Like so many relationships nowadays, it started on the interwebs. Our conversational chats were muy simpatico, in tune, on the same wavelength. It's so nice when you don't have to explain. From cradle to grave we seek this out, no matter how much love or grief may be in our lives. We are like beggars in the street seeking every last morsel of understanding. Once found, the excitement is like a lifeline from Heaven. So we took it to the next step, talking on the phone. Her voice matched her chat, thankfully. I wasn't just imagining it! Suddenly, you hear the beginnings of a song, hoping to swim in immortal love's stream; to plant a flower in paradise. These dreams start running through your mind, breathing life to even the deadest of corpses. For some reason, your childhood comes alive. And you think, "Maybe..." And then we met. I almost stumbled in shock. Yes, the voice and inflections and even the humor were the same, but her face was stuck in frozen emotion. She knew the right words and how to say them and when to say them, but it was a stale rehearsed act from years ago. This is who she once was. She'd become alien to herself and needed a facade. In her living death she constantly sought out life to lure into her web. The internet had surely been a godsend for her vocation! But in the end she had to hope you wouldn't believe your eyes, only her lies. Stumbling back out door into the cold winter air I had to ask myself, "How did this happen? Am I like her, my song only an echo?"
I'm drowning in Berlin; a long flight over but my fears chased me across the pond. Drowning in history, in the obliviousness I thought would save me, in the unexpected ghosts that still roam here. Got fooled again. But where can I find free air? Seeking my distant Teutonic past provides no answers. I left the old world centuries ago. These here are the ones left behind, who never sought more. I thought maybe...well, don't know what I was thinking. I'm just sinking into my bed again, direction unknown.
*************
I got out of bed this morning and stepped into a cloud. I was flailing, trying to find something to hold on to. But my grasping hands found only unreality, that the world had stopped and the order flipped to its rightful position. Why another minute of madness? I was certainly outted, another wasted life; exposed and defrocked - on the wanted list. In frozen fear I stared up at the small oblong window of my room so common in Europe. Dare I look at the angry mob awaiting me below? It was a long time before I moved, but I have no idea how long.
*************
So far from home I've lost my usual distractions. That's what I was thinking: without my customary crutches I'd be forced to learn to walk. Who's to see if I fail here? But all that's happened is the demons of uselessness are having a field day, wreaking frustration at every turn. I guess in that sense my plan has worked, I can't even pretend to serve a purpose while in a foreign land. I wrote God a letter in my mind explaining it doesn't have to be this hard.
*************
I got scared of the toxic streams running through my mind. Drove to Munich today and the drive did me good - or blocked shit out, anyway. Munich is the same but different. Same bluish-grey but not the international feel of Berlin. I also thought of facing the Black Forests; small villages reminding me of "The White Ribbon" and the hidden horrors that resided (reside?) in the German heart. How many generations does it take for atrocities to die out? As I well know, there's nothing more terrifying than someone who thinks their guilt serves a purpose. They always think they have God on their side.
*************
Here in Munich I think of spies. I think of the spy I once was and still am. I could never be a traditional spy. I mean, what kind of spy can you be if someone else is pulling the strings? It has to be done on your own terms. John Lennon said artists are spies and I think that's the only true kind. As Gandhi said, there is no god higher than truth - and there is no "higher purpose" that does not serve it. That's the lie agencies tell you, that your evil somehow serves a greater good. Buy that garbage and you're in a trap. That's why so many traitors think they're patriots, that by exposing other's hypocrisy (to a hypocritical world) things will change. Everybody wants to change things without changing their heart, silly twats.
*************
Robert Hanssen was an American spy traitor. He now spends 23 hours a day in solitary confinement. What he did was monstrous. But I wonder if driving him insane betters the world? The fight for rationality requires everyone. For the record, my confinement is 24 hours a day.
P.S. I'm going insane.
*************
Emily weighs heavy on me. (Funny how I don't do grammar when it's a diary.) Maybe she's what drove me here. More running away. I could stand just outside her door and be as far away from her as I am now. I'm unfindable yet still not safe. Is it my lack of courage or a sense of decency that separates me from her? Intelligence must be watered with kindness to stay alive and her kindness is overwhelming. Running from kindness says a lot about a person, doesn't it? Surrender is the only option - thank God.
I was lying back on the bed in the slightly vegetative state of the aftermath, enjoying my time as any guy does when he's been let out of the sexual prison in which men are condemned to spend their lives. The doom of work was awaiting me the next day and those dark clouds were on the horizon despite my present good fortune.
Anna, however, had crawled over to the corner of the bedroom, still naked, doubled over as in a shell. She wasn't saying anything but I clearly got the message she wanted to be in her own thoughts and needed the space. I have to admit, though, this being me, nothing good can happen without some sort of backlash. It's an aspect of my life I rarely share in person.
"I can't believe I did that," finally speaks Anna to herself.
Yes, she had told me it was her first time. And she's very clearly a grown woman. Why was I the lucky recipient? I was about to find out - because I'm anything but lucky.
"It's inside me now and will never come out."
Everything she did was her idea. I just obliged her. I don't know what triggered it. But something drove her to do it and now she had buyer's remorse.
I knew I'd be inserting foot in mouth but had to say it anyway. "It's really not a big deal. There's high school girls who make a whole career out of it."
"That isn't me!"
Shit. I'm no therapist and I got my own issues in life. I didn't know Anna that well. She's a neighbor from the next apartment building over. Maybe because she's American Indian she has a different background than I'm used to. Maybe this is taboo in their culture. All I knew was I was sitting on one big giant eggshell.
"What would my father say if he could see me now?" she softly reflected.
Oh, goody, father issues. She thinks she just sucked daddy's dick. And I'd played the role of substitute daddy. That's not going to end well, either. I'm nobody's idea of a father figure. I can see now she picked me because we weren't close, that I was someone disposable with whom she could experiment. Never a free ride, is there?
"And it had to be with you."
She was still balled up in the corner, not looking at me. She stayed naked but was trying to hide it at the same, a person in complete conflict. Of course, evil Harry wanted to say, 'Hey, the only way to get over a bad blow job is to do another one!' I mean, I just couldn't deal with this shit. Now she's offloading her self-loathing onto me: 'This wouldn't be happening if I'd sucked a better dick.' I started getting dressed. I needed to escape.
Cleaning up in the bathroom, I noticed Anna stayed in her state of self-induced shock. I had visions of her oscillating between being the blowjob queen of the county to being a nun. Evil Harry kept talking in my head. 'Hey, can't wait to brag to all my friends and neighbors about this!' She was so overreacting I just wanted to stick it to her, sort of liking slapping the hysterical passenger in "Airplane".
But obviously it was a big deal to her. She'd reached a threshold. She'd defecated in the living room of her life, ruining its purity forever. Had she lost something for real? Or was she just not liking the picture she was getting of herself she'd finally been forced to face, that she'd been basing her self-worth on an illusion. How could I tell her at a time like this that facing yourself is always a good thing, even if you don't like what you see. I knew George Clooney could come up with something comforting to say. I just decided to feel sorry for myself.
That will never be me, sorry...
I went into the kitchen to fix a bite. I couldn't say anything because evil Harry was still dominating the conversation. 'Hey, want something to eat or are you never going to eat with that mouth again??' The longer she stayed in there, the more awkward it got. I also didn't want to leave the house fearing that her private internal war may erupt into external destruction of my property. I felt she was going through the stages of shame and I'd be persona-non-grata anytime she saw me around the complex and how miserable her life would be. Mine too, lady.
I knew it was insensitive to turn on the TV but I had to break the silence in the absence of words of wisdom from me. I could feel her blaming me all the way from the bedroom and with my naturally guilty conscience, that played on me too. Should I have said no? Should I have told her only to do it inside the confines of a loving relationship? Never occurred to me she'd consider herself a slut of Biblical proportions. I imagine if a nun ever gave a blowjob it would mess with her mind too. But that's all sheer fucking illusion.
I stayed on the couch watching the TV but my mind was in the bedroom. Christ, how long is she going to stay like that?? What was I supposed to say to her? Only smart ass replies came to mind. 'Sorry I ruined your life.' 'Your daddy will never love you now!' 'You know when you go to your conservative bank job tomorrow everyone will be able to tell what you did.' Then I remembered the scene in "About A Boy" about guys feeling they always need to provide an answer. Maybe I didn't need to.
I walked to the bedroom door, studying the smoothness of her light brown skin, wishing I could caress her. She hadn't moved and didn't look at me. "You going to be OK?" I surprised myself with my actual sincerity.
"I'll be OK. I just need...time."
She didn't know what she needed. But I'd forced her to a decision which is what I needed. I went back to the TV, this time she knew I wouldn't be coming back. After a while I heard movement and she came out fully dressed. With sparse eye contact we made an awkward goodbye and I was alone again, naturally.
Later, in the evening, I still couldn't push it out of my mind, sticking with me like a bad smell. While I was driving around, every song I heard related back to her in some way. Only thing I knew for sure was I wouldn't have the courage to confront her about it.
CODA: After studiously avoiding each other, Anna moved out at the end of the next month. I'll never know how her foray into sexual exploration with me affected her in the end. We'll both have to live with it best we can. I can only shake my head and think: This could only happen to me.
