as striking as it was inexplicable.

Seconds seemed like an eternity. She simply sat there with her eyes closed; too afraid to even take a peek at the darkness that consumed her. It was this endearingly childish notion that, if she should manage to keep any horrid creatures out of her sight, nothing would happen to her in this cold, bizarre place.

Footsteps could be heard from far across the room. The apparently wooden floorboards creaked in tune with the slow stride. Her heard quickened, skipping a beat or two. Her fingers clutched the thin blanket tightly, knuckles turning white. Her muscles clenched. A thick lump formed in her throat. She dared not swallow, for fear of making any noise and bringing attention to herself. Motionless, she lay there, waiting.

The creaking was louder, the sound changing until it became more like an agonized wail. The closer the noises got, the slower they seemed. It was though time itself was halting. Silence followed. She could feel the presence of this unknown other being, hovering just a few inches from the flimsy blanket she’d clung to for what seemed like years. Her only source of protection consisted of a bit of woven cotton.

This position was kept for a while longer. Her muscles throbbed and her heart ached from its consistent, rapid pace. „There, there.“  The very voice sent abhorrent shivers down her spine. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard before; chilling, frightening and appalling. The gender of the speaker was indescribable. It was as though several demonic creatures were hissing these words all at once, each with their own pitch and tone. As much as she wanted to maintain her feeble position and simply wish the being away, she knew she couldn’t. Had it wanted to harm her, it would’ve surely down so already?

Mustering up the last bit of what seemed like courage in her body, she hesitantly opened her eyes. Immediately, she wish she hadn’t.  The figure that stood next to the tiny bed was, in her opinion, the epitome of terrifying.

The first thing that caught her gaze was its mouth; a large grin composed of razor sharp canines, tainted with a tint of yellow but dangerous nonetheless. The inhuman curve and size made her visibly cringe. Next, its general body structure came into view. As her eyes adjusted to the perpetual darkness, she could take in more and more details. The body was sickeningly thin. No matter where she averted her eyes, bones jutted out from beneath the shadowy skin. The creature, whatever it may have been, didn’t appear to have any eyes. Despite this, she could feel it staring at her with great intent.

As she watched ist unmoving form, the fear was gradually depleting. For whatever reason, there was a significant familiarity with this being that, although she couldn’t explain it, was appreciated whilst in such an unfamiliar place. Finally swallowing the dry clot in the back of her throat, she moved to an upright sitting position, peering at it. Although she desperately wanted to, she couldn’t speak.

„You want to know who I am?“

The multi-voiced hissing response made her stomach clench up once more. It was such a hideous, revolting sound. Slowly, she nodded. She braced herself for another grotesque reply but received only silence in return. Instead, it pointed to a window. Had it always been there? No, she was rather sure that the room had been stark black when she had first awoken. Before she could fathom the distinct lack of logic behind the whole display, the glass of the window began to melt. In the beginning, it looked as though someone were pouring a thick, plasma-liquid over the panels; like clear honey.  She watched it for a while, bewildered. The substance sluggishly slid down the walls and on the floor, allowing a harsh wind to violate the room. It bit at her face and arms and she pulled the thin blanket even closer, glancing to the dark figure once more.

„Eyes are the mirror to the soul.“

That repulsive voice. She’d heard that phrase in many different places. Just as she was able to reason with herself and attempt to silently ask yet another question, she realized that the creature was gone. Much like nearly every other night, it had simply departed without giving much in the direction of a helpful answer. Snow fluttered in from the cavity in the wall, from which now the windowpane had also melted.

---

My reason for stopping here is rather blunt and not as creavity or mindful as many people would assume; the dream simply stopped there. I didn't want to add any unnecessary details. Frankly, I wanted to write down the dream in the exact same way as I experienced it. 

Thank you for your time~

Caring for Julian [Chapter Two.]

I was so tired that I could hardly see where I was going. It was definitely time to stop somewhere. It was about three AM and basically, I’d been driving around aimlessly for the passed eighteen hours. Sure, I’d stopped occasionally to walk around small woodland areas or to get gas, but the majority of the time spent was driving.

I went out the next exit and pulled into the Shell parking lot. It was chilly and I could see my breath when I stepped out of my mom’s old VW Golf. Shivering and rubbing my shoulders, I hurried across the asphalt to the well-lit shop. A dinging sound rang in my ears when I entered and the woman at the counter immediately greeted me with an overly friendly ‘Good morning’. Sadly, I wasn’t quite as cheerful at the moment and simply nodded, going on my little scavenger hunt for food.

My stomach was growling like mad because I hadn’t eaten anything since those bagels from the airport. I didn’t have any smokes. I was tired. There were so many things pissing me off all at the same time. Due to lack of sleep, food and slight dehydration, I’d gotten a horrible headache on the way. I was very sensitive when it came to headaches. I got them quite a lot, just like my mom.

I grabbed a bottle of Nestea and a can of Jack Daniels with Cola. I was curious about it and had never seen it in cans before. In addition to this, I grabbed a handful of little chip bags, a couple of KitKats and a sandwich that was vacuum-packed and probably tasted horrible. It certainly looked like it. I was too hungry and sleepy to care.

The woman’s smile faded when I approached the counter and asked for a carton of Marlboro Reds. They’d raised the smoking and drinking limit to eighteen, which I was not. She eyed me carefully and cleared her throat. “Miss, may I see your identification?”

It had to come to this. Closing my eyes and sighing in annoyance, I dug it out of my wallet and showed her.

“Miss, you’re-“

“I’ve had a really rough day.” I began, my tone flat and weary. “Really rough. I’m turning eighteen in March. And I started smoking when it was ages sixteen and up, anyway.”

I somehow was able to convince her after telling my sob story about Kitty and the divorce. It always worked. I’m not the type to constantly whine to people about my troubles, but I always knew when to use to get what I wanted.

I paid an ungodly sum of money for cigarettes, candy bars and a crappy sandwich. Over fifty bucks! It didn’t matter right now. Money didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to. I felt terribly apathetic; much like Wes must’ve when Kitty told him the truth.

I could just imagine them sitting in her living room or bedroom with Kitty staring at the wall and not at Wesley. I could almost hear her soft voice, reciting the words she’s thought out so well. I could see her eyes grow wide when he reacted completely different than what she’d so carefully planned out. I knew why she did it, too. She’d consulted me before even going about dumping the kid.

The funny thing about my dearest Kitty is that she’s asexual. Unlike most of my friends, she never sat in sixth grade and fretted over what some guy thought about her. She never wrote love letters. She never swooned over movie stars or singers, save for maybe their voices or actual talent.

Perhaps that’s why I always respected Kitty so much. She’d never let some guy manipulate or use her. You’d never have Kitty come to school on Monday morning and cry in the bathroom because she got wasted at a party and taken advantage of. She never bothered you with useless information, like how some girl flirted with her boyfriend or how she and another girl both want the same boy.  She just didn’t care about love and sex, so we never talked about it. I think that’s what made our friendship so special.

It was still pristine and child-like. No matter how much shit I did or how low I sunk into overly demanding adulthood. I compare life to floating out on the ocean. Your childhood is like a raft that carries you. As you get older, the raft slowly depletes. With some people the process is faster, and it’s slower with others. No matter how fast or slow it is, however, you can never get that air back. When it’s all said and done, you’re left as an adult, defenceless and sinking into an abyss; a chasm.

No matter how close I sank to that chasm, I still felt that particular innocence that I missed so much when I was with her. She was like a floatation device that appeared every now and then and kept me from completely losing my adolescence entirely.

 I sometimes wondered if she could sense my fear. If you heard me talk or watched me drink and smoke, you’d never know how scared I was. I was really petrified at the idea of becoming an adult. I felt as though life were practically over when you reached a certain stage in your life. I never, never wanted to reach that stage.

I got to my car and turned on the radio, laying out a blanket in the back to curl up. I sipped my Jack Daniels with Cola (which tasted horrible, by the way) and nibbled on my sandwich after I’d devoured the candy and chips (the sandwich sucked too).

I glanced at my cell phone just as it vibrated.  With a bit of reluctance, I answered.

“Lyla Christine!” My mom’s voice was on the other end. She sounded more worried than angry, thankfully.

“Hey Mom.” I replied, trying not to sound tipsy or depressed. “Sorry. I headed down to Berlin to see Bernie.” I wasn’t quite there because I really didn’t want to be around so many people just yet, but it wasn’t a lie, either.

She scolded me for quite some time after she was certain that I was alright. I deserved it, I guess. The whole while I didn’t pay much attention to what she said and just agreed to everything. I didn’t feel like making a scene or arguing. I didn’t feel like talking, either.

We said our goodbyes and she seemed a lot calmer when I hung up. I chugged down the Jack and tossed the empty can on the floorboard in front of me. My eyelids were heavy and I burrowed into my fleece blanket, drifting off to sleep within mere moments.

The sound of honking horns jolted me out of my sleep. I glanced at my cell phone and realized that it was already seven AM. I rubbed my eyes groggily and checked my reflection in the rear view mirror before crawling into the front. It was time to move on; destination unknown.

I was on the autobahn on the way to Potsdam when it hit me; Rothenberg. If there was one city or town in all of the Germany or the entire world, for that matter, that inspired me and picked me up like no other, then it was Rothenberg ‘ob der Tauber’. I knew damn well that I wouldn’t make it in one day- I had a short attention span and loved stopping every chance I got. (I spent 18 hours driving from Hamburg to the outskirts of Potsdam, for God’s sake!)

I just love driving and stopping; driving and stopping.

I took a few exits and eventually got on the A7. I’d been down this strip of autobahn about a hundred times with my mom and grandma. We had a motor home, you see, and drove around a lot. We went to Poland, Holland, the Czech Republic, and a helluva lot of other places. Since my grandmother’s stroke, we haven’t been travelling around much, though.

I reached Rothenberg within about ten hours; which was pretty good time, if I do say so myself. I parked in the lot right next to the old city walls and took a moment to stretch. My neck was stiff and my back hurt by now. Rothenberg was a beautiful town kept in a rustic style, its income relying completely on tourism. I felt very comfortable within the ancient stone walls, mainly because a lot of English was spoken there (due to the huge groups from England, America and Japan that came every day).

I gathered my belongings and stuffed them in my big green handbag, then hurried across the street and into the inner heart of Rothenberg. Since it was in the middle of the week and my Fall Break wasn’t parallel to the Bavarian holidays either, the streets were nearly empty. I knew every shop like the back of my hand by now. This not only meant that I had no trouble navigating through the allies and side-streets, but also that I knew exactly where to eat and sleep without spending a fortune for quality.

Within fifteen minutes of walking along the sunny sidewalk, I reached a lovely little pub with free rooms. It appeared to be an old barn house that was renovated and painted in a flattering cream tone. Inside, there were thick, dark rafters above head and an all-around quaint atmosphere. There were a lot of flower pots and lace curtains that the elderly woman at the counter had probably made herself. I checked in for 15 euro a night, breakfast included.

When I reached room, I immediately felt the urge to pat myself on the back. I’d, without a doubt, picked the nicest room out of the whole place. The furniture was made of dark, elegant wood and a special highlight caught my eye as well. There it was; a tiny balcony that let me overlook the cobblestone street below. A string of elongated flowerpots adorned the thin railing, making it seem ever quainter and cuter. It certainly was small. I could hardly fit through the little door with my bag, but it would do just fine.

I lit up a cigarette and stayed out on the balcony, looking around and feeling a little better now. I ran my hand through the geraniums in front of me. Thoughts swelled in my mind again. Would Kitty appreciate this view as much as me? It seemed like no matter what I thought or where I went, my thoughts always wandered back to her. I was in a town that she’d never even heard of, before I mentioned it the other day, and yet I somehow was able to connect this gorgeous view to my best friend.

After I’d finished my cigarette, I put it out in the flowerpot (that I vowed to clean before I left) and closed the door carefully. I hadn’t planned this trip and had no clothes with me. I had my laptop, a carton of Marlboro Reds, a half-empty bottle of Nestea, my cell phone, and my wallet with roughly 200€.

Time to go shopping. I locked my door and hurried outside, straight to the second-hand shop that my mom and I plundered every time we came to this place. I bought the necessities there and moved on to the more expensive stores. I bought a few accessories at Lola and S.Oliver, and then went to a pharmacy to get toiletries. (And more nail polish. They were marked down.)

I sat in a café, drank Latte Macchiato, and smoked some more. I watched the people around me as I usually did. I loved listening to them talk! Most of the people didn’t even realize that I could understand them. The limeys were especially amusing- I love their accent. Some Americans to my left were discussing the war on terrorism and my mood became sombre once more.

My father was a sergeant major in the Army. I should’ve been proud, I suppose. I mean, I was. But it depressed me at the same time. He worked four jobs, at one time. Policeman, sergeant major, federal marshal and he recruited young men for the US Army on the side. (1000 bucks a pop. Pretty sweet deal, actually)

My parents met while he was stationed in Germany, as a matter of fact. Both worked in the CID and basically made plans to meet for coffee or dinner on the side, while discussing the post-mortem circumstances of a corpse. Weird. Like I said, you don’t know the half of ‘weird’. Mom got pregnant with me, the two of them married, and when I was only half a year old, we moved to the United States.

Dad was always a very hard-working, red-blooded American. He was patriotic and had a sort of southern charm. He was the kind of guy that would immediately hold the door open for an old lady or who’d help you if your car broke down on the side of the road. Perhaps this was also why I got a strictly positive image of policemen when I was little, and it stayed planted in my mind. I remember distinctly, whilst I and my friends all went through this ‘defiant’, ‘rebellious’ phase (which some are still stuck in), and all my companions got in trouble with the law and complained about them later, I was the only one to stand up for the guys in blue. (Or green, in this case. I was in Germany, remember?)

Somehow, I was the only one to look the facts in the eye and say, “Hey! People! Maybe it’s just me but perhaps the policemen aren’t too jacked about picking up a bunch of drunken teenagers? You expect them to be friendly towards you after you threw up on their boots and screamed ‘ACAB’ in their faces? Good luck with that.”

 So you see, I wasn’t always the paranoid, quiet girl you’re gradually getting to know. I used to be blunt and out-spoken. I could impress anyone with my reasoning and debating. By this time, however, loss and rejection really left scars. (And a decent hatred of men)

At that very moment, sitting in front of the café, I was probably thinking that everyone around me was somehow plotting against me.

I gathered up my things and stood up, trying to think of something to do. I could go bar-hopping later on but that seemed so awkward without Kitty or the rest of my usual comrades. After several hours of window-shopping and about ten cups of coffee later, I finally decided to retreat back to the pub and turn in for the night.

Life without a soul sucked. It was mundane. And I would have to get used it.

Caring For Julian. [Chapter One]

I stood in my kitchen and stared out the window a bit longer, struck by the pure loneliness. It was depressing. Unable to stand another minute in the dark house, I pulled my soggy Chucks back on and checked my reflection in the mirror nearby. My face was very pale, with a rosy touch to the cheeks and nose from the cold I’d only just escaped. My bangs were stringy and stuck to my forehead from being unwashed and wet all at the same time. I didn’t really care what I looked like right now, but somehow I felt it proper to at least try and look decent before going out to see Kitty.

She was visiting over fall break and I couldn’t be happier. You see, I’m talking about my oldest childhood friend. We met in Kindergarten and were friends ever since. (As a matter of fact, we got along so well that they never put us in a class together after Kindergarten again because we were too busy being friends to pay attention to anything else)

The reason she wasn’t staying at our house was simple; Space. Our house was of normal size but we lacked a decent guest room and my room was far too small to house two people for a period of two months. Our neighbour, who still had a whole upper story free that he planned to rent, let Kitty stay for free.

Kitty had always been a real liberal, brash girl with a dry, pseudo-British sense of humour. I loved every sarcastic comment she made and every soft snicker she released in the wake of people who obviously had no idea what they were talking about, but still insisted on playing the smart-ass. After washing my hair and changing into more comfortable clothes I wandered outside again.

It only took a few moments to reach my destination so the rain didn’t bother me a bit. Kitty, as to be expected, was up in her room, watching TV. I furiously thanked Mr.Hartmann again for the thousandth time, like every other time I saw him, and he smiled and left me to hurry upstairs. Kitty was sitting on the bed, watching an old season of CSI that I happened to have on DVD and had already seen at least a hundred times. (I brought with me during the move)

“Bloody moron!” She exclaimed, pointing to the screen and furrowing her thin eyebrows in irritation. Having an abundance of free time, she always took joy in watching movies (particularly old or very bad movies) and pointing out mistakes, tropes or bad acting. “And she should be wearing a hair-net!” She went on, popping a pretzel stick in her mouth. “She could contaminate evidence! It’s an autopsy and not a fashion show.”

 I nodded and grinned, letting myself flop down on the bed as well, kicking off my unlaced shoes in the process.

I really adore Kitty. Her name isn’t really Kitty, by the way. But for the following reasons, I will refer to her as such: a. ‘Kitty’ was her nickname since Kindergarten, b. she preferred the name to her own, and c. she had always been paranoid. If I were to tell all this personal stuff and use her real name, she would be mortified and fret about what her mother might think, or her colleagues or old classmates.

She and I were polar opposites, look-wise. Kitty had beautiful, long blonde hair that went to about her elbows. I, on the other hand, had dark brown hair that reached to my shoulder and I always put it in a ponytail or a messy bun anyway. She parted her hair in the middle and wore a headband at all times without visible bangs. I had slightly frayed bangs that went right to my eyebrows, never wore a headband. She was flaccid and has a clear face with delicate, elf-like features. My face was round, freckled and I was always a tad more curvaceous. She was of average or tall height; I’m only 1’57 meters.

Get the point? We’re two opposite people that share a special bond.

Like protons and electrons, coffee and cream, and so on and so forth.

Anyway, I talked to Kitty for a while, only paying minor attention to the TV nearby. I really love this chick. When we were little, we actually considered ourselves to be sisters. We still did. And still do. One of the things I love most about her, it’s the thing you notice right away. The second she opens her mouth, you just can tell.

“What’s got you so disconsolate?”

There. Kitty would never ask me what’s got me ‘down’ or even say ‘why the long face?’. That girl is a walking, breathing thesaurus. Her vocabulary exceeds mine by miles and I speak two languages! I’d like to think that my vocabulary in the English language isn’t exactly limited, either. I don’t know if it has something to do with the fact that she learned to spell when she was like three years old, using sponge-letters in the bathtub, or if it’s just because she’s an ingenious freak of nature… but whatever the case, she’s remarkable.

I shrugged and forced a smile. It was hard not to smile at Kitty. Hard for me, anyway. We’d been through way too much for me to waste any time frowning. I once had a very, very close encounter with losing her for good. We were very close and then drifted apart and it was my fault, alone.  After bawling over the phone for hours, a series of incredibly sappy and apathetic emails and much, much begging, I was able to save everything and our friendship was stronger than ever.

“You don’t have that… that zeal that you usually have!”

“Come again?” I was baffled.

“Zeal. Passion or enthusiasm.”

“Oh.” Of course. Kitty would never use a word she couldn’t spell or replace with at least five other synonyms. “I don’t know, Kitty. I guess it’s the weather.” We both glanced simultaneously out the window and watched the droplets of water pattering harder against the glass.

It was only around one PM now and I finally realized just how long I’d been standing in my kitchen, doing absolutely nothing but letting my mind wander. “I could go for a cig.” I announced, sliding off the bed and digging into the kangaroo-like pocket of my hoodie. Kitty didn’t smoke, but she accompanied me anyway. We talked a lot out on the porch; I’d smoke, she’d talk and keep me entertained.

We stood under the awning, Kitty keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest for warmth. “This weather sucks.” Every once in a while, she’d let a blunt, simple remark slip. But it was rare. I nodded and exhaled the grey smoke out, shivering. My fingers were reddening again.

“So how’s Wes?” I asked, as nonchalantly as I could. She’d dumped him recently and I think I was more shocked to hear about her decision than poor Wesley himself.

It seemed that I’d surprised her with my sudden inquiry. She stared at me for the longest time, her eyes then trailing to the wooden boards below. “He’s been very… phlegmatic.” I had to think a long time to figure out what that word meant and finally determined that it was about the same thing as ‘apathetic’. “He skipped the last few days of school and never replied my calls.”

Kitty dumped the boy, but she wasn’t heartless. She did care about Wesley in a neutral, friendship-based manner. Guilt was obviously eating her from the inside out and it showed on her eyes now.

Suddenly, I felt positively horrible for even asking. “I’m sorry…” I said, chewing on my lower lip nervously between drags. “I’m sure he’s fine. It’s just the age we’re in, you know? He’ll get over it.” It was weird. We sort of completed each other. She had book-smarts and I had street-smarts and the better social skills. Together, we were unstoppable.

Perhaps that’s why the divorce and move struck me so horrible. It took me years to get over it. As a matter of fact, I’m still not entirely accustomed to coming home and not being able to beg my mom to drive me over to Kitty’s place. It’s tragic and amusing, all at the same time. I have a bizarre sense of humour, I know.

She cheered up a little or at least acted like she was getting over it for my benefit. “I guess. I worry too much.” We remained silent for a few moments, watching the smoke waft out and disappear as soon as it was unprotected by the patio. Sometimes, there were moments where it was just best to stay silent. Both of us knew damn well that we couldn’t just say ‘Oh, it isn’t that bad’ and everything would magically be alright. We were old enough to know that and had been through too much to be unrealistic or childish when it came to loss of any kind.

The rain was slowly coming to an end now and resided into a light drizzle. I thought for a moment and flicked what was left of my cigarette into a puddle below. “We should go out tonight.” I concluded, peering over to her. “To get your mind off of things.”

Now, I wasn’t the most rebellious or sinful teenager in the world, but Kitty was still a saint in comparison. She didn’t drink, smoke, do drugs or even bother with boys.

I was surprised by her answer, to be honest. She didn’t even think about it too long and just complied. “Sure!” Her enthusiasm was alien to me and I wanted to ask what was up, but just brushed it off. Kitty wasn’t really the kind of person that was dying to go out to clubs or private parties. She must’ve been desperate to get her mind of Wes. I couldn’t blame her, either, because from what I’d heard, he was sort of a pansy; very sensitive.

And so it was settled. We went to my house and took turns checking emails, ate when my grandma got home, and then waited for my mom so I could ask permission. In between, we made jokes about how I’d still be asking permission, even when I was twenty-five. My mom was very lenient anyway. She let me do whatever I wanted, as long as I asked first. 

We met up with a few kids I knew from school later on near a club called “The Chasm”. Judging by the general clientele that loitered around the front, the name was more than fitting. I smoked a cigarette out in the front, examining everyone’s wardrobe and coming to the conclusion that I was one of the few who wore colourful clothes. I favoured green and it showed. I had a very feminine style at the time that included a lot of flower-pins and wooden jewellery. Kitty favoured neutral, unisex clothes like jeans and plain T-shirts without many accessories at all.

Adjusting my skirt and tossing my lighter in the tiny lavender handbag I carried, we walked together in the dimly lit club that actually was more of a bar than anything else. It had a slightly gothic touch to it and most of the younger, nonconforming kids came on the weekend to party. I’d gone through one of those little ‘dark’ phases when I was around thirteen or fourteen, which made those kids seem ridiculous in my eyes. Although only two years separated me from the majority of the scene, I felt much more mature.

I leaned against the counter and ordered a glass of Coke for Kitty and Vodka-Energy for myself. After a short chat with the guy behind the counter and an exchange of money, I walked back to out table. As to be expected, my best friend was being pestered by some guy that honestly thought that he had a chance. Poor sap.

Of course, she couldn’t tell him off for the obvious reason that she couldn’t understand him or talk to him. I set the glasses down and slid next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. It was sort of a mean gag that Kitty and I played on a regular basis. We’d pretend to be a couple. “You wanna get lost, bumpkin?” I quipped in German, narrowing my eyes at the guy who was standing against our light source. “We’re trying to enjoy our date.” With obvious embarrassment, he hurriedly stammered an apology and rushed off to his friends. Kitty took a sip of Coke and just laughed, thanking me and asking what the hell I’d just said.

“I’ll miss this town.” Kitty finally remarked, avoiding my puzzled look as she watched a couple of kids dance. It ruined my vivacious mood entirely as I came back to earth. Kitty was leaving in two days and my glorious, perfect autumn was coming to an end before it had even started.

“Yeah.” I could only choke out that one word, washing my contempt down with a swing of vodka.

 After about an hour and five mix drinks later, I was nearly in tears. Kitty had gradually let me coax her into drinking a beer or two and we were both tipsy (ok, I was drunk). All the memories began to swell back, both good and bad. At times, we’d laugh at inside jokes, attracting a few stares. Two seconds later, we’d list all the sad songs that seemed to perfectly describe our situation or feelings towards one another.

None of the people we’d originally come with dared to intervene in our reminiscence. Most had left, the others were…someplace. We didn’t care. For the first time in years, I felt my happy-go-lucky façade crumbling to pieces.

“I ‘un wan’ ya’ ta’ gooo…” I groaned, leaning against her shoulder as I fought back the urge to either pass out or start wailing. My chin trembled and my throat was impossibly dry by now. Despite the new laws they’d passed, I lit up my cigarette and held it between my quivering lips.

Kitty smiled and stroked my hair in the exact same way my father had when he dropped me off at the airport, the year before. Unable to hold it back anymore, I felt the warm tears soak my cheeks. I let the cigarette fall on the floor, wrapping my arms around her and clinging to my oldest friend for dear life. I felt like a pathetic five-year old again, but it didn’t matter. Some guy walked by and stepped out my drag, thankfully.

I mumbled something inaudibly against her shoulder, smearing mascara on her turquoise T-shirt. It took several moments for me to calm down but when I did, I noticed that she was crying as well. Kitty was the only person I really cried around. (Save for the other patrons of the club, all of whom were of no meaning to me anyway)

“Y-You hafta’ come back i-in winter…” I went on, my breathing shaky. “W-we’ll go to Rothenberg… Itsso’ pretty…” 

She nodded and agreed that we’d definitely have to do something along those lines next year and reminded me that I’d visit her in the summer anyway, which was months away. Her attempts to get me to calm down were futile. I sucked in a deep breath of air, peering up at her with large, wet and puffy eyes. “I love you, Kitty.”

“I love you too!”

We had a special bond that even the oldest couples or warmest families could only dream of. We had what most kids our age lacked. We had something special. We had a luxuriant, tenacious and true friendship.

When Kitty and I parted at the airport, there was a very sober air around us. We hugged and laughed and I waited in the lobby until her airplane had been gone for an hour. I couldn’t see myself just getting into my car and driving back home, like nothing happened. I’d been living so far away from Kitty for six years and we saw each other once, maybe twice a year for a period anywhere between two weeks and three months. This time, our separation was different.

When she disappeared from my sight, the crying really began for me. Several flight attendants, passengers and security people came over to me and asked me what the matter was. A lady even brought me a cup of coffee. They must’ve thought I was a nervous wreck or something; they treated me like a little kid or a really brittle old woman.

The coffee warmed my stomach and I thanked the people around me with a tiny, pathetic voice, but inwardly, I felt dead. I realize how drastic and hardcore that sounds, but there was no other way to describe it. Something was just different about it all, this time. I just couldn’t get over the loss, even if it was temporary. I’m a product of a broken home, mind you. I’d always thought that after being separated from one of your parents, then any other detachment would only seem half as bad.

Needless to say, this was not the case. On the contrary; with every loss, I grew even more frail and needy. No matter how many new friends I made, the holes left were becoming harder and harder to fill.

I went to the ladies’ room and removed the black smudges and streaks from under my eyes, left from my tears mixed with mascara. I redid my makeup within a few moments. Foundation, mascara, powder, done.

I bought two bagels and ate one on the way out. It took me about a half an hour to find my parking space. It was only 9:30am and the city of Hamburg was already bustling. We were let off for autumn break now. I was forced to spend it alone because our holidays weren’t parallel to Kitty’s and most of my other friends were going away somewhere and had plans.

I turned on the radio and finished off my second cream cheese bagel as I drove. Would I bother to go back home just yet? Bremerhaven was about two hundred kilometres away and I had two weeks to do whatever I wanted. Instead of heading down the autobahn home, I took a different exit and started towards Berlin. I’d never been there before and was told by many people that it was good for parties and known for friendly people. I had nothing to lose, anyway.