I’m not proud of this incident, but it must be written down. Consider this my therapy, the ill-willed comments my penance for the things I have done.
This story begins in a hostel. Not just any hostel, but the Station Backpacker’s Hostel in Koeln, Germany. I had checked in for one night, because of its proximity to the train station. I was due to move into an apartment in Siegburg (just twenty minutes out of the city) the next morning which I had booked for a month. But due to scheduling conflicts, the landlord couldn’t move me in earlier. So I had a night to spend at this hostel.
I had explored Koeln some that night, buying some tasty-smelling chicken fingers and “pommes frites” (french fries) at a nearby shop. But as the night wore on, I began to feel a little restless. I had tossed and turned in my bunk until about 11pm trying to sleep, but had no such luck. Quietly, so as not to disturb my roommates, I tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs of the hostel to the main lounge. In my hand I carried my laptop and a book. Perhaps I could get some work done if I couldn’t sleep.
A waft of alcohol fumes hit me as I walked into the dim lounge. A group of German men, each with short-cropped hair, were in the corner drinking heavily and laughing.
On the other side of the room, two girls sat talking and sipping beers.
I sat between the two groups, opening my laptop and heaving a sigh. I glanced at the computer’s screen. It was already 11:30pm. I had to get up at 5:00am so as to make sure I had plenty of time to meet the landlord in the morning. It was going to be one of those days tomorrow.
Somewhere inside my mind I wondered when, if ever, I would end this existence. For all its incredible experiences and freedoms, it was undeniably exhausting living from place to place, room to room, shower to shower. For the next month, there would be a respite. A break from all of this.
I logged into my computer and checked my email. Nothing new of interest. A client had emailed wondering where the heck her work was. I fired an email back, explaining that I was moving tomorrow, and would be able to do some solid work while I had a place to live. I launched my web browser and typed in the URL of my favorite blog. But as I prepared to read, shifting my position in my chair, I noticed a face, just beyond my computer, looking at me curiously. When I looked up, I realized it was one of the girls I had noticed on my way in. She wasn’t stopping, her face showed obvious shyness, but she kept looking.
I couldn’t see the face of her friend, but this girl was pretty. She was wearing a white, frilly blouse, and her tan hair was short and cropped at her shoulders. Now that I looked closely, both girls seemed dressed up. Where were they going at midnight?
As I will usually do when in doubt, I spoke.
“Hey, why are you guys all dressed up?”
The girl staring at me suddenly looked scared. She shifted her eyes to her friend beseachingly. Her friend turned towards me and spoke.
“Sorry, she doesn’t speak very good English. We went to see a musical tonight.” Her accent was very good.
“A musical? That’s cool! I love musicals. Which one?”
She smiled brightly.
“We Will Rock You…have you heard of it?”
I shook my head.
“It is playing right next to the train station.”
I picked up my things in my arms.
“Is it alright if I come and talk with you guys?”
Both of them seemed to understand, and they beamed at me.
“Please do!” she answered.
I shifted my things and we began to talk. The name of the girl who was staring at me was Jenni. Her friend was Imke. Jenni, it turned out, did know English. She obviously understood most of what I said to her, and when she didn’t, Imke translated. I was attracted to Jenni. I didn’t know why I felt the way I did. I had a girlfriend, and though she had recently been insisting on an open relationship, I hadn’t by any means thought about expanding my own side.
The girls were each 24. I was 17 at the time, but when they asked me, I almost automatically said “…23″. It had become automatic, easier to lie than to explain my strangely developed beard.
I bought the girls drinks, and we talked the night through. They taught me a German kids game, and Imke told me about her father, a Dachshund breeder, who kept about a hundred little dogs at their house.
“You must come to see them some time!” she insisted, “We live in a town called Witzenhausen.”
I nodded sagely in my drunken stupor.
“Yes, of course I will. Maybe after I leave my apartment in Siegburg, before I leave for England.”
We said our goodnights at around 3:00am. I contemplated simply packing my stuff up and getting an even earlier start in Siegburg, but the alcohol was doing its job, and I craved sleep. Hopefully, I set my alarm for 5:00am the next morning. I prayed that I woke up in time.
I did wake up in time. And I did make it out to Siegburg and into my apartment. But that is another story, to tell at a later time. The story of the one time I cheated continues a month later. I had emailed Imke and asked if it was really possible that I could come visit their home in the town of Witzenhausen. I offered to set up my tent nearby and stealth camp, so as not to bother them, but she would hear none of it.
“I’ve got some great plans for us!” she told me in her email. But she would go no further into details.
And finally, after three trains, each one getting slightly smaller as the area got more remote, I arrived in Witzenhausen. I connected to Skype via my VodaFone Wireless Modem and called Imke.
“We’re just in the parking lot. Just look for the van” she told me.
Witzenhausen was indeed small. Their van stood out in the small parking lot as the only one that looked even slightly worn. Germans love to keep their cars clean and new-looking, but this was obviously a work-vehicle.
“Jenni wanted to come, but she’ll be by the house later” Imke told me as we piled into the van. I felt a pang of energy as she said Jenni’s name. I would have the whole weekend to come to my senses and get used to the fact that I was taken.
I was introduced to Imke’s sister, her father and mother, and, exactly as Imke had warned me, a huge mass of little wiener dogs barked at my feet as we arrived at her house.
Her father picked one up and I could see genuine pride in his eyes. He spoke even less English than Jenni did, and our interaction was limited to mostly nods and smiles.
We all sat down to lunch. I could tell they had prepared just for me. A huge feast was laid out on the table. Ham, fresh breads, jams, and butters were liberally displayed on the table. I felt suddenly out of placed as I glanced at my ratty looking backpack, sitting with grocery bags hanging off of it, and a tent protruding awkwardly from the side. This was a very nice place.
“I thought we could just sleep in the barn tonight!” Imke told me, beaming as she buttered a piece of toast.
I looked at her quizzically.
“The barn?”
She nodded and swallowed.
“Yes. Up by the ponies.”
A faint bell sounded in my mind. I remembered these ponies. She had talked about them at the hostel. The bell was soon drowned out by singing angels, however, because Jenni walked in.
She was beautiful. She was dressed simply in hip-hugging jeans and a brown knit t-shirt. She wore a white knitted wool cardigan, and cute pink tennis shoes. I worked hard to keep my mouth chewing. I didn’t want to seem too obvious.
She smiled shyly when she saw me, and I scootched over in my seat as best I could, trying to make space for her to sit. My plan worked, and soon we were sitting together, chatting with the rest of the group. As we talked and laughed, I thought about the evening. Ponies…really?
And yes. There were ponies. Everyone piled in to their van once again, and we drove up a winding road, away from their house. The road soon turned to gravel, and trees surrounded the car. We were traveling up the side of the hill. I could just barely see the town of Witzenhausan through the bulky hills all around.
The van suddenly slowed to a stop.
“Were here” Imke announced triumphantly.
“Here” was a sparse field to the right, and apple trees to the left. Imke beckoned me toward the field. As I climbed over the fence, I saw a small shack. I knew it was a shack, because Imke called it a shack.
“Its for the ponies when they get cold in the winter.” she informed me.
“But…where are the ponies?”
“They’re just up the road. We’ve got this place to ourselves for the night! We’re going to have a campfire.” she motioned to a pit nearby. It was charred and had obviously been the host to many such fires. Hay-bales sat around the fire to act as seats.
Just hours later, we all sat around the fire. It hadn’t taken long to start, and already it was raging and hot. We cooked hot dogs and marshmallows (I have since forgotten the German names for these), and Imke played her guitar while we sang along, me doing my best, to German folk songs.
Soon the fire began to burn slower and softer. We had all become drowsy and hypnotized by its flame, and agreed to go to sleep in the shack. Luckily, I took my sleeping bag everywhere, and was quite comfortable with such situations. I grabbed it and unwrapped it, ready for a rest. The floor of the shack was made completely of haybales, and as I placed my sleeping bag strategically next to Jenni’s I was thankful it was so thick.
I wondered to myself, as I was laying next to Jenni, why I had chosen this. Was I trying to tempt myself? Did I just want to prove to myself how silly and imaginative I was being? I had no chance with her. And for the love of god, I had a girlfriend, even if she was encouraging me to “sleep around”. I hadn’t told Jenni, or Imke, or anyone about Julie, my fiance at the time. I don’t know why, other than that she just seemed to be not a big part of my life. She was distant and seemed to want nothing to do with me in Germany.
Somehow, I felt drawn to Jenni. I felt as though I couldn’t stop myself. Like some sort of prehistoric magnetic urge, I was pulled toward Jenny, and found myself sliding my sleeping back nearer to her, feeling her small body close to mine. To my surprise, she responded. She slided nearer to me. What did this mean? Was she just cold? It couldn’t mean anything other than friendliness. Plus, even if it did mean something, she wouldn’t want a dead-end leaving-in-two-days kind of guy…would she?
Our sleeping bags were half opened, and I slipped my hand through the opening to find hers. She gripped back, and without saying a word, we pulled ourselves closer together.
The room was pitch black. Not even starlight shown through the roof of the shack. To my left was everyone else. Three or four other people who had come with us to the campfire adventure, including Imke. To my right, was Jenni, and a wall. The next hour or so was spent touching, kissing, and being all-around sexy. We slept in each others arms, and it was one of the best nights of sleep I had ever gotten. The next morning was not so comfortable.
I awoke to a feeling of warmth. It had been so long since I had seen Julie, let alone slept with her, and the warmth of another body felt nice against my skin. Jenni woke up, seemingly at the split second I did. She looked shy, questioning, as if frightened of my reaction. But I simply smiled.
I rose in my sleeping back and surveyed the rest of the group. Imke was missing, and her sleeping bag lay against the opposite wall, neatly rolled.
Jenni and I stood and, without a word, rolled up our bags as well. When we stepped outside, Imke was there, cleaning up from the fire the night before.
“Hallo” she said, her voice slightly less cheery than usual, “Did you two sleep well?”
Her eyes had a knowing look to them.
“Yes, definitely. That hay was very comfortable.”
No one mentioned it for the rest of the day.
As luck would have it, the town was having a special festival that day. Much of our day was spent riding around the town on their family’s bicycles, seeing landmarks of the town. My favorite tour was of the town’s small church tower. The local tour guide told a story about how a man would live in the tower for months at a time. His soul purpose was to watch for invading armies.
As the day turned to night, the situation became a little more awkward between Jenni and I. Not only did the language barrier prevent us from talking frankly, but the family was always around. What on earth would I say anyway? My mind split in two, and I had a vision of living in Witzenhausen with Jenni. Leading a quiet life. Writing. Maybe doing some more web-design remotely. Somehow cutting off my old ties. Sending Julie an email ending our relationship. But then I would think about the long relationship Julie and I had built. The engagement. The dreams. I thought of all the places I wanted to go.
For some reason, the rest of the group had to go and prepare for something, and Jenni and I were left alone. We walked to a nearby “raggae concert” and watched for a little while.
“Do you like this music?” I asked her, speaking slowly. She shook her head.
“Do you?” she spoke, her accent thick. I shook my head in return. We laughed. It was obvious we both had thought the other was enjoying it.
“Let’s go somewhere else then” I motioned with my head.
“Want to see my house?” she asked, suddenly smiling.
I nodded, and we started walking towards it. It didn’t take long to get there. It wasn’t a house, but an apartment building. Hers was a floor up, and the walls of the stairwell shown white and cheery as we walked. She opened her door and called “Mama?”
“Ah, hallo Jenni!” her mother cried from inside. She pronounced the name “Jenni” differently than I did, with a slightly french-sounding ‘é’ sound at the end. It became clear her English wasn’t all that great either. She nodded and babbled with Jenni in German about me. Eagerly, she gave me the tour. It didn’t last very long, the apartment was quite small. I nodded back, gracious for her hospitality. What did she think of me? This traveler boy who shows up on a dark night with her daughter?
“Let me show you my room. Come here.” Jenni said, and grabbed my hand, pulling me to a small door to the right of the entrance. I followed obediently. She opened the door and closed it behind us. The room was small, very small. It was apparently built under a stairwell, because the ceiling slanted as it connected with the wall near her bed.
“This is where you grew up?” I asked her, and she nodded. She pointed out friends in pictures on her dresser, and posters of American bands and artists. I sat down on her bed, my head nearly touching the ceiling. I felt a wave of emotion. The images of the quiet life with Jenni, here in this world where I could grow old and enjoy the small town were filled with color. They were saturated in my mind, and hung, blowing in the wind of my reasoning.
I grabbed her hand and she sat next to me on the bed. I leaned in to kiss her. The moment was sweet. It felt good. It even, somehow, like some miracle diet food, felt completely guilt-free. We kissed for a few minutes, but were interrupted by her cell-phone. The rest of the group was ready for the next adventure. They wanted to know here we were. She told them in rapid German that we would meet them at the town center, and hung up the phone.
She stood and reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out a small postcard and handed it to me. It had a picture of Jenni on the front in a flowing red and white dress. It said “Jennifer – Cherry Queen”. She had apparently won a local beauty pageant a few years back, and had printed out these cards to give to her friends.
“Thank you.” I said softly as we stood awkwardly in her room. “Thank you so much.”
The rest of my time in Witzenhausen was bittersweet. Jenni and I slept together that night, in Imke’s guest bedroom. The guilt, as if it had been numbed by painkillers, came back in waves of indigestion and exhaustion. I didn’t know what to do now.
“I will come back very soon.” I said to Jenni as I prepared to board the train out of Witzenhausen and on to Frankfurt. I didn’t know if it was a lie. I didn’t know what I would have to face later. Would she somehow find out about Julie? Would I tell Julie? How could I get rid of this seering pain in my stomach?
And as the rain rolled away, all I could think of was the movie that had played in my head so many times that weekend. The movie of me living in Witzenhausen. At peace in a quiet town. Learning German and frequenting the town pub. Coming home to Jenni every night.
As I stared out the window at the homey hills of middle-Germany, I began to cry. I had realized, quite suddenly, that I had been saved from a life I didn’t want.
I never saw Jenni, Imke, or the Dachshunds again.
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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
hahah Christian– you are such a character– Strike a pose!!
Dude i hardly know you but your blogs awesome. Stuff you just need to write down so you can read later and laugh at yourself for thinking too much.
Thanks for posting!
Hmm. I don’t think you can call it cheating if she told you it was okay. On the other hand, so called open relationships are beyond my comprehension, I can see not being exclusive from the get go, but going back? Maybe it’s just me.