Young love - A coming of age novel by Dean Amory by Jaime Lavid

YOUNG LOVE Dean Amory

BOXSET Contains: Part 1: A Schoolyard Love Story Part 2: First Love's Shadow

Title: Young Love - Boxset Published in 2015 by Lulu.com Copyright ÂŠ Dean Amory. Dean_Amory@Outlook.com Cover Art: Wulfram (Pieter Jansens) ISBN code: 978-1-326-31923-6

The author asserts his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is dedicated to my wife Arlette Scheerlinck and daughter Tamara and written with pleasant memories especially to: (alphabetically) Aldo, Carla, Danny C, Danny V. L., Deborah, Liliane, Linda, Marc, Marleen, Rudy and Stephanie.

I want to thank Anita Vermaak for her help polishing my translation from Dutch to English to perfection.

About the author: Dean Amory, real name Edgard (Eddy) Adriaens, was born 21.09.1953 in the Flemish city of Aalst. He grew up with his parents and six brothers and sisters in the suburb of Terjoden. After finishing high school, he worked as a correspondent and assistant (sales) executive at a few local SMEs for 14 years. In 1986 he was recruited by Bacob Bank, and started as a relationship manager. After the bankâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s merger with the Dexia Bank, he moved on to be an Electronic Banking Expertise Officer at Dexia, later renamed Belfius bank.

YOUNG LOVE

Part 1: A School yard Love Story Dean Amory 7

THOSE WERE THE DAYS (MARY HOPKINS)

Once upon a time there was a tavern Where we used to raise a glass or two Remember how we laughed away the hours And dreamed of all the great things we would do Those were the days my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose For we were young and sure to have our way Then the busy years went rushing by us We lost our starry notions on the way If by chance I'd see you in the tavern We'd smile at one another and we'd say Those were the days my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose

Just tonight I stood before the tavern Nothing seemed the way it used to be In the glass I saw a strange reflection Was that lonely woman really me Those were the days my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose Those were the days, oh yes those were the days Through the door there came familiar laughter I saw your face and heard you call my name Oh my friend we're older but no wiser For in our hearts the dreams are still the same Those were the days my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

PROLOGUE “If you are going to San Francisco Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.” (Scott McKenzie)

I come from a time in which Malcolm X was murdered, as were the Kennedys, Camilo Torres, Che Guevara and Martin Luther King.

A time when the United States sacrificed a whole

generation in Vietnam for the unbridled ambition of its leaders; Israel and the Arab countries fought yet another war; Bernadette Devlin begged for equal rights on the Irish barricades; Nelson Mandela was enjailed for life for fighting Apartheid; Tanzania's Nyerere was worshipped and in which young folk in the cafés talked more about politics than about cars, TV or sport. At least that was the case in “our” cafés. In my time, the conviction grew that “Love” was the only constructive element in the world and ”Sin” just another name for whatever was detrimental to it. Melanie, an American folk-pop singer-song writer was very popular with her songs about Love and “Beautiful People”, while John Lennon, a working class hero, discovered that women were the real “niggers of the world”, and ruminated and repeated the dream of millions into the simplified one-liner success “Imagine”.

The Woodstock and Wight Pop Festivals amazed the world. But in reality these were no more than commercial lies based on the novelty of the concept, the quality of their performers and on the bubble of the massive free love parties. When “Love Story” was declared the most successful movie of a generation, we felt the wave of revolt and renewal was running out of steam. The movie didn't contribute anything: maybe it was nice, but it was also corny, deliberately dramatic, two-dimensional and over simplified, making it typical for the mass production ideas of the consumption society in which we feared to be drowned. The mere fact that the book, the movie and the music all became massive hits was no doubt indicative: the ultimate proof of the pointlessness of our ideals. Still, the “'mourir d’aimer” of this movie and others like it, endeared my generation because it had nothing to do with napalm over Vietnam or helping Somoza oppress people in Nicaragua. Escaping reality has always been the easiest option for the masses and we were young after all and hopelessly searching for “LOVE, NOT WAR”. 'Mit Siebzehn hat man noch Träume”. At the age of seventeen, one still is allowed to dream. I turned 17 in 1970. I raved about Creedence Clearwater Revival, Johnny Cash, Joan Baez, Cat Stevens and Donovan. I considered myself a melancholic romantic

and a non-conformist; I was light-hearted and lived rather chaotically. Thanks to an occasional side income and some black magic, I was able to spend more on cigarettes and booze every week than whatever little I received as a weekly allowance. Still I had to scratch to get around. I didn’t practise any sport, didn’t have any hobbies and had no idea what I wanted to do after school. At the end of yet another day at school, I might ride back home, or I might not. During the weekends, I might visit the bars and clubs of my hometown, Aalst, or I might not. Maybe I did my homework, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I studied, maybenot because, until I actually started, I would be the last one to know. I didn’t plan anything, had no ambitions, no goals. I just lived. Part of my life was spent in Terjoden, a working class community bordering the Flemish town of Aalst, Belgium where I was born in 1953. Terjoden was a gloomy suburb without any history, quickly constructed alongside the provincial road from Aalst to Geraardsbergen, when a railway station was built in neighbouring Haaltert. The rest of my life I spent in Aalst itself, a medium-sized city in the heart of Flanders, where I went to school – and regularly was wagging school – and where I hung out at a discotheque called “The Caspuciero” on the weekends. Or in the dance hall behind

the café of soccer player Vander Elst, where I was made a member of the “James Dean Friends Club”, without ever having any knowledge what this club did, except distributing access cards and stamps for the dance hall. During weekdays the bars in the Korte Nieuwstraat and around the Station square brought me comfort when the theory courses in school became too boring. Aalst, is of course Carnival.

There are those who think that

Carnival is a public feast taking place the days before Ash Wednesday. In reality, every day is a little bit like Carnival in Aalst, because every Carnival guild is always in need of money and every ball they organise to collect funds is just as well Carnival. Aalst is also the Belfry, where the artists from the local academy – and the occasional other – exhibit their work.

Although the

supplied exhibitions disappointed me time and time again, I could never resist the sign “exhibition”: the chance to see one beautiful sculpture or one beautiful painting, was an irresistible attraction and drew me inside, into the Knights Hall, or downstairs in the mediaeval crypt, where I usually ended up in utter disappointment staring at - and not grasping the meaning of - three sawed broom sticks wrapped in chicken wire with a sign in front saying “Andromeda”.

Aalst, finally, was also the 'Bon MarchĂŠ', a major department store where I wandered around when all my money was spent, going through books and endlessly listening to records in the music department. I was almost seventeen when I met Katherine. The impact of this encounter on my emotional life was enormous. The next pages are all about this strange and astonishing experience and its consequences.

Chapter 1 “Get Ready” (Rare Earth)

Can you imagine anything more wretched than having to go back to school after working a holiday job for two months? Isn’t it somewhat degrading to turn in your paycheck for a new set of schoolbooks after feeling responsible for your job for two months? Economically you’re thrown back to being totally worthless from one day to the next, feeling like a fish caught in a net, waiting to get stuffed and contribute to the modern consumption society. To top it all my moped was parked in the garage with a broken gas cable and of course I got out of bed too late to catch the bus. No wonder I was already in a shitty mood that Monday morning, September 4th of 1970, when I found myself hitchhiking to the local trade school. I was lucky though: almost as soon as I lifted my thumb, a car stopped and the driver brought me straight to the gates of the school. I paused for a while at the opposite side of the street and looked at the old building which had the incredible long name of the school all over it: 'National Institute for Higher Education in

Trade and Administration'. Such a name surely was enough to scare the living daylights out of any self-respecting human being! I always felt it read like the heading of one of these Russian publications about the success of the last Five-Year Plan. Not to mention the fact we would have to write down that school litany in all our notebooks these first few days. As soon as I found myself within the ‘safe’ walls of the school, I started feeling a whole lot better: the traditional first-day-of-school atmosphere with its unbelievable bickering and fussing suited me just fine. People offer you cigarettes that often, one begins to wonder if they’re earning commission from the tobacco companies!

You should know that back in 1970 the relation

between smoking and cancer had not been proven yet. The only argument against smoking was better than all publicity together: “it looked sloppy!” Sloppy? James Dean showed us just how sloppy one could look and we completely copied that. Some pupils were chewing their fingernails in suspense of their reexamination results. The girls commented on your clothes, the length of your hair or your tan, or told you who’s new, who isn’t coming back and why. Some women really have a nose for these kinds of novelties and they are usually right about most stuff. They smell their sources and know their clients. Only the sieving of the less interesting details regularly goes wrong. But then, while

small talk is a near impossible task for us – the blokes - it’s their biggest specialty. Part of the blokes were trying one-upmanship. When you fell in their trap, you were in for a treat with the craziest Wild West stories about ‘mighty’ holidays and countless love adventures with girls coming straight out of a Playboy Magazine.

I therefore

avoided the monkey troop cliques with a cheerful but distant “hello” and continued in my search for someone more 'human'. The bright green eyes of my friend Udo received a lot of attention from a few giggling girls, but as soon as he caught a whiff of my body odor, he headed towards me. "Well, Pithecanthropus erectus how are you?" Apparently, his urge for knowledge had incited him into a hunt for the history of our origin. Sometimes, when we were both in the mood, we amused ourselves by using as many polished words as possible. 'Showing off' we called it and it was rather funny! I thought I could get away with answering, “underdeveloped Mylodon”, but decided to show off a bit myself. "You may address me as Sir Australopithecus and forget about the erectus. Some of us do evolve."

"Hmm, you do know that you're evolving backwards, don't you? Your

Australopithecus

lived

many

years

before

Pithecanthropus!" I had obviously underestimated the competence of his reading matter! "But let's not drivel on that. Have you seen Rudy yet? The chap grew a beard. And did you know Willy's sister has also enrolled here at the school?" Beards were lost on me since mine flatly refused to emerge. Willy's sister didn't really interest me either. In fact, Willy wasn't my cup of tea at all so I didn't expect any fireworks from a sister of his. Willy was a large, somewhat silent boy, who kept himself aloof in class and was capable of incredible feats like digging the garden of a teacher. Then again, who cares about the shrubbery on the face of an old acquaintance or the sister of an insignificant classmate, when the only thing that mattered was who's new in class? Our class was in fact a double class, with about half of the kids attending the "Ethics"-part and the remaining half the "Religion"part.

While those kids hailing from the more dynamic and

progressive families tended to opt for Ethics, my parents saw All Light Coming From Above and forced me to attend Religion. The disadvantage being that I didn't feel connected to quite a number

of my more conventional classmates and was dying to find out if any more progressive kids had joined our class. "No, you're the first one I'm talking to. Heard anything already about changes in our class?" I asked. "Don't even mention it!" Udo sighed. "I've been trying to forget about our fantastic class all summer, and now you turn up and rub my nose in it. Let's not get our hopes up, otherwise we'll only be disappointed." "Thanks for backing me up." Meanwhile, Danny and George noticed us and were coming cheerfully towards us. The bell rang before they could reach us. A few minutes later, it turned out Udo wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t that wrong. In the first row I noticed a bloke who looked like a living fossil with a nose like a beak and ears like an elephant's, frantically writing down the tutor's welcome speech. Udo noticed him as well. "Say, isn't that guy over there your twin brother?" "Get some glasses for those mole eyes of yours!" I replied. "Sorry, but didn't you say I should call you Australopithecus?" I burst out laughing. 1-0 for the bastard and the kick-off wasn't even given!

More new pupils drew my attention: on my opposite I saw a somewhat overweight new girl concentrated on painting her name with big, angular characters on the cover of a brand new and nicely covered notebook, using red and green, creating a colorful artwork. And in a corner on the other end of the classroom, a new guy the size of a telephone post, was chattering away with two old hands in front of him. The longer I stared at them, the more I started liking him. Not bad! But about three tables in front of me, I discovered what appeared to be the most intriguing newcomer obviously female. Definitely not easily classifiable, because all I saw was a piece of her coat and the back of her head. She had brown hair tied up in a little bun. Two exceptionally long hours separated us from break.

Two

hours, during which she didn't even glance back once! Not even when the teacher warned me and Udo not interrupt his lessons again or â&#x20AC;&#x153;we could forget about picking our seats in classâ&#x20AC;?. Again?? Nonsense! we'd never attended a class of his before. He was either brainwashed, or he thought that barking at us would suffice to escape the inevitable ordeal that he had coming. Anyhow, not a living soul was thinking of making a racket during those first delicate hours, so needless to say I was bored to death. The bell barely started ringing when I bashed the door open and stormed out to the playground with the umpteenth cigarette in my mouth.

"Sean!" "Yes. School on fire?" I slowed down, but kept walking to the exit. I've developed this useful way of giving myself an air as if I'm interested in nothing or no one. "To protect my feeble personality against possible defeats, which my pride would not be able to accept," a brave teacher had willingly spelled out to me. There must be some truth in his explanation, otherwise I'd never have disrupted his classes during the remaining part of the school year. However, I prefer to see things rather different: I like to choose for myself which people I hang out with and really don't care about most other people. I usually simply don't listen to what they tell me and forget names and information about their personal lives in no time.. Unless when I have an emotional connection with them. Or unless they succeed in penetrating my defence shield. For example, with a witty response to my silly remarks or impertinencies. Isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t the discovery of a convergence of thoughts the ultimate magnet that unites equal minded people? As a rule, mine was a very effective system: indifference kills. In the end, even the toughest dogs give in. Especially when the alternative does not even offer the faintest prospect of victory: I wasn't known for being very subtle or tactful when something did not interest me.

There were few problems in this area in the classroom: as is the case in each class, ours too counted a number of well-defined social circles and over time the unwritten rules that determined internal relationships had become pretty obvious to everyone. In fact, the exchange of information between circles had always been a pretty risky enterprise and was in practice almost zero. This, however, was hardly a source of concern to Willy: he did not have the faintest idea of how things functioned. Led by chance he ended up alternating with all groups and in all groups he was mostly 'the great silent listener'. "I fit in with everybody" was his own optimistic conclusion. Yes. Right. Sure he did. There was a fifteen minute break between lessons. Fifteen short minutes until we had to be back in class. Fifteen minutes I simply had to spend at the playground, because that's where the social circles are being confirmed and formed today, many of which would remain stable for the rest of the school year. Now was the time when it becomes clear what remained of last year's bonds, who could eventually build a new circle around himself and who were forced to associate with one of the existing circles. Now was also the time to learn most from and about the girls. At moments like this, Willy's name simply did not fit in my agenda. "Hey, hold on Sean. Do you already know my sister?"

We had just passed the door of the adjacent class room, and several girls were walking along in the same direction as we did. I looked around quickly. "Hi, Ann, how's things?" "On the first day of school? How do you imagine?" "Ah, why don't you admit how happy you are to see me again?" "Braggart!" Willy had almost caught up with me. "Sean â&#x20AC;Ś?" I turned my head to him and nodded to the girl who just stepped in between us. "Hi, sister of Willy!" Without slowing down or even waiting for a reply, I turned back to him: "Yeap, now I know her." "Say, you aren't going to behave again like you did last year, are you?" I smiled while remembering the miniature war that I had waged against him during previous school year, ever since some temporary teacher had praised him for the sake of the 'adult male gaze' in his eyes. Nothing serious, but enough for me to nickname

him 'Adonis' and to seize the opportunity to highlight his machocharacteristics every time the occasion presented itself. "This is my sister Katherine." Apparently he had rushed to catch up with me, but his sister had decided to take her own time and was following him at some distance. I have to admit that I was speechless. This, a sister of his!? If only he had been smart enough to bring her along to one of the school parties last year, his term at school would have been so much more comfortable! Shit, she had obviously noticed my confusion.

The naughty

undertone in her voice when she gently murmured "So nice to meet you!" while reaching out her hand to me was all too clearly marked. "So nice to meet you!â&#x20AC;? - Just imagine the nerve! I noticed the fun lights in her eyes all too well, but somehow just didn't know how best to respond. I could run away and save the battle for another day. But that wasn't really my style. Also, why try to hide that she had managed to arouse my interest when I had already given myself away? After all, a lost battle does not necessarily mean that the war was lost. Maybe the 'Cool Approach' could help to save the appearances.

I took my time and scanned her from bottom to top. She was rank, smoked and dressed in a short dark blue skirt and a soft yellow blouse. She had slim, beautiful legs, narrow hips, small boobs and a rather pretty face with a strange wrinkle in the forehead. Her semi-long wavy brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. But above all, she looked very much at ease. Her eyes did not avert my scrutinising gaze. On the contrary: she clearly tried to make eye contact, which I did not refuse. "Which class are you in?" I asked, my eyes still glued to hers and by now really interested. She sat three tables in front of me. Before leaving class, she had untied her hair and taken off the obligatory dusters that she had been wearing in the classroom. "Great, then we will have lots of fun together!" I tried to save the whole ship from going under; but the smile on her lips was just too nice not to accentuate the mocking light in her eyes. Willy and his sister walked with me to the courtyard and joined our little group. Marc, the telephone pole I had noticed earlier, also joined us. The conversation was mostly about Marc and Katherine's previous schools and their reason for joining our school. Somehow, I felt uneasy because I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pleased about the way I had gotten acquainted with Katherine. I couldn't help admitting to myself that I felt confused, which I did not like at all.

The story about the glorious adventures of Marc had little appeal to me. Things were different when Katherine started talking. She did not make a big fuss about anything, but told us briefly what went wrong in her previous school and why she had chosen to come to our school. From that very first conversation in the courtyard onwards, Katherine took on a habit that she would never change: every time she had something to tell to the group, she would look almost exclusively at me. If and when she wanted to know someone's opinion, she would always ask mine first. But these things I did not know yet that morning. One message only was very clear to me: I did not make her feel nervous. It was me who felt nervous around her. Suddenly, there was nothing boring about school anymore. Once I put things in perspective, the conclusion was obvious: Katherine was by far the prettiest girl in the class. Moreover, I felt that there was some kind of attraction between us. Adding things up, the result was evident enough: there was work to be done. The first tactical move was to eliminate the toughest competition. Udo did not object. While he inquired Roger about my plans, I already started preparing my campaign. The new German teacher looked like a rather sweet person, so when he asked us to translate some sentences to test our

knowledge of the language, I thought this was the perfect way of bridging the two tables and backrests that were separating me from Katherine. But how? How? I racked my head, but could not come up with anything useful. I just came to the conclusion that it might be better to wait until after class, when the little guy at the front of the classroom opened the attendance register and asked whether 'number fifteen' would be good enough to have a walk through the classroom and collect the finished exercises. 'Number fifteen.' I instantly felt my blood boiling. Who did that midget think he was? I felt inclined to ask him what number he was. For God's sake! This was 1970! These last years, we had taken to the streets to protest against this bureaucratic, impersonal approach - amongst other things. Schools had been plagued by endless waves of strikes because of it. When we sung â&#x20AC;&#x153;We shall overcome", it was because we wanted to be recognized as partners and have a say in anything we participated in! We wanted to be treated like real people, not like numbers. Never before the older generation had experienced anything like this: a crusade of children; children who openly discussed all the holy commandments and taboos of the world and who considered it a task to tear down the old values. No expense had been spared.

The newspapers had written lengthy articles about the crisis the authorities faced, but we were young and we thrived on the confusion of the elderly. Those days the established authority was often seen as a joke: kids were better educated, more well-read and better informed. Parents, city clerks, police officers and teachers didn’t know how to react: they had no experience with our kind of attitude. Nor did they have an answer to our questions, since our questions often enough were the same questions they were asking themselves. They also doubted the system and its streamlined theories and techniques! It was merely the way in which we expressed our discontent and how we overreacted, due to the fact that we were young, that filled them with fear: this could not end well! “The Little Red Books” we skimmed through basically all said the same: “If you don’t want imperialistic Neo-Nazis to stay in control, then NOW is the time for a change. Ignore their stupid rules.

You can walk on the grass.

You just have to figure out

what kind of world you want, then organise yourself and make your dreams become realities.” Did Ghandi now show us a quarter of a century ago how to do it? Number fifteen? Wait a sec! I'd tell him right away where he could stuff his number fifteen!

I was about to rise from my chair when my plans were thwarted by a movement at the third table: Katherine rose from her chair and replied in an exaggerated kind tone of voice: "Number fifteen will be happy to oblige, Sir!" Instead of the overt confrontation my approach would have initiated, Katherine's sarcasm effortlessly brought the laughers on her side and left the teacher without recourse against her friendly and submissive answer.

Katherine was perfectly capable of

reacting and rebelling and did not hesitate to push back when she got pushed first, that much was clear. When she arrived at my table to collect my Ă&#x153;bersetzung, I handed it to her, but did not let go of the paper. "A kiss," I whispered laughing, "and then you can have it." She smiled back at me, did not let go of the paper or move either. Katherine did not seem to worry in the least about this somewhat awkward situation. I did, however.

The longer we kept smiling at each another, both

holding on to one side of the paper, the higher the pressure became to do or say something to break the deadlock. "Actually, you're such a beautiful creature, that I wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day like this!" I teased her. I said it laughing. It was intended to sound funny. I had been convinced that she would even take it as a compliment. Yet, to Katherine the 'creature-thing' felt like degradation to the level of bestiality. Her

reaction was immediate and left little doubt about the degree of appreciation she was experiencing. "Wow!" While jumping back, she dropped the paper and screamed out so loud and with so much horror reverberating in her voice, that everybody stopped doing whatever they were doing and turned to look at what was happening.

Katherine too was obviously

surprised by her own reaction and gazed at me with big eyes. This was not good! For a moment I did not know what to do next. I turned to Udo, thinking that pretending that I was talking to him, could save me from the teacher's intervention that was surely due any second now. But I immediately realized that I would not get away with anything this way, because Katherine was still petrified. She stood beside me, looking at me with a bewildered look on her face without moving an inch. I quickly glanced at the teacher, who was staring back at me from the front of the classroom, then looked back at Katherine, and whispered: “go now!” While she moved on to the next table, I looked back at the teacher. Immediately, his eyes locked to mine and for a second that felt like five minutes, we kept looking straight at each other. “It is his first day,” I thought, "so maybe he won't want to put in all the energy to start a fight now.”

Well, that sweet, kind, gentle little teacher definitely thought otherwise. Without having the faintest idea of what had happened, he blew up and started threatening me as if he had caught me with his wife the night before. His outburst was instructive enough: apparently he had gathered some information about his new pupils and was warned about me. “All the teachers will keep an extra close eye on you and we will not allow you to turn this class into a circus again!” He swore. Ah, well, candles need oxygen to burn … I had heard this kind of sermon many times before and did not feel impressed. Best was to let the storm rage over me and not turn this into some kind of meaningless argument. If he thought he could seduce me into an open confrontation in these circumstances, he couldn't be more wrong. I did not fancy serving as the customary example to frighten up everybody who might be thinking of kicking up a row in his lessons. The more stereotypes he used, the better at ease I felt: "Who did I think I was?” "See my pretences crippled?” “Tougher guys got on their knees?” “Pointless to turn to him crying to be saved after a bad exam?"... The more he flipped his lid, the more he was contributing to enhance my popularity, surely even he must be aware of that? Sure, he had gone off on a good start, and I was perfectly willing to admit that I had not felt good about the way I had started this little fire. But the way he kept pouring petrol on it was so totally

out of proportion that the situation became amusing. The angrier he became, the more relaxed I felt. I lay back in my chair and smiled friendly back at his red face, a reaction he must not have expected and which was not going to stop his volcano from erupting. He kept raging on, until he consumed his last bit of inspiration. When his engine started wavering and he finally looked away from me, it was my turn to react. By then, Katherine had submitted the collected papers and had long returned to her place. My translation, however, was still lying on the floor beside me. So I got up, picked up the page, walked to the front of the classroom and calmly put it on top of the other sheets. From up close our new teacher looked even smaller than he did from where I was sitting. I had a strong suspicion that he too was well aware of the fact that he had to look up now if he wanted to keep looking at my face, because instead he looked away and opened his book. Ah: just like these small English roosters, small people often feel the need to constantly prove themselves ... Always so dangerous! It might be a good thing to pay some extra attention to my German lessons this year, in order not to become dependent of the goodwill of this little man! The remaining part of the hour went by without further incidents. After the lesson Udo went for a smoke.

Katherine immediately took his place next to me and charged in a fury: "What was the meaning of all that raving about 'creatures'? I am not an animal!" "Ooh, I stepped on missy's toes? Who is talking nonsense here? Why did you have to scream as if I were attacking you? I really had no intention of raping you!" "Sean, you 're mean. Really mean!" "And you're probably perfect, aren't you? You can always forecast exactly what is going to happen and had of course instantly understood that this teacher was in a bad mood today because his vacation was over!" "Stop, Sean, please stop now ... and remove your feet from the table, otherwise you will soon get into trouble again." Hey, this was swell! This lovely girl joins a new class for the very first time - 'my class' between brackets - , has exchanged little more than two words with me and thinks she is already entitled to tell me how to behave! "I believe, my dearest sweetheart, that I can put my feet where I want. And if there is one little person in this room that I don't need approval from, then that would be you!" She was furious. Her face was tight and her eyes sizzled.

"Whatever I am, I'm not your sweetheart. Who do you think you are, kiddo, to speak to me like that?" "Oh, there we go again. Where have I heard that before? Ah: now I remember: isn't this what that little teacher asked a few minutes ago? Can't you really find anything more original than to repeat the stuff the teacher has been spoon-feeding? You know what you are, love? A measly little bourgeois. But if you really want to boss me around, okay: give me one good reason why I should take my feet off the table and I might obey. (The position I was sitting in was not very comfortable at all.) "It's an unseemly way to sit. Not decent at all. Sloppy if you ask me!" "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it's sloppy! I had no idea! Imagine! Of course it's sloppy, but if that's a good reason, then I might as well commit suicide, for I am sloppy in more ways than you can even think of. Sloppy is my middle name! And you know why? I believe that we all should be allowed to do whatever we think is right, as long as it doesn't hurt anybody else! I don't want to be a trained dog who sits up just the way his master wants him to! Whether something fits or not doesn't tell us anything about what is good or wrong. Does it?" To my surprise, she agreed. "Do you go to church, Katherine?"

The sudden change of subject strengthened my position a little more. Of course she went to mass. Against her liking. Not even because she had this deformed conscience or so reminding her that she should be a good girl and that 'it is not right for good people' to put their feet on the table or stay home from mass. But just because she could not make up her mind whether God and the angels, heaven and hell and so existed or not and also because she felt she ought to go to mass to please her parents â&#x20AC;Ś guilt and insecurity, ah: that's what churches thrive on! "You never know what it's good for, do you?â&#x20AC;? "I know what it's not good for!" We ended up having an interesting theological debate that came to an untimely end when we were all asked to stand up and greet the teacher. I disregarded the invitation and continued to meditate on Katherine's views on faith. Just when I realised that the whole class was waiting for me and decided that it might be better after all to rise from my chair, a vicious hissing voice asked me if I would be so kind as to rise from my chair. Unless, of course, if I'd rather go to the library and spend the remaining part of the day on writing an essay on basic civility. Well, this might not have been a real 'act of god', but it definitely qualified as a case of force majeure. So I did what I already had

planned and rose beside my desk. "Be seated!" the teacher ordered while walking back to the front of the classroom. Katherine dropped down beside me. All smiles of course. She really beamed and had every reason to! Udo had meanwhile snuggled on the empty seat next to Marc. I was pleasantly surprised that Katherine had chosen to sit next to me. At the same time I felt a little uncomfortable with the thought that I had tackled the situation in a very bad way. Yet again!

Chapter 2 "Which way you goin "Billy" (The Poppy Family)

The rest went surprisingly fast, although at the time it didn't feel like it at all to me. Anyway, almost from that moment on, I only had eyes for Katherine. I totally neglected the few friends I had and spent every free minute of the day talking to her alone. Thursday, September 17th was a beautiful late summer's day. Rita, a girl from our class, had invited everybody for a drink at the Monopole bar to celebrate her birthday. Willy and Katherine agreed to participate, but warned that they would not stay for long because their mother would worry if they did. "Touching!" I smiled , thinking for a moment that they were just joking. "You really are model children!"

But from the way the both of them

looked back at me, I realized that they were very serious about this. Even though they were at the bar for only a short while, it still meant a lot. For the first time, Katherine and I met outside school. Until then, Willy had rarely budged from Katherine's side. He was proud to have his sister in the same school and felt that he had to protect her. But here, on the darkened dance floor in the

back of the bar, I was alone with Katherine, holding her in my arms and dancing with her for the first time. We had both known what would happen next. Our anticipation added to the tension between us from the moment we had entered the bar and created a surreal atmosphere. 'Which Way You Goin' Billy' reverberated through the jukebox. It was just the kind of slimy slow tearjerker that we needed.

For

about three minutes, we were pressing our bodies against each other and moved together slowly, very slowly, aware of every muscle that moved, of the warmth and scent of each other's body, of the slightest pressure of our arms and hands. Of the fullness of our mutual surrender. I felt all light and happy when I drove home about one hour later. The afternoon sun was still shining in cloudless sky and covering all the world with a mild golden tone. This day, on which I first kissed Katherine and when we made our first date, surely held beautiful promises. Promises for a happy weekend, promises for a happy school year! The next evening, after a wonderful first day as an item at school, I could not sleep. I tried to fool myself by thinking I ate too much, but that did not work. I was totally confused and knew it. Admittedly, most of the time I enjoyed the thought of going with Katherine, but at the same time I could not disregard the

bewilderment caused by the power of my feelings: Why did I suddenly feel so very much in love? Why was I wrestling with my feelings to such an extent? What was different from the previous time that I had been in love? After long hours of unsuccessfully trying to empty my head, unable to explain the unexplainable, I finally fell in a restless sleep. Back then, we also had to attend classes on Saturday mornings. Saturday morning with Katherine at the schoolyard was a dream, but the afternoon at home was hell: nothing interested me. I felt terribly bored and did not have the faintest idea of what to do until it would be time to leave for town. So, I spent most of the time in bath, listening to the hit parade. In these days the cultural gap between youngsters and adults was absolute.

We thought our music was totally different from

everything our parents knew. Everybody was occupied with music one way or another and we were all convinced - with justice â&#x20AC;&#x201C; that exceptionally original and beautiful music was being produced. There were Pete Seeger and Joan Baez; Nina Simone was young, gifted and black and Bob Dylan was alongside Mahalia Jackson, obligated church music. Whether you preferred The Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, Chicago or rather The Beatles or Bee Gees, it all determined which pub you visited and who you bumped into.

I had invited Katherine to meet me at the Caspuciero that night. The Caspuciero was not really my favourite place, but it offered some advantages: it was a dance hall situated behind one of the best known Bistros of town and as such acceptable to most parents. They invariably played the most popular pop songs of the moment and though the music was loud, the volume still allowed for a more or less normal conversation. Fortunately, in the seventies, partying started at a much earlier time than nowadays. But that particular night, it started extremely early for me: It wasn't even seven yet, when I found myself at the Caspuciero waiting for Katherine. The hall was almost completely empty, but this did not matter because there was music playing and I had nothing better to do than to wait for Katherine to show up. Outside, a drizzly rain was falling. Would she get through? Suddenly I realised that I did not even know how she would come. By bike? Alone or with a girlfriend? Would her parents bring her by car and pick her up later? She darn sure wouldn't show up with Willy? Just before half past seven, Katherine stepped inside ... with Willy trailing behind her like a poodle. Shit! Though they must have noticed me as they entered the hall, they did not walk up to where I was sitting, but first left their coats in the cloakroom and then went straight to the edge of the dance floor. Why didn't they just

come over to me? I emptied my beer and walked towards them. Willy did not know about our appointment, or he pretended not to. I ordered drinks. While we exchanged the usual obligatory small talk, I noticed that Katherine was growing increasingly nervous. I was feeling rather uncomfortable with the situation myself - Willy being the only one who appeared to be enjoying every minute. Whereas we soon ran out of subjects to talk about, he kept on rattling by endlessly about everything that popped up in his mind. Why didn't that damn DJ put on a slow for a change? "Waiter! Two beers and a coke!" By now, Willy had been the one talking for some time already. The whole situation felt unreal. The desperate glance in Katherine's eyes every time she looked at me was telling enough though:

Willy really knew nothing and refused to

understand what was going on. Why hadn't she told him about our date? It was unthinkable that we would have to spend the whole evening like this! The red spots flickered nervously on the fast rhythm of one rock song after the other. "Two beers and one water, waiter ..." I had to do something! But what? A change of scenery might help. But if Willy came along, what would be the good in going elsewhere? Because I could not think of an alternative, I was just ready to propose to go somewhere else after all, when Katherine

announced that she wanted to use the bathroom. Even as she descended the stairs, the DJ played a polonaise, 'a kiss dance'. Tradition commanded that the kiss dance would be followed by a number of slows. Finally, redemption was in sight! As soon as Katherine disappeared, I sat cross-legged on the closest table and watched the dancing and kissing youngsters. Willy apparently understood that he did not have to expect much conversation from my side and disappeared in the waves of the wriggling mass on the dance floor. To my surprise and annoyance, I suddenly noticed that Katherine too was on the dance floor. Angry I jumped from my table and dove into the crowd, making my way to Katherine as fast as I could. Several times I lost her in the crowd, but luckily as soon as she noticed me, Katherine started making her way towards me. Every time she emerged from the crowd again, she was closer to me. When we finally reached each other, she immediately fell into my arms. We hugged and kissed laughing, not caring about the people around us.

One endless kiss was enough to wear off all the

frustrations of the first part of the evening. Disregarding the pushing and pulling of the dancing people as much as possible, we caressed and kissed as if we would never get another chance.

There was no need now for words or

explanations. Holding on to each other, looking into each other's eyes, kissing and hugging each other were all that mattered. Through the last notes of 'La Bamba', already the start of the slow song 'Comme j'ai toujours envie d'aimer' could be heard. The fuzz on the dance floor diminished. Ordered by the slow rhythm of the music, Katherine's hands rose to the back of my neck and as mine moved to her waist, we started slow dancing. Katherine coaxed her head against my shoulder. Her hair poked me in the eye. A sweet perfume caressed my nostrils and sweat beaded on my forehead. To my surprise I found that my legs were slightly trembling. I moved my hands up against her back and pulled her gently against me. Immediately she pressed even closer to me. I wanted to say something, but my lips were dry, and any notion of words escaped me. Only, somewhere in the back of my head there was a faint voice whispering: "this is no ordinary flirtation. She is special to me!" Oddly enough, confessing to myself how deeply I was stuck on Katherine, made the confusion go away. I regained my composure and enjoyed the rest of the dance. After participating in the kiss dance, Willy had not returned. He had probably witnessed our embrace and must have drawn his conclusions. There was no doubt now that he knew that we were an item and there was no longer reason for all the secrecy. I could not help thinking back to the awkward situation and musing about the reasons for Katherine's reservations at the beginning of the

evening. But I decided to let the matter rest. There were so many more important things to tell each other now! After that first dance, the words returned to both of us. We had found an empty chair and dragged it to a dark corner of the hall, where we became caught up in a hurried conversation, in which both of us took turns to talk quickly and passionately about our first impressions and feelings, leaving little room to the other to interrupt our monologues. Yet words are never enough when the heart is over flown with emotion. In fact, they are not even the most important part of the conversation. All the time, my eyes were drinking the love that spilled so abundantly from Katherine's eyes, our hands were roaming each other's body and our lips were searching each other for yet another sweet kiss. The temperature in the dancing hall became too high and soon my shirt was wet with sweat and clinging to my body. As soon as I had unbuttoned it, Katherine's hand was underneath, caressing my chest and back. After some time, we danced again. That was when the speaker in the back of my head had returned into action. To my own surprise, I discovered that there was no obstacle in the world big enough to prevent me from immediately sharing its message with Katherine.

I lifted my head and when she immediately did the same and looked up at me, obviously wondering whether I would want to kiss her again or say something, I took her hand in mine, looked into her eyes and said it. "Katie, I love you". I said. Just like that. On our first night out together. Though we had known each other for three weeks only, to pronounce these words felt as the most natural thing in the world. Immediately after uttering the words, my brain, however, tuned in and sent a completely different message through my secret inner speaker: "Are you mad? Don't you know you are acting like a borderline case?" I felt shy, confused and uncomfortable. Fortunately Katherine responded very positively. She pulled her hand from mine, moved both hands to the back of my neck and pressed herself against me. I enjoyed the warm pressure of her breasts against my body and felt how her legs moved in unison with mine. I had no doubt that she must have felt the beating of my heart in her own body, just like I her felt hers. Very slowly, we moved across the dance floor. The warmth of her body mingled with mine. Her hair felt so soft against my face. Her perfume filled me. Our hands were pulling each other closer even though closer was not an option anymore. I started kissing her hair until she raised her head. In the flickering lights of the spots, her face was the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I got caught in her glance and as we gazed into each other's eyes, we kissed again.

When I kissed other girls, I had often been unable to stop thinking and evaluating about how to kiss best at any given time: soft and gentle or more passionately? Somehow there was almost always this computer active inside of my mind popping up questions and making observations about the things I was doing. Not this time! Not now! I kissed her impulsively, passionately, deliciously brutal, my face glowing, my body enflamed and wet with sweat. The music stopped. We paused, glued together by our sweat. My eyes sought hers again: two blue-grey valleys that reflected my happiness. Would she feel just as light and detached from reality as I did? I hugged her again, bent over and licked the sweat from her neck, gently bit in the soft warm flesh of her shoulders, then straightened my back and kissed her again. The phosphor lamps painted her bra purple against the white of her blouse.

The music resumed. We continued our dance -

infinitely slow. This time disregarding the beat of the music. Our legs stuck together and were able only to slowly move together. Our bodies breathed as one. Our lips could not get enough of each other: they hovered over each other, touched very lightly, then opened and closed on each other in a new deep, deep French kiss. When I opened my eyes, Katherine's eyes were still closed. For a second I looked down at her and enjoyed the sight of her face

lifted to mine, the closed eyelids and the lips slightly protruded, as if waiting for a new kiss to come. The next moment, aware of me staring at her, she also opened her eyes and immediately smiled. I drilled my eyes into hers and instantly drowned in them. Her gaze jumped from my right eye to my left, from my left back to my right, then stared into both simultaneously. At times, her eyes disappeared into the darkness of the room, only to surface immediately again through the mist that was blurring my sight. By now, my eyes were burning in my head, with sweat trickling down from my hair and eyebrows and running further down across my nose, chin and neck and over my body. It suddenly seemed very important not to blink - as if blinking would break the sacred band that now existed between us. Again we lost ourselves in each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes and lifted by the power of each other's gaze our souls climbed up to the heavens above, and higher still ... Unexpectedly, my inner computer set into action again. The beeps of my low self-esteem accelerated to 210 km/h: this could not be. This would not last. This just could not be real. This was too good, too deep, too serious. What was I hoping for? That this would last forever? That I would somehow manage to fill Katherine's life with happiness? Me? This silly piece of idler? This eternal killjoy?

What was I dreaming?

That I would

henceforth be eternally happy and make somebody else happy?

The mere thought was simply outrageous! Preposterous! Too crazy for words! Utterly nuts! However much I tried to push back the doubts and negative thoughts that started welling up, all my efforts to switch off my computer again failed. While we continued dancing, eye to eye like before, I began to wonder what was going on inside Katherine's mind. How did she feel about me? I wondered whether this meant more than only an ordinary flirtation to her. How much was she enjoying our being together like this? Maybe, all I was to her was a strategical and functional conquest. Being new in the class, she might have come to the conclusion that my brash oneupmanship at school could prove very useful to her? Perhaps going with me was her way to reward me for the support that she had experienced during the first weeks at her new school.? Wasn't it quite possible that this was all she wanted from me?

Why

hadn't she reacted to my declaration of love by confirming that she was in love with me too? And as for me: what exactly did I mean when I spoke of love to someone that I had only known for such a short while? What was I worrying about? She was simply smarter than me and was waiting to see how things would turn out! After the dance we moved back to our corner of the dance hall and pulled our chair behind a curtain. Katherine climbed upon my lap and for a while feeling her body resting on mine was all I needed. Words were superfluous yet again and quietly enjoying

each other's presence, we just sat there at the mercy of our own thoughts. But soon I needed to feel more of her. I moved my arms under hers and wrapped them around her body. She leant forward and rested her head on my shoulder, while her hands gently caressed my neck. In response, I also rested my head on her shoulder, petting her slightly bent back. Noticing that a corner of her blouse had fallen from her skirt, I gently pulled the blouse out more and slipped my hands underneath. Katherine did not pull back when my hands moved further up under her blouse, nor did she try to stop my wandering hands. But when I arrived at the height of her bra, she suddenly whispered: "I bet you would like to see me naked right away, wouldn't you?" The words were softly spoken, barely audible, but not in a pleasant or mocking tone at all. Instead, something in her voice sounded cold and sarcastic, so different to how she had been speaking to me these last hours. I froze. "She won't appreciate you telling the truth now. So for God's sake, don't tell her that it would be abnormal not to desire her body!" my computer threatened. I realised that I had manoeuvred myself onto thin ice: I could not tell her I did not want to discover her body, but I did not dare tell

her now how much I longed for her body either. So I came up with a weak excuse and chuckled: "Oh, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d love to see you wearing a plain coloured bikini!" Of course she knew that this was only a defence I invented to allow for an easy retreat out of a difficult situation, but she immediately played along: "And why not one with a flower design?" She wanted to know. Babbling about such nonsense as personal taste, and the beauty of contrasting colours, I pulled my hands back, leant back in the chair and put my hands into hers. "Oh, grandfather, what big hands you have!" "All the better to caress you with, my child!" We laughed, but the mood was broken. Katherine looked at her watch. It was time for a change of scenery, I realised. "Let's go to the Tiki bar!" "Sorry, but I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. I have to go home in fifteen minutes time. My mother is usually sick with worry when I'm late and I promised Willy he would find me here when it will be time to return home. You do want me to go out with you again next week, don't you?" "Of course!"

My answer must not have sounded as convincing as I intended it to. All of a sudden, Katherine made a serious attempt to crush my hand. "Sean?" "Hmmm?" "You won't cheat on me after I've left, will you?" Her uncertainty was balm to my wounds. She was that afraid of losing me? Great!! O.K. this was a sick way of reasoning, but that's how I felt right then. "My sweet Kate." Words didn't come easily now, because I was venturing onto unfamiliar grounds. "Never before have I told anybody on a first date that I'm in love with her. I can't even remember having said these words to anybody in my whole life. And yet, there is no doubt on my mind that I am in love with you!" "Yes, but ..." "Hush! No buts! I don't want to create an illusion for myself, but at this moment everything about you feels so good to me that I can't imagine doing anything that might hurt you." "That's what they all say."

I gazed at her, baffled. "All??" Then I realised somebody must have disappointed her very much, probably have cheated on her, and I smiled. "I'm not everybody, Kathy. I'm Sean and I love only you!" Still she kept looking back at me with so much uncertainty and fear in her eyes, that I immediately grew serious again. "Do you love me, Katherine?" "What? How do you mean?" "You see: you are unsure about your feelings. I am not!" "I don't doubt my feelings for you, Sean. You can't say this. You don't know how I feel. It simply isn't true, but ..." "But, but, but ... Just believe me, Kate, when I say I don't doubt you. I believe that you won't deceive me. Why wouldn't you believe me when I swear that I won't either? By the way, the moment you leave, I am leaving too. There's nothing here for me without you around. I love you!" There, I had said it again! It already started to look like a habit. And though I wasn't sure that I knew exactly what I meant, I still really meant what I said. Therefore, I repeated the words in as convincing a way as possible. However, while at this point I was mainly concerned about the exact content of my words, it really

didn't matter much, because from the way Katherine responded, I could tell that she didn't believe them anyway. Suddenly, out of the blue, Willy surfaced beside us. "Time!" he announced briefly. It was easy to see that he hadn't enjoyed himself very much that night. The conversation stopped abruptly. The moment she noticed Willy, Katherine jumped from my lap. She stared down at me with a sad face. Obviously she wasn't convinced of my good intentions yet.

I rose from my chair and accompanied them to the

cloakroom, got my coat too and followed them to the bicycles. While Willy - a few feet from us - made it clear that he was ready to leave, we took our time to say goodbye. "Hurry, your other girlfriend is waiting for you!" Willy snapped at me unexpectedly while Katherine finally broke free from my arms. "He's going home too," Katherine answered. But the pleading way in which she looked at me, made her words sound more like a desperate plea to me than a response to anything Willy had said. "Hey, Kathy, I actually will go straight home right away!" "I hope you will, Sean." "Tell me: you cannot honestly believe that there is somebody else waiting for me out here somewhere?" "How would I know?"

"Come on! How could that be? Can you really imagine a girl sitting out there, just waiting all night for me to return to her after I said goodbye to you?" "These things do happen, don't they?" "We will have to learn and trust each other, girl!" I felt desperate. While I watched Katherine and Willy mount their bikes and leave, I wondered what could be the reason she did not trust me nor believe anything I said? Past experiences probably, I concluded again. But then, everybody gets a broken heart every now and then. You normally don't stop trusting all people because at one time in your life somebody cheats on you. Education then? Or was it the image she had of me? And why was this image so negative? My behaviour during the past weeks? Willy's stories? Maybe. But maybe she was just suppressing the thought of a possible infidelity from her own side: how could I ever suspect her of flirting with others behind my back, when she did not stop repeating how scared she was of losing me? Pooch, just listen to me: paranoia must be contagious! On my way home, I just couldn't stop worrying about Katherine's strange behaviour.

The longer I thought about it, the more

confused I became. When she arrived at the Caspuciero, why hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t she come to me straight? And later, when she came back

from the bathroom: why did she go to the dance floor alone? And why hadn't she said she loved me? In school, we read 'Animal Farm'. Whenever a problem arose, the horse in the story always said 'I must work harder!' Maybe I too would have to work harder to resolve Katherine's suspicion and convince her of the sincerity of my feelings?

Chapter 3 "Hitchin "a Ride" (Vanity Fare)

Two days later, was my 17th birthday. But more importantly, that day the class moved to another classroom. Katherine chose to sit at the table next to mine, or was it the other way around? Usually I would always make sure to have a place at one of the back rows in the classroom, but this time I found myself sitting next to her at the second row. I didn't regret my choice one single minute. During the lessons we communicated through Katherine's makeup mirror and at the schoolyard we had a great time together with Udo and Roger. Roger invited me to go with him to the fair at his village that evening. By the time we arrived, the local dancing hall and all bars were chock-a-block. The weather was exceptionally mild for the season and everybody was in a great mood. We travelled from one cafĂŠ to another and drank a glass everywhere. Finally we arrived at the local club "Las Vegas". Roger was well-known there, so we found ourselves seated in no time with a jolly lot around a table full of beers. We drank and laughed and danced and the hours flew by.

I had intended to dance only to the fast beat songs. You solo dance on them, so there is no room for misunderstandings. When the rhythm suddenly changed and a kiss dance started, Sonia, one of the girls from 'our' group, grabbed me before I could leave the dance floor. Not a problem, I thought: three kisses and I'm away. No problem. Unless, of course, if sweet Sonia had put her mind on something totally different. So, when her third little peck turned into a French kiss, she completely took me by surprise. While kissing her deeply amid the slowly revolving wheel of dancers, I couldn't help noticing that she was a very dynamic, beautiful girl. Really, what did I stand to lose? I thought, while my hands slid down her thighs. Saturday night's glitches suddenly took the shape of big, dark clouds looming over my fresh relationship with Katherine. If everything was this difficult right from the start, then what was I to expect in the future? The lack of trust on her behalf predicted little good and then there had been this strange observation: Whether I preferred her naked? Sonia pressed her pelvis against mine. I pulled her closer to me with my hands on the curve of her buttocks. We paused and looked at each other as if to better assess the situation. Her long, dark wavy hair cascaded down along her smiling face. Two brown eyes looked at me with amusement. Vibrant with life! I registered: pure energy! I bent over towards

her, kissed her again and slid my hand along the sides of her breasts. Sonia just kept kissing me. With half of me enjoying the situation, my other half was still weighing the pros and cons: "Katherine is a big problem." the devil whispered in my ear: "Too complicated. Too frustrated. Too distrusting. Just compare today with Saturday!" However, the intended effect was lost just because of the twodimensionality of the Devil's arguments. OK. This was fun uncomplicated, ego-stroking fun. And therefore exactly the kind of situation that had never before succeeded in making me feel really happy or proud. At the risk of judging Sonia too quickly, I feared that what she was offering was not what I needed. I dreamed of something deeper, something more serious, something with more content - and less easy. Somehow, I guessed that there was a much better chance of finding in Katherine what I wanted for myself, than of finding it in Sonia. OK, Katherine's behaviour last Saturday had been thought provoking. But at school, there had not been the faintest trace of all this distrust and confusion: she had shown from day one that she was confident, witty, intelligent and humorous. She would learn to trust me over time. Surely, she would loosen up soon enough. How Katherine felt, what she liked or did not like, had become important to me from the very first moment we met. Whereas, when it came to Sonia: as long as we enjoyed ourselves, this could be fun. But in my heart, I did not

care for what Sonia felt or wanted. And as for moments like this: moments better than this were definitely waiting for Katherine and me! Despite my very conscious choice for Katherine, I was too weak to turn my back on Sonia and walk away from what promised to be a great evening. Moments later we dropped down beside each other on a bench in a dark corner. Dark in the Las Vegas really should be interpreted as such: it was pitch dark in the fended corner, especially after I blew out the little candle on the table. I quickly grew more enterprising and slid one hand under Sonia's short top. Her belly was soft as velvet. I moved up towards her breasts, caressed them, then moved both hands to her back and opened her bra. She started breathing real deep when I moved my hands to the front again and gently started fondling her breasts and nipples. I noticed she tried to kiss me and moved my head to accommodate her. Sonia had slipped deeper into the seat, and I was lying almost on top of her, with very little room to move. While kissing, she managed to raise herself until she was leaning on one elbow and regain some control over one hand. "Do you have a car?" she asked, putting her hand high on my leg. I gasped in surprise. She responded playfully by gently squeezing my inner thigh. A car? My kingdom for a car! Of course I had no car!

"Come with me," I whispered, "we will find something". But she just looked around, rolled back on her back, pulled me on top of her and opened her legs. Half kneeling between her legs, half lying on top of her I kissed her again and then I sank down until my head rested between her breasts. I kissed her breast through the thin fabric of her top, then slipped even lower and kissed her bare belly and slowly made my way up to her breasts again, pulling her top up as I progressed. A girl in the seat next to us was moaning softly. "Come!" I repeated my invitation, struggling to get to my feet. Sonia slowly rose from the bench, hooked her bra, quickly ran a hand through her hair, straightened her clothes and looked at me. "Wait," she said, "let's first recover a little bit." I got us two beers and sat down beside her. "Where do you live?" she wanted to know. "Where do you work?" The music in the club was too loud for a normal conversation. Sonia sat on my lap and talked straight into my ear. I discovered that she was two years older than I and was working as an assistant bookkeeper at a local company. I told her about school. Somehow, almost every sentence that popped up in my mind seemed to either start or finish with Katherine's name. How could I be so foolish? What in gods name was I doing? How would I feel about myself tomorrow? I sat back.

Sonia felt that something was bothering me. "What's the matter?" she cried into my ear. But by then the question had become totally redundant: Everything was wrong. I had had enough. I was angry at myself. I had no answers, no explanations, and no excuses to defend myself. Apparently she interpreted my sudden change of mood differently, because she moved her soft hands under my shirt and ran them up and down my chest. But it was definitely too late. The spell was over. The prince had left the stage and the fairytale had turned into a horror story. I straightened myself and smiled bitterly back at Sonia's happy face, then wrapped my arms around her and gently kissed her cheek: "Sorry, but I must leave now." I was on the verge of tears. Sonia was stunned. First, she stared at me without understanding what was going on, but then the frown in her eyebrows ceded for twinkles in her eyes: "You are in love!" I nodded guilty. She rose from my lap and smiled down at me. I could barely succeed to look back at her laughing face. "Don't forget my address!" she smiled, "maybe I will still be available when this infatuation of yours is over!" To my surprise, she took no offence. Instead, she took my head between her hands and kissed me tenderly. "Let's join the others" she said.

Luckily, 'the others' were still hanging around. Roger looked at us with unhidden surprise, but though I noticed he was curious to find out what had happened, he said nothing. "Come on, boy," I smiled at him, "We'd better leave now." "What's the hurry?" He smiled back and handed me a glass of beer. I brought the glass to my lips and emptied it in one gulp. "No time now. I’ll explain everything to you later. Let's hurry, my man!" Still searching for answers, he looked from me to Sonia, investigating. There was nothing he could deduce from her behaviour - she looked carefree enough. The way she sat there next to one of the other girls, one could have sworn that the two of them had been enjoying themselves all evening long. "I'm ready!" Five minutes later, after we arrived in a somewhat calmer bar, Roger tried to find out why I was in such a hurry to leave the previous club. "Forget it, will you?" I begged.

And when he

inquired again, I started singing: "Five meters further, there's another café! Hola-di-hola-di-hay!” Then he finally understood and insisted no more. The rest of the evening we had a great time together, but when I found myself in bed later that night, half-drunk, I felt deeply

ashamed. Where had I been with my thoughts? What had I done? What if Katherine found out? God knows who had seen me with Sonia! But even if nobody had seen us: how could I reconcile my behaviour with the depth of my feelings for Katherine? I had betrayed everything that I had thought, felt or said these past few weeks! One opportunity had been enough to make me forget all my holy vows and principles. Love? Trust? Honesty? Respect? It all turned out to be one big joke. A hoax with myself as some jester playing the most dubious role! I woke up with a terrible headache the next morning. By that time, I had decided that the entire incident never really happened. I arrived at school with an air of faked joy and false innocence. "Do you have your homework triangular, Kate?" "Yes, I do, but that doesn't mean you do, or does it? "Give up, please. I need to copy yours. Is it a lot?" "A page and a half. It will take a man like you less than ten minutes." Of course she handed me the homework just ten minutes before the bell rang. In order to finish it in time, I skipped one exercise, which left me a couple of minutes to tease her. Oh, how wonderful these moments together with Katherine! I felt as though the only reason for coming to school was to be with her.

Seeing her equally happy and eager to spend every possible second with me, doubled my happiness. The memory of the escapade the night before was still lingering in the back of my head though, but only like the vague recollection of a storm that had blown over without causing any damage. At first, I considered confessing everything to Katherine. But almost immediately, I rejected the idea and made up my mind that it was better to sweep the whole incident under the carpet. Why would I put our love and happiness at risk? Sure, I was disgusted with myself, but anyone who saw me walk down the hall to the classroom with Katherine, would have been unable to notice that something was bothering me. Later that morning, however, during a boring math period, I started pondering again: how was it possible to be in love this deeply with Katherine, to constantly feel myself flowing over with love and affection for her, to always want her near me, and yet to be able to cheat on her at the first opportunity? What was wrong with me? Rationalizing everything, I put the blame on my age, on the freshness of our relationship and all the fragility and uncertainties that it entailed. Flirting was the best way to get to know other girls, right? Perhaps it was even possible to love two people at the same time? But then, I did not love Sonia! Suddenly, I noticed that

Katherine was looking at me through her mirror. Her eyes were yelling at me: "What-the-heck-are-you-doing?" Shit! I had to take damn good care not to betray myself! I instantly focused all my attention on Katherine and made her the centre of all my attention. And that is what she stayed: the centre of all my attention and affection. We exchanged little notes and funny sketches, secretly threw paper pellets at each other and mostly forgot about the 'man or woman in the front' and the whole class around us. During the short breaks in between classes, we talked almost exclusively to one another. During recreation periods, we left the classroom together and remained inseparable at the schoolyard until it was time to return to the classroom. Even then we would walk back together. Sometimes a teacher would not show up or I would forget a textbook at home. This allowed me to share a table with Katherine. We secretly stroke each other's hands and back, moved as closely against one other as possible and pressed our legs against each other. More often we did not need a pretext to sit together as we soon found out which teachers would object and which would not. Katherine proved to be less squeamish than I had feared that first Saturday. Still, soon enough her feelings and desires conflicted

with her standards of decency and she found herself struggling with the definition of what was possible within the boundaries of decorum and what not. Defining bounds of propriety in plain words was totally new to me. At age 15 or 16, I had never felt the need to discuss this issue with a girl. What was deemed decent may have varied from one girl to another and from one situation to another, but until recently it was clearly understood that having sex was out of the question. Recently, however, I had found myself in different situations a few times, when only accidental circumstances had stopped me from moving beyond the safe confines of childhood. Watching Katherine struggle with the definitions of what was acceptable and what not, was a new, strange and confusing experience for me: how rigid were these agreements that we were now forging? Would shifting the borders that we now drew require a new negotiation or were we agreeing to starting points that were supposed to fluently adapt in an evolving environment? Of course, a matter like this is not supposed to be a problem. I turned it into one for myself because I failed to understand the true meaning of our words and mutual pledges. Words were important to me, even though my silly whims were not exactly renowned for their high level of accuracy. Still more than words, promises were sacred to me.

On the other hand, contrary to Katherine, I was extremely open in proclaiming my thoughts and feelings and in testing out a less conventional approach during conversations. Katherine was totally different in this regard: she handled information very carefully. Every piece of information seemed to be ruled by regulations I was totally unaware of and which somehow determined who was to be informed about which part of the information, and when. It always struck me that I couldn't get a hold on the way she handled information and I felt increasingly insecure about what I was expected to reveal, to whom and when - and what not. On top of this there was another problem causing even more friction: I was quick to question the validity and usefulness of orders and arguments and to make fun of them. It wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t long before Katherine accused me of acting as if life was one big joke and complained that I was continuously insulting everybody. At first I simply laughed away her remarks, claiming that she was my girlfriend and as such should support me, not educate me. Why should I allow the sign 'Forbidden to walk on the grass' to keep me from walking on the grass? Katherine didn't agree: rules were necessary to prevent society from turning to chaos and there simply was no excuse for insulting or ridiculing people. What really caused the bucket to overflow was when my impudence referred to herself. If I called another girl 'my baby' or 'my angel', she was deeply hurt because such words felt as a

personal attack against her. Katherine was tall and slim. One Saturday morning, I laughingly referred to her as 'my big phantom'. Instantly her expression hardened. The way she looked at me, made it very clear that I had done something wrong. Katherine did not say a thing until we were alone. In fact, she was remarkably silent until we walked through town a couple of hours later. Suddenly she blamed me for repeatedly holding her up to mockery. "You say you love me, but meanwhile you never stop humiliating me and deriving great pleasure from nagging me! Also, how do you think it makes me feel when you demonstrate your dislike for Willy at the most odd moments? He's my brother, you know!" What could I say? She was right! How could I have been this blind? I felt really small and apologized for all the pain and grief I had caused. Katherine wasn't impressed at all. "No need to pretend now. I don't like hypocrites!" She sneered. Gone was all the happiness of these past days. Gone was the hope of sharing a beautiful time together with Katherine. As happy as I had felt only hours before, just as sad and miserable I felt at that moment. I misbehaved, there is no doubt about that. Katherine had all the right to be angry with me. But something else was even more disturbing: the knowledge that this was how I was. When I felt happy, laughter and jokes bubbled up in me; spontaneous expressions of good-feeling that exploded into the air uncensored.

Katherine hit the nail on the head when she added that she didn't like hypocrites: unless I pretended to be different from how I really was - or drastically changed, I risked losing the love and friendship of the person that was dearest to me in the whole world. My heart was in my boots, because I realised how terribly hopeless the situation was. Even if I tried to adapt, I was likely to make a lot more mistakes. I briefly considered asking her to be patient with me and help me change, but almost immediately discarded the idea because I was convinced she would not understand. Was there any purpose in going to the Caspuciero that night? I wasn't even certain that she would show up! Wasn't everything pointless? After all, what was the point in trying to keep Katherine if it meant that I had to lose myself to it? At the same time, however, I knew I had to change.

Maybe the problem had

surfaced very quickly now, but if I lost Katherine, I would fall in love with somebody else after some time, and the problem would sooner or later pop up again, because this I knew: Katherine was right. I was a boorish crude lout most of the time. I had to change! At seven that evening, I was still not certain whether I would go to my appointment with Katherine or not. Staying at home and spend the evening pitying myself did not seem like a valuable alternative either. Finally, I decided to visit Danny.

Danny was supposedly my best friend: we had been attending the same schools for many years and these last couple of years, I had spent more evenings at his home than at mine. I also owed him eternal gratitude because of Marlene, a friend of relatives of him, with whom I had fallen in love two years ago. We had been dating for four beautiful months. The past school year, however, I had completely neglected Danny. I was lucky to find him at home. He welcomed me as if it had only been a couple of days since my last visit.. While we listened to some music, I told him about the messy situation I was in. He immediately came up with an excellent idea: why not go to town together? If Katherine was at the Caspuciero, he'd take care of himself and if not, we could make the best of the evening together. After an argument between him and his father because he was not allowed to use the car for our night out, we left for town: me, sitting in the back of the car and him sulking behind the wheel, with his very indignant father next to him. It was half past eight when we finally arrived at the Caspuciero. We rushed inside. I ordered beers and then we went looking for my sweetheart. We didn't find her at the usual place. Suddenly I felt my heart shrink to the size of a dried out pea when I noticed Katherine on the dance floor, dancing a slow dance with some unknown asshole.

The moment she too noticed me, she

apologized to her dance partner, left him behind in the middle of the floor, ran over to me and threw her arms around my neck: "Oh, Sean, I was so afraid you wouldn't show up!" "And I thought you wouldn't!" Katherine glanced at Danny and pulled me over to the dance floor. The remaining part of the slow dance that she had just interrupted, signalled the beginning of a booming period of our relationship. The recent altercation had set both of us thinking about what we needed and wanted at this stage of our lives, and we had reached very similar conclusions. From that time on and for a long time after that, every day was as perfect and beautiful as it could possibly be. We shared an euphoric dream that became deeper and deeper all the time. Most of our together time, of course, was shared at school. Teachers commented every now and then that we were too close and paying more attention to each another than to the lessons, but we just couldn't get enough of each other and even Katherine laughed at the teachers' warnings. She was more carefree than ever before. We also continued meeting every Saturday night at the Caspuciero and enjoyed every second of it. Yet something had changed.

I was cautious. Afraid of hurting her, I chew each word ten times before allowing it to leave my mouth. At times, I still felt tempted to react sarcastically when a teacher reprimanded us, but the longer we were together, the easier it became to keep my craze under control. There was a downside though: very soon we only seemed to have heavy conversations and our relationship grew way too serious. Actually we exaggerated and behaved too serious and obedient for our age. In an attempt to prove my love and maturity however, all I thought about was showing Katherine that I was a caring and trustworthy partner and that I truly and madly loved her. "Isn't it rather awkward to date somebody from your class?" "Awkward? Hardly. I don't think of you as 'somebody from my class' and even then, last year I've been dating Rita for a couple of months. As you know, we are still good friends. It's really never been a problem to me. How about you?" "To tell you the truth, at the beginning I was afraid that the other students would laugh at us. Also, I had expected a much stronger reaction from the teachers. You won't hear me complain now: everything turned out so much better than I could possibly dream." "You know, I have never even considered the teachers' reactions. We are seventeen! They just don't have the right to interfere with

our private lives. I don't blame them for occasionally addressing us when they feel we don't pay enough attention to their classes. But ultimately, as long as we don't disturb the lessons, what we do with the rest of our lives is really our private business, isn't it? And as for the students? Ah, everyone wants a girlfriend or boyfriend. Some will surely be jealous of us. But what can they do?" Katherine and I both felt really happy with the way this school was run.

Both of us attended other schools in the past and

remembered all too well how different pupils were treated there. Here, we are seen as responsible young adults; not as little ignorant children who were only expected to be silent and obedient; to constantly walk in rows; who were not allowed to talk in the corridors; nor to smoke or date and had to wear uniforms at all times in order to look as much alike as possible. Less than two days after our common praise of the school and the teachers, the exception which always proves the rule emerged in the form of our deeply beloved Mr Pupula, also known as 'The Owl'. Every week he bored us with what seemed like the longest hour of the week, though officially it was called 'the history lesson'. I loved history. Always have and always will, but this man had a very special way of teaching: after greeting us, he would turn to the blackboard and start writing. We were expected to diligently and quietly copy everything he wrote to the blackboard in our textbooks.

There wasn't anything more to his lesson.

I had

known him since the previous year and developed my own coping strategy: In stead of a notebook, I had a folder for history, to which I added a photocopy of Rita's notes every week. This must have been the one habit that was left after our brief romance during the previous school year. But it was well worth keeping, because nobody I knew had a more beautiful handwriting than Rita. Now, the bad thing was that the Owl also knew me. And with owls, old prejudices die hard. Moreover, I had told him before how I felt about his way of teaching. He was therefore convinced - and I must confess: not entirely without reason - that both of us had a very different opinion about the True Nature of the Good Teacher. Since I was bored in his class, I spent most of my time whispering to Katherine. That day, after completing his second blackboard of chalked history, he suddenly turned to me: I was the bad apple in the classroom; I ruined the atmosphere for everybody; I only came to school because of the freedom I enjoyed there, all that I was interested in at school, were girls ... There really was no end to his raving. If his intention was to provoke me, he was going to be very disappointed: I did not have the least intention to respond to any of his accusations and quietly faced him with an amused smile on

my lips.

Unfortunately, Katherine happened to be in a very

cheerful mood that day and suddenly burst out laughing when he called me a 'pompous fool'. Furious, he turned away from me and took a step towards Katherine. Ouch! He shouldn't do that! Because he needed a moment of reflection before switching from one charade to another, I had ample opportunity to intervene. I rose from my chair and pointed a menacing finger in his direction. "Sir, I just asked Katherine to help me decipher a word on the blackboard that I could not read. How can this be enough reason for you to start insulting me like this?" I noticed his confusion, so I didn't leave him time to recover and reproached him he had no right to hurl the wildest accusations and insults at me. After all, I had every right to suspect him of exactly the same motives, which was worse because he was married....

By then, most of the pupils were

laughing, which provided extra fuel to my fire. So I returned to my favourite subject and claimed that it was no wonder that we were talking during his class, since instead of teaching us anything, all he did was writing gibberish at the blackboard. My sudden reaction had achieved its objective: by the time I finished, he had completely forgotten about Katherine. The worst part for him was that he had no defence against my allegations. After screaming that I had to "shut up and sit down" he returned

to the blackboard, wiped it clean and started to write more. I could not help noticing that his hands were shaking. Even if we never liked each other very much before, from that day on, it was clear that he considered me the most wanted criminal in the country. During the next class he tried to take revenge. I got punished because I was talking behind his back again, but Udo covered me, saying that he was wrong and that in reality, I did not speak at all, but that he had asked permission to use one of my ball-point pens because his was empty. Udo's intervention postponed the execution until the following lesson.

Again I was punished for disturbing the class.

punishment was to write a 20 pages essay about World War One. Well, I gave him a war right away because I had just about had it with his little games. Of course, I had been speaking. Yet I calmly said he was wrong again and that if he continued punishing me for things that I had not done, I would complain with the school principal and ask the pupils to testify against him, because after three false accusations, it was clear to everybody that he was just searching faults where none existed in order to discredit and discourage me. He was clearly more afraid of the principal than I was, because again the incident melt down like a storm in a teacup.

The classmates enjoyed these repeated confrontations, yet I did not provoke them. I knew there was nothing for me to gain. Only, the Owl obviously thought I was the reason behind everything that went wrong in class. So the incidents continued for some time, randomly appearing like small eddies in moving water, but fortunately also quickly dissolving again. However, each time again at the delight of the class. A few weeks later, whether or not coincidently right after another argument with the Owl about the way in which Katherine and I behaved in the classroom, Katherine asked me not to touch her anymore during class. "Oops! What's the matter, Kate, something wrong?" "Don't be angry with me, Sean. You must have noticed that most teachers can't even walk by normally when they have to go past us? Something is brewing, and it's not a good thing! Unless we comply with their rules, we'll soon suffer a joint action from them!" "Should we bother? There will be plenty of time to determine how to react once they start warning us!" "No! We must be more cautious, Sean. I cannot imagine being suspended or fail a test just because they don't like the way I behave."

"Here, at this school?" "Yes. There are enough teachers that are not amused with your big mouth." "My big mouth? I thought I was behaving so well these past few weeks!" "Sean?" "Hmmm?" "Just do it for my sake, will you? You do love me, don't you?" To prove my love, I gave her a big hug and then refrained from touching her at school. To my surprise, Katherine forgot about the whole matter in no time. Soon she snuggled against me in the classroom again and started fondling me as if nothing ever happened. Hmm ... So this was how she dealt with agreements? I could learn from her. The rapid dilution of this agreement inspired me to also question some earlier agreements. Meanwhile, October was already well on its way. The trees started losing their first leaves and the school was operating at normal speed, with the first midterm tests approaching. One afternoon, Roger told me that Sonia wanted a word with me after school at the town's railroad station. Katherine just returned

from the bathroom and noticed that we stopped talking when she arrived. She looked at the both of us quizzically.

I told her

truthfully that 'some old girlfriend' wanted to see me. I thought Katherine would want to know more about the situation and be curious to find out whether I intended to meet the girl, but to my surprise she just shrugged and changed the subject. After leaving Katherine that afternoon, I yielded to my own curiosity and drove to the railway station, where I bought a packet of fries and ducked into a pub from where I had a good view of the square. A few moments later Sonia arrived at the spot, accompanied by a friend. She wore a tight coat and a short connecting pleat skirt. Her dark nylons combined beautifully with her long dark hair. For a while the girls talked cheerfully with each other, while occasionally roaming the square.

At one point, Sonia looked

straight in my direction. Terrified, I pulled back, fearing that she had noticed me. However, Roger must have drawn her attention: he entered the square, rode up to them and parked his moped, after which they exchanged a welcome kiss. Even from this distance, his body language was clear enough: he was explaining to the girls that I was not interested. After a short deliberation, the three of them walked to the Queen, a youth pub, on the other side of the square. I noticed that Roger had slipped his arm around the waist of Sonia's friend.

After they disappeared into the pub, I gave a sigh of relief. I still had mixed feelings about the situation: what was I doing here, hiding in a pub, in the first place?

Had I required personal

confirmation that Sonia was attracted to me?

What was the

practical value or use of what I was doing? On the other hand, I felt happy with my decision. I had once more confirmed my choice for Katherine. But then - why would I need to confirm my choice? The following day, Katherine arrived at school in a bad mood. From the moment she arrived, it was clear that something was very wrong. "Problems at home, Kate?" "At home? Noooo ..." "Something is bothering you." "Oh, nothing important." Still, the rest of the morning she kept pouting. I begged her to allow me to support her, but she did not want my help. However, nothing amused her at all and whenever she was not diligently taking notes, she stared straight ahead. Whatever she did, she most certainly did not take notice of my presence. After a while, I started feeling really bad. I waited until we were on the schoolyard and then tried a different approach.

"If nothing is wrong, why donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you act normal? It gives me the creeps to see you sad and not being able to know what is the matter with you. Also, why are you avoiding me in the classroom?" She looked in my direction, but she might as well have looked right through me. No word, no smile, nothing. "Katie, if something is upsetting you, I want to know what it is!" I was convinced that there was only one possible explanation for her behaviour: I was the problem! Did somebody see me at the railroad station the day before? Still, I had done nothing wrong and I was pretty certain that Roger wouldn't talk to Katherine about Sonia. The previous afternoon, when we said goodbye at our usual postschool meeting place, she had been so sweet, so much in love with me and today ... What could cause such a drastic and abrupt change? Willy, her parents .... Home was the only places she had been since she last saw me. But then, why did she refuse to talk to me? Katherine was still gazing into the depths of the universe. Impatiently, I said: "If nothing is the matter, than it's about time you turn the sound on again!" She looked at me as if she only noticed my presence now. I could see my tone had frightened her.

Yeap! I thought, now I will get the inevitable message: Let's remain good friends, blah, blah, blah... I was convinced that I was a candidate for the sack. But why? In heaven's name, why? Katherine kept staring at me. I was staring back at her. Ah, these oceans of eyes ... how often had I happily lost myself into them? Now they just looked empty and cold. Mine, I was sure, were looking worried, puzzled, angry, scared ... ah, did it matter how they looked? I turned my gaze away from her with tears burning in my eyes, bitterly thinking that her mother would probably look at her father in the exact same way as she was now looking at me whenever there was a problem between them. "Smart-ass!" Katherine's face suddenly broke open into a radiant smile. Whenever she called me 'smart-ass', I knew all was well between us. 'Smart-ass' may not sound as an explanation, but it was nevertheless the ultimate confirmation of her love for me. In the afternoon everything was indeed O.K. again and when we arrived at our usual goodbye-spot after school, she suddenly threw herself at me, slid her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear: "I don't ever want to lose you, Sean! Never!"

But on the way home, I couldn't help feeling sad and confused. So it was hunky dory in the short run, but I had this bitter premonition of moments like this returning in the humpty dumpy future. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea after all to dismiss Sonia out of hand?

Chapter 4 "Teach Your Children" (Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young)

You know, actually I have very good parents. They are perhaps too conservative and if anything much too attached to the One and Only True Roman Catholic Faith, but also - and exactly because of their faith - they do try to live as correctly as possible and to make everyone as happy as they possibly can. When a catholic couple is obedient to the old motto "Go and multiply" and take to heart the directives of The Holy See, included devoting all contraceptives from their life, chances are that Mother Nature will sooner or later bless with a numerous offspring. That is what happened in previous generations and to my parents as well. Under normal conditions, my father had to provide for his spouse and seven children. Yet, with mother, 'normal conditions' had a tendency of never being 'normal' for very long. Our front door was always open for anybody. That is, unless 'anybody' included girlfriends of mine. Besides feeding the seven of us, my mother also regularly provided a meal for the two children of a poor widow who lived a few doors further down the road. She also

spent two days a week cleaning her parents' house and had the very bad habit of being unable to refuse a loan to her handicapped cousin whenever he needed money. Money which she knew in advance would never be repaid. Our family was not what you would call wealthy. Father had worked odd jobs until he finally, at nearly forty years of age, succeeded in getting a diploma through self study and soon afterward had been appointed at a bank. Until then, he had always been afraid of losing his job and had therefore reimbursed the mortgage for the house in eight years instead of the usual twenty. Since he started working at the bank, we started to reap the benefits of his efforts, but until then life had never been easy for us. Still now, my parents considered austerity a virtue. My weekly allowance did not even cover what I spent on cigarettes alone during a few days. With mother's busy schedule, it sometimes took weeks before a torn button was replaced and, since she always wanted to be present when we bought new clothes, replacing a worn-out jacket or a pair of shoes or trousers usually took even longer. Always keen on a good bargain, mother surprised us every now and then with the strangest purchases: mostly clothes of excellent quality, but with a pre-war design. Sometimes the clothes she

brought home would really endear us, but unfortunately, at other times they were just not wearable. Mid-October, mother welcomed me with the good news that she had bought me a new winter coat. One glance at the coat was enough to see this was something I couldn't wear without making myself look ridiculous. I expressed my disappointment, repeated that I wanted to buy my own cloths, threw the jacket in a corner and went upstairs 'to study'. About an hour later my father came to my room. After looking around, he collected some scattered newspapers and stockings from the floor, put them on the bed and then said: "Sean, do you have any idea how much you hurt your mother?" "Yes, dad, I guess I do." I had long learned that exchanging views with my dad was at best not very helpful and mostly ended in pure disaster. So, I always agreed with him. But nothing I ever promised him, committed me in any way. With this kind of introduction, I had every reason of expecting one of his boring, endless lectures on moral with examples of selfsacrificing sons who stopped their studies at ages as early as 14 years in order to help their parents support the family. Often he would back his vision with the writings of one of his personal

childhood heroes, mostly Cardinal Cardijn or

Headmaster

Ghislain, both of whom lived about a century before. However, this time was different. After he confronted me with the fact that I neglected all responsibilities in the household and that he sometimes wondered whether I was still living under the same roof as the rest of the family, since he almost never saw me downstairs, his sermon suddenly took a rather novel and unexpected twist: "Do you like Katherine?" I smelled trouble. Coming from him, the directness of the question itself was so totally uncommon, that I decided to play a little waiting game. "Dad, I became 17 last month. I am not sure how to answer your question." He insisted: "Imagine being six years older. Is she the kind of person you would consider marrying? "I honestly don't know dad. The world is moving so fast at my age. There are so many girls out there. Six years from now, Katherine will probably just be a vague memory and in the mean time I may have met a number of girls more suitable than

Katherine. Also, I want to see a few corners of the world before even starting to think about marrying!" Father paused, sucked thoughtfully at his cigarette, and tried another approach: "What is her father's profession? What's her mother's maiden name? Where do they live? ...." What annoyed me most of all was that my repeated "I don't know" wasn't even a lie. The more he asked, the clearer it became to me that I knew almost nothing about Katherine's life. The conclusion my father made, namely that things apparently were not very serious yet, echoed like a giant reproach inside of me. Did I really need my father to teach me how to show a little more interest in the person I loved? What possible excuse could I have for such a total lack of initiative? How selfish must I be to know so little about Katherine after all these weeks of spending seven hours or more per day with her? "But even then," said father, "would you tolerate anybody badgering Katherine until she came running to you crying? What would you do if somebody hurt her?" All the time I kept wondering what my father was driving at, but now my penny dropped. For a moment I had thought that he was really interested in my life or that somehow he thought that he

knew Katherine's parents and simply wanted to find out. But now everything was clear. I looked at him, annoyed because he had immediately assumed that I had been ragging mom, whereas I was sure I had not offended her in any way. After all, I just said that I wanted to be responsible for choosing my own clothes. I knew however, that mother's tears automatically rendered all defences meaningless. So I replied gruffly: “I would slap him.” “That's exactly what I intended to do.” Oh … interesting. I leant back and looked at him intently, very well knowing that what he just said was only a figure of speech. Yet,

was

surprised

his

choice

words

and

straightforwardness, though I guessed he was just as surprised as I was. For a moment, the thought of accepting the challenge by answering something like “And how would you do that?” crossed my mind. But the very idea was so absurd that I limited myself to sighing “Yeah!” after which I continued reading 'The Pearl'. My dad left the room without saying another word. Moments later, however, he returned and put a packet of cigarettes on my desk (just when I was trying to stop smoking to please Katherine.) Somehow, the gesture caused a miracle: we started our first real conversation in a long time and talked about raising children,

work, money and love. And although neither of us had too many illusions about the usefulness of the arguments we now so carefully and respectfully selected and formulated, at least we had a pleasant conversation. The next morning I discovered that my father too must have appreciated the conversation: next to the cigarette packet I found a short note with a banknote wrapped in it. 'For lunch with Katherine', the note read. Jesus! This much money surely had to last longer than a lunch hour! A couple of hours later, when I told Katherine about it, she answered she was jealous of my parents. She was so afraid of how her parents might react, that she didn't even dare to tell them she had a boyfriend. “What is the worst thing that could happen?” I smiled. But to Katherine, this was no laughing matter: “I would be grounded for sure and I even doubt that they would allow me to return to school if they knew that we attended the same class.” “Fear is a bad counsellor.

You are seventeen after all, why

shouldn't you have a boyfriend? I am sure things are not as bad as you think they are!” I argued, but Katherine did not agree. Inspired by my father's questions from the night before, we changed the subject and talked a little about our parents and

relatives. Somehow, the conversation felt like a huge step towards each other. One I had to thank my father for!

Chapter 5 "Where do I start to tell the story of how great a love can be?" (Erich Segal)

For the following weekend, we had agreed to pay a visit to the Wieze Beer Festival. This was the first time that we would meet outside the Caspuciero during the weekend. I really looked forward to it. Katherine said she would bring along a newly married aunt, which also thrilled me. Unfortunately, Wieze is about fifteen km from my place and, of course, the weather was excellent: raffles of rain and hail, embellished with a strong, cold wind that seemed to blow right through my jacket. The prospect of arriving soaking wet and frozen in Wieze, wasn't very attractive. I weighed my alternatives, but I did not have much of a choice: Wieze is a small village without railroad connection and even travelling by bus implied changing busses twice and losing lots of time. Hoping that Danny would like a good old Beer Fest, I drove over to him. Unfortunately, a major athletic contest was scheduled to take place the next day and he didn't want to appear at the start line with a hangover. I recalled him he had scored his best results

after a night out, but this time my arguments could not make him change his mind. Fortunately, he was so kind to offer that he would drive me to Wieze and, should it be necessary, pick me up later. 'Kind?' I said? 'Generous?' Of course I agreed immediately. That's when Danny came up with the second part of his proposal: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wieze and back, that's about thirty km! You will have to pay me for driving you, of course" I wasn't sure whether he was serious about making me pay for the drive. Maybe it was intended as a joke. However, his mother jumped at the idea and decided that, since petrol was not free, neither

could

the

ride

be:

had

pay.

I suddenly felt cold as ice. â&#x20AC;&#x153;For nearly two years, I have been helping you guys once a week to post advertising brochures. Have I ever charged you anything?â&#x20AC;? To no avail though: apparently the family was in dire streets, because only after I had paid my taxi fee Danny got the car out to drive me to Wieze. It was silent in the car. All the way, I was busy plotting my revenge: No more posting of advertising pamphlets! If he needed my record player or records for a party, he would have to pay for them as well! And he could totally forget about us ever going out together again!

When we arrived at the meeting point, the church of Wieze, it was still raining cats and dogs. As I was about half an hour early, I decided to wait at a fries stand opposite the church square The smell of fresh fries made me hungry: Since I had skipped lunch, I bought a packet and ate them with fingers trembling with cold. Everybody was hiding from the pouring rain, so there were only a few people in the street. What a disaster for October Beer Fest! I was the only customer in the booth, so I started to chat with the shopkeeper and ordered some extra fries just to while away the time. By then, contrary to her habit, Katherine was late. I understood this kind of weather could cause some delay, but hoped she would not keep me waiting here in the cold much longer. An hour later I was still standing under the roof of the stall. Fortunately, the rain changed to a light drizzle. Despite the shelter of the stall I was pretty wet and completely frozen. At least ten times the past half hour, I had told myself I'd better go to the first pub and hope Katherine would have the same idea when she didn't find me at the church square. I was convinced something unforeseen must have happened, but equally convinced that Katherine eventually would show up, unless she was sick or involved in a road accident. Calling her at home was out of the question, since her parents did not know about us.

"Just five more minutes and then I'll be on my way to defrost at the first pub!" I growled - not for the first time. I watched how another car stopped to drop off some partygoers.

Two girls

jumped out and struggled to open their umbrellas. Once protected against the drizzle, they looked around. It was clear that they were looking for someone.

Finally, they reluctantly came my way.

Even before they entered the tent, I knew: Katherine was delayed and sent them to ask me to wait a little longer! I smiled at the girls and stepped forward to meet them while they hopped under the roof. "Sean?" "Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s me!" "I'm a friend of Katherine's. You know who I'm talking about?" "Of course I do. I've been waiting for her for nearly two hours now!" "She told me you would be. Unfortunately you'll have to wait some more: Willy is not home yet, and she wasn't allowed to come without Willy." "I though she would come with her aunt?" "Yeah, well, whatever: I only know what she told me. W're off! Have a good time!" "Thanks a lot for stopping by. Ciao!"

What could I do? Despite everything, I hoped Willy was only retained by the rain and that the two of them would soon show up. By six o'clock, the rain had completely stopped. It was still very cold though, and the harsh wind was very unpleasant. I went to a pub and bought a glass of beer. Katherine had given me a neighbour's telephone number, just for emergency cases.

decided this was an emergency and phoned her neighbour. There was no reply. I waited a couple of minutes and called again. Obviously, nobody home there! The beer tasted like water. The floor around me was wet from the rain that had been dripping from my hair and clothes; my feet were wet and cold; my trousers were completely soaked and though I had been in the pub for some fifteen minutes now, my hair was still wet as well. I treated myself with a cup of coffee, burned my tongue when sipping too quickly, and then hurried back to the church square. There was still a faint hope that Katherine might have arrived while I was at the pub. No Katherine to be seen though! Surely against all odds, I remained waiting for one more hour. It was already evening and people were arriving in great numbers by bike and by car, but even more by bus. As I walked by the big parking lot at the October hall, I noticed a lot of Belgian buses,

but also many buses from Germany and England, and a couple from France and the Netherlands. Slowly I began to follow the flow of pedestrians. It was a sad walk between the stalls and along the fair attractions. It felt like every single sweetheart couple from all of Europe had descended to this little village and all of them were having the time of their lives. Everyone, except me. I felt sad, down, lonely, and pathetic. I wandered alone among the cooing couples, alone past the happily singing youngsters, alone past the shouting people at the shooting galleries, alone past the pubs where laughing couples walked in and out of the doors ... "Wieze ..." I rarely came across somebody I knew when spending a night in my hometown, Aalst. Here, the chance of bumping into an acquaintance was infinitely smaller. It started drizzling slightly again. I couldn't care less: it even felt as if the weather fitted my mood. What to do? I could call Danny to come and pick me up or I could walk home. But there was still that faint glimmer of hope that Katherine would show up and that we would come across each other by chance. Suddenly I stopped and glanced at a sign board: 'The Waggoner's Rest'. Katherine had mentioned the name when we were planning our weekend. If she made it to the Beer fest, this was the most

likely place to find her! I hesitated for a short moment. But the cold and wet and the fatigue of the long waiting forced my decision. Quenched and listless I stepped inside. If I had hoped to find a table or even a chair to rest, I had to reconsider immediately. All the furniture had been removed from the pub and the room was overcrowded. With some difficulty, I made my way to a corner in the back of the room, where I seated myself at the floor. While slowly drinking my beer and defending it against the pushing and shoving crowd, unable to see much from the low position I was in, I still looked around in the vain hope of spotting Katherine. I'd better return home, I decided. If only I had the energy to get up and walk away! I felt so tired that I remained seated, leaning against the wall with closed eyes. Suddenly I felt someone sitting down next to me. Katherine? But my scrutinizing look was met by a couple of equally investigating dark eyes, belonging to a brown haired girl in a much oversized khaki battle dress, wearing a military cap on her curly hair. "T"es seul toi?" I just nodded yes. "Moi aussi, tu sais ..."

As if I cared! I looked away. Undaunted, she started telling me how she had arrived by bus with a couple of friends, but had lost the gang in the swarming crowd. Hmm, dubious story, I thought, suddenly very aware that my wallet was safely in my inside pocket. "... Mais, cela n'est guĂ¨re une raison pour se sentir malheureuse, quoi?" She was referring to at least just as much of my feelings than to her own state of mind. "Viens, nous allons nous amuser ensemble!" I decided that, since I was still hanging around, I might as well make the best of the situation. Stiff as an old man I got to my feet. She put her hand in mine and set off through the crowd, heading for the door. Gradually, my muscles thawed and I began to feel better. We walked from pub to pub. The first couple of pubs were overcrowded. So, we just made our way in and she looked around for her friends while I secretly looked around too, still hoping to find Katherine. But since none of us found what we were looking for, we immediately left again. Until we arrived at some pubs that were less crowded. Here, we paused and had a drink together before moving to the next pub. Finally, we arrived at a pub where people were dancing. "Dansons!" she extended a hand. Noticing my hesitation, she

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added: "Mais, tout le monde danse!" and almost but pulled me to the centre of the floor. It was strange to dance with her. She was used to dance, that much was obvious: the moment she started dancing, a change came over her. She moved with self-confidence and at the same time very conscious about my movements, adapting effortlessly to them and yet imperceptibly leading the dance. From the first moment, it felt as if I had never danced with anyone but her. I couldn't help thinking I had to be careful not to let her carry me away. I could do without more Sonias haunting my conscience. In hindsight she said little, in fact almost nothing, about herself. But she had this way to bring out everything that was on my mind and to listen attentively to whatever I had to say. I don't doubt though that mine must have been a very tedious story, because all I talked about was Katherine. The whole time I talked about my feelings for Katherine, my hopes, plans, difficulties and concerns regarding Katherine ... and all the time she never interrupted me, just asked more questions and listened to my answers. How long did I know her? How did we meet? How did the teachers react? How often did we meet after school? What were my hobbies and did Katherine have a problem with them? Did our parents know about how we felt about each other? How did our friends react?

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"Elle a de la chance, cette fille", she concluded hours later, rubbing me across the forehead with an almost motherly gesture. When it was time for her to return to the bus, I accompanied her to the parking lot and we said farewell with a friendly kiss. VĂŠronique ... I never knew anything more about her than her first name. Whether she was French or Belgian, still went to school or worked, I didn't know. But I do know that she helped me a lot that night. Really a lot! Once VĂŠronique's bus had left, there was nothing left for me to search for in Wieze. So I walked home. A three hour walk during which there was an occasional drizzle, but fortunately nothing that I could not handle. I smiled at myself: Somehow, I was far from feeling 'malheureux'. Bad luck, I told myself: Just plain and ordinary bad luck. And somewhere, about halfway between Wieze and home, I started to talk to an imaginary Katherine. In English, just like I had been doing for some time after I had fallen in love with an English girl at the hotel last summer, when I had discovered to my amazement that we were taught all the wrong vocabulary at school. It was about three in the morning when I finally arrived home. That had happened before. This time, however, the light was still on in the living room.

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"But boy! Look at you! You are stone cold!" Immediately, mother was at me with a towel. "Get over here, near the fire! Do you want a warm cup of coffee? Must I get you something to eat? Where are you coming from at this time of the night? Katherine has called you three times!" Is there anything better on the whole world than a mother? I hugged her gently and told her about Danny's kindness, the long wait and the long way home. But somehow, I could not bring myself to telling her about my encounter with VĂŠronique. The next morning, a few hours later, I was surprised to wake up all fresh and energized. I hurried to school. Katherine had arrived earlier than usual. She hardly dared to come to me. "All is over between us now, surely?" Her words took me by surprise. I felt like if I had been slapped in the face. They woke unknown devils inside me: what if she had stayed home hoping that I would break off our relationship? God! This wasn't a normal way of thinking anymore, I reproached myself and angry with myself, I pushed the thoughts aside. Katherine had sent her friend to warn me, she had called me three times. I must be out of my mind to think like this! "You, crazy girl!"

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Laughing, I imitated Katherine. The message was clear. Relieved, she explained how bad she had been feeling, how much she had missed me, how afraid she had been that I would be mad at her. In turn, I told her about the lonely hours of waiting and the long walk home. But again, I did not mention VĂŠronique. All of a sudden, Katherine came up with a very unexpected proposal: why not visit her at home on Wednesday afternoon? I could pretend I had forgotten my homework. I could hardly believe my ears. If Wieze had been necessary to achieve this result, then I wouldn't mind repeating the experience every weekend! VĂŠronique suddenly turned into a very distant and vague memory. Visit Katherine at home! Ha! More good things were happening that day: Until then, each day after school I accompanied Katherine on her way home up to a crossing, where we talked a while before each pursuing our own way home. Katherine had already mentioned that the crossing was not ideal for saying goodbye. Some drivers hooted when they drove by while we kissed and there was the risk that neighbours or friends of her parents would notice us. So, she had always felt rather uncomfortable with this habit of ours. On her way home, though, she had noticed a narrow cul-de-sac where we could talk longer and take leave without being hindered by prying eyes. So,

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that Monday we parted in a much more intimate way for the first time. Two days later I took a bath after school and changed clothes. Of course, one can't cheat a mother. So, when mine asked what was going on, I told her about my appointment with Katherine. She smiled and said she hoped we would have a good time together, but also warned me not to forget about my studies and 'to be careful'. I left the house all excited. But just outside town, disaster struck in the form of a punctured rear tire. Fortunately there was a tyre repairman close by and the man was willing to help me immediately. In no time, I was back on the road. But the wheel hardly touched the road or the tire ran flat again. I returned to the tyre shop. I was a little less cheerful this time around. The man looked as surprised as I was and repaired the tire for free. Fifteen minutes later I was back on track. On the flat road, with the wind blowing in my back, the setback was quickly forgotten. But after only five minutes I had the third flat tyre in a row. Clearly, the devil was involved. I was too far now to return to the repair shop and it was too late to return to town, so I continued my way on a flat rear tyre, well aware of the fact that I would totally ruin the tyre this way.

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When the shepherd dog announced my arrival to Katherine, I was happy to find out that Willy was not at home. "Away with the pigeons." Katherine reported with a happy smile. Her schoolbooks were laying all over the table in the living room. Her mother was at home though, busy in the adjacent kitchen. "Mom, it's a boy from school!" Katherine called after we secretly exchanged a quick kiss in the corridor. "Is there a problem?" her mother shouted back from the kitchen.

No, there was no

problem. On the contrary .... Katherine went to the kitchen and explained that I had forgotten which exercises we had to do for homework. If it was OK that we did the homework together? While she was in the kitchen, I looked around. I discovered a book on the table that was filled with math exercises, equations for physics and a variety of exercises of other subjects. Studying them, I realised these were all exercises that we had skipped at school. Katherine studied a lot, this much was clear. In school I had noticed that she was good at most classes. But leafing through her exercise book, it occurred to me that I had to be careful not to get into trouble: my strength had always resided in my involvement in the actual classes. By the time a lesson was over, I would usually know enough about it to get good results at the tests. Usually, only the stuff that required studying by heart might cause some

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problems during exams. Until now, rehearsing the lessons the night before the exam had sufficed, more so because I was not afraid of a little cheating when necessary.

But looking at

Katherine's preparations, I realized that I had not been paying as much attention in class as before and that quite a number of the exercises she had been doing were well beyond my knowledge. Until now, only my backlog in German had alarmed me. The previous year I had automatically assumed that I would grab sufficient German by paying attention during the classes. Yet, in the meantime I was so far behind when it came to the use and declension of cases that I had registered for an evening course. Katherine too followed an evening course. Two nights a week she returned to town in the evening to study French. Unfortunately, the lessons were given on different evenings. When Katherine returned from the kitchen, I told her about my concerns. "What are you doing after school if you're not studying?" was her surprised reaction when I told her that I almost never opened a book at home. "Reading mostly, watching television, spending the evening at Danny's listening to music." She looked at me with big, questioning eyes. We sat opposite each other at the big table, the open books in front of us untouched, the homework forgotten. We had both taken off our shoes and while talking about our pastimes and

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hobbies, our dreams and fears for the future, we caressed each other's legs under the table. When my foot moved too high, Katherine would occasionally giggle foolishly, or she would pinch my foot between her thighs and squeeze. It was obvious that she enjoyed doing homework with me. And so did I. At five o'clock, her mother asked if I wanted to stay for a sandwich. To my surprise, Katherine quickly answered: "We have just finished, Sean is just about to leave." "You will have to eat something anyway, so why not stay and eat with us?" Katherine's mother insisted with a big smile. So I did stay for a sandwich, but it struck me that Katherine behaved very nervously. "So, you are that Sean?" her mother tried to start a conversation. "But mom!" Katherine snapped back with unexpected harshness. I did not understand the intensity of her reaction. "Sean has a flat tire," Katherine added unsolicited, "he must hurry in order to be back in town in time to have his moped repaired." Her behaviour surprised me more every minute. By now, she was looking really tense. Why? There was no reason for me to hurry! I hadn't mentioned anything of the kind. What was going on here? After the lovely afternoon, the quick meal was something of an unexpected anti-climax.

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I was under the impression that

Katherine wanted me out of the house as quickly as possible. After two sandwiches, I thanked her mother and got to my feet. It was obvious that Katherine was relieved to see me go. All the worrying and nervousness disappeared just as quickly as they emerged. "Thank you, my crazy boy!" "What do you mean? What did I do to deserve all this gratitude?" "Hmm!" She winked cheerfully at me. "Nooo, seriously now: Why must I suddenly run away like a thief?" "I will explain when there's more time!" And with a big kiss she basically pushed me outside. Half an hour later, at the tyre repairer's we discovered that a screw lodged into the back wheel casing had caused the repeated punctures. Because I had driven with the punctured tire, both the inside and outside tires needed to be replaced. To my big surprise, the man charged nothing for the repair. The next day, Katherine kept her promise.

As I had already

suspected, she had been surprised to find out how late it suddenly was and had been afraid that her father and Willy would have found me at their home when they returned with the pigeons.

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"Aha! Daddy shouldn't know about us!" "No. I already told you so, didn't I? You know, Sean, the problem is that he would immediately realize that you were not at our home to do homework. And even if he didn't, Willy would surely have started with innuendos and jokes, to make him understand. And, trust me on this: it is better for both of us that he doesn't know!" "My guess is that your mother isn't blind either." "Nooooo, but she's my mom.

One has to start somewhere.

Maybe, with time, she will become our ally." I still didn't quite understand why it was so hard for some parents to understand that not having a boy- or girlfriend at the age of seventeen would have been much more worrisome than the opposite.

I couldn't understand either what all the fuzz and

mystery that Katherine made about it could possibly be good for. What kind of relationship do you have with your parents when you can't even tell them who you're spending your time with? Still, I had to relay on Katherine's judgement. Also, I was all too well aware of the fact that I did keep some things hidden from Katherine too. OK, Sonia had been a big mistake and it would be suicide to tell Katherine about her. But the fact that I hadn't even dared to mention VĂŠronique surely was proof that our relationship still required a lot of work.

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Friday afternoon the goodbye in our secret alley took a little longer than usual. I teased Katherine, warning her that her parents would send Willy back to find out where she was hiding. "I couldn't care less right now!" she whispered, pulling me close against her. "When I'm with you, why bother what the rest of the world is thinking?" Exactly at that same spot, where at that moment our love felt so indestructible, and precisely on the same day of the month, I would be begging her one month later only, to tell me if she still loved me. The question sounded strange in the silence around us. Stranger still because we just stopped kissing and hugging each other just as tenderly as ever. It was a scary question to ask after one more month of endless and blissful happiness. Yet I felt no regret for this expression of deep doubt. Our relationship was so different from what I had known until then that I had not the tiniest doubt that I'd never before loved anyone the way I loved Katherine. It wasn't my love for her that I was not sure about. It was everything else. How long could we continue in this way? Was she satisfied with a relationship that did not progress in any way? What exactly were her expectations? Wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t it time to take a step forward?

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Apparently there were no easy answers. Very much like me, Katherine also constantly searched for confirmation of my love for her. But there were differences: her main concern was that I would get tired with her and would cheat on her with some other girl. After all this time she was still afraid that I might return to the dancing hall after she went home, to continue partying with other girls. This continued fear on her part never stopped convincing me of her feelings for me and stroked my male ego. Simultaneously, it annoyed me that she still didn't trust me more. As for me, even after all this time, my feelings for Katherine never ceased to surprise and energize me. The way I felt about her, was very much like a miracle to me: when I kissed her goodbye, I sometimes feared that I would never see her again. When she touched me unexpectedly, I could get really confused, forget my words, and almost forget where I was. Sometimes when I looked at her as she was sitting there next to me at school, my eyes would fill with tears of joy. My love for her was almost palpable, as a second entity living inside of me, inspiring me, guiding me, warming me inside out, changing me and influencing everything I felt, thought, said or did. I felt a better, more respectful, happier person because of her and yet, still after all these months of meeting every day and spending so many hours together, all of this felt so new, so different from

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anything that I had experienced before. It made me feel uncomfortable with myself at times and question its very reality. I read in some women's magazine that your first love is not always the first person that you kiss or date, but the person you compare all others to. Hard as it seemed to imagine that there would ever be others, this much I was sure of: to me, there could only ever be one first love. And my first love was Katherine. "Are you sure that you really love me?" "How can you even ask, Sean?" "But I do ask. Often I feel like I don't understand you well enough. I feel that I don't know how you really feel or what you really want. I'd give anything right now just to find out how you feel about me at this very moment in the deepest depths of your heart and soul!" "You can keep everything, silly boy. I'll tell you: I love you, Sean. Really. I have been with a number of boys, but it was never like this. Never! Please believe me when I tell you that I honestly cannot imagine ever losing you! Not ever! "Are you being serious?" "Absolutely!" "Really?"

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"Really really!" And she had pressed herself against me, hugged me and buried me under a pouring shower of kisses: in my hair, on my face, in my neck, on my lips, on my hands. Two times in just as many months I had suddenly been overwhelmed by moments of severe doubts about the sustainability of our relationship. Twice she had reassured me, convinced me of the authenticity of her feelings and the stability of our relationship. On the way home after such moments, my fictional Katherine hovered next to me and I would be talking to her all the way home. Katherine struggled with similar periods of doubt. Then it was my turn then to reassure her. I was not always equally happy about the way that I soothed her mind: Had I not fenced all too easily with empty one-liners and had I chosen the right arguments when telling her that part of loving somebody is to also trust? That we must set our beloved ones free, knowing that true lovers will never abuse the trust we put in them, nor leave us? My own attacks of doubt scared me most though: I had no previous experience with this kind of feelings. They made me feel scared, terrified, confused and even ashamed. On the other hand, they also confirmed what I already knew: I had never really been in love before; otherwise this should not have been as new as it was.

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Sure, I had known periods before when I suffered with loneliness. I was familiar with the pain and grief of losing a girlfriend. But what I experienced now was so totally different. This was pure panic and, strangely enough, panic rarely caused by anything Katherine had said or done, but mostly just by my own fear of losing her. By the time we met again Saturday morning, we both had taken some distance from that last outburst of panic. At school we talked extensively about our doubts and fears and agreed that the fear of losing each other was normal just because we loved each other and that the depth of our moments of crisis were proof only of the depth of what we felt for one another. Katherine closed with a surprise question: "Tell me, boy. Do you really regret striking terror in me like you did yesterday?" "Oh, yes! Really, Katie, I'm so sorry for scaring you. It's just that I love you so much!" "So, you're really sorry, are you?" "Utterly"" "Well, then that will amount to one act of contrition and three Hail Maries. That is, if you're really sincere!"

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Naively I confirmed my regret over and over again and swore that I was sincere. I had her absolution, I felt. But all of a sudden, I got the true penance as well: "Well boy, don't you know then that love means never having to say you're sorry"?

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Chapter 6 "River Deep, Mountain High" (Tina Turner)

It is wonderful to realize that somebody you feel attracted to is also attracted to you and to know that you're important to that special person. It's even more wonderful to see how the affection you show for that person, enhances her life, adds meaning and sense to it and has a positive impact on their level of happiness. To know your feelings answered and your emotions shared, to bathe in the love and care she bestows onto you, to see how she yearns for your presence in her life and hear her defend you through thick and thin when friends are gossiping about you or teachers are hacking at you. To know she's standing right beside you through tough times and bad days is so heart warming that it's almost divine and with it comes a feeling of closeness and the desire to care even more, share more, and be more for that beloved person. I was not used to falling asleep easily at night. I had found a simple solution though to avoid lying in bed for hours tossing and turning, thinking of problems and situations without ever coming up with practical solutions: I stayed up late. When I was tired,

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sleep came more easily. The downside was that waking up in the morning wasn't always as easy. Since Katherine was in my life, this changed: I went to bed earlier. I loved to fantasize about her for a short while before falling asleep - knowing somehow that only a few kilometres away, she was thinking of me too, and often I did not need an alarm at all to get out of bed in the morning. Yet there was one recurrent element in our relationship that worried me more than anything else: Katherine's unexpected and unaccounted mood-swings. Some days we arrived at school happily chatting and laughing on the playground, but as soon as she entered the classroom, a trancelike state of sadness suddenly took hold of her. To the extent that sometimes, she even refused to react to my questions. After a short while (which to me always felt like an eternity) she would come to grip with herself again, dismiss the melancholic state and become all joyful and dynamic again without ever willing to share what had caused all that worry and sadness. Whenever I tried hinting at the reasons of these dramatic moments of grief and agony, she laughed away my worries or simply asked me shut up and let things be. At first, I blamed arguments with Willy or situations at home for these painful moments.

But

whatever the reason, moments like that always made it clear to me that there was a part of Katherine that she refused to let me into.

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The exclusion, the total absence of sharing about experiences, thoughts and feelings that were so important that they were capable of creating this effect in her, not only confused and frightened me: they undermined my belief in the stability of our relationship. I feared that the reason why she so categorically refused to talk about these situations was simple: I was to blame. I must have said or done something to upset her. She was no longer happy with me. She was considering to ditch me. Accepting that there is a limit to shared happiness is dangerous: once you allow dark no-go zones, you know that these zones are out of control, that they have an inherent capacity of diminishing or expanding without you being able to exhort any kind of power over them. When you ignore the origin and nature of a person's deepest emotions, everything about that person becomes unpredictable and uncertain. I expressed my fears to Katherine that Friday, and she responded in a great way by repeating and confirming her love and commitment. She wiped away every speck of doubt from my mind, making me feel more accepted and loved than ever. The whole world was smiling at me again. That is, until the next day. We had agreed to meet at the Sarma department store where she stalled her bike when she came to town. The late autumn weather gods were conspiring against us again: there was a strong, cold

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wind blowing and it had been raining all day. I had no time to wonder whether the prospect of driving five kilometres through wind and rain on a bike would stop Katherine from coming to town, since she arrived almost simultaneously with me. It was obvious that she was in high spirits. "Look who's here: the Sean! What a coincidence! Feels like years since we last met! Fancy sharing a glass with me?" Jokingly I offered her an arm and we hurried to the Caspuciero. As usual, I paid the entrance fee and ordered the first drinks. I always paid the entrance fees for both of us when we arrived together. To me, it was a small sign of solidarity that confirmed that we belonged together: "Two!" Now, all of a sudden, Katherine changed the rules. We barely sat down at a table, when she put money on the table and declared she would pay her own entrance fee. Basically I have nothing against her paying her fair share. In fact, since I wasn't exactly well-heeled, I counted on her to pay her share of the drinks. However, there was something strange in the way she now suddenly decided to pay the entrance fees. Why not simply pay the first drinks? We had all evening to talk about the entrance fees if she did not want me to pay for her as well.

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I looked at her in surprise, knowing immediately that something was wrong. "Next time, Katherine. The entrance fees have already been paid now." She pushed the money closer to me without looking at me. "You don't really think that I am going to take this money back?" "What you do with it is up to you. It's your money." "O.K., Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll leave it on the table then." For a moment, it looked like the incident would blow up to a fullsized power struggle. But when he served our drinks, the waiter of course being totally unaware of what was going on, thought the money was there to pay for the drinks, picked it up and put the change back on the table. Under normal conditions, we would have laughed about the magnificent way in which our big problem had been reduced to its real proportions by the waiter. Now, we refused to see the fun of it because the money was not really the problem. There was more to it. The entrance fee incident was an alarm only, indicating the presence of a volcano underneath the surface. Katherine said nothing. She had been staring straight in front of her for a while and also now continued to watch the people at the dance floor. "Cheers!" I said, raising my glass. She nodded

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absentmindedly and focused on the few couples dancing at this early hour of the night. "What's the matter, Kate? Is something wrong?" Katherine did not answer. I moved closer and put my arm around her. She could as well have been carved out of stone: not a single muscle moved. I leaned toward her to kiss her. Katherine had only eyes for the dance floor. I rested my head on her shoulder and looked at the dance floor too. Sooner or later, she would have to say something! "Hey, I noticed the two of you through the window. I'm on my way to the Madelon. Care to join me?" Danny. Alone and in search of some company. Maybe for once he could be our salvation? "Shall we, Katherine?" Katherine pretended not to hear or see us. Danny pulled up a chair and sat down with us. "How was the October Fest?" For a number of reasons, this was not the best question to ask, I realized. Of course I had told Katherine about the taxi drive to

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Wieze. Also, she had every reason to believe that I had informed Danny about our failed date and probably thought that Danny was trying to make fun at her expense. She already didn't like Danny and much less since I told her about Wieze. At least, now she reacted: She jerked her head in Danny's direction, gave him a furious withering, but said nothing. If eyes could kill, the poor boy would have been dead. For a moment Danny looked puzzled and taken aback by so much unexpected hatred. Then he looked helplessly back and forth between Katherine and me. Only now did he realize that there was a fly in the ointment. I was glad that he wisely decided to leave immediately. After he left, I thought this might be a good time to find out what was really bothering Katherine. I put my arms around her neck and asked her again what was wrong. Still no answer. "Shall we dance then?" "I don't feel like dancing." Back to square one, I bitterly thought. Whatever was going on, we could not spend the rest of the evening like this. So I tried again and took her head between my hands. For a moment, I thought that she finally would let me in on her thoughts: she looked into

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my eyes. But the next moment she closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she fixed her gaze on her hands. I felt desperate. Somehow I was convinced that this was not just one more of her famous mood swings.

There was only one

possible explanation for this behaviour. Though she had never confessed to it the previous time, I knew we were back at the point where we had been before when she had considered breaking up. "Damn you, Katherine! Say something. Anything, but don't just sit there. You're not a dog and I cannot read thoughts. Is there something wrong at home? Where is Willy?" No response. Of course not. There never was. I realised I was growing bitter. "Katherine, this really is childish. Either you tell me what is going on, or you may remain here like this the whole night. But in that case, I'll be off to dance on my own. I can't cope with this any longer!" She kept staring at her hands without saying a word. The whole situation was frightening. Just terrifying! If she didn't change her mind, she would force me to do as I had said. I emptied my glass, pushed my chair back and focused my attention on the dance floor.

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"Sean!" She suddenly turned to me and threw herself into my arms. Her lips were trembling and desperately looking for mine. Tears were running down her face. By the time our lips closed in a passionate kiss, hers were wet and salty with tears. Her hands were pulling on the hair at the back of my neck. I felt numbed, dazed, totally perplexed and while responding to her kiss as well as I could, I felt something almost physically crack inside of me. This is how long it takes to give up all hope, I realized! Only yesterday life had been so wonderful and it felt like we would love each other forever. It was a horrible experience. My confidence was broken, my hopes and dreams were scattered. I was torn inside by conflicting emotions. My heart was crying because it was so obvious to me that I had been on the verge of losing her. It wasn't the dance floor I had been staring at, it was the abyss. The depths of misery; Dante's hell. But why? Why? Why? What the hell could have happened since that wonderful moment yesterday or even our loving goodbye after school? Not only did I not understand Katherine, but I also realized how very complex my own feelings were at that moment: At the same time of finding out that our whole relationship was built on the quicksand of illusions, I couldn't help feeling immensely happy

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because it was also clear that Katherine had chosen me yet again. If she keeps choosing me every time, then she'll eventually stop even considering breaking up with me, I consoled myself. Either way, I found myself in a position that seemed determined by decisions that were out of my hands. With Katherine still kissing me, I felt a sob welling up. Desperately I tried to suppress the inevitable by concentrating on Katherine, rubbing tears from her cheeks, smiling at her. But the way she looked back at me through her teary eyes, broke my last resistance. Oh sobs! They crept up through my body and without me being able to stop them, they tore me apart. They surfaced slowly at first, but it got worse. More sobs followed in a convulsive rhythm that I had no control over and, with my head basically hidden in Katherine's hair, I wept like a child. Crying is supposed to bring relief, but the more I cried, the stronger the negative thoughts became. The security, the confidence, the careless joy and happiness: at that moment they all felt lost forever. This could not and should not be a normal experience. If this was the price for loving, wouldn't it be better to settle for less? Yet the memory of Friday evening was still so strong, that I felt I had no real choice: I had to find out what caused moments like this and, if possible, had to do something to prevent them.

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"Why?" I sobbed. "Why?" When the worst emotions had subsided, all my thoughts were dominated by this one question. Even if I wanted to think or say something different, it would have been impossible. I felt so hopelessly ignorant, so totally without answers and at the same time afraid of her answer. I knew there was no good explanation. Katherine too was still softly sobbing in my arms. After a long time, she finally spoke: "I don't know, Sean. Just forget this ever happened. It was but a silly fad. I love you, really. But don't you also think that we met too soon in life? We are too young to commit ourselves. There is at least another year and a half of studying ahead of us, two or three more if we want a college degree. Before we can ever seriously consider how we will shape our future, three, four years will have passed. Nobody is able to defy that kind of eternity!" How well did I understand her! Wasn't this exactly the core of my own doubts? Yet, I felt her explanation did not coincide with her behaviour. I felt she chose an easy answer for a situation that was not simple at all. Her answer did not explain her behaviour. Something different must be underneath it all. Something she was unable or unwilling to share with me. "Of course there's nothing else. What else could there possibly be? I just suddenly became terrified by the fear of losing you!"

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"Oops - Yes. Now I understand! Whenever you become afraid of losing someone, you quickly dump them in order to safe yourself the pain of losing them?" "Please, don't be sarcastic, Sean! You wouldn't talk like that if you knew how much I love you!" Now, with this level of responses, I had to turn off. To me it all sounded like: "I really wanted to break up, but at the same time was afraid to do so." I wisely decided to limit my response to the official explanation that she had given. With all the conviction I could muster, I argued that it was indeed possible to envisage a joint future. Ultimately, the result would depend on how much we loved each other, how much we cared for each other and how we clicked. Maybe we would become bored with each other one day, but sure that could not be a reason to turn somebody down while you still loved them? But it was all a waste of time. That night, something fundamental had changed in the way we looked at our relationship. Katherine had created an invisible ceiling between us and the dream of 'forever'. That night, our future was questioned in a way that reduced it to the category of illusions and impossible dreams. Later was not a subject anymore. Ours had become a day-to-day romance in which we tried to make the best of the time we spent together.

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In retrospect, I think this was the moment when we started to laugh about lifelong commitments and argued that marriage should be for 'as long as possible' or 'till one of us gets bored.' Like most bad experiences in life, this event also had its good side. Though I would certainly not have agreed to it that evening, nor admitted it at a later time. The truth was that our relationship became lighter and somewhat more open. Katherine had been right in saying that we had become much too serious about each other. Bit by bit, we lost the joy and fun of being together. We had isolated ourselves totally from the world. We were always alone - in school and during the weekends. Even if others joined us at the schoolyard, they soon left again because we did not include them in our conversations. Willy faithfully accompanied Katherine on her way back and from school and to her dates out with me. But he did not accompany her to the Caspuciero anymore. Danny had tried a couple of times to join us at the Caspuciero, but finally gave up. We only danced with each other, only spoke to each other, only concentrated on each other during the lessons and during the weekends spend our nights together kissing and caressing each other in the darkest corner of the Caspuciero.. On top of that, Katherine always refused to leave the Caspuciero because Willy needed to know where he could find her. Ours had

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become a scary and narrow, closed relationship with no possibility of development. Even in physical terms, we were at a dead end: Katherine had defined her limits and I had accepted them. After a couple of ill ended efforts to question the stale mate, I had stopped wondering whether the ban on dancing with others, the refusal to leave the Caspuciero and the commitment to limiting our intimate contacts to what Katherine deemed decent, remained as strict and as definitive as they had been in the beginning. Such questions seemed totally irrelevant now since I had simply accepted the situation for what it was and agreed that change should come from her side. "She needs to feel secure" I thought and hence I never made that one step further that might have breached our immobilisation. As for Katherine, she never asked anything. I therefore remained convinced that she preferred things this way. To Katherine, it was not easy to talk about her emotions. Fears, hopes and desires tended to surface during crisis situations only and there was always the danger that they were expressed only after some decision had already been made. Thus, we became victims of an invisible curse. Gradually, we even spoke different languages, because the meaning of simple words like 'no', 'not yet' and 'yes' were not always clear anymore.

'I'm afraid of' for instance, sometimes

meant 'I would like to', but always had conditions involved that

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were not open for discussion. Eventually, neither of us knew anymore how we were to behave because of the surrounding wall of self-imposed taboos. The more I thought about that ill-fated evening, the more convinced I became that, basically, Katherine had expressed that something was wrong in our relationship to the extend that it threatened to destroy it completely. Hers had been an outcry for change - that I was sure of. But what change? And what could I do before it was too late? After two nights of little sleep, I arrived at school with a plan. If the way in which we were behaving was not satisfying, then something needed to change! We simply had to talk about this! As soon as the lessons started, I took out a sheet of paper and started writing. It didn't take Katherine more than five minutes to notice that I was occupied with something that had nothing to do with the lesson. She looked at me, frowned in invitation to find out what I was doing. I signalled back: "Not now!" Of course, this was just what she needed to become really curious. She quickly wrote down a couple of words on a piece of paper and shoved it in my direction: "What are you doing?" I scribbled a few words underneath and moved the paper back to her: "I am writing down what I like about you and what I don't like so much".

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"Good idea!" she replied and the next moment, she tore out a sheet of paper herself, looked at me reflecting and also started writing. We needed two hours to complete our list. But finally, we were ready.

"You first!" she ordered as soon as we arrived at the

schoolyard. We went through my list together:

THINGS I LIKE ABOUT YOU Pretty Sexy Smart Witty Friendly Loyal Decent Supportive Thoughtful Caring Studious Easy to talk with THINGS I DO NOT LIKE. Secretive

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Closed Moody

She first read through the list without speaking. Then asked: "Do you want to read my list now or do you prefer to listen first to what I think about yours?" "Oops, I hope I haven't hurt your feelings!" "Silly boy! On the contrary. I love it! I shall keep this list for ever! Yet, I think there are some things about me that you should know." "I am all ears!" "OK. Thank you for calling me pretty. I don't consider myself really pretty. But I understand you wouldn't be attracted to me if you didn't like what you saw! .And â&#x20AC;&#x153;sexy" - ha! Of course you would write that ...!" Soooo .... We were off at a good start. The both of us were laughing while she continued going through the list: "Smart?

Hmm. If you compare what I have to do to learn the

lessons to the little bit you are doing .... Witty? Really? Thank you! Friendly: yes, I try to be. Loyal? Yes, that is an important one. If people cannot trust one another, there cannot be anything between them. Decent ... What exactly do you mean by decent? ....

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Wait; let's skip that one for now. Supportive, thoughtful, caring, studious ... wow, you think so highly of me! Thank you, my baby! Easy to talk with .... ahhh, with you, yes! Of course, you make it so easy to talk to you! I can see that there are more things you like about me than what you don't like. That's good. Moody? hmmm ... only when I'm feeling down, I hope, which is not so often.

But I don't

understand how you can call me 'secretive" and "closed"! Since the time at the schoolyard was limited, we agreed to talk later about what I meant with decent, secretive and closed and would now first look at what she liked or did not like in me. I was happy to notice that she had written down a rather long list herself:

THINGS I LIKE ABOUT YOU Kind Self assured Fun loving Tender Intelligent Spontaneous Protective Respectful Handsome

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Caring Attentive THINGS I DO NOT LIKE. Thinks too much Too serious Impatient Laughing at everything (rude) Willy

There was no time for comments because break was over and we had to return to the classroom. We both were excited though and could barely wait to talk more about our lists. As soon as opportunity presented itself, we continued our conversation. Katherine promised she would be more open about her feelings and I learned that she had fallen in love with me because she had immediately known that I was very open and that dating me would be fun and exciting. Basically, the one point in our relationship that she did not like was that it had become too serious and that we did not have as much fun together as she thought we would have. I realized that we would not find fun and excitement at the Caspuciero. So, school was the place to start at! The next day

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already, I began with the execution of my little plan to revive our relationship. Soon the whole school would become aware that a new wind was blowing! I had the advantage of sharing a history with the rest of the classmates. Katherine was the new one. Not me. The previous year I had a good relationship with Roger and Udo. Occasionally we even met outside school. Both had repeatedly criticized me for grievously neglecting them since I met Katherine. Whereas Udo and I had had been inseparable at school the year before, now he was always sitting next to Roger in class and the two of them also teamed up during recreation time. I arrived early at school on Monday.

Instead of waiting for

Katherine, as I would usually do when I arrived before her, I joined Roger and Udo at the schoolyard. Immediately, it was as if things had never been different: in no time we were laughing about the most crazy remarks and observations. When Katherine arrived, I remained with Roger and Udo and she joined us. Later, in class, I returned to being my old self. My silly practical jokes and answers hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t changed one bit. The sponge teachers used to clean the blackboard with accidentally disappeared through the window; I replaced the cheese in Suzy's sandwiches with paper; and when the chemistry teacher asked what a certain formula reminded me of, I laconically answered: "Sex, Sir." "Can you also

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explain me why?" he countered, not in the least offended. "Because I always think about sex, Sir." The economy teacher banned me from his classes. "For Ever!" he shouted while I left the class. But after I smoked a cigarette, I calmly returned to the classroom and sat down at my usual place without excusing myself at all. The man threatened me with the seven diseases of Egypt and when I did not seem too impressed, asked the principal to confirm my suspension. Everything boiled down to an official reprimand, and I could stay in class. Only a couple of days later, I went to the principal myself, flanked by Udo and Roger, to complain about another teacher, who had started to force pupils to write down one thousand times every error they made in homework. "Not done!" we judged, and the principal agreed. Soon I felt that the teachers became more careful about challenging me. My classmates also noticed, and some suggested other matters that required to be discussed with teachers. Whenever possible, I willingly obliged. My action meanwhile had an almost immediate effect on my relationship with Katherine. The combination of spending more time together with others and providing for interesting subjects to talk about, placed us in the centre of the general attention and accounted for many joyful moments.

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"Sean, you would never do anything like that to me, would you?" We were sitting in the Caspuciero, behind our curtain again. Katherine sat between my legs with her back to me and I gently stroke her belly. "What are you referring to, darling-of-my-heart?" "I think you know very well!" "On the contrary, I don't even have the faintest clue!" I pulled her closer. "Sean, I am scared. I don't feel strong. With you, everything is so different. I'm not

sure about myself anymore, Sean. Do you

understand?" I thought I understood and my heart jumped inside my chest. Clearly, Katherine was afraid of her own desires. She was considering going to bed with me! I rested my head against her back and tried to reassure her by replying that her feelings were normal: we both were young and attracted to each other's body.

While gently talking to her, I

moved my hands across her flat stomach, her soft breasts and back down. I buried my hands in the crease of her groin and then searched the softness of her abdomen.

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Katherine enjoyed quietly. She sat motionless, her head thrown back. Had she been a cat, she would have been purring. We actually started talking about having sex! Using a condom seemed the more logical way to protect us against undesired consequences, we decided. But even if this kind of conversation had seemed totally impossible only a week before, it was still very hypothetical and theoretical: where were we going to do it? Not at school, nor in the Caspuciero.

Still ... it was obvious that

Katherine appreciated my effort to enhance our relationship and that she was thinking of ways to bring it to a higher level. Yet, when I drove home later that night, I was not really pleased with myself. I felt I had missed an opportunity to get closer to Katherine. Why hadn't I responded by testing the old limits of decency? Why hadn't I help her find the way to my body? That night I dreamed that Katherine left me for someone else who was quicker to respond to her wishes. I, who had long thought that I did not dream at all, for once had a vivid dream and then it turned out being a nightmare! I woke up from the dream in the middle of the night, and couldn't

fall asleep again. I was

convinced that I had failed and that I let a golden opportunity slip away. "Even if everything goes well, it all goes wrong," I reproached myself when I was fed up with all the restless bickering and tossing

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around. I crawled out of bed hours early, descended the stairs and made myself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, I went to visit my grandparents that Sunday. After a while, I asked for permission to take the dog out for a walk. Lassie was not a collie, as her name might suggest, but a crossbreed between a German shepherd and a Labrador. She was always on a chain and obeyed only my grandfather and me. Even my father was careful not to come too close to her, because chained dogs, like chained people, tend to be unpredictable, false and mean. The dog was not used to the traffic and always wanted to be as close to the houses as possible when we walked the streets. As soon as we arrived in the open fields and meadows, she changed completely. There, I could set her free, knowing she would sport around me like a puppy, jump at me in delight, and happily walk around with me for hours. Every now and then she would run away, chase the cows or even attack some lonely horse. She sometimes forgot about me and put it on a trot, with me running behind her as fast as I could in order not to lose her out of sight. After an afternoon out with the dog the food tasted better and, with my head cleared, I returned home less worried and enjoying the tired, sluggish feeling in my muscles.

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The next week I went to the movies to watch "Romeo and Juliette". What a pity that I couldn't share the experience with Katherine! Instead, Roger accompanied me. Shakespeare always overwhelmed me. More so this time, because I recognized myself in the story of the narcissistic characters and the facade of proud and indestructible love the couple put up to the outer world, but which in fact hid a relationship based on very shaky foundations. The alternation of longing, passion, hope, suspicion, despair and final tragic end left me sad; reminding me of my own relation with Katherine. After the movie Roger and I spent an hour more at the adjacent cafĂŠ Palace. We started to philosophise about young love. Somehow however, after complaining about how adults consistently tried to downgrade our love affairs to "petty onedimensional puppy love stories" the conversation switched to the 2nd World War and whether the fascists had won in the end or not. Also the student protests in recent years passed in review, as did Lenin and Che and the conclusion that Germany might have lost the war, but instead of being ruled by Germany, now all decisions were taken even further away - in Washington. We also agreed that our politicians were siding with the wrong party when suppressed people stood up against their oppressors. Was it really necessary then to suppress other people as a price for maintaining

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democracy in our country? Just how democratic and free were we really? I enjoyed the conversation and could only conclude that it had been too long since I last vented my opinion about world politics. Why did I never talk about these things with Katherine, I wondered. I added one more thing to my list of items that we had to talk about. The following weeks I felt

a lot more confident about my

assessment of our relationship. I enjoyed life more, and this time not only because of having Katherine in my life, but also because of my growing friendship with Roger. I reconnected with the old custom of spending an occasional evening or free afternoon at his home. Soon life turned into one big party. Katherine and I shared more time with the others and because I met with more people, the range of topics I discussed with Katherine also widened considerably: Vietnam, Israel, Cuba, the Church, national politics ... topics that I felt strongly about, but until then had been left untouched. With the immanent fear of losing Katherine out of the way, I became less restless and enjoyed reading more again. Since we shared more with the others, I also had more than enough opportunity to watch Katherine from a different angle. I liked very

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much what I saw. I rediscovered how beautiful she was. But there was more to her beauty than that pretty face and slender body. What made Katherine stand out, were her personality, wisdom and original ideas. It struck me again that she was less impulsive than me and that she weighed her input and choice of words much more than I did. Occasionally, she would be really pissed when she did not succeed in finding the right words soon enough. Always aware of the potential consequences of her actions, she left little to hazard and planned some things weeks in advance. I became aware of a 'calculated trait' in her nature, which was new to me. And she was definitely perfectionist and ambitious. She wanted to be the best at whatever she did, and what she may have lacked in intuitive understanding, she compensated through study and focused reading. I also noticed that she was popular among the other girls in the class. And even though Roger occasionally referred to her as a 'snob', it was nevertheless clear that he wasn't blind to the fact that she was by far the prettiest and most interesting girl in the class, which resulted in her being treated differently than the other girls by all the blokes of the class. Katherine never stopped moving me deeply. When we were alone, and she put my hand on her breast, I instantly became speechless. When we were in group and our eyes met, I could feel the sparks between us shoot back and forth. Overall, I felt I was a better

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person because of her influence. I had changed more in the past three months than during the previous three years and even if I initiated .the present period of bliss by acting as a yester, I found always less joy in being the class clown and looked back with contempt to some of my old exploits. After Katherine had expressed her fear of becoming pregnant, I considered buying condoms, but postponed doing so because I wondered if carrying around condoms would be a good idea as long as we only met at school or at the Caspuciero. I realised that the first step towards a more mature relationship would be to visit other places with Katherine. But when I asked her to spend an afternoon in town, Katherine flatly refused: her parents wouldn't allow her to leave without Willy and Willy didn't want to go to other places than the Caspuciero. She couldn't go on a shopping spree with me, because her parents would immediately know that there was more to it. I was not welcome to visit her at home again either, because it was too close to the previous visit - especially because her parents were wondering about me already. I concluded that I had been wrong in interpreting Katherine's words and stopped asking, knowing that she would come up with suggestions herself when she found that the time was right for it. It was only a truce. I felt it, I knew it. Each day it became more clear that Katherine knew it too and that deep inside she longed for more just as much as I did. Meanwhile, the desire for each

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other continued to grow and could be felt getting stronger all the time, almost like an electric field that hung between us and grew in force, waiting for the right moment to be activated. The situation had its advantages: the permanent tension caused fireworks that shed its magic light onto everything in our environment. The slightest touch amongst us got an extra dimension: I wasn't the only one who suddenly died down to a gentle touch. When I stroke Katherine in the classroom, or even only looked at her intensely, she sometimes forgot what she was saying or doing and just kept staring back at me. Or, when this happened while we were at the schoolyard, she suddenly became shy: her cheeks flushed and sometimes she even started stuttering, with her eyes pleadingly searching mine. At moments like this, I could have died happily and fulfilled. I was totally obsessed by Katherine. I constantly lived with the urge for more intimate contact. I dreamed my way over novels, drew sketches of her when I was studying, found a reference to us in every song, in every movie a message ... Katherine was always on my mind and at any time the urge to make love to her filled me. But at the same time there was the painful awareness of the barriers that stood between dream and reality. The mid-term exams went by almost unnoticed, but after the short break from school at the beginning of November, everybody

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already started talking about the semester exams in December. I couldn't force myself to start studying: my head just wasn't at it. Instead I lay on my bed thinking in terror of the approaching Christmas holidays. How would I survive two weeks without Katherine? She was my life and the thought of fourteen days without seeing her terrified me and made me peevish. On the commemoration of the end of World War One, there were no classes on November, 11th. In and around Aalst, we also celebrate Saint Martin who, on that date, very much like Santa Claus, brings gifts to the children. So, after I studied long enough - that is how I called retiring me to my room to dream about Katherine - I gathered some money and drove to town, to buy a little gift for Katherine. A puppet seemed like a good idea: I bought a nice trinket and baptized it 'Sean Junior'. Junior could keep her company at the moments that I could not be with her, and even if we broke up some day, he might remind her of the time we were together. With the willing cooperation of one of my sisters, Sean got a nice junior bed built into a shoe box and I wrote down a consignment: Saint Martin's Day, November 1970 Sweet Pumpkin:

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Because I was stopped by the festive commemoration of the happy coincidence that Gott war mit uns, instead of with them, your dear Saint is 24 hours late with the delivery of your Saint Martin present. Due to this delay, I did not have any living dolls left to present to you, but it is my sincere hope that this fake one with its glass eyes will help you find the correct answers to all the exam questions about converging or diverging rays. The lipstick he uses - because this doll is indeed a 'he', as you can check! - may show some signs of decay. Don't allow this to mislead you, because the truth is not written on his lips, but on his bum! (Obviously I had written on his bum that I loved her) Katie, the Saint insists that you call this small perisher 'Sean Junior'. That way I will be close to you, even when we are not together. His other duty is to always convey you the love of this lovesick., beardless Saint with his gingerbread heart. Many greetings from your Saint Martin

My gift was secretly smuggled to school and got a spot in Katherine's bedroom. Katherine also had a surprise for me: the aunt she had originally planned to come to Wieze with, had invited us for a visit to her newly decorated apartment. She asked if I wanted to come.

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If I wanted to come?

I almost got a fit of hysterics when

Katherine invited me for the visit. This sure looked like 'one small step for a man; but one giant leap for our relationship'. Apparently Katherine decided to expand our relationship! I walked on clouds, happy about the opportunity of introducing myself to the rest of her family. I didn't doubt for a second that this aunt and the opinion she would get from me, would be extremely important to my bond with Katherine. The unexpected invitation felt so surreal, so fantastic that I could hardly wait: Where was this aunt living? When did she expect us? The visit couldn't take place quickly enough. I was told that the exact date still needed to be set. We had to plan the visit carefully, too, because Katherine's parents didn't know about the plan. To them, it had to look like just another Saturday out at the Caspuciero. Willy did know about the plan and would not come with us, but pretend that he was out with Katherine. It all sounded very mysterious. But the more mysterious the project, the more fun we had planning everything. Unfortunately, the plan was never realized. The date was set for the last weekend before the exams.

But the week before,

Katherine told me there was a delay: her mother had promised a friend that Katherine would baby-sit her children that day. After that weekend, the exams would start and Katherine would not be

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allowed to go out during the weekends. And after the exams, it would be Christmas ... and New Year ... The visit would have to wait until the next year. Instead of dreaming about visiting Katherine's aunt together, I suddenly stared into an abyss of two weekends without seeing Katherine at all. I comforted myself with the thought that at least, apart from the Christmas Vacation period, we had the luck of spending every day at school together.

Moreover, certainly:

'delayed' was not

'cancelled'. These things do happen .... At school, we had never been closer. Every now and then, we even ventured to exchange a sneaky kiss and in general enjoyed every stolen touch to the fullest and collaborated as much as possible to prepare for the exams. The exams slipped by without any major events. Even after half a night of studying, Katherine had been the sweet and loving angel that she was and the both of us had done all we could to support and motivate one another. The exams were even a huge success for the both of us. After each test, we compared our answers. Mostly only to confirm that they were identical. With each new exam, we grew more certain that our results would be very good and our moods improved day after day.

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After the exams, we enjoyed a relaxing time at school: some teachers evaluated exam papers during the lesson and allowed us 'time to study'. As if someone could be interested in studying right after the exams? Other teachers organized some opportunity of relaxation and, instead of teaching, launched discussions on topics that were supposed to engage our interest: music, movies, life, ... For Katherine and me the most enjoyable subjects have always been chemistry and physics. We had conquered a fixed place next to each other in the lab and the teacher, Peter, had reacted very positively to our relationship from the start. Partly also, no doubt, because both of us were amongst the best in the class for the subjects he taught. In the lab we took the teacher in the eye, or he tricked us. In fact, with time, we found ourselves wrapped in a continuous playful tournament with him. Peter invented all kinds of little tricks that made us the centre of everybody's attention. He spat allusions - sometimes hidden, sometimes overtly - about our 'constant wheedling' and he found the greatest pleasure in provoking discussions, to which I always committed recklessly, but which I almost invariably lost. Under the pretext of helping the others keep their attention to the lesson instead of observing the two of us all the time, he locked me with Katherine in the small preparation room behind the blackboard and then unexpectedly pulled the board up. There was a window between the preparation room and the classroom. Hence, when he

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pulled up the blackboard, all class could witness what we were doing behind it. He would even peer through the keyhole to check "whether we behaved" and than give all kind of ambiguous comments on the rest of the class about our behaviour. Or he would feign anger and ban us from his class, only to invite us back in a few moments later and announce that we had to try and identify an object in the room that had been selected by the classmates. Kids Games? Oh yes, surely! But every game always again confirmed our "Romeo and Juliet" bond and sense of cohesion. With the exams behind us, we continued spending our Saturday evenings at the Caspuciero again. But the break had done us no good: the time at school had been so wonderful, that we experienced being together at the Caspuciero as an anti-climax. This was not what we really wanted. Where was the fun in spending the whole evening out glued to our chair behind our curtain?

After only a half hour at the Caspuciero, we found

ourselves in the midst of a deep conversation about what we were expecting from our relationship. We talked for hours about theoretical subjects. There were no concrete plans for the visit to Katherine's aunt, no opening to spending time together outside school or the Caspuciero, and Katherine most certainly did not consider letting her parents in on

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our relationship.

In consequence, the rest was automatically

reduced to wishful thinking and sand castles in the air. Yet the evening was not a failure. Much on the contrary actually, because - afraid that I might misinterpret her objections Katherine

solemnly

declared

that,

whatever

our

present

differences, she could not imagine ever wanting to marry anybody but me and that she envisaged to spend her life with me. After we had been petting rather intimately for some time, Katherine suddenly asked me "what I was now thinking of her" and explained that she encountered difficulty in reconciling her desire with the fear to be seen as a slut. "You, a slut?" I laughed. She did not like the light tone of my reaction, I noticed. So I added in a more serious tone: "A slut does things with everybody that a decent girl only does with the one she loves." Katherine went home feeling relieved. I, on the other hand, felt happy because she had given me so much that night, in so many ways. Still, after she had left, my mood sank. "It's only words, and words are all I have, to take your heart away ..." the Bee Gees sang inside me. Instead of driving straight home, like I always did after Katherine's departure, this time I entered the Bistro and drank two glasses of beer before hitting the road.

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The next Monday, we went on a school trip. The trip was called Study Trip, because a short visit to a factory was included in the planning. Whatever it was called, to me this trip became the most beautiful one ever. Of course, Katherine and I sat next to each other on the bus, nestling together, her hand on my leg and mine on hers. At the factory, we strolled in the back of the pack with our arms around each other's waist ... Superb! There was one downside though: I had brought my camera with me. Katherine enjoyed taking pictures of me. However, she refused to pose for a picture with the two of us together and even asked me not to take a picture of her. The last school day of that year was December, 19th. As compensation for not allowing me to take a picture of her, Katherine handed me a pass photo, calling it 'a drug to help me through the Christmas holidays.' The first picture she ever gave a boy, she stressed. December, 19th was a Saturday, hence the last Caspuciero-day of the year too. Again we cuddled together in our corner. But this time the mood was very different from the week before: we would not see each other for two weeks after that evening, so it was not really the best time for heavy conversations. This, combined with the recent, excellent days, provided for an exceptionally amorous

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mood. That evening became the best one we'd ever spent together in the Caspuciero. The result was that I found myself in my room talking to my imaginary Katherine and searching for some sort of telepathic connection with her during the fourteen long days that separated us. I tried to copy her picture: once, twice and again and again, but my drawings were never good enough. Sometimes I felt disappointed that her photo did not really come to life and I kissed it. I felt an affinity to Michelangelo, who had hurled his hammer to his Moses Statue because the effigy refused not speak to him. How grateful I felt during these long and lonely hours for that little 'drug' Katherine had given me! I bought a New Year gift for Katherine, a record of one of her favourite singers, Jimmy Frey, called "Roses for Sandra" and I watched Peyton Place on television, because I knew she liked the sequel. I imagined the two of us watching the same program at the same time and believed that during such moments we would also be thinking of one other. This was by far the longest Christmas holiday I ever experienced. No wonder my Christmas card for Katherine was ready long before we returned to school:

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In a Christmas tree we've hung our dreams Yet each of us remains a child That discovers new gifts all the time And lives for the light that will arrive. And while Katherine would later learn the poem by heart and quote it to encourage me in dark moments, I lived every day of the vacation waiting for that first Saturday of January when I would finally be with her again. Everything and every minute up to then looked so empty and useless. Everything felt like a mere loss of time; totally worthless. All that mattered to me was the time spent with Katherine. Finally the first Saturday of January arrived. I was at the Sarma department store at least half an hour before the agreed time. Fortunately, Katherine too arrived early. Fortunately? Katherine had not thought of buying me a Christmas gift and handed me some money, suggesting I used it to treat myself to a new record. I guess I should have appreciated the nice gesture and have taken into account how difficult it was for her to buy a gift for me without Willy or her parents finding out. I should have shown at least some understanding. But, in reality, I was just

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perplexed and couldn't hide it: "Money? Money as a New Year gift?" Once inside the Caspuciero, it turned out that this dark cloud was the harbinger of more bad weather. Katherine was bored. "Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s join Willy", she suggested, once we had secured a drink. "I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to dance, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feel very well," she immediately warned. "Periods? "No, I just don't feel well." Willy staying at the Caspuciero was no coincidence, I realised: they had planned things this way. Of course, the whole evening turned out to be one big failure. With Willy always in the immediate vicinity, we barely even spoke, let alone have fun. In the past I had witnessed some mood swings in Katherine, but in the mean time we had spent so many wonderful weeks together, that I thought this phase belonged to a more uncertain past. Why did she suddenly have this attitude, when our last moments together in December had been so great? Why was it that the best moments together nearly always were followed by moments of deep crisis immediately afterward? Maybe she really did not feel well? If I had hoped I would be able to blame an upcoming flu for the failed evening, the facts soon proved me totally wrong. To my

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dismay I soon realized that, just two weeks after she had confided that she could not imagine life without me, and without us meeting since that moment, she was now again considering breaking up with me. The next Monday, at the schoolyard, Katherine did not speak to me at all. In the classroom, she moved away from me as far as she could. When she could not avoid talking to me, because I came to her after the first lesson was over, she used the opportunity to give back my pass photo because "it has become too dangerous at home". "It's best you take this back as well," she added, handing me a picture of Jimmy Frey that I had given to her: "Pin it at the wall of your room at home. Maybe, that way, you will think about me every once and a while." "Think about you every once and a while? What exactly do you mean by that?" "I don't know anymore, Sean, let me think about it." To me, her answers and behaviour were both totally incomprehensible and totally clear at the same time.

Unlike

previous tense times in our relationship, when I had felt deeply unhappy at situations like this, this time anger prevailed. Perhaps it was best to break up. If things like this could happen after such a long time, how could I ever trust her again? I had done all I could to adapt to what she wanted from me. If it wasn't enough, OK, so

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be it, but I was certainly not ready to commit myself to her and at the same time live in constant fear of losing her! If going together was this complicated, uncertain, painful and difficult to the both of us, then we probably just weren't meant to be together! The longer I thought about the situation, the firmer I believed that, since it was obvious what would be the outcome, Katherine was no longer my concern. I had to make sure not to take this failure to heart and continue with my life. After all, a lot of good had come my way thanks to knowing Katherine. I had to thank her for opening my eyes and making me think about the kind of person I wanted to be in life. The whole week, Katherine stayed aloof and I didn't insist. I refused to run after her and started contemplating life without Katherine. Damn, I should never have given up my place next to Udo in the classroom! I could not take that place back, because it was Roger's now. I did not want to invite Danny to team up either, so I was alone. Bad luck for me. But bad luck I had only myself to blame for and nothing I couldn't live with. When Katherine dawdled at the start of a break in lessons, I did not wait for her, but left the classroom with the others and went to the schoolyard with Udo and Roger. A few minutes later, she joined us, but without taking part in the conversation.

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I was well prepared on Saturday, January 9th, when she called me at the start of the recreation time and started to put her thoughts into words. Basically, she told me nothing I hadn't already guessed that she would come up with: We were too young to be this serious.

We had to enjoy ourselves and concentrate on our

studies. She could not risk getting pregnant. ... True, perhaps. And the evenings out together in the Caspuciero had only been fun as long as being together and kissing and cuddling had been all that was required to satisfy us. Since it now seemed clear enough that no further progress was possible, I didn't have any answers to refute her arguments. Also, I'd had a whole week to evaluate the situation and prepare for what would undoubtedly come.

I knew it was useless to argue, so I just

nodded and kept silent. "Say something, Sean!" I shook my head. The situation was awkward, but why soothe the truth? This was the end and there was nothing more to be said. "Sean, talk to me!" "You know there's nothing I could possibly say that would change a thing. Goodbye, Katherine, thank you for everything. I'm off!" Saying is one thing, but doing is a lot harder. Katherine and I remained motionless and speechless, looking each other in the

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eyes. Meanwhile I only focussed on my legs, trying to put them into action and trying to find the strength to turn around and walk away. When I was finally ready, I looked at her one last time, then stepped away from her and moved away from the dear and close relationship with this girl that I had come to love so much, and that I was so used to by now. That Saturday an important and beautiful chapter of the book of my life came to an end. A chapter that I had dreamed might last forever. But unfortunately, it was over. I soon discovered to my own surprise that the termination of our relationship made me feel less unhappy than I had feared it would. Oh, sure, I was finally prepared. However much we had felt for each other, there was always this desperate afterthought that we had indeed met too early in life. "This will not last forever, we need to study for too long." And because of the circumstances, our relationship had also become much too heavy and isolated. We barely had fun together after school. Moreover, Katherine had not been ready or willing to face her parents, which had de facto reduced what we had to a puppy love affair. Apart from our evenings at the Caspuciero, we had never done anything together after school, we had never met each other's relatives or become part of each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life outside school.

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The conclusion was: no matter how much I cared for Katherine, loved and adored her, this was not the end of the world. I had lost girls before. Life's a bitch, but it brings new gifts all the time. I still was the better, more mature young man that I had become thanks to Katherine. The time had come to gather my gifts and move on! I didn't feel too bad that Saturday. But I overlooked a tiny detail: We still sat in the same classroom for seven hours a day. The next week already I would experience that old habits die hard. At school, the first days, little change was discernible: Katherine and I acted as buddies. We participated in our usual small gang on the schoolyard and took part in conversations just as before. In the classroom, Katherine returned to her seat next to me and, with all pressure gone, we enjoyed ourselves as we usually did. There was not the least bit of misunderstanding between us when it came to our relationship: the dream was over. Done. Something of the past. Vergangen. Vergessen. VorĂźber. I even already consoled myself: I had been wrong in thinking that Katherine was the love of my life; my other half. Because now I realized that, looking back, she would simply be one of my high school girlfriends. One of the best and most loved, certainly, but still just one amongst others. Somebody with whom things had clicked for a while, who had accompanied me during a short time

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on my life path. Until the roads separated again, and we had each continued our own path, better and richer because of the experience. Everything between us was definitely over. Too bad but so true! Or was it not that easy after all?

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Chapter 7 "Coeur blessé, torturé par tout le mal que tu m'as fait, C'était perdu au fond d'avance, il ne nous reste aucune chance, Alors, Adieu, moi je m'en vais. J'ai le coeur blessé à tout jamais. " (Petula Clark)

"Why are you thanking me every time you borrow something from me in the classroom? What's mine, is yours too, isn't it?" "Including you, Sean?" "Yeap, me too: body and soul, skin and hair. My corpus is no 'delicti' yet, so I think you will enjoy it!" "And if I gave you my body, would you also enjoy it?" This had been December 19th. Now, less than a month later, everything was so different. Katherine was just another girl in class and I just another boy to her. We were friends. Sure: class companions, perhaps even buddies. We were ever so nice to each other, easygoing, loyal and supportive. We avoided difficult issues and treated each other - with the exclusion of the physical contacts - very much in exactly the same way as thirty days before.

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When I told Roger and Udo that we had broken up, they first thought that I was joking. They observed the two of us and didn't understand what they were seeing. Willy didn't seem to understand either. And although I of course was best placed to know what exactly was going on, I must confess that I encountered some difficulty myself in understanding the ease with which we had slipped from one kind of relationship to another. On Saturday, January 9th, for apparent reasons, Katherine had not shown up at the Caspuciero. I had not expected her to come and if she had, it wouldn't have been to spend the evening talking to me. Since I had been spending all my Saturday evenings there with Katherine since September, I had not planned on going to the Caspuciero either. I had wanted for so long to visit other places, so now that I was free to go where I wanted, I was determined to make the best of the situation and pay a visit to the bars I used to frequent the year before. I made the huge mistake of going to town on my own. I started at the Amber bar. There was nobody there I knew, so I had a beer and walked to the Apostrophe. Same Song. From there I went to the Monopole, the Tiki, the Las Vegas - only to discover that I knew nobody there either. From the Las Vegas, I went to a club: Vander Elst. At last, I ran across somebody I knew: Martine, a

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childhood friend, was dancing in a neat row with four friends. One sisterly next to the other, synchronizing their steps. Lovely! I joined the row for fun. For fun, because when it comes to synchronic dance moves, I must be about the clumsiest punk alive. The girls immediately noticed of course and enforced themselves in advising me how I could most easily learn the passes. Without much result, but it sure was fun enough. Luckily the DJ didn't keep playing the same beat all the time, so after a little while, I found myself dancing a slow dance with one of the girls. "Tap!" one of her friends suddenly cheerfully said, putting the lemon of her Martini in the girl's hands. My dance partner understood immediately and stepped back, allowing her friend to switch places with her. "Murielle" the new girl cried into my ear as soon as we started dancing. Murielle was certainly the prettiest of the five, I thought. And Murielle clearly had it for me that night. "Some day someone should write a treatise on the influence of slows on the growth of young tulips," I murmured gently into her ear. Whether she understood a word of what I was saying, I never asked. But the intention she surely understood all too well. I got a big smile as reward and the next moment she lifted her head to me, with closed eyes. "Why not?" I thought and I pressed my mouth on hers.

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While I continued my effort to combine kissing and dancing, I felt a little bit annoyed at realizing that my mouth might well be with Murielle, but not my mind. I felt distant and cold and my attention was mainly focussed on not bumping into other dancers on the floor. While she danced on, kissing with closed eyes, I looked around and winked to the girl that danced with me before. The slow dance lasted eternally. Soon I found myself focusing my attention to the flashing red spots. All was over between me and Katherine? Well I had felt worse! When the music finally changed to a more upbeat rhythm, we joined the other girls again, soon to be joined by a boy I didn't know, William. The seven of us had a good time. I had one difficult moment though, which was when I was dancing with Murielle to the sound of "Comme J'ai toujours envie d'aimer". The song made me think of Katherine, and suddenly I felt sad and, after excusing myself, ran off to the toilet. For a while after I returned from the toilet, I kept feeling bad and avoided to touch or kiss Murielle. I also discovered that I had nothing to tell her anymore: my desire to flirt was over even before I had begun. Murielle fortunately wasn't vindictive at all. Fifteen minutes later, she was kissing William with just as much conviction and sincerity as she had been exercising on me before!

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It annoyed me that she hadn't said anything to me before switching between kissing-partners. Out of sheer envy, I took revenge by inviting one of the other girls for a dance and then kissing her without much ado. She didn't object, nor hesitated for one second. I however, found myself thinking what kind of world this was, where everyone kissed everyone and everyone acted toward total strangers as if they had known them for months, before even one single meaningful word had been exchanged between them? While dancing, I provokingly put my hand against the girl's breast. This time, things did move somewhat too fast for her, because she gently took my hand in hers and then danced so close against me that all I was capable of doing was pinching her buttocks. The evening continued in high spirits. After some time, one of the girls suggested we'd go to the Caspuciero. "Yes, The Caspuciero!" the girls shouted enthusiastic and so we all went there. I experienced a second difficult moment when I entered the Caspuciero with a girl on my arm that I didn't even know the name of. It felt so strange to enter here without Katherine - almost as if everyone noticed I was lacking a part of myself. Worse: that I was equipped with a strange part that didn't fit me. I was also a little afraid that Katherine might have come to town after all, but fortunately neither she nor Willy were to be seen.

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As the evening progressed, Murielle sought my attention again. William had been drinking a bit too much and had grown quieter by the minute. After a while I found myself surrounded by two girls, first kissing the one on my right side, then the other one. Martine, my old friend, whom I taught French kissing when we were thirteen years old, enjoyed the situation very much. While I was seated between the two other girls, she came over to sit on my lap and started telling the story of the famous first kiss. "We did it with a piece of chewing gum like this one!" she explained, taking out a chewing gum and repeating the whole procedure with me 'for old times' sake'. We kissed deeper and longer now than we had done so many years before and I thought I started really enjoying myself after all. I thought. But when I was walking home after midnight, leading the moped with one hand - to better reflect - reality hit me. I was disgusted with myself and tried in vain to weep. "Katherine, Katherine, ah!" my head buzzed. That was the only thought, the only word I was conscious about. All the rest was dark and empty. Nothing. She had left me nothing: no better me, no thoughts, no words, no joy, nothing but emptiness where before she had been and the dreams I cherished. Emptiness, disgust, loathing and pure hate of myself.

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Of course I didn't tell anybody about my night out. Who was there to tell about what had happened or how I felt? These were things that only mattered to me. But I swore to myself that I henceforth would avoid going out alone during weekends. Apparently, because the distance between Katherine and I had widened, or because she wanted or needed some kind of closure, Katherine suddenly encountered less difficulty in expressing her thoughts and feelings about the time we were together. The feedback I had missed earlier was not different from what I had guessed myself, but at least now it came from her. Easy and cheerful - one friend to another. Or, at least, that's how it began: "I had a different picture of you at the beginning." "A loud, shallow and superficial type of guy?" "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I thought about you that way. What I really mean is, that I had thought you would be less considerate, less gentle and tender..." "Hmmm, so you fell in love with a rude and selfish guy?" "You're mocking me again! No, the truth is that I received more and better than what I expected. Thank you!" She still sounded light and cheerful, but her words carved in my flesh like a knife by now. In a very soft voice I answered:

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"Well, maybe that's because I've really, deeply loved you. You were a totally new experience to me, my greatest - perhaps my only true love thus far." "Speaking in the past tense, Sean?" "Katherine! Sorry, but it wasn't me who ditched you! Please!" "Sean?" "Hmm" "Honestly: What did you think of me when we first met? (Aah,... Now we arrived at the real reason for this conversation!) "At the very beginning? When I first saw you?" "Yes, that first day at school, when Willy introduced us to each other." "Hmm. I thought you had guts and seemed sensible.

immediately noticed you were smart and that you were the most beautiful girl in the class." "Is that why you started dating me?" "Do you think these aren't the right reasons to want to get to know a girl better?" "I don't know ... " "So, you want to be courted for other reasons?"

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"Oh, never mind!" "Do you want to know if I fell for you instantly?" "No, sorry, it was wrong of me to ask! Forget I ever did, please!" "Too late: I wanted you right away, Katherine. From the second I first laid eyes on you, I wanted you. Is that what you wanted to know? Well, yes: The moment you greeted me with that ironical 'nice to meet you', I knew I wanted you in my life, in my bed, everywhere! There! Feeling better now?" "Stop, Sean, stop, please!" Suddenly she turned around and ran away from me weeping. But in no time she returned, her eyes red from crying, and with an expression on her face as if I'd given her the sack and not vice versa. Usually we avoided 'the past' in our conversations. In recent weeks, we'd already created more openness to others and it stood to reason that we tried even more now to reinforce our contacts with other classmates. Any personal interviews were forced out, because we avoided isolating ourselves from the others. The next week I was back in the Caspuciero ... with Danny this time. Mean as I was, I had prepared him well for a night out together by visiting him twice during the week before, and telling him about the girls I had come across.

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As expected, upon arrival at the Caspuciero, Martine, Murielle and the other girls immediately joined us.

Danny enjoyed the

abundance of girls and was soon kissing one of them. I was glad that the couple did not move to some dark corner, but stayed with the group. So we all remained together, joking and dancing and entertaining ourselves. I had promised myself not to repeat the previous weekend's behaviour, but the poly-amorous atmosphere of that encounter was still hovering over the little group. Danny hadn't been informed about the details of what had happened the week before. To his dismay, he watched me exchange a French kiss with Murielle and only minutes later found me passionately kissing Martine. I hadn't intended to, but the girls themselves had taken the initiative and I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have the stomach to refuse. The third girl that I had kissed the previous week, the one whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name I still didn't know, took part in the chatting and dancing, but didn't ask to be kissed and was left out off that night's kissing game. While we were pounding like crazy to the beat of Van Morrison's 'Gloria' and its eternal twin 'Satisfaction' of the Rolling Stones, I suddenly noticed Katherine. She stood at the edge of the dance floor and stared at me as if she had seen a ghost. Katherine being Katherine, the least I could do when she stood there looking at me, was to greet her. So I immediately went over

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to her and politely asked whether she was on her own, in which case she was free to join our little company. Initially she only said 'Hi!', looked from me to our little group and then back to me, then pulled her nose disdainfully, for a few seconds stared straight ahead of her and then suddenly attacked me:. "You should be ashamed of yourself for waiting this long before acknowledging my presence!" "Sorry, but I honestly didn't see you earlier. Ah, with all these silly chicks around, I wasn't really paying attention. But if it bothers you, I'm perfectly willing to make it up to you by offering you the next slow dance!" "Don't be silly, Sean. And don't call the girls that you are dating 'silly chicks'. You are enjoying yourself with them, aren't you?" "I guess so, yes. But there are different types of joy." "And what exactly do you mean by that?" "Kate, just in case you don't know me: this is pastime. Innocent. Superficial and without any intentions. And, believe me, these girls are very aware that we're just together for fun." Katherine switched to thinking mode and again looked around in the dark room. When she spoke again, she sounded very calm. What she said took me by surprise: "Sean, I'm jealous of those girls."

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"What? You jealous of .... Why?" "You are having such a good time with them. Much better than you ever had with me." "Oh, Kathy!" Being forced to agree that, since we'd never been out in a group, we'd never had this kind of fun, was terrible. More because the way Katherine made her point, underlined that this might have been the main reason why she broke up with me. "This is something different, Kathy, it means nothing!" I stuttered. "It's not nothing, Sean. It's called fun. It's what I missed most." "Come now, Kathy, be serious: It wasn't just because of me that we never left the Caspuciero or invited others to join us!" I said the words laughingly, in an effort to share the blame for our failure, but knowing that even leaving the Caspuciero wouldn't probably have made much difference. Instead of having the good sense to invite some friends to share our happiness with, we'd always hidden for everyone! The smile froze on my face when I noticed the tears in Katherine's eyes. I impulsively took her in my arms and pressed her against me. She immediately put her arms around my neck and in return also pressed her body against mine, causing my heart to leap with joy.

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I felt high with happiness at the thought that Katherine still loved me and that we could start anew, take into account what we had learned about each other since she had broken up with me and move on together from there. I felt euphoric, my heart seared high above everything and everyone: Katherine still loved me! And, as to seal our re-found love, the deejay made us the pleasure of putting our song on. "Du bist Alles was ich habe auf der Welt" Peter Mafay sang and inside of me, everything repeated with him lustily "Ich habe dich lieb, so lieb ...." Dancing, we repeated the conversation about what we had expected from each other when we first met. Only, this time it was mainly Katherine speaking and adjusting accents to what she had said before. What had most attracted her in me was my exuberance.

Afterward she was shocked at discovering how

serious I really was. 'Serious' I realized, meant 'boring'.

Her words confused me:

"Wait, help me with this: wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t it you who always insisted that I should behave properly? That I should not provoke the teachers? That I should not laugh at everything? ...." "Yes, and when you did, I felt guilty, because I missed your silly ideas and all the big noise you used to make in the classroom." "... But you never told me ... and when I became too educated and boring, you broke up. Was it anything like that?"

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"No! No way! Not at all!" Suddenly she became very angry because I didn't understand her. She stopped dancing in the middle of the song, looked at me and said: "I had to break up. Something serious would have happened if I hadn't. But this doesn't mean I love you any less!" I was totally confused by now. Stunned, I hammered: "But, we did have an agreement, and I have always respected it, did I not?" "What about our last night out before the vacation? Don't lie to me, Sean. How long would it have been before we ..." Her voice broke off and under the spots on the dance floor I could see new tears welling up in her eyes. I thought back to some of the best moments we shared and realised that crying was closer than laughter to me too. "And that's why you broke up?" But slowly it dawned on me that the picture wasn't right. The whole thing didn't smell right. If these were the real reasons we only had to talk about them. No: what she argued was only part of the problem. Basically it was a sham, "Hineininterpretierung Ă la tĂŞte du client". You don't break up with somebody and then walk over to them and explain that you had to break up because you loved them too much. The simple truth is she never wanted to share me with anybody, chased everybody away, but then became

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bored with me. But if so, why make up this story unless she wanted to return to me without losing face? Did I want her back? Asking the question was pure blasphemy: There was nothing in the world that I wanted more than to be with her again!

Soooo .... we needed a new contract, new

agreements .... well: I was ready to comply on every point if that could bring her back to me. Thus I promised Katherine she didn't have to be afraid: we would go out together with others: Udo, Roger, Danny, ... We would have fun together and I would totally respect her. "Ah, sweet Sean. The problem is that I want more from you. If only you knew what I really want each time we're together ..." Stalemate! I realized: I knew this game. I had read about it: 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't' ...Shit ... my mind was suddenly retreating, moving away from the swamp. Her answer was an unexpected cold shower. It was a knife thrust between my ribs and cutting both sides. Joe South was singing inside of me: "For the games people play .... never saying what they mean, never meaning what they say ...." I knew there was no rhyme, no reason, nor emotional understanding that could provide a solution for this double bind. I felt hurt, broken, yet also knew so clearly that there was only one good solution: run! Run away as fast as I could. This

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was preposterous, crazy ... but I did not have the power to run away. I should have told her right away what I thought and repeat in clear words that she just said: "I want you to go to bed with me, but I don't want to stay with you because I don't want this to happen". I should have explained to her that, unless she would make her mind up, this was just a crazy vicious circle kind of reasoning without solution.

Instead, the dolt, triple twisted

sausage that I am started raving about all sorts of nonsense in the hope that some miracle would get us away from this slippery, treacherous ground. My litany started with promises of responsible behaviour, continued with repeating that we could find friends to share our evenings with, and ended with an exhaustive search for the most far-reaching promises: that I would always wait for her, that she could always come back to me, ... and that I would not date any other girl until she had made a decision. Here, on the dance floor of the Caspuciero while Murielle and Martine stood looking blankly at me from a distance and while Danny decided he might just as well pull up a chair and withdraw to a dark corner with his girl, I surrendered to the chaotic whirlwind of chaos caused by conflicting demands and emotions and plotted our - my - unhappiness.

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"All that matters is that Katherine still loves me." Already the perfect pretext that would allow me to support all future moments of unhappiness, was banging in my head. I knew I was lost. I knew that 'no solution' wasn't a solution and I already felt the life force being sucked from me. But I had no defence and whenever I danced with a girl during the following weeks and months, that crazy thought would return and spoil it all: "Katherine still loves me!" I forgot myself and put myself in Katherine's position. I was swallowed by her ... and what remained was a shadow of myself, a living, breathing corpse in advanced state of decomposition. If ever I felt uncertain or confused before, now I felt a lot more uncertain and confused. Whatever I did, as long as I kept telling myself that, as long as Katherine loved me, I had to take care not to push her away myself, everything I did would always be wrong. The tragedy is that I knew this was crazy. I knew from the start it was a big lie, yet I clung to it and allowed it to drain my energy. I felt exhausted, had a bad day, then a bad week, continuously drifted between hope and despair, between dream and disbelief, yet always unable to make any firm decisions about how to behave or face Katherine.

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The following Monday already, Katherine continued her little game: "Sean, I really never expected this from you!" "What is this about?" "One minute you say you still love me and the next time I see you, you are kissing another girl." "You broke up, Katherine, remember? I felt free to play with whomever I wanted." "Do you realize how hard this is for me when you define kissing a girl as playing? You don't kiss a girl if you don't feel attracted to her, or do you?" "Oh, Kathy, I've known Martine for three or four years. We've been to the movies together every week for almost a year. I was her first boyfriend, the first boy she ever kissed. But we were children then: I was fourteen and she thirteen. We kissed a couple of times, but there was nothing more to it. We just didn't fit together." "Ha! You didn't fit together, but still you went with her a whole year. It makes me wonder how you will talk about me three years from now!" "No, I didn't go with her for a year. I just went to the movies almost every week back then, and so did she. We were just friends

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and she called me her boyfriend, but we were so young. It looked like fun to teach her how to kiss, because she had never kissed before, but we never really were an item." "Still, I think this is a weird explanation. You two never were a couple, but the moment we break up, she miraculously reappears and for some strange reason, you decide you have to kiss her again. How can I ever be certain that you didn't also kiss her every now and then while we were going together?" "Ah, Katherine!" "Ah, Katherine; ah, Katherine! Is that all you can say to reassure me?" The conversations with Katherine had become very difficult and tiring. Insofar that I even lacked the energy to leave the house in the evenings. Mother soon realized something was seriously wrong. When she asked, I confirmed that it was over between me and Katherine. She comforted me. Or rather, she tried to console me: "The pain will pass quickly," she said. "The two of you were very young. At this time you should concentrate on your studies." It was well intended enough, but it did not really help. Instead of enjoying myself during the weekends, I stayed away from the Caspuciero and started going to town alone again. Like a

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lone wolf, I strolled from bar to bar, never starting a conversation with anybody and only sporadically meeting someone I knew. Mostly I just bored myself to death. Bored myself so much that, after some time, I took a novel with me when I went to town and rolled up like a hedgehog in some corner of a bar, reading my novel. "Katherine still loves me!" Goddamn. If she really cared for me, she'd better leave me be after breaking up with me! I knew, however, very well that it wasn't fair to blame only Katherine for my unhappiness. How I behaved was after all my decision. I knew the solution to my problem was simple: move away from Katherine and stop wasting my weekends by swallowing in my unhappiness. Meanwhile, at school Udo and Roger noticed what was going on: how Katherine always claimed my attention, but pulled back every time we became too close. Udo flatly asked me how long I intended to keep allowing her to spoil my good temper. Both he and Roger called me crazy for allowing her to keep pulling my leg. It's true, I thought after such conversations, this is morbid, it must be done. But every time Katherine felt that I was pulling back from her, she discovered a new way to breach the gap again: "I've forgotten my book of mathematics at home, may I sit next to you during this one lesson?"

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How could I refuse? But once seated beside me, she started touching my hands and legs, as if we were still together. Every touch was torture and bliss at the same time. Each stroke increased the pain of what was lost, yet also kept the hope alive that a new beginning was still possible. One day, when we accidentally arrived at school on the same time, Katherine told me she actually wanted me back ... but not yet: "After we have finished school will be the right time." Mostly, we avoided talking to each other when we were in a group. Sometimes though, when we were together with the rest of the gang on the schoolyard, we had our little private moments, when we would forget about the presence of the others and just gaze into each other's eyes for a few seconds. Willy added to the confusion. Whether or not on Katherine's request, he asked me if I knew what the number nineteen meant to Katherine. Apparently, he noticed that, at home, she always reacted spontaneously to that number.

Recently, he had

discovered that she'd written my name in her exercise book with the number 19 next to it and whenever the number came up, she added a little mark behind it. By the end of January, Udo couldn't bear to watch our behaviour anymore. "You're crazy, man!" he shouted at me: "There are a

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thousand girls like her around town, yet you decide to ruin your life because of her!" Yet, somehow she must have gotten to him just as well. After the annual prom, Katherine came to me and asked me to beg Udo to forgive her for ruining his evening. I refused. Whatever I was to her, I most certainly wasn't her errand boy. I didn't want to know what happened between the two of them either, though I could guess that they had probably kissed. They must have been talking about me too, because after I refused to talk to Udo on her behalf, she asked me why I had told Udo that she didn't matter to me anymore. I couldn't remember having said anything of the kind. But I did understand why Udo might have told her I did. He had begged me a thousand times to make a clear cut with Katherine and to erase her from my life unless I wanted to completely waste my time at school. So, this sounded very much like Udo's idea of helping me. Or maybe, her nagging about me had annoyed him and he had said anything only to end the conversation. Whatever the truth was, I surely was not going to ask Udo for his side of the story. I was too deeply imprisoned in Katherine's game already, and certainly wasn't going to allow myself to be drawn in deeper still by complicating the game even more.

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"I don't say those things about you, Katherine. I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it." "You're not honest with me, Sean. You're trying to take me for a ride." "Hear! hear! Do you really believe what you're saying now, Katherine?" "How would I know? You refer to other girls as 'silly chicks' even though a minute before you were kissing them. Why wouldn't you play the same game with me?" "Maybe because you're not some foolish chicken to me." "What am I then to you?" Oh, the pain to be reminded of the fact that she was my obsession, my greatest love, my one hope for happiness and yet also my darkest nightmare! To feel my desire to hold and kiss her, but also that dark suspicion that she was just manipulating me to get more attention! I felt more confused every day, but when Katherine told me that she had switched from going to the Caspuciero on Saturdays to going on Sundays, it was clear to me that the last thing I should do was to also go there on Sundays. If she wanted to go out with me, there was plenty of time at school to ask for it.

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On a Saturday out, I met Cynthia in the Playboy. Cynthia... the name suited her. Almost as good as any doll name would have fitted her. At age nineteen, she looked like sixteen. She was particularly noted for her beautiful long blond hair and even more splendid figure. Which she knew better than anybody else. Every garment that she wore was carefully chosen to best complement the beauty of her body. If anything in this world bothered her, it was how many pretty girls simply did not know how to dress. I was not entirely surprised when she informed me that she was working in a boutique. Cynthia was suffering from a broken heart herself and identified with my story. I could tell her all about my melancholic mood and its causes, and she would pretend she understood. Though she always declared me crazy, she still comforted me. For a while, I enjoyed that wonderful sensation of being admired and looked up to, being attentively listened to. But I also felt I could tell her just about anything and that she just wouldn't understand a jota of what I actually meant. She attended dance classes and wanted to become the annual flower fairy, which would ensure her a special role with carnival. For three weekends, I wasted my time telling her about my life. The fourth week, I broke up with her. Resurrecting my pain did not have the therapeutic effect I had hoped it would have. It only made me become more aware of the pain and it also made me feel

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more conscious about why I missed Katherine. In fact, Katherine had become the single subject I was able to talk about when I was with Cynthia, which - after some time - didn't feel right at all. "I've flirted five times already since we broke up." Katherine confessed to me when she found me at the Bistro with Cynthia at the very evening that I had broken up with her. Cynthia and I were still sitting at a table, staring aimlessly into the void after I had told her that I did not feel about her the way I had thought I would. There was a special atmosphere hanging around us, which made it instantly clear to Katherine that there was something between us. "Are you Katherine?" Cynthia asked, looking up. "Yes." Cynthia rose from her chair and walked straight out of my life. I almost didn't notice, because Katherine remained standing at the table. Strange, I thought, while Katherine took Cynthia's seat, that seeing Cynthia leave doesn't hurt a bit, but Katherine telling me that she has kissed five boys, does!" As time went by, slowly, the relationship with Katherine became more balanced. I came to believe that she did not feign or try to manipulate me, but really couldn't do without me. More and more, we took places next to each other again and I also felt her hand back on my arm more often. After the break with Cynthia, we had started leaving school together again and I walked with Katherine

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to the crossing where we had always separated during the first weeks that we went together. After the heavy conversations that had lasted until mid February, talks became lighter and we laughed more often. But the better we agreed, the more I started longing for the time when we were a real couple and the sharper the pain because everything was not perfect between us. Katherine sought physical contact more often again. Each time she playfully ran her fingers through my hair or enjoyed the hair on my arms, I became petrified. This may have looked exactly like how I had often reacted before, but there was a huge difference only I knew about: I was totally apathetic, cut off from my emotions. I felt no joy and no excitement at times like this. If anything, what I felt were only pain and sorrow. These simple gestures felt so much at odds with the kind of relationship that we had, that they made me only more aware of what I missed and wanted. Once again I was lost in paradoxes. Some days, at the end of the day, back at home, I desperately tried to cry. But the relieving tears refused to be commanded. I threw myself on my bed and remained lying there for hours, without doing anything. I couldn't even think of anything I wanted to do. I was mentally burnt out, broken, totally lacked the strength to reorganize my life and put things right. With a safety pin I wove

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our initials into a bloody patch on my arm and reopened the wound when it began to heal, even sprinkled salt on the bloodlines, hoping that the physical pain would drive out the mental pain and bitterly wishing that the scar of my tattoo would remain forever, and always remind me of what could have been ... "Don't you think that girl over there looks a lot like Cynthia?" "What is that letter "K" on your gum standing for?" Not manipulative I had thought? Not in to playing games with me? Even at moments like this, I usually didn't have the courage to respond to Katherine's venomous stings. When I occasionally did, Katherine reacted in utmost surprise and accused me of deliberately hurting her. "Does it really matter what the 'K' is for? In fact, anything but 'Katherine' should be a good answer for you, since you don't want a relationship with me!" "How can you even think such things, Sean! That's not true at all! I did promise you that we will go together later, didn't I? If I ask you that question, shouldn't it be obvious to you that I'm just searching to be reassured that you still love me as much as I love you? I don't understand you anymore, Sean, really not! Why are you saying such things to me?"

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Oh yes, why was I saying stuff like that? Why does a dog wag its tail as a sign of joy and a cat as a warning for an imminent attack? Something new this time around was when Katherine began to object either to the length of my hair or because I started to smoke again. Even the clothes I wore became a regular topic for reprimands. These were the seventies and clothes were becoming always more important to teenagers.

Part of the young people dressed in

flared trousers and Indian cotton shirts, preferably canary yellow, red, orange or lilac and, if possible, a mix of all these colours. For a long time, however, the majority swore by the classic Sunday costume, the kind The Beatles wore during their earliest TV performances. Over time, the possibilities of Texas jeans as everyday wear had been discovered and as schools started to give up their resistance against this kind of fashion, the streets were coloured in blue. Meanwhile, for the girls â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and actually no less for the boys â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Twiggy showed the mini fashion in the unsightly Carnaby Street. And as more and more girls experimented with thread and needle, the female teachers in certain schools had a rule on the playgrounds: skirts no shorter than 15 cm above the knee. To Katherine's dismay, I opted for jeans. The previous year, whenever I thought it took too long to persuade my mother that I

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needed new clothes, I had occasionally bought a new piece of clothing from the money I had saved from my vacation job. These clothes now remained idly hanging in my closet, because my jeans were good enough for every occasion: leisure time, going out and school. I did buy a pair of high boots, but Katherine liked these even less than the jeans. "I am not supposed to care, but I feel so sorry about the clothes that you wear that I simply have to tell you." she said almost apologetically. Normally, I would have taken her observations to heart, but I felt she was right: since we were not dating, she had no say in what I was wearing. This way my clothes became a way of expressing my identity. As did my hair, for I grew it longer all the time and almost completely forgot about the existence of barbers! In these days, long haired teenagers were still stared at in the streets.

We were called Beatles, beatniks or hippies and our

parents and teachers were disgusted by their hair.

To a growing

number of young people, wearing long hair had become a way to express ourselves as individuals and a protest symbol against a generation and a system that offered the young nothing but hypocrisy and in which the weird dreams of George Orwell seemed to be taking a vast shape. We were progressive and leftist because imperialism and nationalism, the law of Peace and Order,

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reached such an extent that it forced us to react, and in between it all, in some schools, we were summoned by the school principal because our hair was too long. With carnival only days away, everybody at school was searching for friends to go to carnival with. I had no intention of going at all this year. The previous years, carnival had been an excellent time to get to know new girls, but at this moment, I was still angry with myself because of the way I had used Cynthia. I didn't feel like making fun and certainly didn't want to flirt with any girl, because Katherine's shadow weighed heavier on my inner life than ever before and I knew I would only be angrier with myself if I kissed somebody else now. Danny counted on me to accompany him to Carnival. Though we made no appointment, I wasn't really surprised when he arrived at my home that Sunday. The last couple of years I had always been with Danny to the Carnival. "Sorry, but I'm not going." "What must I do then?" "Why don't you go with Marc and Guido?" "I haven't visited them in almost a year; I cannot just bump in now. Why don't you want to go with me?" "I simply can't. I wouldn't be fun to be around with anyway."

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"We can skip the Caspuciero if you like. There are a lot of other places in town!" "That wouldn't make any difference. I'm just not in the mood for Carnival." "Look at yourself! When will you stop pitying yourself? You're not the only one who has been dumped by somebody he cares for. Show some willpower if you have any left! You have become such a scab!" It was very unlike Danny to start provoking me. Furthermore: 'scabâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. What did he mean by that? I didn't understand what the word meant in the given context, and didn't feel like discussing about it to begin with. So I just left him at the door and went inside. When Danny entered the house behind me, I went upstairs, undressed and climbed into bed. About an hour later, my father came to my room. "What are you doing in bed at this time of the day? Are you ill?" "No." "Why then are you in bed?" "Oh, dad, does it really matter where I am? I'm not causing harm to anybody here."

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"Don't you know there is a reason why spending time in bed in broad daylight is called laying on the devil's pillow?" "It's dark outside, dad." "You're sure you're not ill?" "Don't worry. I'm not ill." "Well, if you're not ill, you'd better get out of bed and to church. It's time for mass and you haven't been to church yet." During my youth, the impact of the Second Vatican Council still had to be digested. For a brief moment there had been great hopes that we would finally get a Church with a human face. But when Pope John XXIII died, most of our illusions died with him: the religious fairytales were put back into place one by one. The church simply asked us to forget about our hopes and dreams and to turn back the clock to the fifties. Instead, we became the first generation for centuries that dropped out massively.

All of a sudden you had practising and non-

practising Catholics, while the interest for other religions and convictions reached a peak. From Hare Krishna â&#x20AC;&#x201C; which was very popular in my world - to the Scientology Church; from pantheism to public atheism ...

Religion had suddenly become a topic

amongst the youth. Only, it was not the kind of religion, nor the

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kind of debate the church and its catholic schoolteachers wanted us to reflect on. So what? God is Great, Hallelujah! 'Mortal sin!â&#x20AC;? the indoctrinated yelled, out of love and care for us. They felt a strong urge to try and save us, because they really saw us going to hell, which we thought made their efforts all the more ridiculous. So the cracks in the Church walls grew bigger and bigger. Churches went empty and there were fewer and fewer priests. Those who did try to improve the church from within had to accept its dogmas and taboos and live and preach according to its rules. Thus they remained part of the lie they were battling. They got more and more tired of being used and abused and a growing number of priests resigned from office. My parents closed their eyes to what was happening. What they saw was a conspiracy of the forces of Evil against the Holly Belief and the Church.

They were convinced the teachings of the

Church were right and that God would sooner or later punish the renegades. I should have imagined father would come up with mass! For some time, mass had been a weekly recurrent point of discussion. When all other arguments failed to convince me, he had threatened to withdraw my weekly allowance if I didn't attend mass each Sunday.

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Recently I found a solution to the problem: I went to mass. That is: I pretended to, but instead went to town or to Danny's.

guess everybody knew, but as long as I kept up the appearance, the subject was not raised by my parents and my weekly allowance was not withdrawn. So, I knew there was no excuse: I had to go. I reluctantly got out of bed, pulled on my jeans and an old sweater, drank a glass of milk, took my winter coat from the hook and stepped out into the cold air. But where would I go? Most certainly not to mass! I couldn't go to Danny's either this time. It suddenly occurred to me that the week before had been St Valentine's.

The idea

apparently just stood on itself, but still inflicted pain. Ah, well, I could just as well drive to town and find Danny, I lied to myself. Minutes later, I was walking around the roaring and vibrant town, forcing myself through the celebrators and revellers into some overcrowded bars and feeling lonelier than ever. Finally, I got to the Bistro. Willy was standing at the bar with a couple of guys that I didn't know. I paused for a glass of watery carnival beer. The conversation didn't appeal to me at all, so I stood there looking around idly with a plastic glass of beer in my hands. A lot of noise was coming from the dance hall in the back, but I didn't want to go there: If Willy was here, Katherine would surely be over there. Also, we were stacked like sardines already

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here at the bar. Inside, things would be much worse. And the music was terrible, anyway. I was contemplating to leave, when I suddenly noticed her. She was standing on the top step of the staircase leading into the hall, waving with both hands. At me, I realized with surprise. I waved back, somewhat reserved, and remained where I was. Katherine dived into the crowd. "As long as she doesn't want to introduce me to her new friend of sorts," I thought sarcastically, watching her paving her way through the rows of drumming people. Time to leave, I told myself. But I couldn't find it in my heart to exit. "She'll have something to tell Willy," I compelled myself to think, watching her come closer. But I knew better. I also knew nothing good could come from this and thought that I should leave right now, while I still had the chance. But I simply couldn't leave; nor even move. I stood transfixed, waiting for Katherine to reach us. "Sean! I'm so glad to see you! You must come with me to the dance hall! It's so good in there!" There was something in the way Katherine looked at me, something in her voice and exuberant mood that hypnotized me instantly. I felt suspicious and didn't understand exactly what was going on. But most of all, I was just overwhelmed, felt invited and knew we were at a turning point. But I hadn't the faintest clue why

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exactly now. Still, I took her hand and pushed and pulled through the crowd until we were in the dance hall. In the hall, King Carnival reigned. There was a great atmosphere, such as only exists at Carnival. Danny was amongst the crowd and as soon as he noticed me, he came over to us. He looked happy and had every reason for it, because Murielle was with him and one glance sufficed to see that the two of them were an item. "Changed your mind?" he shouted. I didn't answer. The scab-thing was still too prominent on my mind for one thing. But more importantly: I didn't intent to spoil my evening by spending it with him. Instead, I turned around to Katherine. Her hand was still in mine and that spoke volumes. To me, there was no doubt: To hell with Danny - Katherine was all that mattered! Katherine did not hesitate: the very moment that I turned to her, she jumped in my arms and started kissing me.

Caspuciero?

Carnival? Danny? I was somewhere totally different! How long had I been dreaming of this moment? How much had I been longing that she would return to me! And now, here, in this noisy, overcrowded, hot room, her arms were around me and her lips were on mine. How incredible the sensations when you have given up almost all hope and suddenly find your feelings answered by the person you

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love and desire! To find yourself holding her in your arms and kissing her! Two months of hell and damnation were erased in a fraction of a second. There was only this overwhelming feeling that things were finally as they should be, that everything was perfect at last, that after such a long time of hesitating on her part she had chosen me and that we would now emerge from the darkness together and stay together for always. From the corner of my eyes, I noticed Murielle watching us in shock. The devil shook his tail one last time, suddenly making me think that maybe Katherine was kissing me this passionately just because Murielle was watching.

But the idea itself was so

preposterous that it made me shiver with shame. All the pain, the worries and doubts of the past months suddenly seemed so useless, childish and naive. You see: I'd always been right! She loved me! She only had needed some time to conquer her fears first. How had I ever dared to doubt Katherine's words when, after breaking up with me, she told me that she nevertheless loved me! How was it possible that I'd suspected her of abusing and manipulating me? Love had finally conquered! I kissed her again. And again. And again. Katherine had a severe cold. Every time she coughed, her body tightened in my arms, she pulled me close, grabbed at my body for support, pressed herself against me, and then fell back a little with

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her body convulsing against mine. Inside it was so warm that both our bodies were drenched in sweat. Especially mine - big drops of sweat ran in rivulets from my hair and beaded on the palms of my hands. I took off my coat and sweater and Katherine nestled herself against me. Through my T-shirt, I felt her soft breasts against my body, felt her body spasm again with the next cough and rubbed gently through her hair. "Oh, Katherine, ..." I sighed, but she immediately put her finger on my lips, pushing me down on what must have been the only chair in the whole hall, and climbed onto my lap. This was our destiny! I knew it; I felt it so clearly: we belonged together. Only with her did I feel this happy and complete. Inside me everything rushed and bubbled and my blood was sparkling with happiness over my recovered love. I gently kissed her again. "Darling, you make me so happy! Life has been hell without you! Oh, Katherine, if only you knew how much I suffered!" "Me too! My sweet Sean! Knowing all this was my fault and not daring to return to you!" There was no end to our kisses. We caressed each other incessantly, drowned in each other's eyes. We lost ourselves in each other like we had done in this club so many times before.

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"I love you ... ... Sean!" The first part of the phrase sounded husky and soft. The second hard, like a confirmation, an outcry of love, a cry of fear of losing me. I felt like proof of the authenticity of her feelings for me, barring everything that had been said and done between December 19th and now. After a while we left our seat, jumped into the crowd, danced and sang along with the rest of the carnival celebrators. We didn't need a slow dance to kiss on the dance floor. We were young and in love and our bond stronger than ever before. Our relationship was once broken, but our love had conquered. Katherine had restored it and endorsed it with a clear and unambiguous decision. She had chosen me. Nothing could ever tear us apart again. This was love! This was life! This was forever! Forever? Much too soon, Katherine signalled that it was time for her to return home. We'd already left the room and were waiting in the cafĂŠ for Willy to show up. With my arms wrapped around her, I protected Katherine as well as I could against the drumming and pushing crowd around us. "Katherine, what about tomorrow?" "I won't be allowed to come to town again," she replied coughing.

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"I wasn't thinking of Carnival. I meant: is everything really OK between us now?" "Oh, Sean, you know how much I love you, but ..." "But??!!" The tone of her voice had been enough though. I already knew the rest of the story by heart. What happened tonight meant absolutely nothing to her. Katherine had felt lonely and I had just happened to be around at the right moment. Full stop. Everything collapsed ... or did it explode? I stared at her while all kinds of contradictory emotions tore me apart inside: unbelief, disillusion, pain, anger, total uncertainty. 'But ...' This one word had already totally destroyed my conviction that all the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. Away was the dream of a thousand and one nights. Away the so suddenly restored confidence ... "No excuses, Katherine! I don't need lies or excuses now. You know I would do anything for you, not even touch you if you preferred me not to!" "Sean, don't you understand? We love each other too much! I'll never ask you not to touch me. On the contrary - in anything, I'd ask more of you instead of less, and that exactly is the big problem!"

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"You're lying, Katherine!" "I am not! How dare you pretend to know what my feelings are?" "If you really loved me, we would find a solution. There are solutions to everything! You can't just ditch me over and over again and each time pretend it's because you love me too much! You're playing a game in which nothing I feel or do matters, but that's only there to make you feel better and save yourself the trouble of saying things as they really are." "Sean! How can you be so cruel? I am telling the truth! I'm not a liar! The best you and I can do is not to worry about anything. See today as a Carnival gift and concentrate on school until we will have our diplomas and can be together again." "So, we'll be strangers to each other for one year and four months, and then, the day we get our diplomas we'll suddenly fall into each other's arms and instantly turn into lovers again? Come on, Kathy, be honest with yourself! You know something like that simply isn't sustainable. We'll both meet other people and in no time we'll be total strangers to each other!" "We won't! We'll still be together at school every day, Sean!" "Yes, and we already know how that is: over the past two months, we've both kissed five other boys or girls. Don't be silly Katherine. That does not work!"

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"Don't blame me for that: I was just flirting because you were too. We can agree that we won't flirt anymore. Then, even though we won't go out together during the weekends, we'll still be together in school." "That's impossible, Kate!" I moaned in despair: "Either we date, or we don't. Being together in school is heavenly when combined with also being a couple when school is out. If we're not dating, than being around each other in school every day is more of a problem than anything else. Things won't last for long that way, Kathy. They simply can't." The feelings of despair, desperation, disbelief and amazement were still growing stronger inside of me: I was in shock. How could she even suggest something thing like this? "Don't you really love me, Sean? Can't you even try this out for a while, for my sake?" "Oh, Katherine, you're turning the tables. Listen to yourself: you dump me for the second time and on both occasions, accuse me of not loving you. Stay with me! I do love you! Just say we're a couple again and you'll make me the happiest man in the world!" "I need more time, Sean. Let me think about it." "Nooo! Because we've been there before. What you're saying now sounds like 'no' to me. You surely must realize that?"

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As the conversation grew more intense, we let go of each other and stood facing each other as if we were fighting. Katherine was pushed closer to me again by the crowd moving behind her. Clumsily I moved my arms around her to protect her.

She

wrapped her arms around me and we kissed again, almost as if the conversation never happened. But the truth was more tangible than ever and could not be denied. We might be kissing even more passionately than before, but how different did I feel inside: the fire was cold and hell was beckoning, because every kiss had turned into a goodbye kiss; every kiss moved us further apart and I knew it. By now, Willy was really late. Without wanting to admit it, I started hoping that he'd arrive soon.

We were done talking.

Everything that needed to be said, had been said. Everything that could be tried, had been tried. And everything had failed to bring us together again. Katherine became openly depressed, and suffered always more because from her cold. I too had long ceased to be an example of joy and excitement. Carnival, if anything, had been a mass after all: the funeral of our relationship, with the both of us now mourning in our own way. "At least, allow me to think things over, Sean," Katherine softly whispered, "but I am afraid I can't do what you're asking. We love each other too much. You'd do anything for me, even the things I don't want!"

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It sounded very much like some Litany of Despair, but since there was nothing else to cling to, that paradoxical straw was all I had left to hold on to the following days. I knew nothing would come from it, I even repeated it to myself constantly. But the more convinced I felt that things were definitively over now, the more I clang to that one, brittle straw: "Katherine is still considering whether we will move on together from here or not!" The first school day after the carnival holiday, I went to school with lead in my shoes; afraid for Katherine's final decision. I hadn't need to worry: Katherine didn't show up at school at all. "Ill. At home with a serious cold." Willy explained. Trying to delay the final decision, I feared. Whatever the real reason: Katherine stayed home for the rest of the week. With every passing day, my fear grew that everything was lost. Surely, otherwise she could have asked Willy to bring me a note or message. Still, as long as nothing was pronounced, there was no verdict and I forced myself to hold on to that tiny ray of hope that I so much wanted myself to believe. Every day I pulled daisy petals out of my mind: "She loves me, she loves me not ..." She must love me, because thinking of the whole Carnival event as a pure manipulation, caused only by Katherine not having fun on her own, hurt too much to even consider. And yet ...

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The second week after carnival, I got my answer: Katherine was back at school. She was all smiles on the schoolyard. But in the classroom, Irene was sitting between us because Katherine suddenly chose to sit at the other side of the table. During breaks the two of them remained in the classroom, where Katherine copied the lessons she had been missing. She avoided me all day, allowing me no opportunity to be alone with her or to talk to her in private. The thaw was over. Winter had set in again. That much was clear. On the second day, I came to school by car: Danny had been allowed to use his father's car, and since I didn't have to pay the fare, I accepted to ride with him. After school, I asked him to drive to the old meeting place at the crossing. As soon as Katherine entered the street, I jumped out of the car and waved to her. She signalled Willy to drive on and came to me. She looked very pleased to see me. For a short while, we talked about how she felt and the risk of getting wet from rain. Meanwhile, we walked further away from Danny's prying eyes. As soon as we had some privacy, I asked if she'd forgotten about her promise of giving me an answer. Of course she hadn't! "Well, then?" "How, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Well then?â&#x20AC;&#x2122;"

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"Your decision?" ... No answer. "You've had more than enough time to consider, haven't you?" ... No answer. She wore a scarf around her neck to protect herself from the cold air. I removed it and tried to kiss her. She immediately pulled back and smiled at me blankly. For a second, it felt as if I was watching a fragment of some old movie, as if I was no part at all of what was happening here. But then my heart pulled all the stops. "I'm a loser" the Beatles roared inside of me and at the same time, tears started welling up. Only, at that moment I definitely did not want to weep. Suddenly I turned around and ran away without saying goodbye. Back to Danny, who was waiting patiently for me in the car. He had put the music on and was singing along, apparently in an exceptionally cheerful mood. "Let's drive!" I called jumping into the car and feigning to be joyful myself just as well. Singing, laughing and chatting lightly we drove home, but inside, I felt even more detached from the world than I had felt when Katherine pulled back from my kiss. "It's all easy enough to share happiness," I bleakly considered, "but the moment you feel really unhappy, you always find yourself all alone in the world!"

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And so I learned little by little how to pretend. "Now when there's a smile on my face," I sang along with Smokey Robinson, "it's only there to fool the public." I definitely had melancholic traits. The affair with Katherine was not of a nature to reduce them: I had suffered a serious blow to my self-esteem when she first broke up and this new failure only made things worse.

It did me no good at all.

The whole

experience was eating at me and made me feel even more insecure. Just like love has this wonderful capacity of colouring your whole life and filling it with light and music, and makes everything seem easy; now everything became dark around me and I generalized in the other direction: I felt like a pariah, an outcast, expelled and misunderstood by everyone.

I found new evidence of my

inferiority in everything that happened: A disagreement with a teacher was no longer a challenge, but a proof of my maladjustment. An argument with dad, a broken bag or a shower of rain at the wrong moment ... the whole world conspired against poor little me. Inside I was simply inconsolable. Who was there to comfort me? Nobody. I was all alone! I tortured myself wilfully by playing 'our' songs only, by concentrating on Katherine and rehearsing endlessly all that had ever happened between us, analysing every key moment, attempting to detect where I had gone wrong, which

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mistakes I had made, what could be reduced to misunderstandings ... Wednesday I refused to get out of bed and spent the entire morning on the pillow of the devil, feeling totally exhausted. After lunch, I studied a little, which in practice meant that I returned to bed, sleeping this time on top of my blankets instead of underneath. Thursday morning I declared myself sick again. But by the afternoon it dawned to me that all that tossing and worrying was just about the worst thing I could do. I got up, refreshed myself and drove to school without having eaten. The first to meet me was Katherine. Her face beamed: "At last! I was afraid you might not return at all!' "I just wasn't feeling well. I guess I caught a bit of your cold." "You look good now! I'm so glad you're back. I thought you would stay away forever because of what happened Tuesday. I've been suffering so much these last couple of days!" "Now, did you really?" "Sean, there's no need for you to be sarcastic! What has gotten into you?"

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"Well, since you want to know the truth: I did stay home because of Tuesday. I wished I didn't have to return at all, as a matter of fact, but what else can I do? It's mandatory to attend the last two years in the same school. And even if it weren't, what other school could there be? This is the best school I ever went to. Skipping school and starting to work right away is barely an alternative, so ..." She was appalled by my bitter tone and didn't have anything to add right away. After a short silence, I continued in a low voice: "Perhaps it's best that we avoid each other all together. If you suffered half as much as I did, then it's clear that all we do is ruin each other's life." "For heaven's sake, how can say such things, Sean?" Yeah! How could I say such things? Udo had been right all the time: Katherine had become poison to me and the only efficient curative dose was total abstinence. Deal with other people again and totally ignore her. The words had escaped unpremeditatedly, but while uttering them I realised they perfectly reflected what I was thinking. There were sufficient facts to back them up. It was undeniably clear that we had caused each other only pain these last two months. I'd had my share. I couldn't take any more, so this was the best solution for us. The only one!

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The bell prevented us from carrying on about the subject. "Saved by the bell!" I thought while following the others to the classroom. Once inside, Katherine kept looking at me the whole time. For once it was me who refused to look back. Not that it really soothed my mind, because everything I did felt artificial. I was now just as obsessed by my intention to ignore her, as I'd been before in my efforts to maintain contact with her. When I passed Katherine while walking to the front of the class to do an exercise on the blackboard, I secretly glanced aside. Katherine was drawing little S's on her desk. It hurt so much.... Standing in front of the class, I couldn't help seeing her while I explained the exercise. She sat at her desk with so much sadness on her face that it must have been a show. But didn't I play this same show all the time? Wasn't I too always exhibiting my pain in an effort to influence her? And, if so, did this prove that either one of us was disingenuous? When she suddenly looked straight at me, I quickly looked away. (Voluntary a little too late? Was I acting?). I was more confused than ever when I returned to my seat. During the break, I moved to an empty seat at the back of the classroom, pulled "The Power and the Glory" from my book bag and started reading Someone came to sit on my right hand side.

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I looked left, through the window. Hey, watch: was that really a pigeon swooping over this close to the window? I felt a hand on my neck, then on my back. Where was that dove? "Are you cross, Sean?" The pigeon must be sitting on the branch of a tree now - out of site. "Sean, speak to me! Say something!" Power Games - that was what we were playing. We played chess with each another. All this had nothing to do with love! Today I would win the battle, because I was angry. All the other days she won ... Oh, look, there was the dove again. Was it the same one? "Why did you really stay at home, Sean? I have been waiting for you!" Roger was now between me and the pigeon and stared at us with a strange look on his face. Just act normal! I thought. Answer her. Repeat that it's better that we don't talk to each other anymore. I paused. Katherine stroke my hair. "I thought, you ..."

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Her voice faltered. Her hand disappeared. Katherine disappeared. Roger returned to his place. The pigeon was gone. I looked at my book, but didn't understand a single word I read. What was keeping the damned teacher? Katherine sat at her desk, her head resting on her arms, crying. The ultimate weapon! Oh, shit! And against all rules, the king put himself checkmate. I almost literally felt something crack inside of me when I saw her lying there, crying. Suddenly I jumped up and moved as close to her as possible. "Katherine?" Katherine stopped crying, but remained in the same position. Now we will witness the game in reverse, I grimly thought. "Of course I'm not angry, Katherine. I simply can't be mad at you. But still, we can't continue like this: either we date, or we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. Everything else is crazy! This cat-and-mouse game of the recent weeks is more than I can handle. It's killing me." "Cat and mouse! I guess I'm the cat? Listen to yourself, Sean! You keep forgetting that I love you too! You always look at things your way only!" "Always? Only? Don't fool yourself, Katherine. It's really simple: either you love me, and then we keep on going together, or you

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don't, and then we must give up each other completely and avoid spending time together alone." "Don't say that, Sean, you don't know what you're asking of me." "Apparently not, Katherine. So, explain it to me, please. That's all I'm asking, because I really don't understand you!" Meanwhile, the teacher had entered the classroom. I was vaguely aware that he had already said something to me, but I didn't pay any attention. Now he began to show he was getting really impatient. Katherine looked straight at him while he came in our direction with an ominous face. "This makes no sense." I thought, pushing aside the idea of an emerging confrontation. I pressed a kiss on Katherineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s forehead and went back to my place. The teacher was angry and kept looking at me menacingly, but he clearly avoided Katherine's equally angry look and said nothing. He came closer and stopped at Katherine's desk, as if to show that he was in charge. I knew the storm was over and took out my textbook. After a last glance in my direction, he returned to the front of the classroom. "Well, now that this interruption is over, we can perhaps begin to think about todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lesson," he said ironically. At my new place in the back of the classroom, I didn't know whether to feel angry, happy or sad. So I tried to act as normally as possible.

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Perhaps I should have been more perseverant that day. Perhaps I should have taken advantage of Katherine's temporary weakness to force something, but I felt too desperate. My bag of tricks was empty. I was no magician anymore. I felt that, whatever I might have tried, the outcome would have been the same anayway: everything turned out wrong. Katherine held all the cards in her hands, not me. I felt like a beggar, pleading for her attention and affection all the time. And this simply didn't feel right. I had to stick to my solution, because it was the only one that felt right to me. Looking at the back of Katherine's head, I recalled that first day of the school year, when I had first seen her.

Disregarding her

completely would prove to be impossible, I knew, since we were in the same class. But I had to learn to accept the situation and treat her just the way I treated everyone else in class. My thoughts went to a page I had torn from my Spanish textbook, which showed a pigeon flying away from an outstretched hand. There was a text written underneath: 'Si amas algo, dejalo libre. Si vuelve es porque es tuyo y si no vuelve es porque nunca lo fue.' If you love something, set it free. If it returns, it is because it's yours and if not, it's because it never was. The following days showed that I had made the right choice: Katherine and I were extremely friendly and considerate to each

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other, but avoided spending time alone or even to stand next to each other when we were at the schoolyard. To my parents' surprise, I stayed at home the next few weekends. Yet the boredom on Saturdays and Sundays was a clear sign that I was creating illusions for myself. Whether I liked to admit it or not, the lack of a firm hug every now and then, and especially the certain conviction that everything was over between Katherine and me, made me feel restless and unsatisfied. I imagined Katherine enjoying herself during the weekends with other boys, while I was wasting my time at home, watching television programs I didn't even like. I felt worse with every new week and always more convinced this was no solution. This was no life for a young guy! I had to break free. I had to free myself from all these things that weighed me down.

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Chapter 8 'Many times I've been alone and many times I've cried, Anyway you'll never know the many ways I've tried. But still they lead me back to the long and winding road. " (The Beatles)

My friendship with Willy had gradually improved over the past months. His honesty and elephant skin even earned him my admiration. Occasionally, he was laughed at when he naively proclaimed the most outrageous ideas. But Willy laughed along, his feelings untouched and never off balance. Willy was bigger, heavier and stronger than me, perhaps even the strongest boy in the class and he got along best with Brian, the only one to share his love for digging gardens, planting salad and other outdoor activities. Sometimes he liked a little fight for pleasure. Never serious fights - just some pushing and pulling to prove his strength. Usually he would pick Roger or Udo. When one of them was sitting on the handrail of the stairways for instance, because he felt that this was too dangerous and he needed to protect them; or else just because the sun was shining or the gym lesson was coming up and his energy needed an outlet.

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I never took part in these playful fights. I had fought enough when I was a little boy. On the other hand, I would be the last to get out of the way and make room for the fighting boys. Exceptionally, I did get involved in the bickering, just because I was standing in their way. This was exceptional, since they would normally avoid bumping against me because I was never an enjoyable match when I did get involved. As soon as I started fighting, I wasn't in for pleasure, but solely to win, which I usually did. Probably because I ventured more than the others and never gave up. In short: because, unlike the others, I never played, but fought. In turn Willy appreciated that obstinacy in me. "If you and I work together, we'll beat them all," he told me jovially when we formed teams to play volleyball. Being around Willy was not ideal for me because I was too conscious of the fact that he was Katherine's brother. Soon I found myself using Willy to reach Katherine. It was wrong, I knew. But it was stronger than myself. When she was at the dentist, I mentioned that his sister was having less fun than we; or I praised him for having such a smart sister when a teacher earlier had congratulated her with the result of some test. To my surprise, one Wednesday, Willy invited me to visit him at home. I considered accepting the invitation, but then declined,

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realising that if I did, it would only have been in the hope of also meeting Katherine.

To myself, I lied that it was the prospect of

spending an afternoon in the garden or receiving lessons on the care of pigeons, which put me off. During the month following the Carnival incident, Katherine and I almost didn't speak privately at all. We treated each other as normal classroom friends would, and we both seemed to have come to terms with the new situation. When Irene stayed home with the flu, I broke the rule and took advantage of her absence to leave my lonely spot in the back of the classroom and exchange it for the empty seat next to Katherine. She looked happily surprised and we exchanged some light chit-chat. To sit next to her and laugh so carefree about unimportant subjects, felt really nice at the start. But of course, taking the seat next to Katherine was not the wisest move on my part, and I should have known! While the geography teacher was drawing a map on the blackboard, Katherine started scribbling numbers on a sheet of paper: nineteen and nine, nine and nineteen ... and when the paper was filled with nineteens and nines, she started deleting all the nines and encircling the nineteens. "Think of something else," I whispered softly, while tapping her gently on the back.

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She stopped drawing, but immediately slipped her hand under the desk and squeezed my thigh. The heat rushed to my face. I must have blushed likes a tomato. She noticed and smiled slyly. I didn't respond to her initiative in any way, but no matter how much I told myself I'd better not do it, I couldn't stop asking for a clarification as soon as the lesson was over. "What was that for, Katherine?" "Oh, Sean, if only I knew what is good for me!" "You'll never know until you try, Kate." "That's just it, Sean: I really would like to try out two things simultaneously, and see where both of them lead to." "Oops, that looks like a difficult thing to do, right?" "Exactly!" "Then there's only one thing you can do, Katherine." "Which is?" "Decide. You select one option and go for it. You can always put the other option on ice.

If what you choose doesn't work out,

and you're lucky, then you might still find the alternative waiting for you in the freezer."

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She liked the metaphor very much. So much that she actually got the giggles. You're making a mistake again! I warned myself. It was clear that I shouldn't have left my place in the back of the classroom. I suddenly felt very sad again. Fortunately the next teacher arrived. Religion. Yuck! But at least, even religion was good now, as long as it helped to divert my thoughts from thinking of Katherine. The next weekend I returned to the Caspuciero. Katherine was there too. She wasn't exactly in the best mood: her tummy ached. To my surprise she asked me to rub it and she wanted to dance just about every slow dance with me. We danced very slowly. Belly to belly. Katherine riding my thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Should I try to kiss her? The situation seemed to call for some kind of initiative. Maybe I should. But what could I expect? As long as she refused to openly choose me, all I could win was another Carnival night with all the problems it entailed. Dancing with her was already not a good idea - least of all dancing like this! What the hell was I doing? This could only bring more pain to the both of us! What kind of Carnival fool was I? As the evening progressed, Katherine's mood improved. Both of us were careful not to talk about emotions and to keep the conversation as light as possible. So we talked nonsense all evening

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and danced almost all slow dances together. Even when we didn't dance together, still we danced, standing next to each other at the edge of the dance floor. Late in the evening, Katherine found two free chairs. I fell down next to her and ran my hand along the inside of her leg. I had expected her to stop me, but Katherine didn't move. Now the responsibility was mine. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Stop! Stop immediately!â&#x20AC;? my guardian angels commanded. Even the devil inside of me knew that I was behaving out of line. So, with my hand still on her thigh, I fought a lonely battle with myself. Finally I gave up and used my hand to drink my beer. Yet I was glad during the ride home. "A child's hand is easily filled," I thought ironically, but nevertheless I felt excited and even a little happy. There was only one reason for all these positive emotions and I knew it was a very wrong one. But the heart has its reasons that the mind cannot understand, and my hope of winning Katherine back was somehow more than doubled. The next Monday at school, Katherine came running to me and told me she had dreamed about us: we walked through the fields, behind a chapel somewhere and had sex in the grass ... On Tuesday Katherine had a new story to tell me: In Peyton Place, her favourite TV serial, Rodney asked Allison to marry him. "After I went to bed, I stayed awake for hours, thinking to get up again

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and confess everything to my parents. But by then, it was too late and I didn't dare to wake them ...." True or false, hidden message or just the next paradox in the row, her stories made me feel very happy for a few days. Almost, I thought. We're almost together again. Whatever the situation, the fact remained that by the end of that week I was back at the beginning when it came to how we interacted at school. The plan of being just classmates and nothing more, lay in ruins: one doesn't tell the kind of stories that Katherine told me to a random class mate.

These were

conversations between lovers. Only: we were not lovers at all! Feeling that our relationship had to be clarified, I waited for Katherine before driving home after school and asked her out for the weekend: "Coming to the Caspuciero with me tonight?" "Why?" "Just for me. Because I'm asking you to. Because I would love you to." "Of course you're asking this for you. I know you aren't asking for your canary! But why should I come?" "Because things felt good last week. We could enjoy ourselves even more now."

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"Can I think about it?" "Wow! I must have asked a very difficult question!" "I'm so scared, Sean. You're not simply asking me out to have fun together. If I agree, you may want more!" "Katherine, you know I love you. You know I want to date you. Yet, you and I are also talking to each other here, apart from the others." "Things are different in the Caspuciero, Sean. Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s keep things the way they are. It's still fun this way, isn't it? Please, don't start asking for more again." "Fact is, Katherine, that this isn't a solution I can live with!" "There you go again! Aren't we good friends now?" "Good friends? Do you tell all your friends that you love them and dream of having sex with them?" It's true that, when Katherine broke up with me, we did promise to remain good friends. Ever since, Katherine had reminded me a couple of times that she wanted me to be her best friend. Yet, if anything was clear to me, then it was that I could never be just friends with Katherine. What we really were was quite variable and at times open to discussion. But friends? No.

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"Friends! Ha! I don't want your friendship, Katherine, I want your love! You cannot tell me you love me, that you dream of me and then talk about friendship. You cannot keep me as some kind of backup to fill a lonely evening with. You should know that to me, it feels like you're abusing my feelings, humiliating me, making me run behind some artificial carrot. Friendship? No thanks!" "Sean ..." "We're done, that much I do understand. So, just blow up, will you? Explode! Evaporate! Whatever! Do me one last favour and disappear from my life!" I turned around, jumped on my moped and drove away. But the feeling that I had just made a final end to our relationship, or what was left of it, became more unbearable with every meter. I was totally desperate. I returned and drove back to her. I knew that, when it wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t raining, Katherine drove home through narrow paths through the fields. This part of town was foreign to me. With only a general sense of direction to guide me, I crossed through the barren winter fields, intuitively turning left or right when the path split. Apparently my sense of orientation turned out to be very good that day, or I must have been extremely lucky, because miraculously, after a few kilometres, I noticed Willy and Katherine driving in front of me.

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As soon as Katherine recognized the sound of my moped, she looked back and said something to Willy. While he drove on, she stopped. She waited for me, standing next to her bike, just in front of a little chapel in the middle of the fields. "Sorry, Katherine, sorry ..." With a face contorted with pain, I asked for forgiveness for all the things I had been saying. I have never felt so humiliated and so worthless. I have never been so aware of the difference between a good strategy and the practical failure that I had turned it into. I couldn't say much, for I had to concentrate on fighting my tears. "I still love you as much as always, Sean. This you must believe. The rest doesn't matter," she whispered. I felt water accumulate in my eyes, turning everything blurry and strange. Katherine got out a handkerchief and dried my eyes. "You can say whatever you want, it'll never change my love for you," she added. I still couldn't speak. I knew I would burst out in tears at the first effort to say something.

Katherine looked at me.

Realising that I was unable to speak, she pressed a kiss on my lips, turned around, jumped on her bike and drove off. I was left behind, dazed and alone. For a while I followed her with my eyes, then turned my moped and slowly drove back home. Again there was this strange sensation of being separated from my real essence. I felt as if I were driving through some parallel

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world. "I still love you, Sean. You must believe me." There was a time when the words would have made me happy. Now they were so inflated, so often abused, so often contradicted by reality that they primarily evoked a sense of alienation. There was this soap opera I was playing in, and then there was real life. It was more than time to look at the daily facts and ground my life on reality, not dreams! At home, I suddenly got enraged and hit the wall of the bathroom with my knuckles until they started bleeding. My whole body screamed for action. I went to bed, but the adrenalin was pumping through my blood and caused me to stomp out in full force against the foot of the bed. Nothing helped. I jumped out of bed again, ran downstairs, left the house without eating and started to walk. I walked away. Away from home, away from town, away from the situation I was in. About five hours later I reached the town of Geraardsbergen. I was 24 km from home and it was getting dark. Only then did I realise that I had almost no money with me and that I would have to return home sooner or later. Walking away from my life had been a flight that in all its senselessness somehow made sense. It created an outlet for my accumulated frustration. It dealt with the adrenaline, was means an end in itself united.

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Returning to my life was much harder. Luckily I had no blisters on my feet. Still, returning felt so pointless: What was I returning to? Returning felt like defeat, because I returned to what I had just tried to leave behind.

Returning was no solution, but a

capitulation. When I became too tired from walking, I hitch-hiked and occasionally bridged a few kilometres in a warm car. But a large part of the way back was also done on foot. Time enough thus to practice my favourite pastime: pointless brooding, chaotic thinking. First, I came to the conclusion again that Katherine indeed still loved me and that all my problems resulted from the fact that she was so very confused. But five kilometres further down the road, I came to a totally different conclusion: Katherine was new in school. Because we were so close from the very first day, she had nobody else to turn to in school except for me and my friends. Until she found friends of her own, she had no alternative but to spend time with us. On the other hand, my old place in school, next to Udo, had been taken by Roger. Consequently, I was on my own now in the classroom. So, basically, both Katherine and I had isolated ourselves too much in school. School shouldn't be a real problem though, as long as I avoided being alone with her. My first priority

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therefore should be to avoid meeting her outside of school, which would be a lot easier to implement than in school. We had to stop being dependent on each other! After yet another few kilometres, I was thinking about sex. What a huge problem the desire for sex was? Katherine used it as an argument to explain why we couldn't stay together. But how could this be a valid argument, since we'd never been anywhere together where we could even think about having sex? Maybe, I should have bought condoms after all when the subject had surfaced the first time? It was a long, gruelling trip back home because it brought no clear answers. When I got home late that night, there was only one advantage: I was exhausted and somehow at peace with my last conclusion: to hell with it all!

It was time to accept that all was

definitively over between us. Katherine didn't want to date me? Well, she wasn't the only girl in the world. There were others to court! So be it: By God, it was all over and dealt with now! Sunday I slept until well after midday and spent the rest of the day in the bathtub. I decided to spend the evening reading. Yet, I couldn't concentrate. After attempting three times to read the same page without knowing what was in it, I put the book aside. What to do? I decided to watch TV, but there was nothing on TV that I liked and while I was wasting my time, it was still weekend.

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Everyone was enjoying themselves. Why should I be bored? I felt strong after my decision and since I didn't want to dwell around town and visit places where I knew nobody, I decided to go to the Caspuciero. There was a chance Katherine would be there, since this was Sunday. Well, even if she was: that still didn't mean that I couldn't go too! It was a lot later than usual when I arrived at the Caspuciero. On Sunday evenings, a lot less people were present than on Saturdays, so I immediately noticed Katherine. I put on a cheerful face, pulled up to her and greeted her. She didn't answer. I ordered a glass of beer for me. Katherine pointed to her full glass of coca and didn't order anything. When the waiter brought my glass, Katherine still hadn't said a word. She hadn't even looked at me. As if I cared! There was nothing between us, so what was the problem? I grabbed the first opportunity to get away from her and dance. A little later I was engaged in an animated conversation with Marianne, a Dutch girl that recently got the Belgian nationality. She was in town with friends - a newly married couple. She asked if I wanted to cruise the bars of Aalst with them, just to show the local nightlife to her friends? Of course I didn't mind! I was the youngest and only student in the company and had trouble from the start with the pace at which they ordered beer.

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Soon I was feeling tipsy. A tour of the discotheques of nearby Hekelgem was not helping my condition and somewhere between the Great and Little Bear discotheques, I discovered that Marianne had secured herself a place in my arms. She talked for the both of us and laughed for three and clowned around to the extent that I couldn't help enjoying the whole situation. I was her first Belgian, she confided, giggling, though we barely had kissed. As if she collects nationalities, I thought sarcastically, but I didn't mind being her first Belgian, because all in all it was fun. More fun that I'f expected this evening would bring. It was well past eleven when we returned to the Caspuciero. We were just in time to contribute to a kiss dance. "Para subir al cielo, se necesita una escalera grande y otra chiquita." I sang along between two tongue kisses ... "To reach heaven, you need a ladder and another girl" ... Yeah! But then I suddenly noticed her: a twisted face appearing and disappearing amidst the flickering spotlights. Two widely opened eyes above the narrow line of a tight lipped mouth, staring straight at me with an appalled glance. A phantom? A dĂŠjĂ vu? Almost. Something was very different since I last had seen this face. An expression of utter contempt, disgust and hatred shot in my direction. "Du bist alles was ich habe auf der Welt ..." -"You're everything I have in the world"- suddenly echoed loudly through the room.

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Marianne needed my support to remain standing on her legs, yet she pulled me onto the dance floor. I refused quite deliberately to look in Katherineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s direction. When I eventually did, she was gone. I danced on. After some time, I even doubted whether she really had been there at all. The drinks, the mood, ... maybe it had been a mirage after all? I knew better of course. By the time I was on my way home (two hours later and clearly still drunk) there was little left of the arrogance with which I had thrown myself into this evening. I certainly didn't feel very pleased with myself. Crazy, I thought when I later laboriously mounted the stairs and dropped down on the bed without undressing: I try to console myself with the thought that this will help to solve the problem and provide the clean break from Katherine that I need. As if that's what I really want. And as if anything is capable of providing a clean break as long as one of us continues this schizophrenic behaviour of blaming the other for our own limitations. Nothing that happened tonight hasn't already happened before, and until now, it has never changed anything, so why would it now? The next morning I woke with a piercing headache and only one picture in my head: Katherine's face. Katherine must really love me, in order to even be able to respond to my flirting in that way, I moaned. And in the exact same twisted pathetic way as it had done

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a dozen times before, when I conjured from the most awkward circumstances the proof that she still loved me, that crazy thought managed to make me feel happy in the strangest of ways. But only until I arrived at school. At first, Katherine tried to pretend she didn't care. But the effort did'nt last much longer than two minutes. In bits and pieces she told me her story. Every break in between lessons, a new piece was added to it. She spoke in a reproachful, corrosive, disillusioned tone. If someone came too close, she stopped speaking until we were alone again, and then continued telling. The night before, she was at the point of leaving for home, regretting that she had chased me away earlier. - But surely, I must have known that such behaviour was only the result of her insecurity and sorrow? I did know that, didn't I? - when suddenly, she saw me standing there: the exuberant clown of the circus, kissing some girl. Trembling, she fled to the toilets. She grasped at the heating-pipes, because she was afraid she might faint. After a while, when the trembling had subsided, she searched for Willy and the two of them returned home, where she spent half of the night in bed crying. "I have long doubted your feelings for me, long doubted whether I could trust you, but now it's finally over, dude! Over. Over. Over. You won't ever hurt me again! Now, I don't even want to know you anymore!"

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Strange that she would always come to me and tell me about her love for me, when I tried to create a distance between us, I thought ironically. Had I now gotten what I wanted? I asked myself, while silently listening to her story. Was this what I had decided during my walk? More importantly, is this what I really wanted? I listened without interrupting her; sceptical, suspicious even that maybe this flirtation of mine came at exactly the right time and was very handy for Katherine? I had certainly given her sufficient chances to return to me if she wanted to. I had certainly begged enough for her love and most certainly had warned her enough that her idea of not being together and still claiming each other's lives was totally impossible. On the other hand, I also realised that she was honest in what she said: I had seen her face and felt the genuine disappointment. However impossible and unrealistic what she wanted from me, her words had always been in line with her body language. I became more and more convinced that no one, for whatever reason, was able to put on a show like this unless it was genuine. Katherine's words came straight from her heart. Unless she was really kinky, which she wasn't and her feelings were totally determined by the fact that she didn't want to date me, but at the same time, couldn't stand anyone else taking her place and all her

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pain was just caused by realizing that she was losing grip on my behaviour. "You've flirted too!" I snapped at her on Wednesday, when she still continued overloading me with complaints. "Not since Carnival, but you don't pay attention to those details, do you?" I felt the sting. Yet, how could I consider things that I didn't know about? Why couldn't she just be a little bit more open about what was going on in her? Already I was searching for excuses for her behaviour again, engaged in analysing the hidden meanings in whatever she said to me. Before I realized what I was doing, all my intentions watered down again and I found myself worrying once more about how Katherine really functioned and how she looked at our relationship. Willy contributed by telling me that he couldn't understand the way we behaved and that he had asked Katherine to explain to him what was going on. "And ...?" I asked, burning with curiosity. "She has a crush on you," he said in a neutral tone, "but nothing on earth will change her mind: first studies, then love!" The monotonous tone in which he rehearsed his lesson and the content of the message itself made it clear to me that this could hardly be anything else than a message from Katherine, maybe

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even a message that her parents had first dictated to her. How often had I heard the very same message directly from Katherine? I felt split into two parts after this little conversation, each with very different dreams and desires. But, surely, by now I should be used to feeling confused! More happened: the following week my Spanish evening lesson was moved to Tuesday. Katherine had her French lesson that same evening. The next day, Wednesday, she told me she'd been looking for me all over school, found my class and looked at me through the window - unable to keep her eyes off me. A friend, whom she had dragged around across the school premises in search for me, came to me that same day, asking me why I refused to date Katherine ... as if this depended on me! The following Monday, we were informed that the teachers were on strike: those who wanted to could enter school and the others were kindly asked to return back home. Most of the class went straight to the nearest pub. However, Katherine and Willy left after just one drink. By noon, the conversation bored me and I drove home too. Three days strike ... What if ... I gathered all my courage and, unannounced, drove to Katherine's on Wednesday. My excuse would be that I wanted to copy homework.

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On my way to Katherine's, I worried about how she might respond, but when I arrived, I was immediately put at ease: there had been no need to worry. Katherine beamed with joy when she saw me. By the time I had copied some exercises from her, she was stroking my hands, pushing her legs against mine under the table, just like the previous time. She even ran over to my side of the table twice to check what I was doing. It was the perfect excuse for leaning heavily over me and at the same time pressing her head against mine. With her hair covering half my face, she pointed at some random lines on my page, enjoying to be this close to me. "Isn't this wrong?" She suddenly asked in strange voice. I first thought she was talking about us being together like this, but then realised she was referring to the homework and just speaking randomly in order not to arouse suspicion. After I finished copying exercises, we kept talking for a while. She had visited the doctor's on Monday because lately she had been suffering from an aching stomach. The doctor had asked her a series of questions: did she fall asleep quickly at night? Did she sleep well? Was she worried about something? Was everything OK at school? Were there any problems at school? "To every question, I answered everything was all right, but meanwhile, every question made me think of you, Sean." How strange that even to hear bad news, like Katherine suffering from stomach ache, had the capacity of making me feel happy!

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But on Thursday, when we were back in school, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, left of the pleasant atmosphere at Katherine's home. The moment I saw her, it was clear that something was wrong. She didn't talk at all on the schoolyard and then hurried to the classroom to select a seat in the front row. If she wanted me to leave her alone, she couldn't have been clearer. Due to where we were sitting in the classroom now, it was totally impossible to communicate during the lessons: no notes, no furtive glances or smiles, no possibility to help each other with interrogations or tests. "It's too difficult for me to concentrate on the lessons when I am sitting at the back," she explained feebly when I went over to her during break. When it was time for break after the second lesson, I had to remain in the classroom because of an appointment with the French teacher. While waiting for her to arrive, I noticed an essay on Katherine's desk. This was strange, because we weren't asked to write an essay. I quickly read the document, which was about movies and how they related to real life. We most definitely had never been asked to write an essay on this subject! Katherine knew about my appointment with the teacher: was this maybe a message for me, then? "Films in which love triumphs don't correspond to reality," was Katherine's bitter conclusion. I decided to bring the subject up as soon as possible. But when I did, she became furious in a way that

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I'd rarely seen in her and that I couldn't understand. "Now, my decision is made!" she snapped: "I will keep my seat at the front row indefinitely!" I was stunned. I knew she'd never seriously contemplated taking a seat at the back row, but more importantly, I couldn't see the correlation between what had happened and how she responded. I understood absolutely nothing about the intensity of her anger. Blowing it completely, better to leave her alone until the tempest is over, I thought. During the following couple of days, I avoided her, but occasionally went up to the front of the classroom to measure the temperature of the water. However, every time I was standing next to her, I might just as well have been standing next to a block of salt: Katherine totally ignored me. April came and during the first days of spring, Katherine suddenly started blossoming: She may have been nostalgic about the good old days and their chemistry lessons, because when Peter called us to the blackboard together and instructed us to do a number of assignments in front of the classroom, she suddenly responded positively to his ambiguous comments about our "loving cooperation" and played along with the game. We had one of our most enjoyable and memorable classes ever and eventually left the classroom together in high spirits. The chemistry lesson shed its light over the following days as well: the antics of the day were discussed countless times at the schoolyard, and Katherine joyfully

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participated, adding ambiguous comments and sharing her joy with me, searching also my presence, confirmation and support for the jokes she was telling. On the first Sunday of Easter holiday we accidentally met at the Caspuciero. The good atmosphere amongst us still prevailed. We danced a couple of times and enjoyed the evening like two good friends would have done. Both of us were however afraid that one wrong word or gesture might disrupt the pleasure. When Katherine went home she suddenly turned to me and said: "I love you! Don't you ever forget that!" She gave me a goodbye kiss before running off. I stared at her in shock, watching her until she was gone. I didn't go to town the following week, but fourteen days later, I felt bored during the weekend. I stayed at home on Saturday and in order to get some fun during the weekend, I decided to return to the Caspuciero on Sunday evening. I arrived late, because I went to Danny first. To my surprise, I found Katherine in close embrace with Roland, a blond guy I'd never seen in the Caspuciero. She looked at me over his shoulder without showing any sign of knowing me. My first thought was to walk over to them, but when I came closer, she gave me an angry look and pulled Roland's head closer to hers and kissed him. I stopped, watched them for a second, then turned around and left the dance hall.

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Of course, my weekend was ruined. I wandered around in town for a while and returned home early, feeling lonely and deeply unhappy. The next day at school, I avoided being alone with Katherine and tried to pretend nothing had happened. Not my words or actions, but my face betrayed that I was pretending. I was angry with myself because all the time I was blaming myself for playing exactly the same game as what Katherine used to do after seeing me with a girl. We had fixed seats in the language lab and I had often felt thankful for this arrangement. This was one of the places where, in good times as well as in bad times, we'd always been forced to keep our seat next to each other and had been obliged to face each other, so it was impossible to dodge Katherine here. The very second I sat down beside her and without any introduction, Katherine attacked: "Why are you angry with me?" "Who's angry? Can't you see how much I enjoy myself?" I had no intention of listening to comparisons between her behaviour and mine, or whatever else she planned to tell me. Ostentatiously, I pulled the cable from my tape recorder and tore the connection piece from the wire, then showed the teacher it was broken and took another seat. Away from Katherine. Away from everybody.

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That night I wrote her a letter: Katherine: I know it's stupid to write a gospel to someone you see seven hours per day. The truth is that I cannot honestly express my feelings to you anymore. Therefore this: Yes, I did love you, girl, very much. And you know I still do. I will always love you. I've tried to understand that, to you, your studies are what matter most. But, apart from some isolated moments, these last weeks and even months, you've been treating me like a floor cloth. You've ridiculed me in my own eyes and in those of everyone who saw me turning around you, always in search of a little token of your affection. Everyone told me you are pulling my leg, yet I preferred to believe what you told me in private and refused to listen. I believed in our love and held on to it. I still believe in it, be it against better judgement meanwhile and knowing that it would be better not to. You say you love me, but you don't want to date me. One day you cling around my neck, the next day I hardly exist for you. Is it so surprising that I encounter some difficulty coping with that? Why not be completely frank? Not for one or two days, but for always and stick to one line? I know that I also have faults, but I simply can't understand why you always repeat to me how worried you are about our future, while simultaneously you disregard me in public and behave as if nothing is wrong. Ever since you broke up with me, I just don't understand anymore what exactly you want, what you expect from me, what you think or what you feel. There is no solution to this problem. I have tried everything I can think of and so have you. The only result has always been: more pain for the both of us. Therefore, we must come to terms. Definitely. And that is why I put our

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future in your hands once again. For the last time (how hopelessly naive of me). So please, consider your answer well and know that I will understand "Yes" only when it really means "Yes" and that I will equally take your "No" for a "No" and will act correspondingly. I simply cannot continue living with any answer that is situated between those two poles. You know my answer. Whatever I've done, I've always been clear about this: I want you. But I won't settle for half of you. I want all of you. And, as I have discovered: if I can't have all of you, then rather nothing at all than this sickening situation of the past few months. Think carefully, because much will depend from this. Maybe even the rest of our lives! Rest assured: this nice bloke will accept whatever decision you feel is best. Your, Sean Katherine put her answer on paper and brought it with her to the evening course, knowing that my Spanish lesson would again take place on the same evening as her French lesson. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like learning Spanish any longer and had picked that week to put a preliminary final end to my study of Spanish. When we met again at school on Friday, she told me she had torn the letter because it was too compromising. "O.K. So I take it that things are definitely over between us now?" "What on earth gives you that idea?"

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"I asked you a clear answer. "Yes" or "No", Katherine. If your letter was too compromising to be handed to me, it cannot have been "Yes", so ..." "Owowowwow! Not too fast! Wait a second, Sean!" "Is it "Yes" then, Katherine?" "No, but ... " "O.K., so it's "No". That's okay with me. Point taken. We're done!" Ohhh! how brave of me! I immediately left her and went to the bathroom - the safest place in school. I saw her eyes when I turned away from her, felt them burn in my back, but with large steps, I went straight away, walking like a robot and without knowing where to look. Until I arrived at the toilets, closed the door behind me, sat down and inhaled deeply ... It was done. It was all over between us. Yet again.

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Chapter 9 "But still I like to think you think of me, every minute of your time. " (Tom Jones)

Life went its way. The two of us now really tried to avoid each other and rebuild a life without the other. Katherine even avoided joining our little gang at the schoolyard and spent her free time with the other girls from the classroom both during the lunch breaks and recreation times. I had Udo and Roger to fall back onto; but in the classroom, I remained all alone at my isolated place in the back of the room. After the break with Katherine in January, I had resumed visiting Roger at his place after school, but had stopped the visits soon again. With three quarters of the school year behind us, I started looking around for other options. Slowly, I forged a bond with Marc, the good old telephone pole that was also new in the classroom. I even spend a weekend with him in his home village. We had a joyful evening, but somehow, neither of us talked about doing it again. It did bring us closer to each other at school, though, and Marc became a steady member of our little gang at the schoolyard.

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Next, I rediscovered Rudy. Rudy had been in the classroom from the beginning, two years ago. He was a rather eccentric type of guy, a barrel full of surprises who stuttered lightly and tried to compensate or cure his stuttering - following an advice from his psychologist? - by talking a lot of nonsense about almost any subject. Apart from that, he swore at the Flower-Power and hippie fad, took yoga lessons, quoted from the Bagavad Gita, revered Hare Krishna, bleached his curly hair, had a unique sense of humour, was gay and above all: showed an interest in culture, which I could learn a lot from. In other words, not your average kind of guy. Although our friendship developed very slowly, we became closer and after some time started to go to the movies together, went shopping for books and occasionally travelled to Brussels to watch performances of Pink Floyd, Deep Purple and Maurice BĂŠjart. At first, the new contacts didn't immediately fill the gap left by Katherine.

I often had the feeling that nothing I did was

happening in a natural way.

Everything required effort.

Everything seemed fake and artificial. As a result I found myself suffering from a melancholic mood most of the time. How easy life had been until I met Katherine! Part of building a new life after Katherine consisted in symbolic decisions: I gave all my old comic books to my younger brothers,

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most of my novels to my sisters and some even to a girl I occasionally talked with on the bus. Acting on an impulse, I gave all my youth books to an old school friend that I had not seen in years, and would never meet again afterwards. With the past efficiently removed from my bedroom, I redecorated the room. I kept busy. I kept meeting new people. But nothing I did, nor anybody I met could save me from feeling lonely and unloved most of the time. Since I almost never spent time with him anymore, Danny clearly also felt lost. He turned up at my home almost every week to ask me to go to town with him. Mostly I refused, but occasionally I joined him for an evening out. He couldn't understand why I preferred to stay home during the weekends at my age. I tried to explain that I had discovered there was nobody out there that I could love the way I had loved Katherine. "Say! You should complain! When you go to a club, you always pick out the coolest girls in no time! I've hardly ever seen you spend an evening alone. You've ten girls for every finger of your hands, but instead of enjoying yourself, you come wining to me about not finding a girl!" "Oh, man, if only you knew how many nights I've spend in town, almost crying with loneliness! And as for the girls you refer to, I loathe flirting. It makes no sense, it leads nowhere."

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"What are you saying? Most guys try all they can to enjoy an occasional flirt. And they don't let these girls slip away afterwards, the way you always do. How can you learn to appreciate a girl when you don't even ask her name and never make a second date? Your flirting doesn't lead anywhere because you're blocking the road yourself!" "Why would I make an appointment with someone who doesn't interest me at all?" "If only you opened up a little bit to someone every now and then, then perhaps you might discover that these girls are much more interesting than you think they are. But no, you play with their feelings; even humiliate them by kissing other girls in front of them. All you ever do is abuse them!" "You may be right and if it can be of any consolation to you: it doesn't make me feel good and that's exactly why I don't want to flirt anymore. I get nothing positive from it." It wasn't the first time that I had come to this realization. My only problem was that, since I didn't belong to any group and nearly always went out alone, flirting was the only way I knew to get in touch with girls. Moreover, when I entered a club and noticed a pretty girl entering the room, I knew there was never time to lose: in no time everybody would be around her. Often, things were really simple: the one who reached her first, showed some interest

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and affection and ventured to kiss her, had the prettiest girl of the room that night and all the others must at best settle for second best. If you were stupid enough to think that talking alone would do the trick and allow you to get to know a pretty girl, then you were soon standing alone while somebody else was kissing her. Thus, not flirting worked both ways for me: I didn't kiss, but I didn't talk much either. The conclusion was simple: if going out only meant feeling bad and lonely, I might as well stay home. For a long time, I lived at an edge, with the slightest mishap enraging me. I smashed a chair to pieces against the wall because my mother turned off the TV in the middle of a movie, because there was too much sex in it. Too much sex in an American Movie?! Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll have you know! A few weeks later, I broke the front door when somebody had accidentally closed the door, not knowing that I was still outside. Occasionally Katherine and I would share a couple of minutes alone. When we accidentally arrived at school on the same time, for instance, there was little use in pretending that we didn't know each other. While crossing the schoolyard, Katherine would tell me about some guy she met.

I would walk along in silence,

listening to her and hoping that we would soon reach the others and have a normal conversation.

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After the Easter holiday everybody was aware of the fact that the end of the school year was nearing quickly. I had little time to think about Katherine: I had almost not studied at all the past year, so I started studying at least two hours every night to catch up with the lessons as well as I could. The exams arrived sooner still than I had feared. I had to count on Udo for German and Commercial Trade. The Chemistry and Physics class room was the only place where Katherine and I had kept our seats next to each other. So, fortunately, here I could still relay on Katherine to help me through. The other written exams werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a problem. In fact, when we received the first results, mine were so good that I stopped studying for the oral examinations. After every oral examination, a few of us got together in one of the nearby pubs, waiting for the other students to drop in after they had finished theirs. For the last oral exam, I was the first to go and hence also the first to arrive at the pub after my test was over. As it was still early in the day, there was almost nobody in the pub. Two girls - from a different school I discovered - were enjoying a fluorescent Schweppes tonic. We started to chat and for once, forgot my good intentions. After just a few minutes I found myself dancing with one of them at the back of the pub. We exchanged a few kisses and then moved to a bench in the darkest corner of the room to kiss some more.

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When she left an hour later, because she had to catch her bus, I helped her to girdle her bra, grumbling that she had to sit straight if she wanted me to help her. We parted with a long kiss, after which I rose to check whether someone from our class had already arrived. The first person I noticed was Katherine. She was sitting slightly apart from a few others in the other corner of the pub, staring at the jukebox. I asked her how the exam had been. She looked emotionless and didn't answer. As soon as I realized that she was in one of her moods again, I walked on to the toilet. When I came back, she was grabbing her raincoat from a pile of cloaks, after which she forced Willy to empty his beer and leave the pub with her. She was clearly angry for some reason, as Roger had noticed too. "I don't think Katherine's exam was a huge success! That's for sure," he said. I knew better, of course. But so what? The following Saturday we only had to come to school to return our schoolbooks, after which we were allowed to go home immediately. Marc came with his dadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s car and had picked me up at home. When we arrived at school, all the others were there already. We dumped our books and rushed to the Amber bar. Katherine sat on a bar stool, obviously deliberately slightly apart from the others again. She looked sad. I knew she was seeing

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someone and immediately guessed there were problems with the new boy. I signalled Marc to draw two bar stools closer to her and while he complied, I ordered two beers. Marc was selling selfmade class pictures of dubious quality, but since there was no competition, everybody bought some. I had just returned with the beers, when he noticed Henry, one of the classmates who had not yet seen the pictures. So, rather unexpectedly I found myself sitting at the bar alone with Katherine. Katherine was not talkative at all, and I had not much inspiration either. So after Marc left, there was a silence between us. "Are you waiting for someone?" I finally asked, trying to breach the silence. "No." New silence. "What about the exams? Do you think you will reach your goal?" "What goal?" "You were aiming for second place in class." "Ah, that goal ..." "Well?" "Maybe." New silence.

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In standing water timber is always surfacing. Although I had vowed not to talk about personal topics with Katherine, because of invariably being too heavy and depressing - which indeed often was my own fault - I suddenly observed: "You know what surprised me last Thursday? I thought we were over all that shit, but after avoiding each other carefully for most of the trimester, Wendy accidentally witnesses one little flirt of Peter Pan and decides to be angry at him." "I wasn't angry." "No, but you suddenly were in a great hurry because you remembered that you had left the potatoes on the fire at home! Please, Katherine, you can't fool me. Maybe I'm stupid, but I still recognize an elephant when I see one." "Well, smart-ass (the word didn't sound like before anymore), if you really want to know, I will tell you: when I saw you lying there, I thought: Let him do whatever he wants to, it's none of your business. But I couldn't. You know what you are? A vile bastard! Had you been able to, you would have fucked her right before my eyes, wouldn't you? Or are you going to tell me that you would also have undressed her if you had not known that I was sitting in the other corner?" "Maybe, maybe not. Does it really matter? What are you reproaching me? How is your boyfriend, Kate? Having problems

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with your truck driver with the big buttocks? Get over it, girl: since you don't want me in your life, please stop dramatizing each time I am friendly with somebody else." "You know the reason." "Sorry, but I don't, Katherine! NOT! NOT! NOT!" "If you don't, then neither do I!" Debate concluded. Atmosphere efficiently destroyed. Looking around, I discovered that the others were leaving one after the other. To my surprise, Katherine took her time to empty her glass and then suggested we should go to the Monopole to see if some had gone over there. There was nobody of our class at the Monopole. Walking through the bar to our usual place in the back I noticed "Du" was on the jukebox. As was "Which way you goin 'Billy'. "Which way" played first "... Can I go with you? " I suddenly felt very sad: the school year ended much as it had begun. I just felt so different, so much older, and so much lonelier. At the first beat of the song, Katherine had closed her eyes. She was silently listening, leaning back on the bench. As if guessing and sharing my thoughts, she moved her hand towards mine and took it in hers. I looked at her blankly, totally confused. Staring at her as she half sat, half laid here beside me, with her eyes still closed.

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"Now?" I thought. Adrenalin started flowing through my veins; a heavy pressure was weighing on my breast. Suddenly everything became clear: this was the reason why she had selected a place away from the others at the Amber: she had known I would come to her. This is why she dragged me here. All I had to do was open my arms ... and I had not even thought of it until now! I must have been blind! I hesitated, then turned to her ... "Ah, here you are!" Rudy cried out. Only a couple of meters separated him from our bench. And in his wake, Marc, Willy, Henry, Roger and a few other gang members followed. At the first sound of his voice, Katherine released my hand and sat upright. For a moment, my eyes searched desperately for hers, but the spell was broken and we were alone together again. All alone amongst the others. I couldn't make the switch. From another dimension I watched our little group. I saw Katherine, I saw myself, I saw the others, I saw the last trimester, which for one short lapse of time had been totally erased, but had returned to claim its rights. I saw the connection between Katherine and me, or rather: I saw that nothing was left of it.

I saw how totally invisible it was to

everybody who would have been looking from outside at this little group of people. How was it possible that only a few seconds before, I had been convinced that by now everything would be good between us?

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Only the proclamation separated us from the summer holidays. It would be the last time we met again, after which ... I realized that it was important that I talked to Katherine now, if only to plan for the evening after the proclamation. But already Katherine had told Willy that she wanted to go home. No, there was no time for a last dance; she really had to go now! I looked her straight in the eyes. She looked straight back, rising her hand in farewell. "Take care!" I smiled and gave her three kisses. She turned her cheeks to me. Her lips would have made all the difference. But I got her cheeks. Then she went away. The time until the proclamation was too short: I had to organize my room at home to get it ready for the summer holiday. Right after the proclamation I would leave for two months to 'my' hotel in the seaside resort Ostend, 100 kilometres away, where I had accepted to work during the summer holiday for the second time now. Together with a few people of our class, I spent an afternoon at Rudy's and during the weekend I took the train to the nearby little town of Ninove to visit Udo. Of course, it was raining that Saturday. Fortunately Udo was waiting for me at the railroad station with the car. After watching sports on television, we went into town, played billiards and then went looking for something that resembled a club or pub for

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young people, but there was nothing of that kind in Ninove. Nevertheless - or precisely because of this - we were slightly above our tea water when, too late for the last train back home, we ended up at Udo's again. Luckily, I was invited to stay over for the night. The next morning, before my return home, we played a game of chess, which I lost gloriously. It was a wonderful weekend. But in the late afternoon, on my way home, I suddenly felt sadness invade me again. "Tuesday is proclamation day!" Suddenly I realized very clearly that I was afraid. I was terrified that this proclamation meant the end of a part of my life that I didn't want to let go off. Strange really, because I hadn't exactly been all that happy these past few months and there was still another year of school ahead of me. Why then was I suddenly feeling so afraid and scared? The answer was not difficult to find, because I had breathed it every day. I might have denied it at times, betrayed it, have refused to acknowledge it, but there was only one answer to everything that I felt, and it was: Katherine! Whatever had happened between us, never a school year had been thus dominated by one person.

Never had I known greater

happiness, never deeper pain - unfortunately more painful moments than happy moments. "Puberty Crisis," I thought, while waiting in the railroad station for my connection home.

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I was changing, this much could not be denied. I certainly wasn't any longer the carefree boy I had been at the start of the year. I had experienced a lot since then, but perhaps not yet learned enough from my experiences. On the threshold of adult life, I stood, but still something was missing that allowed me to cross. Much as if I was standing at a railroad station, lacking one coin to pay for my fare, I felt I was Lacking just enough to feel that I didn't belong. Lacking just enough to win Katherine back. Lacking just enough to be my own man and stand on my own legs. Lacking just enough not to depend on coincidence. Lacking just enough to plan my own goals in life. Lacking just enough in order not to have to concentrate on my own life all the time, but to save sufficient energy left to feel really interested in others. Lacking just enough to make decisions and then back them up. This thought led me to questioning a number of features of myself. Some perhaps for the first time ever: I hated small talk. Was it not time to exercise exchanging small talk, since this apparently was the basis for establishing and

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maintaining contacts with other people? ("Nice weather today, huh," I was laughing). Was I too closed, too arrogant, too pretentious? And if so, was it really to hide my uncertainty? And if so, what was the source of this uncertainty? Was I too cautious? Too passive? Too lazy? Wasn't it time I took a little more initiative? Could I fascinate or at least interest people, or was I just a clown? What really interested me besides girls? Wasn't it time to find something I liked enough to turn it into a hobby? I could start training athletics with Danny! I would meet new people that way and become part of a group. "Stop mourning, Katherine. Learn to live! Live with or without me, but live in the knowledge that life is what you make of it and know that I love you and that you'll always be welcome with me!" Oh, I had expressed it so well, that afternoon when Katherine was crying in the classroom. But what had I been doing myself all this time? Now was the time to urgently take my own lessons to heart. Although it had been clear for such a long time that nothing was possible anymore between us, I was still living like a blind man, waiting for some light to miraculously shine through. A phone that rung made me hope that it was Katherine, even though we had never spoken on the phone. Shopping in Aalst ... and although

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there was no reason to, all I thought of was that, maybe Katherine too would be shopping in town that day. It was time to move on! When I arrived home, I found Danny waiting for me. He had won two provincial titles the week before and wanted to celebrate his success in Aalst with me. "But promise me one thing," he asked after I agreed: "Out together - home together, even if Katherine is there!" I immediately promised. Actually he had a point: in a way I treated him just like .... Angry I put the thought away from my mind. But, though I never wanted to believe that Katherine treated me in a similar way as to how I was treating Danny, I knew that in practice there were a lot of similarities in the way we used other persons as a back-up for the moments that they could be of use to us. "Distance," I thought on the way to town, "you must stay away from her." Why was I nervous when we arrived in the Caspuciero? Why was the first thing I did: glance around to check if Katherine was there? She was. She even came to us right away and bought each of us a beer. I longed to ask her about last Saturday, but the questions that burned my tongue were too personal to ask in front of Danny, and I could hardly leave Danny alone now after all that we had just said, just to go dancing with Katherine. I looked at her, searched her eyes for an answer to my unvoiced questions, but of course, there weren't any. Katherine was not

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interested in my searching eyes. She eluded me. Well, that was kind of an answer to. I felt the burning pain soaring in me. But I knew I had to be strong. A boy came over to us and invited Katherine to dance. She accepted. With a bleeding heart, I took advantage of her absence and informed Danny we would leave the Caspuciero as soon as Katherine's dance was over and we had been able to take our leave. Danny didn't object ... and neither did Katherine. Monday was a lazy day. Tuesday on the contrary, I ate breakfast well before 6 a.m. Around eight there was telephone call from Ostend asking if they could count on me for Sunday. Of course they could. My life had entered a new stage, I thought and laughingly told my mom. For once, she had no idea what I was talking about. I arrived early for the proclamation. Once inside the school hall, I found myself sitting next to Katherine 'by accident', though accident had very little to do with it: we both had easily been able to avoid sitting next to each other, yet ... She was tense, excited, looked forward to finding out if she had really managed to secure the second place. The nervousness made her busier than usual, even funnier. "I hope I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to take the chemistry exam over again," I sighed, remembering I had totally blacked out during the oral exam. "Impossible!" Katherine proclaimed with a big smile.

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"The written exam counts for half of the points, and ours was entirely correct!" Everything turned out just as she had expected: Katherine was second in the class. I followed in sixth place. When I returned to my seat with my report in my hands, Katherine spontaneously kissed me on the nose and congratulated me with my results. The kiss in the packed hall surprised me very much. But I was much more surprised to feel her hand on my leg as so soon as I sat down. It gave me a mild feeling. I looked at her, softly smiling, trying to share in her happiness and not think about the rest. With a smile, I signalled her that I understood her enthusiasm, although in reality I had given up completely even trying to understand something of this kind of behaviour. She smiled back and squeezed my leg really hard. I put my hand on hers, and so we stayed until everybody had received their results and we all escaped the hall, loaded with good advice. Outside school, at the bar, Katherine's big joy and friendliness looked somewhat tempered. She sought the company of the girls from our class and I went over to Udo. To my surprise, only a few minutes later, she came to sit with us. "Well, what are you guys drinking on me? I had promised you a beer if I succeeded in finishing second, remember?"

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"Yes I do! You did great, girl! Congratulations! And, of course, next year: first place, huh?" "You bet! Well, what do I order?" Katherine told about her new friend, which made me look up in surprise for the third time that day. Oh, I thought, why look for any meaning behind an innocent pecker and a simple pinch on the leg? I decided that this time, I wouldn't allow anything to spoil the day. We had both caused enough harm to each other. These last minutes that we were sharing before the summer holiday should be fun and nothing else! "I'm happy for you, Kate!" I smiled. "Good results, a steady boyfriend, the holidays beckoning! You're in for a happy time!" "Why are you saying that?" Oops! Fourth surprise. I kept smiling. "It'll surely be fun: Satisfaction, Sun, summer vacation and someone you love?! If that isn't, what else would it take to make you happy?" "Oh, that's what you mean. Yeah, I guess. Thank you!' Was I just fooling myself, or was she looking at me as if she didn't feel happy at all and didn't like that I was responding so joyfully?

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"Perhaps you could visit me during the holidays," she suddenly suggested, and this time her eyes were trying to hold mine. "I'll send you a postcard." "Write me? Why?" "Well, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be leaving for Ostend on Sunday, to work at the hotel again until early September. What will you do during the holidays?" "I? Oh, nothing is certain. My parents are going to buy me a moped. I guess I'll get by. Why didn't you tell me about the hotel?" Udo announced he had to take a train and left. Suddenly, we were alone again. Or, maybe we had already been for some time? "Sean, give me the address of that hotel, will you?" I wrote down the address on a napkin and handed it to her. After putting the napkin in her purse, Katherine suddenly started talking about her boyfriend again. Anything I would answer on a subject like that, would be used against me, I knew. So I silently listened to her story. "When a Man Loves a Woman" sounded in the background. But we were clearly finished. All roads between us were broken.

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"Willy is waiting for me in the Monopole," she said absent mindedly, looking around for a way out. But still, she didn't move from her chair. I drank the last drop of beer from my glass. "That was on your health," I said, just to say something. "Yes," she replied, looking at the door. "Well, then I think I'll be leaving too!" Me walking away first? Even Katherine must have sensed it as unusual: last weekend I had run off with Danny, and now I ran away again. "Wait, walk me to the Monopole." Together we stepped into the sunlight. I left her at the Monopole. No handshake. No kiss. Almost no expression. No nothing! "Adios!" "Bye!" That night in bed I thought about the two months that lay ahead and separated us. I felt abandoned, but also happy: I had experienced again how hard it was for me, how impossible even, to deal with Katherine in a comradely fashion, even though I knew everything was over, finally and irrevocably over.

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Slowly other thoughts entered my head: Tomorrow would bring a new goodbye: celebrating "the greatest parting of the school year" with Udo, George, Rudy and a few guys of the classroom, and the next day I would leave for the hotel. I wondered if Lesley would keep her promise and return to Ostend with her parents, as she had promised last year.

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YOUNG LOVE

Part 2: First Love's Shadow Dean Amory 268

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ENGELBERT HUMPERDINCK I'M A BETTER MAN WRITTEN BY BURT BACHARACH AND HAL DAVID If I could catch a star before it touched the ground I'd place it in a box, tie ribbons all around And then I'd offer it to you A token of my love and deep devotion The world's a better place With you to turn to I'm a better man For having loved you

And now, at last, I face the future unafraid With you here by my side, how fast the shadows fade And there is hope inside my heart Cause I have something wonderful to live for The world's a better place With you to turn to I'm a better man For having loved you

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And as I am today That's how 'll always stay A better man for having loved you A better man for having loved you

The world's a better place With you to turn to I'm a better man For having loved you And as I am today That's how I'll always stay A better man for having loved you A better man for having loved you

If I could catch a star before it touched the ground I'd place it in a box, tie ribbons all around And then I'd offer it to you

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Chapter 1 "Hast du Verstand und ein Herz, so Zeige nur eines von beiden. Beides verdammen sie dir, zeigest du beides zugleich." (Hรถlderlin)

Only a few people remained on the train until it reached the terminal station at the Flemish seaside resort Ostend. Loaded like a mule, I descended from the train and looked around. In many schools the exams hadn't even finished. The mere thought of already being here at sea, while others were still studying, made the sun shine brighter and Ostend look even more beautiful. I took goodbye of my classmates only yesterday. Afterwards, with a few friends, I had celebrated the end of the school year until the early hours. Yet, when my mom came to my bed this morning to make sure I got up in time, there were no signs of tiredness or hangover. I had even felt remarkably fresh after the few hours I had been sleeping. I really looked forward to the holiday job waiting for me in Brabant Hotel. During the day I was to help serve the meals, clear the tables and wash the dishes. But what made the job special, were the evenings, when I would again be king in the small hotel bar. Here, the older vacationers gathered early in the evening to

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watch the News on television, but later in the evening the younger guests jumped in for a night cap before going to bed. Chatting with people from all over the world, I had spent many interesting nights at this bar the previous year. I winked to the friendly young man who looked back at me through the Plexiglas wall at the bus stop, feeling proud that, at seventeen only, I would again be allowed full responsibility for my bar. Last year, Bert, the hotel owner, was so pleased by the confident way in which I handled the customers that he gradually withdrew from the bar. After a long day at the hotel, he was more than happy to leave the bar in my capable hands and enjoy a couple of relaxing hour before going to bed. "Ah, the inspectors do not work at night," he had appeased his own worries when considering that I wasn't legally allowed to do this kind of work, and thus he had provided me with the best holiday job a bloke my age could dream of. I hadn't hesitated one single moment when Bertie offered me the job again for this year. Only: now I came better prepared. In a suitcase I dragged along my own favourite records and amongst my clothes was a special outfit for the Summer Rock Festival.

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The bus dropped me off at Petit Paris, about one kilometre from the hotel. It was only a short walk from here to the hotel, but my suitcases weighed a ton and soon sweat started seeping down my half long hair in small rivulets. "What's the hurry?" I sighed when even my shirt started clinging to my body. I looked for a place in the shade, put the heavy suitcases down and lit a cigarette. While inhaling the first smoke, I dabbed my forehead with a handkerchief and looked around. I could already see the hotel: a stately 19th century faรงade, looking great between the surrounding unimaginative concrete and steel buildings. I felt really good, I realised. Away from home, away from school and the people I knew, this nevertheless truly felt like coming home. The pleasant memories of the year before now lived strongly in me. And this year? What would the summer holiday bring this year? I laughed softly to myself realising that I thought about my holiday job in terms of vacation and not work. There was no way this could turn out wrong! I threw my cigarette butt into the gutter and noticed a group of girls, who had just driven past me on their bikes.

They had

stopped and were talking among themselves, while looking at me. I hesitated, but then decided to find out what was the matter and, leaving my luggage on the boardwalk, stepped in their direction.

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"Nice trousers you're wearing!" one of the girls shouted to me by way of greeting. "These are the coolest trousers that I've ever seen!" I liked the grey trousers with their motive of brown clouds the moment I had set eyes on them. Bert wouldn't allow me to wear jeans at the hotel. Last year I had worn a black suit every day and I planned to do so again this year. But after Bert had gone to sleep, I could wear whatever I want without anybody noticing and these trousers were just the kind of stuff that I had been looking for. Well, whatever Bertie's opinion about the trousers, this remark confirmed that I had chosen well: this surely was the first time in my life that a girl stopped just to tell me that she liked what I was wearing! Talking about a good omen for the holiday! "Here on holiday?" the girl asked before I even had the opportunity to thank her for the compliment. It was obvious that she was the leader of the group. She clearly had quite a character. The others produced hardly more than an embarrassed giggle. "Wow, you look like someone who needs to be handled with kid gloves!" I laughed. "No, I'm here to work. Student job in hotel Brabant." "Brabant? We supply them with bread!"

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"Then we'll meet again soon? What's your name?" "Maryssa. And you are?" â&#x20AC;?Sean, your humble servant." I made a graceful bow in her direction, upon which she stretched her hand towards me, which I kissed.

Maryssa was clearly

charmed by the gallantry. "My humble servant! Great! Well, I don't actually deliver bread myself, but if you really want to meet me, it shouldn't be too difficult: you can find me at the beach every afternoon!" I admired her brutality. She must have been about my age, maybe one year younger than me. Her big brown eyes were staring at me frankly. Because we were by now standing very close together, she had to look up a little bit to me, which made her long auburn hair look even longer than it really was. "I'll gladly visit you at the beach as soon as possible." I accepted the invitation with an extra-soft voice. "Don't wait too long!" she laughed back and the next moment, she jumped on her bike and, followed by her friends, continued her way to the beach.

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I kept looking at the little group of girls until they disappeared out of sight. One didn't meet a girl like Maryssa every month; that much was certain to me. She really didn't need to be afraid that she would have to wait long before I went searching for her! Wow! That was a promising start! The suitcases felt lighter after this break, the world more beautiful and the holiday more promising than ever. The last couple of hundred meters to the hotel, it felt like I was walking on clouds. Moments later, I was shaking both hands that Bert had extended to me while running up to me as I entered the hotel. While listening to the torrent of words of welcome that he shed over me, the sense of recognition and home-coming was suddenly totally back again. â&#x20AC;&#x153;This feels so good!â&#x20AC;? I thought happily looking around in my old room after Bert had left me there to refresh myself and unpack before being introduced to the rest of the staff. My room! Even the lovers on the poster that I had put up the previous year, were still present and looked down on me in a familiar and encouraging way. "Here I am and now it's up to me to make the best of it and enjoy myself as much as possible!" I grinned to the mirror after a quick

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shower. I put on a record, changed clothes and went humming down for the introduction round. It was the last week of June, and there weren't many guests at the hotel yet, so I had ample opportunity to adapt to the work. But after the weekend, guests poured in in great numbers and from one moment to another, the peace and quiet ceded to the boiling rush of the season. I worked from morning till evening and time slipped past like a sigh. Every day, I got out of bed at seven, and after a quick breakfast, assisted with the administration in the restaurant. Immediately after clearing the restaurant, it had to get cleaned and prepared for lunch.

If necessary, I helped washing dishes, but my main

responsibility once the restaurant was ready, was to check up on the drinks. In the mean time, the first customers would already arrive for lunch and it would be time to start serving meals until about half past two. Then, after replenishing the fridges and checking the wine racks, there was finally some time to eat and relax. After lunch, Either Bertie, Victorine, a senior staff member, or I would be in charge of the reception desk. If I was not on duty, I would be free until half past five, when my presence was required for serving dinner. Finally, after dinner, I was lord and master in

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the bar. Officially until closing time at midnight, but almost always much, much later. Bertie was very pleased with the way things went: in the early evening, guests flocked together in the bar, before leaving for town. Some would stay at the bar to watch television or spend an evening chatting amongst each other. They were usually already in bed by the time the first party numbers started trickling in for a last drink before also going to bed. Thanks to the cooperation with a couple of travel agencies, the hotel was a melting pot of nationalities. The Belgians, especially from Brussels and Liege, were usually the smaller half of the clients. There were also a lot of English tourists. Sometimes, we had Americans staying at the hotel and nearly always also some French, German and Dutch tourists. Occasionally we would even have tourists from Scandinavia, Southern Europe or even South America among the guests. The younger guests were almost invariably curious about the ideas and lives of other nationalities. Especially after a couple of beers, they would easily engage in a conversation and often stay at the bar until 2 am or even later. The first week, when things were still less hectic, I went to the beach a couple of times to look for Maryssa. But it had been less

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simple than I had expected to recognize somebody amongst the sunbathing crowd. I realized I should have asked her exactly where at the beach she spent her time. But it was too late for that now. The second week, I hadn't been to the beach at all because I was simply too tired. Occasionally, I had spent an hour in the sun, taking a sunbath on the hotel terrace, but I had just as well crawled between the sheets a number of times and used the free hours for a quick nap. When the first two weeks of my vacation were over, I decided I could just as well take a nap in the sand and I returned to the beach. The first afternoon at the beach was boring: after a quick walk up and down the dike without finding a trace of Maryssa, I stretched myself out in the sand. Sleeping there soon proved to be an utopia: on the crowded beach, people were walking past me all the time, children were playing and throwing sand around, dogs barking .... This really didn't meet my expectations. I missed a friend, someone to be together with, somebody with whom I could share the sun, the sea and the beach and with whom I could talk. The next day I returned to the beach, but while walking up to it, I felt the solitude already weighing on me. What to do?

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Looking around, I noticed a blond girl walking down the stairs to the beach all alone. She spread a beach mat on the sand, then undressed and put her clothes in a bag. She was wearing a black bikini and showed a beautifully tanned skin. After kneeling down on the mat, she took her long fair hair behind her head and tied it together, then rubbed her skin with sunscreen and stretched out on the beach mat. I was at a safe distance, and could not take my eyes from her. She was beautiful, I realised. Too bad that she didn't move at all anymore! In a sudden impulse, I jumped out of my clothes, took them and resolutely walked up to her. "Excuse me," I said in Dutch, pausing to find out if she understood what I was saying.

Apparently she did. I then

explained as careful and polite as possible: "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I work here during the holiday and I would really love to swim, but I know no one I can trust to leave my clothes with. If you're planning on staying here for a little while longer, would it be OK to leave my clothes here with you?" While shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, she raised herself a little and was now leaning on her elbow. She didn't answer my question, but looked at me, contemplating, and then

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slowly nodded her head. With a polite "Thank you so very much!" I dropped my clothes next to her and ran off to the waves. It was my first swim in the sea this holiday. The summer sun had already warmed the water, but it was still cold enough. Yet, once I had walked past the bathers and had started swimming, I enjoyed the feeling of freedom that engulfed me. "This is real life!" I thought, looking up at the blue sky. My loneliness was completely forgotten: here, in the water, things felt the other way around: I was alone with the water and the sun and the cry of the seagulls and really didn't need anything else. I was suddenly woken up from my meditation by the loud sound of a horn. Patrolling lifeguards judged I was venturing out too far in sea and one of them pointed towards the beach with a commanding arm. My aim had been to swim up to one of the buoys, knowing I would be able to rest there for a few minutes before returning to the beach. Looking back now, I was terrified when I realized how far from the beach I already was. Ebb tide, I realized. This implied that I would have to fight my way back to the beach! I waved to the lifeguard to signal that I had understood and started swimming back to the shore with slow, powerful strokes. As I was swimming, the water did not feel cold anymore at all, but when I finally reached the beach and rose to my legs in the shallow

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water, I started shivering all over. The swim had exhausted me, I realized. My legs were shaking, and I knew this was not just because of the cold. I needed my towel and clothes now. But where was the girl? For a second, I panicked when I couldn't see her, but then realized I had drifted off from the place where I had gone into the water. I walked back with wooden legs and was glad to finally find her: She lay on her stomach, reading a book and smiled kindly at me when I suddenly appeared next to her. I smiled faintly back, murmured "Hi!" grabbed my towel and started drying myself. I was still shivering so much that she immediately noticed. "Cold?" She asked. I smiled back at the rhetorical question. "I'm Sean." "Linda" she replied, while rolling over and raising herself until she was sitting on the mat. "What are you reading, if I may be so indiscreet?" I asked interested. "Hemingway, The Old Man And The Sea", she said as if she ought to be ashamed of herself.

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It sounded like music to my ears. Imagine: no romance story, no thriller, but Hemingway! I knew nobody amongst my friends who shared my preference for English literature! So, there were others! In no time, we were lost in an animated conversation about our favourite authors and books. After a while, the girl put the book aside and stretched out in the sun again. I stretched next to her on the warm sand, closed my eyes, and then suddenly remembered how little time I must have left. I opened my eyes to look at my watch and found myself looking straight into Linda's eyes. She was on both her elbows, watching me. I kept looking at her, she kept looking at me, and we both kept looking into each other's eyes. This is so unreal, I thought: only a few minutes ago we were total strangers and here we are drowning in each other's eyes as if we're long-time lovers. Without a single word or introduction, I suddenly leaned over to her and kissed her. Carefully, waiting for her response first, but then more passionately when I felt my kiss was answered. I know nothing about her, I realized while kissing. She might be engaged, married, God-knows-what-else!

But

somehow, these thoughts made the kiss feel even better. "Are you here on vacation?" I finally asked, after a long and wonderful kiss, while we were looking at each other, both surprised about what had just happened.

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"No, I live here â&#x20AC;&#x201C; close to the ranch." Noticing that I did not know what she meant, she added: "the riding school".

But that wasn't of great help either, so she

explained in detail where she lived. While listening to her, it suddenly occurred to me that the beach was a lot emptier than earlier. I looked at my watch. My God! I was more than half an hour late for dinner already! Linda noticed my shock and burst out laughing when I explained. "Hotel Brabant?

Come, I'll walk with you. It's time I had

something to eat myself!" Arm in arm we walked to the hotel, where we parted with a passionate kiss, but not after we had agreed that Linda would come to the hotel the next day at half past two to go to the beach with me. I was a bit worried about Bertie's reaction to me arriving late. To my surprise Bertie took the matter lightly: "There really isn't much work for dinner. If things aren't too busy, you can take some more time for yourself from now on. Just make sure that the bar is open at seven. OK.? " OK.? This was more than OK! I could almost have embraced Bertie! While rinsing the sand from my hair under the shower, I

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reflected happily on this wonderful capacity of life, to suddenly change into the kind of fairy tale we only minutes before thought was totally impossible. Suddenly, I thought back to the recent year and images rushed through my mind. As in a movie projected at high velocity, the experiences at school quickly passed the revue: the wonderful months together with Katherine, followed by even more months of unnecessary pain, when we had failed to create the necessary distance between us. For six months, we had been attracted to each other every day. We had missed each other, and yet not been able to restore the relationship, because Katherine put her studies first and had felt pressured to enter into some kind of relationship that she was not ready for yet,

whereas I had taken our

relationship too serious and had needed to see and feel this confirmed in agreements and actions. When I had failed in convincing her that love isn't just some kind of switch that one can turn off or on arbitrarily, I had tried to keep a distance from her, insisting that I couldn't continue spending time together with her and pretend to agree with just being a friend until we would have finished highschool. This too had failed, and eventually we had been living in some weird kind of holding pattern for months, turning rounds around each other while both becoming increasingly frustrated.

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All of this happened so very recently. And yet: in the shower of the hotel, it seemed that there really shouldn't have been a problem at all. Everything could be reduced to a communication failure; a difference in approach and our inability to reach a workable compromise! This conclusion didn't really make things easier: the events were still very fresh in my memory and concentrating all the pain and missing into a simple formula, which included the need for me to accept that I was at least partly responsible myself for what had happened, caused an almost physical pain. Icaros, I thought, that is what we, humans, are: Icaros. Always wanting to reach the sun, but the minute we get too close to it, the wax of our wings melts and we fall down to earth again! Thinking back to Katherine, I suddenly became aware that, as a result of this experience, it would be impossible for me to quickly engage myself with the same level of intensity into a relationship with anyone else. I felt I wasn't ready to give myself to anybody else yet. I was tired and sick of secretive behaviour, dating rules and taboos. What I wanted from a girl now, was to accept me for whom I was. "Maybe that is what growing up is all about," I grinned contemptuously at my reflection: "If you want to avoid pain - and pain appears to be the price you pay for the pursuit of your

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dreams, then you must adapt your dreams. The result: less dreams, less pain." But was it true?

Were dreams something you could control?

Didn't we need dreams that were bigger than life, bigger than what we thought could easily be achieved? Didn't we always move from one dream to another; never satisfied with what we had and always trying to reach the unreachable? And didn't we constantly search for other ways to make our dreams come true? Icaros ... what is best? Not to fall or not to try? Don't we always long for the sun and in between flights search for new starting points and techniques to reach it? What was life without dreams? And what does it take to know when you've flown high enough and must be satisfied with the goal you've reached? All this meditating confused me. Still, I wouldn't have known all this pain if only Katherine had been clearer about what she wanted, I swore under my breath. No way would I allow myself to give in to the depressive mood that had attacked me so suddenly and unexpectedly. Not here and certainly not now! Katherine was more than a hundred kilometres away and, when it came to her, a realistic goal was even further away. So I forced myself to leave past and future for what they were and return to the present. I thought very deliberately back to the sun and the

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sand and Linda's kisses, and to the fleeting encounter with Maryssa. Before leaving my room, I played a very cheerful record and made some dance moves and by the time I entered the bar, I felt more than ready for yet another exciting evening. At exactly half past two the next day, Linda arrived at the hotel. She looked beautiful, standing there in the lobby, waiting for me to show up and clearly feeling very self-concious. I invited her in and explained that Bertie had asked me to take over the afternoon shift at the reception desk because he had an appointment with the doctor. So no beach for me that day. Linda agreed to keep me company at the hotel. There was only one chair in the small reception room. So, with Linda sitting on my lap, we continued our acquaintance. I didn't find out much about her: Linda was very private about her life and answered most questions with a kiss or some playful tickling. Conversely, she was very curious about my history. After telling her about my life, without including Katherine in the story, I tried again in vain to find out more about her. When I finally asked her directly whether she was deliberately hiding things from me, she replied laughing: "Do I still have something that I can hide for you?" I surrendered and we spend the rest of the afternoon kissing and caressing each other. A few minutes before six, we

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agreed to meet again the following day and then said tenderly goodbye to each other. Linda had just left when new guests checked in. They had missed their transport in Dover and had been forced to take a boat to Boulogne, France. They were not very pleased with the extra fare the French had charged for the detour. According to them, the French had taken advantage of the fact that they couldn't change their mind anymore once their car had been boarded, and had charged them too much. Totally unfair! I agreed with all they said, completed the reception formalities as quickly as possible and showed them their room. They insisted I'd take all their suitcases and bags with us in the narrow lift. Apparently, they didn't trust any Continentals anymore. So I send them up to the second floor with the elevator and used the stairway myself in order to prevent having to separate them from some items of their precious luggage. When I left them a few moments later in their room, I received the usual English tip for all my trouble: zilts, nada, nichts, nothing. There was one bright spot though: the new guests, a family from Abergavenny, had a picture of a daughter, Judy. Maybe a bit too young to try something with, I reflected, but she might still be fun to talk with. The combination of dark brown hair and light blue

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eyes was something I'd never seen before and her appearance had surely not failed to make a good impression on me. While copying the data from Judy's passport to the mandatory police voucher, my mind returned to Linda. The meeting with Linda apparently inspired me. As lonely as I had been feeling only two days before, just as convinced I felt at this moment that I didn't have to spend one single day alone unless that was what I wanted for myself. Judy ... I smiled because a French poem from the famous Jacques Prévert popped up in my head: "J'aime qui m'aime, est-ce ma faute a moi que ce n'est pas la même que j'aime chaque fois?" - "I love the one that loves me. Is it my fault if it’s not the same person that I love each time?" The next afternoon, however, my smile was much smaller: I was all ready for the beach, but Linda did not show up as agreed at half past two. After fifteen minutes of idly kicking around, I began to smell trouble. Half an hour, I said to myself: if she doesn't show up within half an hour, then I'm off to the beach without her. One full hour later, I was still dwelling in the hall, feeling a lot more uncertain still. The sky was covered with clouds by now, which was not cheering me up much either. Also, somewhere during the last hour, I had already stopped believing that Linda was delayed. I just knew she wouldn't show anymore.

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Do something, I told myself. The difference between anything and nothing is infinite! Do anything! I repeated half aloud to myself. This much was clear: staying here was a total waste of time! The situation recalled painful memories of the hours that I had spent at the Beerfest, waiting in the rain and cold for Katherine. She hadn't shown up either then. Nobody could expect that somebody else should wait for them for that long! I was convinced that there are two kinds of people: those whose life depended mainly on other peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s decisions, and hence were lived, and those who decide for themselves. In recent months I had allowed myself too much to be lived, I knew. A hundred times before had I put limits and made decisions: no more, never again! But, with Katherine, each decision had always been revoked, each limit surpassed.

I had always so easily found excuses for

postponing things in order to keep the hope alive and what good did that bring me? Linda wasn't Katherine: I barely knew the girl and it was clear that she was hiding things from me. I didn't owe her anything and I was certainly not going to let her determine my life in any way. "No!" I swore quietly: "I am no martyr! I've too much catching up to do in order to restore my internal balance. The question that remained was: What to do? I looked doubtfully up to the grey sky. Anything is better than doing nothing, I repeated. Something is by definition positive! It didn't exactly

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make me feel excited, but I still left the hotel and started strolling to the beach. Linda wasn't at the spot where I had seen her the first time. Not that I had expected her to be. I continued my walk on the dike. Maryssa? The name of the only other person I knew in Ostend, popped up in my mind. I searched for her, much like I had done the first few days at the beach, but by the time I reached the Cursal at the end of the dike, I had long given up all hope of ever finding her amongst the wriggling mass of bathers. I left the dike, strolled down to the town-area, bought a couple of second-hand records and books and returned slowly back to the hotel along the same path that I had come. It started to drizzle. My mood was already pretty damaged, but if there was anything that could make it worse, then it surely was rain! When it started to rain harder, I fled in to a terrace that was overlooking the dike, ordered a beer and looked listlessly at all the people who were quickly gathering their belongings and fleeing the beach. In no time the terrace I was sitting on, like all the other patisseries and cafĂŠs in the neighbourhood, was filled with people. There were not enough chairs to accommodate them all, which made me appreciate my cosy place in the corner of the terrace even more!

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Half distracted I started reading one of the books I had just bought. "If you want to remove a cloud from your life, don't turn it into an enormous task: just relax and remove it from your mind." Richard Bach was clearly inspired by the Indian philosophers.

His story 'The False Messiah' reminded me of

Herman Hesse's Demian and Siddharta, two of my favourite books. Well - if I didn't have a girlfriend, at least I had found a good book! So good indeed that my mood improved with every page I read. In fact it was true: how could I allow my mood to be this volatile? â&#x20AC;&#x153;There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts." With growing excitement I continued reading: "You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it come true. You may have to work for it, however.!" The book strengthened the intention I had started my holiday job with. I had only one obligation I read: to be true to myself. The storyline of the book was rather faint and the content was perhaps best defined as a superposition of one-liners. But I had never before found so many original and inspiring one-liners in one single book. Moreover it felt as if so many of them were really useful to me at this stage of my life. "Friendship you feel. If you keep moving between people, you will soon click with others and

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be surprised to discover that you seem to understand some people better after only a few minutes than others you have known a whole lifetime." I read, and: "All people and things in our life are there because we are attracted to them and want to keep them. Every moment again, we are free to give up what we don't like anymore." or: " If your happiness depends on what somebody else does, I guess you do have a problem." The book struck me as a summary of everything that had occupied my mind for months, and in most conclusions of Richard Bach, I recognized my own. I closed my eyes and thought back to me meeting Linda. Actually, the entire meeting had been almost too unlikely to be true! In fact, I had felt attracted to her from the moment I saw her walk down the stairs and later, had experienced this incredible click when we were talking about books. I knew that, whatever the reason why she hadn't shown up today, it did not matter to me: I had taken an initiative and had been rewarded with an incredible experience! Why would I even feel guilty or sad? If she showed up again tomorrow, or next week, then I would know what to do, depending on how things would be and feel at that time. If she didn't, then this was a sign that things were better this way. By the time I returned to the hotel, I felt relieved and calm. There were still guests at the restaurant when I entered the hotel and,

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although that was not expected of me, I quickly changed clothes and assisted with serving dinner. The sun came out later in the afternoon and most guests left the hotel after dinner. It was very quiet at the bar, with only a few older people watching the news, so I settled down in a corner and continued reading. Between ten and eleven the bar was completely empty. Bertie entered and when he saw me all alone in the bar, asked if I'd like to have the evening off and explore Ostend at night. He volunteered to attend to the bar himself. To his surprise, I thanked him and said that I preferred to stay because my book was not finished yet! The following days nothing important happened. I spent quite a lot of time reading. My greatest pleasure though was to pay some special attention to Judy whenever the opportunity presented itself. To my delight, she responded positively! The first week of her stay in Ostend was over now and apart from some chitchat in the restaurant, we had not exchanged a single word with each other. I had hitherto never even been with her alone: she was always accompanied by at least one of her parents. The little family only came down when it was time to eat and always left the hotel immediately after the meal. A few times they went on a tour and did not even have lunch or dinner at the hotel.

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That changed one afternoon when I had been asked to fall in for Bertie at reception desk again. Judy's parents left the hotel without her and a little later Judy emerged from the elevator. She walked past me with a friendly hello and walked into the hall. There she stopped and remained at the door, looking around rather helplessly. She was probably waiting for the return of her parents, I guessed. Since I had nothing better to do but wait for guests to arrive, I decided to go over and have a chat with her. She told me that she'd had a fight with her parents. She complained that this was the most boring holiday ever: she didn't know anyone here, she had no opportunity of meeting other young people, her parents dragged her to the most boring and unpleasant places all the time and at the beach they insisted that she always stayed with them. Could I even imagine anything more frustrating? Aha! This was useful information! What we needed, was a strategic plan, and quickly. That much was clear! Would her parents be back soon? No: she was grounded, confined to her room for the afternoon, to reflect about her behaviour. So we started making plans together. It was almost time for dinner when her parents returned. She followed them to their room and submitted our plan. I must confess I found it all quite exiting and even a bit mysterious and

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funny. Since we had agreed that she would report back to me, I waited for her at the elevator. After a short while, Judy left her parents' room with a big smile and came dancing to me. There was this atmosphere of success and conspiracy in the air as I opened the elevator door and we slipped inside. That atmosphere became stronger only when I blocked the elevator between two floors and inquired about the conversation with her parents. I immediately realized that her parents agreed with our plan. Judy was very excited and wanted to thank me with a sweet pecker. At least, I think this was her intention, because I didn't hesitate to take advantage of the moment and, embracing her tightly, kissed her passionately. An unforgettable week followed.

We went out almost every

afternoon - we explored the youth cafĂŠs at Ostend's Montmartre, hired a go-cart, went rummaging together in the second-hand book- and record shop that I had discovered and also spent an afternoon at the beach together. On one occasion, we were even allowed to leave together at night: it was a stormy night, with howling winds and high waves and my story about the phosphorescent waves that could be seen at such nights, had not failed to fascinate Judy.

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That evening, with the wind attempting to rip the clothes from our bodies, only a few meters from the roaring sea, with the waves splashing up against the pier, we stood kissing on the promenade. Most evenings though, we spent together in the bar. Bertie wasn't very happy with the situation â&#x20AC;&#x201C; less after he found us kissing in the empty bar one night. He called me to his office and told me I should know better: "That girl is returning home in a couple of days, so you shouldn't have engaged in an emotional relationship with her in the first place!" he lectured. But his main worry was the reputation of the establishment. "You know how people are! If they see the two of you sitting too close together in the bar, they will talk about it with me or even with the girl's parents. I don't want to have my hotelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s good reputation ruined and I don't want trouble with customers.

So, please take

responsibility and behave as you should!" "It befits not ..." My mind returned to Katherine instantly. Putting my feet on the desk at school: "it befits not." Sitting on the floor in a pub: "it befits not" Pulling out my shirt when it was too warm in the dance hall: "It befits not". ... Katherine ... Oops, there it was again - that sick feeling in my stomach. Of course, both Bertie and Katherine were right! But that wasn't what made me feel sick. Oooh, Katherine!

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The pain didn't last longer than a few minutes. There was no time nor place in my life now for useless pain. Judy had already left the bar when Bertie called me in and in the meanwhile other guests started to arrive at the bar. After I promised Bertie to behave, I returned to the bar and spent the rest of the time talking and joking with the guests, forgetting the brief moment of pain almost immediately. The night before Judy's departure, we shared a glass of campari and martini on my room and I played some sweet tearjerker records. There wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t much time, since we didn't want to risk getting caught. Still, Judy refused to return to her room at the agreed time, and left only half an hour later, weeping, swearing she would return and hide in my closet; announcing that she would run away from her parents to be with me; or even not return to Abergavenny at all. Despite the tears and the drama we both knew that all of this sweet romantic crap was just part of our little game and that Judy, still a little pale after a restless night, would follow her mom and dad back home the following day. As she did. "I forgot to ask her to write me," I thought after they had left. But then, so had she. Of course I had her address on the registration form that was at the reception, so if I really wanted, I could write ... but by the time I had finished the thought, I had also forgotten

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all about it. This had been a sweet and nice intermezzo. I know that only by respecting it for what it was, would it remain a beautiful memory. Ah ... the games people play ... I had to play that record again tonight!

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Chapter 2 "The smell of deep forest after the rain, The smell of water and rust-brown wood The smell of the horse that one prefers to ride And of the dark hair that one loves, Dark and Light, resting in the white bed, And what is best in this life, To sleep with your lover at your side And that this will be for all times These are the things which will never cease to be." (Werumeus Buning)

The day after Judy's departure didn't start too well: through my window I witnessed a fluke shower of rain tearing apart the promising morning mist.. "What would the new day bring?" I wondered. I was in a romantic mood and remained contemplating in front of the window, thinking back to the pleasant moments I had spent with Judy. I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sad because of the farewell. I'd always been aware of the fact that Judy would leave soon and had known her far too short to miss her. No, when I thought about her, all I felt was happiness and gratitude for the beautiful moments of tenderness that we had shared. " Don't be dismayed by good-byes." I quoted Bach: "A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is

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certain for those who are friends." Hmm, the latter didn't sound like a real prospect in this case. "We've never even been true friends, then." I consoled myself with a smile. The sound of the internal telephone tore me away from my musings. "Hello?" "Well, Sean, are you still asleep? It's time you came down: room seven is already sitting at the table and you know people don't like to wait. So hurry, please!" A little click told me that I could vent my opinion uncensored again. "Don't bother, Bertie, I'm on my way," I muttered, only to react with shock when I heard Bertieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice again in the horn: "Sean?" "Yes?" "Could you close the bathroom door on the third on your way down?" "OK.!"

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The third was actually a mezzanine. In this old part of the hotel there was only one bathroom for every five bedrooms. I rushed down, closed the door and hurried back to the elevator, only to discover that somebody had occupied it.

So I slid down the

staircase hand reeling from floor to floor until I landed in the hall. Old stairs had advantages! Moments later, I was back to work: "Good morning 'Ma'am,' mornin' Sir, you take coffee, do ye?" "Nay, I'll have some lemon tea. What will you have, dear? " "Dear" wanted cocoa. I couldn't help laughing. It must be because of the rain, I surmised. It promised to be a busy day. "See if I care!" I chuckled. Indeed, a busy day it was: the maĂŽtre d'hĂ´tel dropped a plate full of empty and half full coffee cans, covering the restaurant flour with smithereens; the baker arrived late with the baguettes - the French bread the English guests loved so much - and by the time we were able to sit down for breakfast ourselves, there was no coffee left. So I had to settle for a slice of bread with cola. That afternoon, I remained inside the hotel. Bertie had asked me to prepare a new supply of presentation leaflets and looking at the piles of leaflets, I realised it would take me a couple of afternoons

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to fill in the current prices in the printed leaflets with the old mechanical typewriter. Whenever this kind of odd job submerged, I usually also took over the afternoon shift from whoever was supposed to do it. This way, one of the others was unexpectedly free from duty and I would, if necessary in the future, not feel bad to ask them to fill in for me. Since we didn't even expect any arrivals that day, it didn't look like much trouble either. After lunch, I settled in the reception room with the radio next to me, enjoying some music while filling in the leaflets. Around four, after his afternoon nap, Bertie popped in to see if everything was well. He looked very pleased with my progress. "Sean, I won't mention it every day, but you know that you're welcome to ask me to take over the bar whenever you'd want to spend an evening in town. All you need to do is ask me in advance." "Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you. I love working in the bar at night, but since you ask, I would like to go out for a walk tonight!" The idea had just occurred to me and I asked with no apparent reason. Maybe it wasn't even such a good idea: it was still raining

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and wandering around town on my own had rarely resulted in a great evening. Fortunately, in the course of the afternoon the rain stopped and thanks to a strong breeze, the sky soon miraculously cleared up completely. The streets were still steaming and the air felt warm and humid when I left the hotel that night, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a long raincoat. I went straight to Long Street, Ostend's 'Montmartre', the exit area of the city. I paid a short visit to a couple of bars. In a club, I met two of our guests and soon found myself acting as an interpreter between a young married French couple and two Americans. The Americans had a terrible attitude. All they did was boasting about how much bigger and better things were in America, so I politely pulled back on the first opportunity and fled away with the false excuse that I had an appointment somewhere else. I went to another club, where a group of young Belgians were quarrelling with a French group. I didn't like that either, so, at around half past eleven, I decided to try my luck at Ostend's only beach-disco and left for the beach. By then, little was left of the hopes with which I started my evening out. When I arrived at the dike, music was coming my way from the beach. An older man was singing in an hoarse voice "The House Of The Rising Sun", while playing along on the guitar. I thought he might have been a beggar, but still: his voice sounded great in

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the nightly environment, so I stopped to listen.

The singer was

sitting somewhere near the middle of the beach, surrounded by a group of young people and sang the song slowly and lived through the silence. I approached the group as close as possible without leaving the dike and sat down on the stone edge to listen. When the song was done, it left a silence hanging over the beach that felt like magic from the place where I was sitting. The silence was broken only by the soft murmur of voices coming from the group and an occasional clinging of glasses. Then the man started to sing again: "Hey Jude". After a few lines a girl's voice joined in. I couldn't remember ever having heard anything as beautiful as these two people singing in the middle of the night on an almost completely desolated beach. I felt hypnotized. "Father and Son" sounded now, immediately followed by "Streets of London". I closed my eyes and allowed the sound of the music to invade me completely. Suddenly I became aware of a presence close to me. Pickpockets? Startled, I looked around, only to find that a few yards away someone was also listening to the music: Maryssa. I recognized her instantly. There was no doubt: this was the girl I had met the first day when I arrived in Ostend and whom I had been searching for in vain on a number of occasions. Sitting there motionless in the

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darkness, she looked really magical: a picture stolen from my deepest dreams. This was no coincidence, I realized. I knew she had chosen to sit there because she had recognized me. Without actually seeing much in the darkness, I also knew that she wasn't looking at the group on the beach, but at me. Now that I had spotted her, I also kept looking at her, incapable of looking away. While I slowly rose to my feet, the music on the beach faded out again. There was a muffled sound of laughter and the occasional â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;psshhhtâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; of beer cans opening. For a moment, the spell seemed to be lifted, but then a few guitar chords sounded again, followed by the clear and now louder voice of the girl: "And sympathy is what we need my friend, 'cause there's not enough love to go round". Never in my life had I experienced a moment that was more loaded with magic than now. "This is a dream, this cannot be real," I thought. I felt totally unreal, a spectator in my own life and at the same time permeated by a strange, overall happiness: happy because I was young and healthy; happy because I had been so lucky in being offered this holiday job; and happy because Maryssa was sitting there all alone on the dike on this particular summer evening.

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I walked up to her and, without speaking, stretched my hands out to her. Silently she raised her hands and I pulled her up. â&#x20AC;?Shall we dance, my princess?" I whispered in a voice that must have sounded hoarser than that of the old man on the beach. She didn't answer, but moved close against me. Slowly we danced to the strains of the song, until somewhere halfway, Maryssa looked up to me and I closed her mouth with a warm kiss. "Linda revisited," I couldn't help thinking, but even as the thought was still talking shape, I already knew that it was a lie: this clearly was an encounter of a different order! "Isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t it a little late for a young girl to wander about on the dike all by herself?" I asked her a few minutes later, while we were sitting in tender embrace between the beach cabins. "And for a young man?" She replied mockingly. We kissed again. "Let's go swimming!" she suddenly shouted. "You're crazy!" But agonizingly slow and with much emphasis she started taking of her clothes. She wore a bikini under her clothes, I noticed. When she ran toward the water, there was not much else I could

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do than to get rid of my own clothes too as quickly as possible and run after her in my underwear. The group on the beach immediately noticed us. "It's Maryssa!" one of them called and by the time I reached Maryssa, a few guys also came running over and ran into the sea. "You see, I'm never alone!" Maryssa laughed while pressing a salty kiss on my lips and then quickly swimming off again. I spent the next few days in total rapture. Every free minute of the afternoon, I shared with Maryssa and her friends. She hadn't lied though: she was never alone. Our relationship was limited to a kiss as a greeting or farewell, and having fun together with the others. When I invited her to the hotel, she declined "Because the owner knows my parentsâ&#x20AC;?. Spending an evening together was impossible "Because I am allowed to leave home during the afternoons only." Even being alone with her for five minutes on an afternoon was difficult. She spent her afternoons with her friends on the beach and I wasn't allowed to kiss or touch her when her friends were present. "Because, someone already told my parents about us." Every now and then we would run off together for a few minutes and kiss as soon as we were out of sight of the others, hidden

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between two beach cabins or in the shelter of a portal. There, Maryssa would shower me with kisses and caresses and press her body against mine, but as soon as we returned into the sunlight, her affection was limited to flirtatious glances and mere verbal attention. After little more than a week, the original enchantment was severely abated. I felt like a dog on a leash, a kind of trophy that she spoiled in order to enjoy showing off to her friends with what was beyond doubt just another of her conquests. More and more I began to draw comparisons with my recent experience with Katherine. Hadn't I decided not to ever again allow others to decide how I should behave? If I wasn't happy with the situation as it was, why not take initiative myself as soon as possible? Hmm, let's find out if this really helps! The following day, while we were lying in embrace on the warm sand at the edge of the dike, I invited her out for a trip to nearby Bredene during the weekend. "What can Bredene offer that Ostend canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t?" "Bredene has dunes, it's fun and we would be alone for once." "Fie, naughty boy!"

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"Naughty boy?" "You've bad thoughts, haven't you?" Mocking or not, her answer surprised me. Most of all because it reminded me of Katherine again. In fact, with every new day that went by, Maryssa reminded me always more of Katherine, and I wasn't exactly fond of this, as it invariably yielded more pain than pleasure. "I always have bad thoughts," I laughed, "but most of all, I'd love to share some time with you alone and not always have to share you with half of Ostend." "Oh, but I know many people in Bredene as well!" she laughed back. "Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more, I could only get permission at home to go to Bredene if I went with the others." "We can send them away and arrange to meet later before returning home." "Noooo, one of them would surely inform my parents." "OK. What do you suggest we do? " "What do I propose? I don't understand what you want, Sean. Didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you like it just now, behind the casino?"

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"Those five minutes of kissing?" I thought bitterly. But I swallowed the words. We were on a totally different wavelength, I realized. It was clear that all Maryssa needed was some attention and a sporadic kiss and hug. Nothing more was to be expected of her. For a moment I considered adjusting my own dreams. After all, it was quite fun to be part of Maryssa's group and to spend time with them at the beach. But then again, who was "Maryssa's group"? Three girls, five permanent worshippers and some white knights who would be around for one or two days and disappear again as soon as they discovered that they didn't stand a chance to date her. Already I was looked upon as a rival by every boy in the group. If they were friendly to me, their friendliness was only a means to bring them closer to Maryssa. Moreover, they constantly challenged me in an effort to prove themselves. If one thought he was a good athlete, he would ask me if I could run fast. For the same reasons others wanted to know if I could sing well or if I understood French. The fact was: I was a stranger to these guys, a pretty nasty brush in the road, an obstacle between them and Queen Maryssa. I had more to gain by not copying the others, I thought. So I decided to attack head on: "Maryssa?" "Hmm?"

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"Sorry, I really like you a lot, but I have no plan to become one of your harem boys." Bull's-eye! If Maryssa's eyes had been guns, I would have been dead. She pulled back and hissed indignantly: "Harem boys? What do you take me for, Sean? " "Don't get me wrong, Maryssa. I understand that you enjoy the attention of your friends. They are a great group and I would love to spend time with them. But if that's all you expect from me, then our little romantic adventure stops here and now." Of course I had greatly underestimated my beach queen. What had I thought then? That she would beg me? Her anger disappeared as soon as it came and she looked at me laughing, then threw her head back, allowing her long hair to blow in the wind and her beautiful figure to show off. "Little Romantic Adventure? But Seanie, what have you gotten in that head of yours all of a sudden! Look, I like you a lot too, you know, but unless something happened that I don't remember at all, nothing important happened between us!" The friendly tone in which she expressed her pretended surprise stressed the irony in her words. The denial of any emotional bond between us caused me more pain than I was willing to admit. Yet it

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was the sarcasm of the situation that contributed most to making it a knock-out blow. â&#x20AC;&#x153;This is impossible, this cannot be!â&#x20AC;? Her words resounded inside my head. Simultaneously, however, I knew very well that I had understood her correctly. How wrong did I judge her? I looked back at her triumphant, provoking, challenging, mocking face and felt a great calm descend over me. "Sorry," I softly said, "I was completely wrong." She either didn't understand what I meant, or I was even more wrong than I thought, because the next moment, her arms were around me again. "Come, kiss me and forget about it," she whispered. I hesitated. I resented her victorious tone. Of course she had seen the impact of her words. What she didn't know however, was the strength of my determination. I hugged and kissed her. She was trying to impress me, I felt while the kiss endured. Finally we broke apart from each other. "Well," I said, struggling to restore my composure. "Well ..." - and my voice had never been this hoarse.

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Maryssa observed me smiling, boasting the most innocent eyes of the world. "Well," I repeated for the third time, gently striking back a wisp of her hair. "I guess I'm off." The sudden surprise in her eyes valued good money. Without looking back or waving goodbye, I walked off. Straight to the hotel. Meanwhile, more than half of the summer holiday was over. Occasionally I began thinking about the school year ahead. My parents never ceased repeating that they wanted to offer their children the chance to enjoy higher education, but on the condition only that we took our studies to heart. In my case, they hadn't left any doubt that they were not satisfied with my behaviour. They totally disagreed with my lifestyle. Especially my lack of faith, the hours I spent in so-called dubious clubs and the lack of seriousness I showed toward my studies, had caused them to decide that the following year would be my last school year. The facts that I would be the only one of seven not being allowed to continue studying and that my results at school were far from bad, were no arguments for my parents.

On the contrary, it

irritated them that I almost never studied and admitted to regularly cheating and cribbing at school. I didn't particularly like the idea of

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having to leave school with only a high school diploma, but the truth was that if I had been allowed to continue studying, I wouldn't have known which direction to choose anyway. "We can count and we can read and we learned to count the stems of the wild rose; we know how the foxes live and know the structure of their skeleton; we have learned to sit and listen in silence and to raise our finger before telling about the wild rose. But how we have to enter life, that nobody ever taught us!" I thought of Sonnenberg's famous words, which I had made my own. Like no other, they expressed the tragedy of my young life. Willy-nilly I had long since accepted the planning outlined by my parents. Even before the last school year began, I was mentally already saying goodbye to this unfinished part of my life. Learning, after all, couldn't be an end in itself? What else could I do but go to work, since I saw no purpose to study for and had no future plans that pulled me? But I didn't waste too much times thinking about defeats that I had already accepted. There was no time for that. More pressing matters demanded my attention. Matters called Stephanie for example.

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A few days after turning my back to Maryssa, I had again taken over the afternoon shift in order to complete the last bunch of folders. I was interrupted when two befriended families arrived at the counter. Two pairs of parents with one daughter each. One was thin, tall and typically English: ginger-ale with freckles on a white background, but friendly. Named Christine, I learned. But it was the other girl who made me grasp for breath. She wasn't as tall as Christine. Her thick, dark hair framed a heart-shaped, sunburnt face with the darkest brown eyes I had ever seen. My mouth fell open with admiration. The very fact that she was inside the small reception room was enough to make me feel totally lost. I didn't know what to do; didn't know where to look or what to say. My tummy was feeling strange and every movement suddenly required special attention. In my imagination, I took her for a movie star or a model. "Much too classy, too old and way out of my league!" I immediately knew and the knowledge was enough to make me feel really sad, because this was without the slightest doubt the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

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"Passports?" Just to look at her was enough to send the blood rushing to my cheeks. "Shit, I must get myself under control, otherwise everybody will start noticing!" I desperately thought. "I'm English, not Pakistani," she smiled to me while she handed me her passport and suddenly everyone was laughing and talking at the same time, telling me how the French custom officials had meticulously examined her passport, suspicious that she might be a foreigner trying to enter the country illegally. After escorting the guests to their rooms, I rushed back to the little office. Stephanie's passport! I couldn't wait to find out how old she was and stare at her picture. "Stephanie Jane Brokenshire", I read, was born in November 1954. She was one year younger than me! It came as a shock: this beautiful, self-assured young woman was younger than me? The discovery was enough to start me daydreaming over her passport. I bet she's not even going to notice me! I tortured myself. But then I heard that laughing voice again: "I'm English, not Pakistani." I saw her twinkling eyes again and swore to myself that I would somehow let her know how I felt about her. If she laughed at me, so be it. Unless I tried, I had nothing anyway, so what could I lose? I wanted to act as soon as possible and immediately started making plans: How? How could I get her attention? But nothing came to mind. Sure, the craziest ideas bubbled in, but they were written off

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just as quickly: A welcome drink in her room. Asking whether they wanted to make reservations for dinner. Couldn't I go and ask for some extra document? Finally, I decided to stick to the rules. But one thing I knew for sure: I had to get to know this girl better at all cost! Fortunately, the Brokenshires were a very social family. Whenever they were not away on some city trip, they spent the time with their friends in the bar. They even invited other English guests to the bar and had so much fun that the traditional French-speaking ascendancy was reduced to the status of spectators for fourteen days. It was rare that many young people would simultaneously stay at the hotel and also now, Steph and Chris were not really lucky. Me all the more, because from the first night on, I spent most of the time at the bar with the girls. It was their first vacation outside England, and I was the first Belgian they had ever met. Steph was very proud of her dark complexion and had a preference for short, tight-fitting tops, and miniskirts or frayed jeans. She had nothing of Maryssa's scruples and was simultaneously so much fun and so enchanting that I scarcely dared to look at her for more than a few seconds. Whenever I had to, because we were talking to each other, I really

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had to force myself to look any other direction again when Chris or somebody else joined in the conversation. The worst - or best - part was when she was talking to me. At such moments, I felt really imprisoned by her eyes and even sometimes forgot what she said and had to ask her to repeat it. She then laughingly did so "because you have to make allowances for foreigners." Stephanie wasn't just incredibly beautiful. Each day I appreciated more how easy to handle and pleasant she was. Soon, the three of us could be found at the bar whenever work allowed for a short break. Close enough together in our corner of the bar, I was constantly aware of the scent of her perfume. A fragrance that almost stunned me. I noticed she had a tick: nearly every time she turned her head, she would sweep her hair back from her forehead. The way in which she threw her hair back was so exceptionally charming that it almost inevitably caused me to lose the thread of the conversation. The first to notice that something was happening between Steph and me, was Chris. She obviously wasn't jealous at all. Instead, she started making veiled allusions about the situation. Whenever she did, I looked at Steph to see how she reacted, but she either didn't understand or pretended not to. It would be up to me, I realized, to become clearer about my feelings.

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But again, Chris was well ahead and suddenly she suggested that, if I could get a night free from the bar, I might want to show them around Ostend. I almost wanted to embrace her! Instead of being allowed to show them Ostend by night, their parents only agreed that I could show them around in the afternoon. The event was planned for two days later. That day, I noticed that already at breakfast, Stephanie was acting very agitated. While I was attending the service, she whispered and giggled with Chris the whole time. How much I would have liked to know why these two were acting so mysteriously and what they were laughing about! After lunch, we said goodbye to the girls' parents and left the hotel. We hired a horse-coach to explore the surroundings, and then walked the streets of the commercial centre and the girls did some shopping. When we stopped for a drink at a terrace, Steph suddenly became very silent. Chris suggested that we must all be getting tired. Instead of answering, Stephanie looked embarrassed in my direction.

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The way she looked at me suddenly made me understand everything: Steph had been in love with me all the time! All Chris's hidden references had been inspired by what Stephanie had conveyed to her. I really was a moron, I reproached myself; a threefold ass-hole! My own fears had turned me blind for what should have been obvious from the first time we had been together in the bar. If I waited any longer, either Chris would have to inform me straightforwardly, or I might forever lose the unique opportunity to date this great girl. "Well, I know a story about a princess who was so tired that the prince had to kiss her to wake her," I said airily, "shall we find out if that really helps?" The words sounded rather artificial to me, but somehow they had a wonderful effect on Stephanie. Clumsy and shaky, I rose from my chair and knelt next to her. I noticed some heads turning in our direction, but that didn't matter at all. My heart was pounding in my ears, I felt almost sick from stress. But when I very gently pressed a kiss on Stephanie's lips, and felt how she immediately responded to it, my heart almost jumped out of my chest with pure joy. My kiss began very cautiously - filled with the fear of a possible rejection: hesitant and stiff, but so very sincere and genuine from the start. When Steph's lips closed over mine, it turned to the most beautiful and warm kiss I could imagine.

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On the way back to the hotel, I sought for Stephanie's hand. For a few meters only, we walked hand in hand. After a couple of steps already, we felt the need to confirm that first kiss. We halted in the middle of the boardwalk, embraced each other, and kissed again. Back in the hotel, I accompanied the girls to their floor and said a tender farewell in the elevator. I was very impressed with Stephanie. Very. And that was an understatement. In the bar that night, under the watchful eye of the girls' parents, we lightly talked about one hundred thousand things. "Nothing to worry about." was the message for the parents. But our eyes sought each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all the time and under the table, our legs touched and her hand rested in mine. The following day, I went to the beach with the two girls. Steph radiated in a white bikini. In an isolated corner we enjoyed the beautiful weather. When it became too hot, we chased each other in the water and after we returned to our corner, my body served as a pillow for Steph's head. Feeling her head and hand on my belly, I thought I might go mad with joy and desire. Chris was all the while the angel who guarded our clothes, joined our conversation when we turned to her and watched over our privacy.

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That evening, there was more great news: after some nagging, the parents agreed that I may take the girls to town that same evening. Fortunately, Bertie didn't object. After dinner, the three of us left the hotel in high spirits. The dance with Maryssa on the dike not included, I had not danced at all since my arrival in Ostend. Somehow, this added to the feeling when I stepped on the dance floor with Stephanie. She danced like an angel. All the time, I also enjoyed her open character and special sense of humour. By the time we returned to the hotel, my jaw muscles were sore from laughing and I thought it would be impossible to ever pull a normal face again. The road back to the hotel was too short. With our arms wrapped around each other, we opted for a detour along the pier. The lingering warmth from the hot summer day, the warm evening breeze, the regular beam of the lighthouse, the hammering of the waves against the breakwater, everything seemed so different now that I experienced it with Stephanie. I felt as if we were not walking in Ostend at all, but somewhere in a strange, unknown world. "Oh, Steph, this is like a dream to me," I groaned, while we stood in tight embrace after we had watched out over the sea from the pier's head for a while. "Even more so for me," she whispered back and then we kissed again.

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Apart from a few isolated couples, the pier was deserted and even Chris remained at a some distance from us.

Here, on the

roundabout at the tip of the pier, we kissed each other again and again and our hands eagerly caressed each other's body while the sea was murmuring to us from all sides. Occasionally, the Brokenshires left for a city trip: to Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, the Ardennes ... Since both families drove in separate cars, I was invited to join them. This, unfortunately, was not possible at all. I didn't even ask Bertie. After all, I was paid to work, not to be on vacation. As soon as Steph had left the hotel, time stood still. Every minute suddenly lasted an hour. The first time they were away, the day was so empty and boring that on the second occasion, I decided to go to the beach on my own anyway. I had scarcely reached the beach, when Maryssa suddenly popped out of nowhere beside me: "Hey, I'm looking for someone to complete our volleyball team. Care to join in?" She was all smiles. She was great, after all, I confessed to myself: nothing vindictive, and always one and all and joy. Whatever we had said to each other and however different our plans, the special bond between us still persisted. So, why not?

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I accepted the invitation and that afternoon on the beach, I had a great time with Maryssa and her friends, most of whom I already knew by name. Without the previously ever-present desire for Maryssa, and stirred by the game, I discovered that I felt as free as a child. "Wait, Ladybug, I'm going home too, I'll walk you to the hotel!" Maryssa offered at around six o'clock when I got dressed. At the dike she spontaneously offered me an arm, which I accepted without suspicion. As soon as we walked arm in arm, her initial excitement over the game disappeared. I felt something was not quite right, but couldn't withdraw my arm now. The conversation suddenly dropped and we walked silently side by side when she suddenly complained: "I'd never imagined anything like this from you, Sean!" "What?" I exclaimed in surprise, really only half-surprised but at the same time already kind of knowing what would follow; yet perhaps just because of that in another way even more surprised: Maryssa? "Well, first you propose to me, and when I don't immediately comply, you appear on the beach with someone else only two days later!"

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I thought to myself: Here we go again! The memories of the disastrous time with Katherine were suddenly very much alive again and shot through my heart and head like rays of pain. Was I hearing Maryssa now or was this Katherine, reproaching me when I dated other girls after she had dumped me? This is just a bad dĂŠjĂ vu, I thought bitterly. If there was something I could do without, then it surely was this kind of situations! "You know what I told you," I answered. "I do. But can you honestly say that you don't feel a thing for me?" She stopped walking, forcing me to stop as well. "No," I replied softly, "I instantly did and all I wished was to get to know you better and turn this into more than a summer infatuation, but it's you who didn't want to, Maryssa!" As she didn't reply immediately, I continued after a short pause: "In fact, you don't want me at all: you want everybody. If that's your choice then that's OK with me. But you mustn't blame me for it. I'm not in for games." "That's not true, kiddo!" Maryssa snapped back. "All I want is a little fun before I commit myself to anybody."

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"Déjà vu, déjà vu, déjà vu - all of this," my inner voice moaned. But I knew that the pain I felt, despite everything, had little to do with Maryssa. That knowledge made me strong, sober, inaccessible and therefore invincible. "Well, like I said: by all means, go ahead and enjoy yourself! I will try to enjoy my life too, but in a somewhat different way. You want to enjoy yourself with as many guys as possible simultaneously, but all at a distance. That is your right, but again: it's not my game. I'm different. I want to be with only one girl, and as intensely as possible. Besides: propose to you? Hmmm, I don't recall talking about an engagement." "You don't know what you're throwing away!" she threatened, "Later in your life, when you think back to this moment, as I'm sure you will, you will know that you're the bigger loser." Well spoken! I smiled inside. But it was after all only the confirmation of her capitulation. Silently we continued our walk further to the hotel. "Will we still meet at the beach?" she suddenly asked, when I wanted to say goodbye with a ‘good evening’ and ‘safe return home’ only.

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"But of course," I replied. And truthfully, I added: "Why not? Once my girlfriend has returned home, you'll be the only ones I know around here!" I didn't mean to sound sarcastic or rude. The simple truth was that I was only too aware of the fact that another beautiful song was approaching closure. For almost two weeks now, I had been living only for the time spend with Stephanie. Every second together with her I had enjoyed immensely, and these moments had given sense to my life. Only, the happier the moments shared, the greater the fear of parting, and I was all too aware how near the moment was, when Stephanie would return to England. Looking back on my holiday, which started to run to an end, it seemed to me that for the last couple of months, I had been living in a dream world. Or rather, in a continuing series of dreams in which I had been playing the lead role, almost as in just as many totally different lives. Each encounter had shaped its own dream, completely separate from what came before, also completely separate from what would follow. But what was going to happen once Stephanie returned back home? Just like Alice, I had fallen into a rabbit hole - my only hope was that I would emerge from my rabbit hole a happier, wiser and better man. I wasn't very confident though: the end of my holiday filled me with fear. I knew better than to start dreaming of a long

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relationship with my holiday romance, but the thought that I would soon have to go on without Steph, actually made me physically sick and filled me with panic and despair. On the last days of her stay at the hotel, I had asked Bertie to grant me a day off. Bertie agreed immediately. That day, I left the hotel with Steph and Chris aftr breakfast 'to visit the war monuments'. By now, Steph's parents knew about our romance, but as her father proclaimed solemnly: he had an unlimited confidence in their daughter and therefore saw no reason to object to it. "Have a good time! You are both old and wise enough to know what to do and how to behave!" he smiled that morning, when we came to Steph's parentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; room to greet. Chris was just as excited about the trip as Steph and I. And though we treated her unjustly by leaving her alone for half an hour while we explored one of the 'war monuments', - which in reality was just a wartime bunker in the dunes, - she never lost her good humour for one single minute. I had admired her every day again because of the way she put herself entirely at the service of her friend and because she was often the first to come up with new ideas for the next 'secret' meeting. By the time evening fell, the now quickly approaching parting started to weigh down on us. We promised to write and, against better judgement, swore to each other that we would meet again.

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But no promise or oath was capable of easing the pain of parting. By nine o'clock we were invited to Steph's parents' room for an intimate party with sparkling wine and crackers to celebrate their last night in Ostend. Ray, Steph's father, invited me to visit them in Reading, England. "Anytime, my boy, anytime ....", but I knew these were merely polite parting words, meant only to appease Steph's pain. An hour later, we all left for our own rooms. For the last time, Steph accompanied me to my room. She was afraid though that her parents would check if she actually had gone right to bed, and didn't dare to enter. We said goodbye on the passage, after which she hurried to her room. "Over!" I thought with regret. Was this all there was to it? Did everything really have to be over? Did something as beautiful as what we had shared have to stop like this? I thought of following Steph to her room. But: what for? She shared her room with Chris ... Finally, common sense prevailed and I crept into bed myself, a lot earlier than usual. I wished I could cry, I thought, hours later, still lying very awake in bed. The pain would be less if I managed to cry, I lied to myself. But I couldn't cry. And I couldn't sleep either. The whole night I lay tossing and turning in bed.

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The next morning, when the moment of final farewell arrived, we all behaved funny: the absoluteness of the departure made each word a meaningless clichĂŠ. Moreover, everything had been said and the presence of Steph's and Chris's parents didn't really contribute to making us feel more at ease. Steph handed me a farewell card with a seagull on it and the text: "Hold on to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." This time the tears did come. I felt them come while I was reading the text of the card. With the adults watching us, partly endeared, partly amused, Steph got out a handkerchief and dried my eyes. "You always have to make allowances for these foreigners," she laughed. But when I looked at her, I saw tears also running down her laughing eyes. "Time to go," Steph's mother announced, "unless we want everybody to start crying."

Then they got in the car and drove

off, honking and waving until they were out of sight. For a long time after they had disappeared, I didn't move. I kept staring at the point where they had turned into the main road and had disappeared from my sight, almost as if I could keep Steph with me by holding on to that last image. The holiday was now running to an end very quickly. Most of the remaining afternoons, I spent at the beach with Maryssa and the gang. All expectations and misunderstandings between us had

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been cleared completely. I felt part of the group now, accepted by Maryssa and her friends. See who could run fastest, no longer was a challenge. Even wrestling with the other boys was just fun: there was nothing left to be proved. Stephanie kept her word. The postman suddenly became a very important man in my life because almost every day he brought a new letter from Stephanie. The hotel was silent after the departure of the Brokenshires. Whenever the work allowed for it, I could be found at the bar, writing my letters to Steph while a few guests watched television and occasionally ordered a drink. Amongst the guests, there was one family that I had a very good contact with. Robert and Elizabeth Bell and their daughter, Claire. Bob was a typical English gentleman: always affable, but the stiff upper lip type: serious, rather closed, and always very correct. The strong element though was his wife, Elizabeth. She was very exuberant, outgoing, friendly, always cheerful, always looking for companionship. She must have been a strikingly beautiful and attractive woman in her youth, and considering her age, still was. Claire had her mother's beauty, but, like her father, was more of an introvert and had a quiet nature. Like her parents, she was blond. She was the tallest of the three and a very friendly and smart girl to

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talk with. Occasionally, when there were only a few people in the bar, I would play a game of chess with her. We discovered we would both leave the hotel on the same day and would both start our last year at school in September. We exchanged addresses and promised to write. The last day at Ostend soon arrived. When I left the hotel, the entire staff walked outside to wave me goodbye. Fortunately, I didn't have to drag my luggage all the way back to the bus stop, because one of the guests volunteered to drive me to the railway station. So much had happened in the two months that I had been away from home. This had been the last long summer holiday of my life and I had every reason to feel grateful for what it had brought me. This surely also had been the finest holiday of my life. But now, it was over. The train ride home was unreal. All memories of the holiday kept tumbling in my head. But at the same time, I already started thinking about the last year at school and promising myself that what had been possible in Ostend, should also be possible at home. I would make sure that my last year at school would be a good year too. For a long time though, whenever I thought about "friends", I would automatically think back to Maryssa and the gang on the

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beach, about Claire and even my colleagues at the hotel. To think of Stephanie as a "friend" was impossible though: Steph was a separate category, a league of her own, which we didn't cease to remind each other of in the letters that we exchanged.

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Chapter 3 "And the people in the houses All go to school: And they all get put in boxes, Little boxes all the same. And there's doctors, and there's lawyers And executives bus'ness And they're all made out of ticky tacky, And they all look just the same." (Malvina Reynolds)

Right out of the bar I stepped back into the classroom, which required some adjusting on my part. Everything seemed smaller that first day back in my home town. Even my classmates looked younger, and I encountered some difficulty in adapting to them. George and Udo stayed in touch with each other during the holidays and were closer than ever. There was no doubt that they would sit next to each other in the classroom again, I realized with regret. Danny was following me around the yard like a faithful dog. However, the thought of sitting next to him in the classroom, did not really evoke much enthusiasm in me. Never before I had worried about with whom I would share a place in the classroom. After all, theoretically we were always free to pick a different seat. But I knew that in practice, this hardly ever happened.

The

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previous year my only concern had been to sit as closely as possible to Katherine.

After our relationship had capsized, I

regretted that decision because it had left me rather isolated in the classroom. Therefore, now, finding a classmate was my first preoccupation. But who? All the classmembers joined together at the school yard, but soon the group split in two: some gathered around George and Udo. The second group, to which I belonged, formed a circle in which almost everybody tried to say something, which left me with the impression that everybody was talking, but nobody listened and that finally nothing was being said. Just a litter of puppies barking welcome to each other, I thought amused, while observing them silently. An outsider would have seen no difference between the groups now and those of the previous school year. Yet I immediately had a strong feeling that some internal relationships had shifted: the greater rapprochement between George and Udo was sure to further weaken the good relationship I had with the two of them and I had only myself to blame for it, I knew. Toward the end of the previous school year, I had spent quite some time with Rudy. So I returned to him now and later sat next to him in the classroom.

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I also had a quick talk with Marc to confirm the friendship we had the previous year. To everyone's surprise, Marc and Elly started dating during the summer vacation. Marc was 1,97m tall, whereas Elly measured barely 1,55m. But that apparently did not deter them from becoming a couple. Katherine and I greeted each other friendly but didn't start a conversation. Both of us were clearly concentrated on confirming the bond we had with other classmates.

In the small class

community, the choices were limited. Much of the people that we preferred dealing with were the same, with us often being the link that connected the others. In the course of the previous year, Elly had gradually become Katherine's best friend in the classroom. So I immediately realized that if Marc and Elly remained an item, I was likely to spend most free time during breaks with the same people as Katherine. Soon it became clear that we ended up in the same little group most of the time. In a sense, almost unwillingly, we even became the core of the little group: When we were at the school yard with Marc and Elly, others would join in almost automatically. George, Udo, Danny, Rudy, Willy and Rita formed a great group with us, in which a good mutual understanding prevailed. Every now and then, we would even meet after school for a quick glass of beer in one of the bars opposite the school gates.

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Occasionally Katherine and I would leave the classroom together and have a little chat of our own. Because of what had happened last year, whenever we were together, the others from the gang did not easily join us. This way it was always up to us to decide whether we kept talking together or whether we joined the others. Whatever had happened the year before, and no matter how painful it had been at times, I couldn't deny that I was pleased to see Katherine again and to notice that she looked great and that apparently everything was OK with her. Katherine was cheerful, witty and funny. In short: I enjoyed our sporadic conversations very much and so did she. I was aware that a very important reason why everything felt so good and why I enjoyed myself with such intensity all the time was nothing else than the support I experienced from the presence of Stephanie in my life. The energy that filled my body and the happiness that I felt so strongly allowed me to be cheerful and carefree. I drew from the memory of a successful holiday and more even from my ongoing relationship with Stephanie. This was such a huge contrast to my relationship with Katherine, which had worn me out, isolated me from the classroom and saddled me almost constantly with a sense of loss and discomfort. How much energy had I wasted on self-deception and repression of a reality that to everyone else must have been so obvious?

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What happened inside the classroom now was once again important to me. When the new English teacher didn't succeed in establishing her authority over the classroom, I came to her rescue by threatening to throw anybody out who dared disturb the lesson. When I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t achieve the desired effect immediately, the entire group supported me. The uproar in the classroom was quickly brought under control that way. Later that day, we laughed about the incident at the school yard: the biggest noise makers of the past now felt called to restore order in the classroom when things got out of hand! Meanwhile, despite regular correspondence and weekly calls back and forth to England, the distance between Stephanie and me started to weigh heavily on our relationship. Mid-September, Steph wrote a desperate letter, implying me to drop out of school and to come to England and seek employment there. The letter ended with a pledge of allegiance from a marriage service. The letter endeared me, but stopping my studies with a high school diploma only was one thing. Abandoning school at the beginning of the last year was something completely different. I responded with a promise of reciprocal love and loyalty, but also wrote that I could not leave school now and that moving to

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England before the end of the school year was totally impossible. But I would love to visit Stephanie during the holidays. Two days after posting my letter, Stephanie called: couldn't I at least skip school for a few days and visit her? She missed me so much! I realized that some effort from my side was required to confirm our relationship to her parents and we agreed that I would visit her in England as soon as possible. Late September, I returned to Ostend, from where I took a plane to Southend and then continued by train to Victoria Station, London. On the train to Ostend, I met one of my teachers. We greeted each other as I walked past him. First I thought this was so great: the teacher must have noticed my luggage. He knew that I had to be at class at that time and that I was travelling away from school, but still refrained himself to only greet me. The man was right: he had no business with my life, did he? But, while sitting on the train, I changed my mind: As a teacher, shouldn't he have shown at least a little bit of interest when he saw one of his pupils leaving town on an average school morning? I soon forgot about the encounter though: once boarded on the plane, after a brief lunch stop at Bertie's, I felt I had earned myself a good whisky. While catching an occasional glimpse of the sea

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through the clouds, I felt the joyous expectations for the imminent reunion with Stephanie grow. Crazy, I mused, how easily and quickly everything can change in life. I imagined that I could just as easily have accepted Stephanie's proposal, in which case this would have been the start of a totally new life instead of a short visit to England. Victoria station was a little bigger than Ostend-Terminus. In the absence of clear agreement, it took a while before I discovered Stephanie amongst the crowd. When I finally did, I was surprised to notice nothing of the exuberance with which I had expected to welcomed. Sure, I didn't start dancing and overloading her with kisses myself. This was Terra Incognita: with her parents present, I needed to be assured first how they felt about our meeting, especially because, in Ostend, Steph and I had only exchanged one little kiss while being in their company. I had no idea even if Steph had let them in on the things she had been writing to me. From the first second, I noticed that Stephanie was behaving in a very restrained and nervous way. We greeted each other with a polite kiss - much the same way as I greeted her mum. Father Ray gave me a firm hand and solemnly declared that his house would also be my house for the next week.

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On the road to Reading, the feeling of unfamiliarity ebbed away quickly; though the conversation remained limited to the usual small talk and some commentary on the historic buildings and places we passed by. The Brokenshires lived in a nice bungalow on the outskirts of Reading. Ray was manager at the nearby post office and Stephanie was a trainee in a beauty salon. The aim was that she would start as an independent beautician as soon as she finished her studies. From the start, it was Ray who did most of the talking. He talked in great lengths about everything. Repeatedly, he stressed that he was willing to establish his daughter and turn her life into a huge success. Once she had finished school, he would rent her a house and invest to set up a beauty parlour for her, thus assuring she would have a good start in life. As time went by, I got the uncomfortable feeling that certain commitments had been arranged at the Brokenshires in exchange for granting permission for my visit. I soon discovered that I would not have to complain about my stay: Ray was the perfect host. Too perfect even: there was a varied agenda with trips to London and Windsor Castle, barbecue at Chris's parents, visits to a typical English pub, a night club and a number of restaurants. The downside was that each item on the

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agenda was a family outing. It would be until aftr the weekend until I would have the opportunity to spend a couple of hours alone with Stephanie. The first night in Reading was a real disaster: Steph and I were sitting idly while her dear father talked endlessly. Every time my eyes met Stephanie's, we shyly smiled at one another, which was the limit of what was possible. Her dad clearly had all strings in his hands and Steph even didn't dare to invite me out for a walk. At eleven, Steph's parents finally went to bed. Not after having extensively warned their sweet daughter that the following day would be an early day and asking her not to forget to drop by for a night kiss before going off to bed herself. At last, at last, the long awaited moment had arrived and I found myself alone with Steph in the living room.

Now was the

opportunity to share our experiences of the past months, talk about our feelings and discuss our plans for the future! I hurried to the coach where Steph was sitting and dropped next to her. I was however immediately followed by her little poodle, Mitzy, who jumped on her lap and began to bark furiously at me. I recoiled from the noise, but Steph calmed the dog quickly and defended her smiling: "She's rather jealous of nature." Yes, that much was clear! Each attempt to move closer to Stephanie, each

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time I even moved my hand just a little bit closer, the dog promptly reacted. It was clear that nothing was possible as long as Mitzy dominated the situation, so I asked Steph to take the dog out. She smiled at me and answered: "Love me, love my dog". Thus, the dog stayed and since all possibilities of physical contact were efficiently reduced to zero, all that remained was a friendly and polite conversation. I had felt rather uncomfortable sice my arrival, but now I started to see the whole reunion as a big hoax. Finally, instead of talking about emotions and plans, we ended up talking about music. An hour later, Steph decided it was time to go to bed. At the foot of the stairs, after she'd closed the living door behind her, she motioned to me to be very quiet, because her parents slept with their bedroom door open. In silence, we briefly embraced and exchanged a short night kiss. One. Then Steph accompanied me to the door of my bedroom and went to kiss her parents goodnight. A bigger disaster was difficult to conceive, I thought wryly while undressing. But I was too tired even to think about the consequences now. Tomorrow is another day, I thought, and immediately fell into a deep sleep. The next day, we left for a visit to London. I hadn't been in London before, so it was interesting enough. Yet already I longed for Monday afternoon, when I knew I would be alone with

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Stephanie for a couple of hours while both her parents were off to work. "Monday, Steph will show you around Reading," Ray told me. Somehow it sounded like "under no circumstances are you to remain alone in the house and you will have to visit all the places that I have outlined." If I still had cherished any illusions, then they were skilfully buried the next Monday. It was a total turn-off. Walking arm in arm was snob, enjoying the last warm rays of sun on the beautifully kept lawns of the local university was 'not done' and a kiss in the romantic ruins of a medieval abbey was completely out of the question. Imagine I had agreed to Steph's proposal to leave school! Her parents surely didn't know about this! I didn't get it. To me it was obvious that her parents had agreed to my visit only as a means to prove that our relationship wasn't workable and that, maybe even before I arrived, Steph had accepted their point of view. What exactly had been agreed on the past few days? I polled at it, but got only answers in reply: "What do you mean?", "I don't understand what you mean" ... Well, neither did I. Except for one thing: I knew I had to drastically change the way I felt and thought about Stephanie.

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Strangely enough the switch was easy enough. This was clearly a lost cause. There wasn't anything left to fight for; that was obvious. I felt no regrets, no hard feelings: Steph was a beautiful, sweet, girl, 'England's finest' perhaps, to paraphrase her father, but she surely was no longer my girl. I didn't try anymore to force her in any way. I treated her kindly and with respect, but nothing was ever said about love or future plans anymore. Everything that had ever existed between us was something of the past. Steph was equally friendly to me. She served me morning tea in bed and every night, after her parents had returned to bed, we stayed in the living room until midnight talking and listening to music. Mitzy, however, didn't have to bark anymore and the welcome kiss that first night had also been our farewell kiss! The day before my departure, we went to say goodbye to Christine and her parents. They had taken advantage of the mild September weather to organize a small garden party in my honour. Accidentally, when returning from a visit to the toilet, I overheard a conversation between Stephanie and Chris in the adjacent room. Earlier that day, Steph and I had gone out for a last walk along the Thames. While combing my hair, I heard Chris ask Stephanie if she had taken me to a certain romantic spot near a bridge during our walk. When Steph confirmed, Chris observed that this had been the ideal spot to undertake something romantic.

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"Ah," Steph answered, "sure, but with him I've experienced nothing of the kind." I entered the room after she had just finished her sentence, looked straight at her and calmly said: "Yeah, I did notice, but meanwhile I've learned that here in England it's snob to try that kind of things!" Chris, who apparently knew nothing of the turn our relationship had taken, froze in the position she was in and looked at me with widely opened eyes. Stephanie blushed, her face turning a tone darker than it already was, and stared at me in silence, the head slightly bowed. Did I notice despair in the look she gave me, or was it just anger? The question was useless, I knew. Impulsively, I found the camera that hung around my neck and pressed the button. Two days later I was back at school. I encountered some problems with the management because of my unauthorized absence, but after our family's GP wrote a sick note, life was normal again. No letters came from England anymore, nor any phone calls. Stephanie's photo disappeared from my room and was temporarily replaced by a picture of the sweet little poodle Mitzy. At home, Stephanie wasn't mentioned by anyone ever again.

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At school there was more interest in my experiences in England. Everyone wanted to hear my story and was curious to see the photos. Oddly enough, it was especially that last photo of Steph and Chris together, when Steph looked at me angrily, that best showed how exceptionally pretty she was. Katherine too was eager to find out about the trip and didn't spare her compliments when she studied Stephanie's pictures. "On this photo, it's so easy to see that she must love you very much!" she remarked, gazing at that exact picture. The others I had only told about the places I had visited. But to Katherine, I decided to be honest: "Well, apart from the places I've seen, there is also a completely different story that I haven't told yet," I confessed honestly: "On the picture you are holding, she's looking angry. At that moment, everything was already over between us and we just had a spat." Katherine wasn't convinced, so I added: "In fact, from the very moment I arrived, I knew there was simply nothing left between us." She looked at the pictures again and finally remarked doubtfully: "Well, maybe, but that isn't what these photos tell me."

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She showed me a selection of the pictures: the ones taken of Steph and me by Chris and Ray. She repeated again and again how beautiful the pictures were and how they all unmistakably showed a couple in love: arm in arm in the garden; hand in hand on the street (!!); with our shoe tips against each other while hanging back with outstretched arms at Victoria Memorial before Buckingham Palace; looking in each other's eyes in a restaurant in Maidenhead ... "Ah, you're so right." I admitted. "I was surprised myself when I saw the photos the first time. Yet, believe me: It was only for the show.â&#x20AC;? The holiday at sea, the frequent correspondence and phone calls with Steph had a good side effect: my language, and especially my knowledge of spoken English, had greatly improved. Now that I didn't have to write to Steph anymore at night, there was suddenly a lot of idle time to fill. What to do? I didn't want to resume my evening visits to Danny, but staying at home was even more boring. Now that Stephanie belonged to the past, I felt the desire grow to go out to town again during the weekend. However, every night out ended in disaster: if I went alone, I stayed alone all night and if I went with Danny, I enjoyed myself even less. Whenever I saw a girl that I would have liked to get to

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know better, she was walking at the arm of her boyfriend; and amongst the ones that were free, I didn't see anybody who attracted me. When I caught myself reacting with cynicism to all things related to love and affection, I knew I had to make a move. But what move? After another unsuccessful night out, I solemnly promised myself not to try and hide my limitations, to be open and innocent to the world and to continue my quest for a kindred soul without devoting energy to self-pity or self-deception. Most of all, I refused to degrade myself and allow myself to start flirting just to ease the pain of my loneliness. "Do not flirt" was perhaps the right choice. However, the consequence was that I limited myself even more to only observing how others enjoyed themselves, while I grew feeling more serious, lonely, restrained and bored all the time. Just like I had done on a few occasions the year before, I started taking my old friends with me when I went to town: Herman Hesse,

Freud,

Nietzsche,

Graham

Greene,

Hemingway,

Steinbeck.... Sometimes, others walked up to me when they saw me reading in the corner of some bar and then mostly started talking about their favourite books. But none of them made my heart beat any faster. Every week I missed the presence of a girl in my life more, or even

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a friend that could somehow make me feel more complete as a person. At school I had fewer problems with my feelings. At the initiative of Rudy, we formed a dance group with whom we practiced a little dance for the upcoming prom.

Apart from Rudy and me,

Katherine, Elly and Suzy also took part. During a school party, I accidently found myself alone at a table with Katherine. Since the beginning of the year, we had always been careful to avoid being too close. This time, I hadn't even noticed that after a while, the two of us had been abandoned by the others. We'd known each other for so long now and had shared so much that talking to her seemed like the easiest thing in the world. I didn't have to pretend that I felt happy when I did not, for she would see right through it. To my surprise, Katherine unexpectedly leant over and pressed a peck on my lips. "What have I done to earn that?" I asked laughing. "Sean, what would you think of the two of us dating again? Until the end of the school year?" I stared at her. She was looking at me ever so friendly, patiently waiting for my answer. I was speechless. After all this time, the spell of those two sets of eyes that bridged our souls, that barred

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the rest of the world and caused our souls to melt together, had lost nothing of its magical power. Every moment longer here, alone with her, made the old feelings become more alive and more overwhelming. Katherine did not move and neither could I. I kept looking at her, forcing myself to breathe, to regain control of myself, to think. But this was not an answer that could be found by thinking. The longer I looked at her, the harder it became to answer. Finally, I stammered: "Sorry, but I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, Kate." I barely got the words out of my mouth. They sounded so soft that I was not even sure that I had spoken them. Yet Katherine had heard them quite clearly. "Why shouldn't we?" She insisted kindly. "Because," I replied while my heart bled inside of me and I felt like a beaten dog. "I have too much respect for you and love you too much to start something of this kind with you." It was now more than six months since I had begged her to return to me. For months on end, I had pleaded her to give up her plan to stop dating me until after we completed our studies, repeating over and over that this was an impossible demand, warning her we would drift apart. And now, all of a sudden, she agreed to become

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my girlfriend again, and I had to decline because of this condition that she added and that, in my eyes, made a joke from all we had shared: "until the end of the school year." I felt strange, empty and sad and left the party as soon as possible. It seemed to me that one after the other all the chapters of my young life were being closed, with not the slightest trace of silver lining at the horizon. Rather this than to perish in a bad print of a previously failed relationship, I swore to myself. But as determined as I was not to accept anything as preconditioned as what Katherine was offering me, the knowledge of the happy hours we could have shared and that I was also throwing away, hurt me. Hurt so deeply.

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Chapter 4 "Immer wenn du meinst es geht nicht mehr Kommt von irgendwo ein Lichtlein her Das du es noch einmal wieder zwingst Und von Freude und Sonnenschein singst Leichter trĂ¤gst das Alltags harte Last Und wieder Kraft und Mut und Glauben hast." (?)

December. The exams were behind us and only a few days separated us from the Christmas holiday. At the age of fifty, my aunt Victoria decided that the weekend before Christmas was a good time to swap her bachelorette status to that of matron. The happy bridegroom was a German she had met during the Second World War and who was recently widowed for the second time. He had three kids from his previous marriage, one of which still lived with his father. Rolf was eighteen, studied to become a car mechanic and had his own little car. He was a daredevil who barely respected any rules and was constantly looking for opportunities to test the limits of what was possible. He was also of an incredibly open nature, playful and spontaneous and had the natural gift to instantly touch the hearts of everyone he met.

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On this particular Friday, he had been working all day and was due at my aunt's to participate at the wedding.

Given the small age

difference, Aunt Victoria had asked me to welcome him and keep him occupied during his stay in Flanders. From the very moment he arrived at my aunt's, it was as if I was hit by a solid chunk of pure energy. Before I even realized what was going on, we had torn down half my bedroom, left to town on a sudden whim in the middle of the night and, at our return back home, woken everybody by playing loud music. Because Monday was an ordinary school day for me, we had agreed that Rolf would pick me up after school. At school, I invited everybody for a quick beer in order to introduce Rolf. Much like earlier, at the hotel, the great interest of the young in other cultures, surprised me. When I met Rolf after school, almost all the classmates were waiting in our favourite bar to meet him. Rolf was the immediate centre of all attention, and was asked the most incredible questions. He was so surprised that at one time, he couldn't help calling out in feigned despair: "Ach Mensch, ich lebe doch nur 400 Kilometer von hier!" 400 km or not, when we visited some other pubs in town later, I marvelled over the apparent fear that came over him when we entered bars that were visited by Turks and Moroccans. In Rolf's eyes, every Muslim or African was a possible threat to our security.

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Nothing we said could appease his fear for the sudden outbreak of a Holy War, leaving us little choice but to soon return to the "white" centre of town. When we were in bed that night, I asked Rolf what he thought about my friends. Much to my surprise he remembered a lot of them by name and was very detailed at his evaluation. Rudy, he liked most of all and, of course, also my girlfriend. "Yeah my extremely pretty, but unfortunately very invisible girlfriend, of course!" I thought he was just kidding, but for once, Rolf was serious. He looked genuinely surprised when I added that he would search in vain for my girlfriend at other opportunities as well, because I had none. "You have no girlfriend? Man, if that Katherine girl isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t your girlfriend yet, then you need to take action as quickly as possible: she's cute, she's funny, she's smart and above all: it's clear that she's head over heels in love with you. What more do you want?" I stepped off the subject and later that night, while Rolf lay snoring next to me, I was wide awake and for most part of the night considered if it wouldn't be better to accept Katherine's proposal after all.

I had nothing now, so what did I stand to lose? We

could have a great time together until the end of the school year. After all, if dating me turned out to be fun, surely we would automatically evaluate how to proceed after graduation.

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How

stupid was it to stick to a principle when this meant giving up Katherine? What scared me so much that I refused to date the prettiest girl in school? If we hadn't been together before, I would surely have been more than happy to accept her proposal? Besides, what was the alternative? Starting to flirt again? I knew that flirting with random girls never brought me any real satisfaction. And even if I met somebody I liked, the average lifespan of a high school relationship is three months ... It was a night of torture, but by the time I fell asleep with exhaustion, I had made my decision. This was just another game, one more double bind that would lead to nothing but pain for the both of us. The idea of agreeing to a relationship with Katherine on pre-agreed terms, felt so perverse and out of line to the way I thought of her and felt for her, that the very possibility of considering something as stupid as that, made me feel bad, really scared me and only made me feel smaller. â&#x20AC;?Mighty gentleness as a father's. Where this mood seizes you, that is where you have to build your home. Whether in the crowd or in the silence: ubi pater sum, ibi patria!" Ah, how much I had been impressed when I first read Nietzsche! By now, even the walls of my bedroom were covered with quotes of his, written all over the wallpaper with thick alcohol markers. "Where your heart beats full and wide, blessing and danger to your neighbours, there is the

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origin of your virtue. Flee whatever reduces or bores you. Find an environment where you feel great and fertile, and build your home there!" And yes, in theory, it was all so simple. But how menacing the solitude was grinning at me from all sides! How far off was the euphoria of loving and being loved in return and how very near my own dreadful pettiness! The day before New Year's Eve, Rolf returned to Germany. I couldn't get it over my heart to simply say goodbye, so we agreed that I would keep him company until. But Aalst became Dendermonde and in Dendermonde I decided to drive along to Antwerp. Eventually I stayed with him until we were in the Netherlands. In Eindhoven I decided not to take a train back home, but to hitch-hike. For many hours, I just walked, without lifting a thumb. I needed the time alone to reconcile myself with the thought of returning to a life without Rolf. When I finally did start hitch-hiking, I wasn't exactly very lucky. It was very late when I finally arrived home. By then, I had decided to start on a longer hitch-hiking trip as soon as possible. Visiting Rolf in Germany looked like the perfect preparation and the Easter holiday like the best timing for my little adventure.

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With Rolf gone, it was suddenly again frightening silent and dull at home. The evenings were cold and empty. Neither the movies on TV, nor my books, nor the increasingly frequent evening trips to Danny and Rudy could really excite me. At school, the final preparations for prom ran to a close. We were allowed to practice our acts in the ballroom. Since I'd never been really good at dancing, I decided not to participate. I simply didn't feel the relationship between the beat and our moves, felt increasingly insecure and finally hooked off completely. I continued however to participate 'just for fun'. The rehearsals were in fact an interesting opportunity to meet people from other classes. In order to somewhat justify my presence, I started a survey to gauge the motivation of the participants and interviewed most of them. Their answers surprised me: Most were attending to prove themselves to their parents or to themselves: "I am participating to show that I'm capable of creating or performing an act". "I want to contribute to the success of the prom and of the school." ... Before the interviews I really thought that almost everyone joined in for the fun of being together and for having a legitimate reason for their absence from the class! A couple of days before the prom, I suddenly started thinking that maybe I should not go at all. I had no girlfriend; I wouldn't share in the spirit of our little group of dancers; and I most certainly

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didn't want to start something with another girl from school. Elly didn't agree: She had invited her mother and would love to have me there with them. Marc and Rita also insisted. Elly told me a friend of hers would also come with them. "She doesn't know anybody here, but she's very pretty. You might like her." I ended promising that I would come, though I still didn't feel comfortable about the whole thing. The first half of the evening was indeed bad: The dancers were extremely nervous. When Suzy unfortunately slipped and fell during the performance, Rudy blamed her for ruining the act. After the dance I found him in the dressing room. He was sitting in a corner of the room, crying with sheer misery. He was really inconsolable and was considering going home. Suzy and Elly sought refuge with their parents, and Katherine obviously didn't know what to do. She looked very confused and finally decided to join Udo and George. By the time I had convinced Rudy to stay, I found Katherine back stage again, with Udo trying to comfort her. I returned to the ballroom with Rudy, feeling a little bit puzzled because I hadn't expected Udo to take care of Katherine. Only a couple of days before, he had been complaining that Katherine was trying to seduce him. The disapproving way in which he spoke about her, made it clear that he was not interested at all, and yet ...

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I shrugged. By then, I had accepted that the evening was ruined anyway. After all: why shouldn't the two of them try to make at least something out of it for themselves? I did hope though that they wouldn't start going together, because Udo was still the only person in class I could freely share my feelings with. Meanwhile, all performances were over and the principal was invited to open the dance. Rudy and I joined in with Marc and Elly and we had a couple of beers together. The alcohol, in conjunction with the general atmosphere and the many familiar faces in the room, started doing its work and after some time, even Rudy was able to laugh again. When Udo and George passed by to invite me to spend the rest of the evening in town with them, I told them I couldn't leave now and invited them to stay with us. "No," Udo snapped unusually curtly: "I must get away from here as quickly as possible!" Everyone looked at him in surprise. Udo looked at me to check whether I wouldn't change my mind, but when it was clear that I wasn't planning to leave, he left with George in his wake. "Udo has been crying!" I noted surprised. "Who hasn't?" Rudy replied, thinking back to his own outburst after the dance, but also referring to Katherine, who now joined us with red eyes. All further explanations seemed instantly obsolete.

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Fortunately the right atmosphere prevailed. Everyone danced with everyone and soon the unfortunate start of the evening was forgotten. Though I almost didn't dance myself, I was glad I didn't stay at home. Elly was right about her friend: Michelle was a beautiful girl, with lavish, jet-black hair and beautifully shaped legs under an extra short mini skirt. But she was a stranger to the group and didn't really take part in the conversations. I glanced at her while she was chatting with Elly's mother and thought for a moment that the girl must be bored. But the next moment, I had already forgotten about her and concentrated on having a good time myself. When the night was well advanced and people started returning home, the dance floor became less crowded and I ventured a couple of dances with some of the teachers. To my surprise, Michelle suddenly invited me to dance with her. Michelle was a very sensual dancer. From the first moment dancing with her felt as if I had never danced with somebody else before. I wasn't in the mood for sensual dancing, so I started playing on the dance floor. My unexpected moves didn't bring her out of balance though: she followed my steps and, when I started exaggerating, took my hand in hers and started leading the dance herself. While dancing, with Michelle now glued to my body again, I thought back to earlier times when I had experienced a similar

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feeling of harmony on the dance floor. But this was not a night for memories. It had been four months now since I left Stephanie. For four months I hadn't been with any girl and I couldn't remember one single evening during that period that I had really enjoyed myself. Still, this really wasn't the best time to start something. After Michelle invited me for a second dance, I tried to keep some distance. Meanwhile, Elly had noticed how we danced and now came to me to tell me more about Michelle. She was by far the most popular girl of the village; she was unconventional just like me ... in short: Elly had decided that Michelle was the perfect match for me. I wasn't as convinced that anybody was the perfect match for me at this stage of my life, so I didn't respond. Eventually though, I had to accept that when it comes to dating, two people are involved. By the time the room began to empty and the DJ was exhausting the remaining dancers with a sheer endless series of kiss-dances, Michelle turned to me again and we eventually ended up kissing. With everybody returning home now, I had about half an hour left with Michelle.

Like me, she too was in her final year.

Unfortunately not in Aalst, but in a boarding school in

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Oudenaarde, some 40 kilometres away. That looked like a rather bad start.

The following week, though, she would attend a

performance of a popular band in Zottegem, 20 kilometres only from Aalst. I agreed to meet her there. So, we started dating aftr all. Because Michelle's education included internships she was occasionally allowed to spend the weekend with a friend.

Consequently, my territory suddenly

shifted away from Aalst. When Michelle was at home for the weekend, I met her at Elly's, but most of the time we met at different places every week and in between, we started corresponding. On the weekends that I didn't see Michelle, I stayed home. Even though we didn't see our relationship as something very serious and we joked about who would get bored first, it was soon clear to me that Michelle gave me the extra energy that I needed to feel good and be able to enjoy my time, even when she wasn't around. It had been a while since the presence of a girl in my life had this kind of effect on me and I had learned to appreciate the feeling. Life was fun again and I enjoyed it immensely, boundlessly, endlessly, with or without Michelle.. Carnival Aalst lasted for four days that year: I spent most of them with Rudy and some of his friends. On Monday we celebrated with the rest of the class. Fortunately, after Udo's sudden

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departure at the prom, all incidents of that night had been forgotten and Udo was back in our group.

Against all odds

though, Katherine and Willy didn't show up at the Carnival party. Just like the year before, Katherine was declared "ill" and didn't attend school the week after Carnival. When she returned a week later, she couldn't explain what had been wrong with her. It was obvious though that she went through a difficult time. She had informed me shortly after the prom that she had met a guy with whom she had really fallen in love. But against her custom, she told little more about him. The relationship between Katherine and me was at an all time low anyway. After I had rejected her proposal to date until the end of the school year, she sometimes reacted to me with sudden hostility. Maybe the scene with Udo had something to do with it or the fact that, of all people, I was dating a friend of Elly's? I didn't like the cold atmosphere between us. It wasn't fun to be in the same group at the schoolyard and to feel how she totally disregarded me or reacted with hostility to me. But there was nothing I could do about it. Asking her why she acted that way was totally out of the question, since she had every right to decide with whom she talked. And, honestly, I was afraid also about how she might respond. I really could miss emotional pressure like tooth-ache!

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This didn't change the fact that it was really hurting to see that she was unhappy and to know that I couldn't help her. Even in the past I hadn't been able to help her, so how would I have been able to do anything to cheer her up now? The difference with the past, however, was that for the first time I felt it wasn't up to me anymore to make a move. Once, but more often twice per week, Michelle and I exchanged long letters. Though it was clear that we both enjoyed the relationship very much, recent experiences made me afraid of the invisible borders that I inevitably seemed to crash against when a relationship became too serious. Therefore, I kept my letters as light-hearted as possible. In much the same way, when we were together we always stressed that we should enjoy the happy moments that we shared and let things take their own course. We had one very clear agreement: the one who broke up, would pay the last beers. "When the time comes to break up, let's break up in beauty and without rancour!" As the months went by and the relationship remained excellent, I sometimes mused about the reasons why both Katherine and Maryssa had reacted with such fear when I made it clear that I wanted more than just having fun together. Was it really true what they said: that they wanted to enjoy themselves and not yet think about committing themselves, or was it the fear of a sexual

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relationship and what that entails that held them back? Or just the fact that they were still too young and too dependent on home? Occasionally, I fought silently against the spectre of pain and the seemingly always inevitable separation. The least you should do if you want to build a lasting relationship, is to believe it is possible, I tried to convince myself. How could I hope to achieve any dream if I didn't believe in the dream myself and did not give one hundred percent of myself? But the fear remained. It kept me from taking my relationship with Michelle too serious and at the same time I was afraid of losing her, because I realized very well that the only reason why I felt so extremely well these last months, was Michelle. It was clear that I always needed someone in my life in order to be happy. This made me dependent on others, I knew. I didn't like that thought a bit, but the more I tried to oppose it, the more convinced I became that it wasn't something I could change or avoid ... and the more afraid I became when I thought that I might lose Michelle some day. There was however no reason to be afraid of anything at short notice, because Michelle's letters kept arriving regularly and they all spoke of exactly the same feelings as those which I bore her: Michelle missed me; was head over heels in love with me; drew

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strength from my presence in her life; liked talking to me; longed to be with me more; looked forward to the few hours per week that we could spend together .... Whatever I dreamed, I kept to myself. "Whenever you see two people together that look bored all the time, they're sure to be married!" I pointed out to Michelle. The fear that boredom and routine eventually destroys any relationship was a constant recurring element in my letters to Michelle. Did I want to have children? She wanted to know. I didn't even want to go there. "Let's talk about that subject in ten years time, if we're still together then." And yet, serious dating was possible at our age. Marc and Elly informed their parents of their relationship.

Since they still

studied, there was no talk about marriage or living together, but their parents accepted that they were serious about each other. Marc was welcome at Elly's home, where he picked her up when they went out during the weekends and occasionally he spent the Sunday afternoon with Elly and her parents, or he stayed there for the night when they got home late on a Saturday evening. Elly considered Michelle as her best friend. She was proud that she brought us together and, whenever the opportunity arose, invited us to go out with them. Since Marc could use his father's car during the weekends, going out with them was a real luxury.

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Even more important was the fact that it was always Elly's mother who would call Michelleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mother and get permission for Michelle to come along. The strong bond between the four of us left its marks at school: Elly did most of the planning for the weekends and saw herself as the centre of our little gang. She also left no opportunity unused to stress her vital stake in the establishment of my relationship with Michelle. "Which makes me responsible for arranging that the two of you can meet as often as possible and to see to it that everything runs smoothly for you," she claimed. When she wasn't preparing the upcoming weekend, she was evaluating the previous one. Needless to say, Katherine felt abandoned by her best friend in the classroom and got somewhat isolated. I remembered how bad I had felt when the same happened to me the year before. But again, there was nothing I could do. To me, the situation now was totally opposite: though I spent less time with Danny, at least I had the luxury of always being able to turn to him or even spend an evening with him whenever I wanted. The same was more or less true for George, whom I still sporadically visited on a free afternoon. And of course, there was Rudy, who was sitting next to me in class and whom I would visit regularly at his home during the evenings.

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Michelle wasn't a member of our class. She was totally unaware of the consequences of our relationship for the little class community, yet the influence of her being in my life, changed the relationships inside the class most profoundly. Meanwhile, Michelle's parents found out that their daughter had a boyfriend. "Too early" they judged, and for a moment it seemed their opposition would harm our relationship. Michelle fought back however: when she couldn't meet me during the weekend, she organized a shopping opportunity and I visited her on Wednesday afternoon to go shopping with her in Oudenaarde. A couple of weeks later, she would discover that she had nothing left to wear and obtain permission to go shopping in Aalst, allowing us again to spend a whole afternoon together. Or she would stay home to study when her parents went to a wedding party, and then smuggle me into the house. Our relationship was stronger than ever. But at the same time, we were both always aware that it probably wouldn't last forever. "Please don't love me too much," Michelle wrote, "because if you do, the pain will be worse when we break up." I answered: "Thank you, darling, for making me the happiest man in the world for such a long time already. Whatever happens later, I shall never forget this. However, should you want to break up one day, then you mustn't think too much about my pain.

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Breaking up is a decision you must take for good reasons of your own. If I ever start boring you, just tell me. I hate sad faces and dramas. Just know that I love you and hope that we will stay together for a long time." In reality, my brave words were not really honest. Reading Michelle's words, the first thing that came to my mind was an ardent desire that everything would last at least until the end of the school year. During the holidays, things would surely be so much easier for me. And later, there would be the stress of job hunting, a new environment, more resources, a car of my own... but until then, I hoped she would stay with me! The wish shocked me: was this not exactly the same Katherine had been thinking when asking me to date her until the end of the school year? What I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t able to accept from Katherine, I was now wishing for myself when it came to Michelle? It was a sobering thought that I never talked about with anybody, but I couldn't undo it either and since that moment, June thirtieth lingered with me as a date for further evaluation of what I wanted from my relationship with Michelle. Thinking like this also forced me to start thinking about the feeling that we call "Love": to what extent do we love someone for what they are, and to what extent do we love them for personal reasons? We never admit it, but what we call "Love" often looks more like a

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bag filled with our fear of loneliness, insecurity and emotional problems than as actual love and respect for whom the other person is. What weighs more in a relationship: the love for the other person or the love for ourselves? "Charity," Nietzsche had written, "is your bad love of yourself: you flee away from yourself towards somebody else... and you would like to make a virtue of it! The one goes to his neighbour because he's in search of himself and another because he wants to lose himself." Replace "Charity" with "Love": don't you see exactly the same thing happen all the time? Michelle was surprised that somebody might even care about such theories: "Of course you love someone else mainly because of what the other has to offer. What's the point in wasting your love on someone who has nothing to offer in return?" she reasoned. It even scared her that I thought about that kind of stuff: "Man, you shouldn't think about things you can't change. Enjoy the beautiful moments of life. Life is short enough!" It made her doubt my true feelings though. What was I up to? I was going on a language holiday in Coventry during the summer holiday. Since I was with her, why would I want to go to England during the holiday? Also: Coventry was in England. How far was it from Reading? Did I plan on visiting Stephanie again? Why

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hadn't I cancelled that holiday yet? What good was I to her when I left the country just when she would be more free to meet me? I did cancel the holiday in Coventry, but refused to change other plans. Thus, I sticked to my plan to hitchhike to Germany during the Easter holiday. I left home at 6 in the morning, and arrived in Muenster by ten o'clock the same evening. Fortunately, the weather was excellent and I met a couple of interesting people in the course of the day. The days spent at Rolf's were so much fun: We did his homework together and helped out for a couple of hours at a nearby farm. Both my uncle and aunt worked and Rolf had attend school the first couple of days.

I took

the opportunity to explore the

environment, visited a local museum and, in a pub, enjoyed an interesting conversation with some of the locals. With nothing else to do, I even read a novel in German for the first time: "Das Monster von Frankenstein". The second week, Rolf took me on a trip to Hildesheim. He spent most of his life in and around Hildesheim. He had family living in the area as well as a number of friends. In conversations with Rolf's acquaintances and random Germans that we met at the pubs, it surprised me how much better informed they were about the situation in Belgium than had been the case in England.

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Contrary to the Scots that I had met at the hotel, the English in general knew little about the amazing history Flanders shares with England. Not even that the Flemish counted for almost one third of Willam The Conqueror’s army, or that their first queen was Flemish. The First World War, beer, chocolates and Poirot was what they most often associated with Flanders. Poirot was Belgian alright, but not Flemish. In England, the more educated people sometimes even immediately tried to talk to me in - often almost unintelligible - French. In Germany, most people would ask straight away whether I was Flemish or Walloon. And as soon as they knew I was Flemish, there would be some kind of a bond. I noticed to my surprise that many Germans assumed that virtually the whole of Flanders stood behind them during the Second World War. On the other hand, when we were talking about the deteriorating economic developments and the rising unemployment, I was taken aback by the number of times I heard people say that this would have been unthinkable in Hitler's days: The Führer would have made sure that there was plenty of work for everyone! Sure, he would have! We know how he managed that! The day we returned home from Germany was extra long. After three hours driving from Hildesheim to Münster we helped on the farm for a few hours again and after a quick shower, left for

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another ride of four hours... straight to Michelle, with whom I had an appointment at a ball in a giant marquee barely 500 meters from her house. Of course we arrived an hour late. Michelle insisted that her neighbours shouldn't see that we were dating. Luckily I arrived with Rolf and immediately noticed Marc and Elly, allowing me to share in the fun without attracting too much attention. A couple of times we danced together, with the villagers wondering who that strange boy might be. "See how respectable we can behave, when we want to," Michelle laughed. Due to the different timing of the Easter holiday, Rolf stayed at my home now, while I had to return to school. Nevertheless we found time to visit Bruges and Ghent and go shopping in Brussels. We also spent an evening at Marc's and two days at Rudy's. While staying at Rudy's with Rolf, Rudy had big news to share: Katherine had asked him to go out with her until the end of the school year, and he had accepted. I looked at him in surprise. This really was weird, because it had always been clear to me that Rudy, though I had never seen him dating anybody, was gay! Also, Rudy had always been very critical about my relationship with Katherine. He often reproached me that I allowed her to dominate my life and hadn't stopped telling me that he didn't understand what I saw in her. But then, who was I to spoil the fun? I wished him all the best with his new girlfriend, shrugged and changed the

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subject: this was not my business. Those two could agree what they wanted. All in all it was a miracle that I skipped only half a day of school. The week flew by and much too soon I had to part with Rolf again. What a difference though from the previous time: no sudden feeling of loneliness or fear for empty days: A happy Michelle had called to announce that she would be going to school in Aalst the following year, and the day after Rolf's departure, Elly was celebrating her eighteenth birthday. Michelle and I were invited to come over after lunch already and help prepare for the evening. Moreover, Michelle had no curfew, so we would be together for most of the day! Michelle and Katherine had met only very briefly at the prom. But in the meantime, Elly had been talking so much about Michelle that Katherine had become curious about Michelle. Of course, Elly had also informed Michelle that "my ex" would be at the party, so Michelle too was eager to see who I had been dating before. The party, however, was partially doomed in advance: Marc and Elly had a fight and were concentrating on putting their relationship back on track. So we got off with a situation in which Marc was mainly occupied with Elly, Rudy with Katherine and me

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with Michelle, while the other guests mostly talked amongst themselves. From our bench, at the opposite side of the room, Michelle screened Katherine but soon complained that, every time she looked her way, Katherine seemed to be staring at her too. Thus, I shielded Michelle and stayed away from Rudy and Katherine and they apparently did the same. The whole evening turned out in a failure for everybody, with little dancing and even less fun. The one good thing about it was that both Michelle and I knew that we wouldn't any time soon have an opportunity to spend twelve hours together. Therefore, we didn't really care too much about the party and just enjoyed being together. It was a beautiful evening, and though I regretted the defensive positions taken by both Michelle and Katherine, I returned home a happy man that night. The one thing that bothered me when I was told about Katherine and Rudyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s relationship was how it would reflect to my friendship with Rudy. I decided to show him that, for as far as I was concerned, there didn't have to be any negative repercussions and visited him even more than before. Since I spent my weekends with Michelle, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to know what Rudy did during his weekends and when I visited him on other days, we never mentioned Katherine at all.

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At school nothing changed either: we kept meeting each other in the usual group at the schoolyard, Rudy kept his place next to me in the classroom and, much to my surprise, Katherine kept her seat next to me in the physics, chemistry and language lessons. A stranger wouldn't have been able to notice that Rudy and Katherine were dating. The only time when things were different, was at school parties or when we went for a drink after school. I was fortunate to have Marc and Elly during such times, for then Rudy would be around Katherine all the time. I am giving myself too much honour, I thought the first time when I noticed how Katherine looked straight at me when she was kissing or caressing Rudy. But soon I became convinced that I was not just flattering myself: there was no mistake. Katherine was provoking me in any way she could think of. It started me wondering why she would date a gay boy in the first place. Katherine wasn't blind. So the only answer I could come up with was that she did so because Rudy happened to be my best friend at school. But what did she hope to get from it? Take some kind of revenge by driving a wedge between Rudy and me? But why would she do that? And revenge: revenge for what? After all, I always told her that she was welcome with me should she

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reconsider her decision and decide to start a serious relationship with me. So, if she wanted me back, why didn't she simply ask? Once again, I had to admit that there was a lot about Katherine that I didn't understand. Still, nothing she did ever left me completely cold, and hence neither did these little plague rows. At the same time, this was exactly how I considered them: small plague rows between old lovers, but simultaneously a sign that she still wasn't completely over me. Katherine's teasing made me wonder about something different though: suppose that, instead of teasing me, she would tell me that she wanted to be serious with me, what would I do? Would I even consider dropping Michelle and give my relationship with Katherine another chance? As so often, as long as problems are purely rhetorical, my answer was quick and clear: I dated Michelle now and I was aiming at giving my relationship with Michelle all possible chances to succeed. Dumping Michelle now was out of the question. Not even for Katherine. I was happy though that my decision wasn't put to the test.

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Chapter 5 "Perfect speed is not 2000 km/h or 1 million kilometres/h, because each number defines yet another limit. Perfect speed is: 'being there'. In order to achieve that, one has to sacrifice progress, and concentrate on perfection only. Conquering time means that nothing exists outside Now. Overcoming distance, means that nothing exists outside Here. Time and place themselves mean nothing. If you want to fly as fast as a thought, you have to start thinking that you already arrived at your destination." (Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach)

After the birthday party, both Michelle and I felt more relaxed and certain about each other than before. Every meeting was like a big party in its own right and was carefully planned and subsequently followed by ardent letters and sneaky phone calls. Sean Livingstone Seagull thought he was in heaven and enjoyed the bliss of life like never before. Together with Michelle, Marc and Elly, I put my name on the list for the newly created volleyball club at Michelle's village. This way, we could meet on Sunday mornings if Michelle was not allowed to go partying on Saturday night. On such Saturdays, I would occasionally go out with Marc and Elly, stay at Marc's for the night and drive to volleyball practice the next morning together with him.

Soon however,

going out with Marc and Elly without Michelle, started looking like a waste of time and I preferred spending Saturday evenings at

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Rudy's if Michelle was not allowed to go out. Occasionally we would go to the movies or spend the evening at his place, talking and listening to music. In school, soon after the start of the new school year, I resumed my old habit of reading novels when I was bored in class. Reading novels, however, started to lose its magic. I attempted to switch to informative books about philosophy, psychology and economics, but they required too much concentration. After a while, I quit reading and started concentrating on the lessons again. The end of my long hibernation didn't go by unnoticed. To some of the new teachers, I had always been the quiet absent-minded guy who spends his time in class silently reading. My participation to their lessons was received with mixed feelings. I was expelled from religion class after I had openly revolted against the dogmas and teachings of the Catholic Church and blamed the teacher that he was teaching us children stories. I crossed the red line by accusing him of demanding that we blindly followed ancient doctrines and compared the commandments of the church to these of the Nazi regime. When the shorthand teacher re-introduced punishments for each mistake made in the intermediate tests, I organized a class action.

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With exception of some sissies, we collectively refused to accept the punishment and I reminded her that we had brought this matter to the principal before and that he had agreed that this kind of punishments was not allowed.

She swore that she would

personally see to it that I failed my final exam, which couldn't impress me at all. I boasted in my letter to Michelle: "Ha, she may try, but she cannot, because I'm simply the best at her subject". The punishments were abolished and we never had another problem with the teacher. Yet the number of incidents with various teachers increased rapidly and soon I was called in by the class teacher. We had a frank discussion, after which he called on my pride and begged me to be aware of my responsibility: "This class will stand or fall with you. I'm sure you know what you're doing, but others already think anything is allowed and eventually they risk becoming the victims of their efforts to outshine you." We agreed that I would discuss any points of discontent with him prior to undertake actions. There were other positive consequences: some of the teachers welcomed my come-back and invited me to discuss general class issues. "I think they must have come to the conclusion that the best way to handle 'Problem Sean' is to give me positive attention, in order to prevent me from searching negative attention." I wrote

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to Michelle. Meanwhile, I enjoyed my role as privileged interlocutor and unofficial class representative and regretted the many months that I had withdrawn into myself. With April more than halfway through, everybody started thinking about their study plans for the following year or, like in my case, about 'life after school'. A lot of people in the region worked in Brussels and spent more than an hour every morning and evening commuting to work. I decided I would try and find a job closer to home. But what kind of job? Bookkeeping sounded too dull, warehouse clerk didn't attract me in the least. In fact, nothing really interested me, but since I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have a choice, I hoped for a commercial job - maybe at a bank. My main preoccupations lay elsewhere though: I dreamed of buying my own car and a decent music system. Rudy claimed I was mad to even consider stopping my studies, but if I had to, why didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I rent a studio for the both of us in Aalst? But there wasn't much time to dream about the future: Michelle needed my help for her book reviews and translations and a swarm of American students landed at the school. One was held at Rudy's home, so I too moved to Rudy's for a month.

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With astonishment I remembered that, not long ago, I had been afraid of boring evenings and long weekends without a girlfriend. Since I had met Michelle, my life had entered a totally different phase. Now, I sometimes had to decline activities Rudy suggested, because I didn't want to disappoint Michelle. Sometimes the hocus-pocus wasn't strong enough: When Michelle managed to get permission to see a movie in Aalst, she was thrilled with this unexpected opportunity to spend a few hours with me, but then discovered that she couldn't reach me and that at home nobody had any idea where I was. Sometimes, I regretted having to cancel activities because the time I was on the road to and from Michelle was often longer than the time I actually could spend together with her. The regret I felt made me wonder if I liked Michelle less than I wanted myself to believe. That question, however, was rejected as quickly as it had arisen: I knew too well that the very reason I enjoyed my life this much was the energy that I drew from our relationship. I loved her and she loved me. This, and nothing else, was my anchor, the source of my energy, the foundation of my joy. On average, I only spend a couple of hours per week with Michelle, but these hours transformed my life and enabled me to enjoy everything else in life immensely.

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The visit of the Americans wore me out physically. It sufficed that I only had to close my eyes to fall asleep. Which was great at night, but it was a problem during class hours.

Not really

surprising, because not only did the school organize all kinds of activities for the Americans, the boys were pleased about something totally different: here, they didn't have to be twenty-one to drink alcohol, they were allowed to enter every bar and club and they were generally surprised at the level of freedom we enjoyed. For about a month, we almost never returned at Rudy's before well after midnight and even then we prepared something to eat first and stayed up to exchange experiences and opinions with 'our American'. In general I was very pleased with this kind of hectic life, but by the time the Americans returned to the States, I suddenly realized that I had been skipping important lessons and hadn't looked at a book in weeks. I really started to worry about the upcoming final exams. For Michelle too, the exams were nearing. Early in June she told me we would have to date by mail and phone exclusively until the exams were over. For a whole month I would only be able to meet Michelle if I attended mass in her village on Sunday morning. "We might as well stop dating for a while," we laughed at each other, "we wouldn't notice the difference anyway." Actually, we'd

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never felt more certain of each other than during this period: being together always felt like heaven and the letters we exchanged were longer and more passionate than ever. Every subject we even briefly touched during the time we spent together, was further elaborated in our letters during the days that followed: music, theatre and film, advantages and disadvantages of boarding schools, professional expectations, intimate contacts, fertility, abortion, ... all passed in review. But then I received an unexpected call: Was I interested in a holiday job in Spain? I hadn't planned on accepting any holiday job at all. This was the last time in my life that I would be able to enjoy a long summer holiday. I had dreamed of spending as much time as possible with Michelle during the holiday, and to start looking for work in September. Accepting this offer would mean that I wouldn't see Michelle at all for more than two months. At home, everybody agreed that I should take the job. "If you really love each other," mother argued, "your relationship will be even stronger when you return." "You make it sound like a test, mom," I rejected the approach. "I have no need to put Michelle's feelings or intentions to the test. I know this will be hard for her if I accept, because she's counting on me to make something beautiful from the upcoming summer vacation."

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In reality, I felt less certain that staying at home would be the best thing to do: how often would I be able to see Michelle? Since her parents weren't supposed to know about me, where and when would we be able to meet? On the other hand, if I did accept the job, I would be away for what felt like eternity. We would both go out alone, meet other people ... would our bond really be strong enough? I shared my worries with Michelle over the phone. "In these books about dating, we're told that trust is the cornerstone of any relationship," I told her, "but we're no fucking dating book. I don't believe much in the idea of putting a relationship on hold. Feelings are not money that you can deposit at a bank in order to collect it back with added interest. We're young. We live and move around. We are not bound by traditions, commitments and habits yet. Much to the contrary: it's the decisions that we take now that will determine the path we will walk tomorrow. Every decision, every meeting has the capacity of creating a totally different future!" If I had been certain about the impact of my decision, it would have been easy to choose. If I had been certain about our relationship, it would have been equally easy. But there were no certainties: no matter how much fun it was to date Michelle, we hadn't stopped telling each other that we would only go on dating for as long as the fun lasted. What if Michelle got bored at home

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and dumped me for somebody that she could see more easily during the vacation? Wouldn't I then regret for the rest of my life not having accepted the job in Spain? When I first told her about the offer, Michelle was silent for a few moments. She knew I was considering taking the job, otherwise there would have been no need to inform her about it without immediately adding that I had refused it. "Two and a half months is a terribly long time, Sean." she sighed. "I had been hoping to see more of you during the vacation, and now ..." She was silent again. But when she spoke again, her voice sounded calm: "If they asked me, I wouldn't hesitate. This sounds like a unique opportunity. I don't want you to refuse it because of me. In fact, I think you would be stupid if you did!" It was clear she didn't want to influence my decision. That same night, she wrote me a long letter: "You should know that, if you decide to take the job, I will keep writing to you. Whatever you decide, I'm not planning to leave you, unless of course you've become tired of me." I accepted the job and immediately started writing to Michelle: "I cannot ask you to understand my choice, because I don't understand it completely myself. Maybe I cannot believe that the happiness we have shared these last months, can endure. Perhaps I simply don't trust you enough. In fact I'm only sure of one thing: when September comes I will still love you as much as I do now!"

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I explained her that one of the reasons why I had accepted the job, was that I was afraid that our relationship wouldn't survive the long vacation anyway. She was shocked: "Have you lost your mind? All that worrying of yours is dangerous you know! What reason have I given you to doubt my feelings for you? Man, man, the kind of things you put in your head!" She tried to write lightly about it, but it was clear that I had hurt her feelings and had caused more damage than she was able to hide. Her letter ended on a sarcastic note: "Sean, if you start dating somebody else, I want you to inform me immediately. I will do the same." There was no relief after I had made my decision, rather a sense of desperation: at our age two months without a kiss or caress, without anybody you can share your feelings with? The prospect scared the hell out of me. I didn't believe Michelle would wait for me. And I was not very certain about myself either. Fortunately Michelle remained calm. Every time I brought the subject up, she tried to put me at ease. "You've decided, and the decision you made is a good one: I would have taken exactly the same decision. Now, all we can do is live with it. Time will tell what it will mean for the two of us, so please stop worrying now!"

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Her cheerfulness was contagious. My concern slowly turned into an awareness of gratitude. I wrote to thank her for her support and repeated that, no matter what happened, nobody could ever undo the happy months we shared. "This past year has been by far the happiest year of my life, and I have you to thank for it!" The unexpected invitation reminded me of the relativity of all the certainties I always tried to generate around me. One phone call from a stranger, and the next day suddenly nothing was certain anymore: romantic bonds, holiday plans with friends and even the country I was living in ... everything in my life could change any minute. Thanks to Michelle's positive response, I succeeded in seeing things in a different perspective. After all, these last years, I had always spent the summer vacation away from home, and how quickly these couple of months had gone by each time! The invitation to go and work in Spain stopped time, but only for a little while. I knew I should really start to study for the final exams, but I kept postponing. Instead, I spend evenings at Rudy's, accepted Marc's invitation to work as a waiter at a local ball, Rolf came over again for a long weekend and a new flight of Americans landed. This time, they weren't students. My grandmother's sister had emigrated to the States after the First World War and now returned for a visit to Flanders with her children and

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grandchildren. Aunt Celina hadn't visited the family for about 20 years now. There was doubt about how many of the ten visitors were able to understand Dutch, so I was asked to be around and act as an interpreter when necessary. It was nice to see how little effect time and distance had when it came to the bond between people who deeply loved each other. Unfortunately, there were no family members my age: they were either older or mere children. Once the Americans left again, I started to panic: I could hardly remember when last I opened a schoolbook after classes. For a long time, I hadn't even made any homework: I copied them in the morning from one of the classmates, without even bothering whether what I was writing was correct or not. When I looked at the sheer amount of lessons that I had to study, I realized that getting through all of this was mathematically impossible. Gradually I began to seriously take into account that I might not pass all tests with success. I organized the stuff in chunks and made a heroic effort to catch up with my studies. But there was so little time left! So I decided to study only the most important parts. The less important parts, I totally skipped.

And for the remaining parts I confined to

cheating and ... to Katherine. Thanks to her I filed correct exams for physics and chemistry.

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On the day of our last exam, the principal entered the classroom. Two local companies had vacancies for young people with our qualification and he was asked to offer the jobs to the best students. To my surprise, I was the first he offered the jobs to. Only requirement: I would have to start working immediately. I didn't consider giving up the holiday job in Spain, so I declined the offers right there and then. Before leaving school, I said goodbye to Katherine. We had to attend school for one more week. Only: not I, for my plane to Barcelona was due the next day already. Since I hadn't informed her about my plans, she was very surprised when I told her this was probably the last time ever we saw each other. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. There hadn't been much contact between us these last months, almost none at all after Elly's birthday party. I knew that her agreement with Rudy hadn't lasted until the end of the school year and that she was meanwhile dating John again, the trucker whom she had already dated once or twice before. I thanked her for helping me with the exams. What else was there to say? Here we stood at the schoolyard, away from the others of the class, just as we had done so many times in the past. There was a mildness in Katherine, which inclined me to think that she was happy with John. At this moment, to both of us, it was clear that we might never meet again

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It felt awkward and familiar at the same time to stand here together like this. If we hadn't been at school, I think I would have kissed her goodbye. Yet, here we stood: sullenly smiling., not really knowing how to best address each other.

Our smile

however contained all the memories, friendship and love that we had shared during these past two years.

Mine contained the

memories of some of the most beautiful days of my life, but also of some of the most painful. And undoubtedly, so did hers. This was closure, real closure, I knew. It was some time since I had last felt this sensation of closure, but saying goodbye to her really made me realize that a very important chapter in my life was definitely over now. We had been first lovers; we had shared so many emotions. Now all that belonged to the past: adult life was beckoning. The night following the last exam, I honoured the tradition by going out with Udo, George and a couple of others of the class until late in the night. Neither Rudy nor Katherine had accepted the invitation. The next day I left for Spain, confident that I had earned my diploma, looking forward with great expectations to what Spain would bring and worried only because I was leaving Michelle behind for such a long time.

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Chapter 6 â&#x20AC;&#x153;What if a demon were to creep after you one night, in your loneliest loneliness, and say, 'This life which you live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned and you with it, dust of the dust!' Would you throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, 'Never have I heard anything more divine'?â&#x20AC;? (Friedrich Nietzsche)

Monday night, September nineteenth. Through the window of my bedroom, I stared into the dark night. I had just read Michelle's letter for the third time - it was her answer to what I had told her two days before: "We cannot continue like this. If this is the end, let it be the beautiful end of a beautiful time. Are you paying for the beers or do I pay them?" Disappointed with the holiday job, I had left Spain in early August. I drove back by car with a Dutch family that returned home after their vacation. Twelve hours after we left Salou, I arrived home. Michelle knew about my plans. My letters from Spain to her had been one long list of complaints: instead of working 10 hours per day, I had to work between 12 and 16 hours some days. The company I worked for rented

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apparments at Cabo de Salou, near Tarragona. Due to the fact that I had to take the inventory of the apartments just before receiving the keys back from departing guests, and also had to welcome any newly arriving guests, there were nights on which I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sleep for more than two consecutive hours. Instead of working six days a week, I was ordered to work seven days per week. I had been promised I could use a company car to visit neighbouring places once per week. Of course, due to the amount of work, this promise had been revoked from day one. In fact, I was told this was an unfortunate mistake: "We had an extra car before, but now ...". The salary, agreed on in Belgian Francs, suddenly became a salary in Spanish Pesetas, at the time worth about 0.7 BF only, and it wouldn't be paid monthly, as agreed, but only after I had returned to Belgium at the end of my contract. On top of that, the cost of my personal concumption of food and drinks would be subtracted.

Whenever we were not too busy, I was asked to do

odd jobs: pull out weeds in the parking lots, wash the cars, ... After about two weeks, I asked to see the manager. He refused to talk with me: the foreman was responsible for all personnel-related matters! "Where would you go?" the foreman scorned when I complained. He should have known this isn't the kind of question you ask an

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eighteen year-old. Where would I go? Home of course! There was another major reason why I couldn't stay in Spain: Michelle . Michelle had writtn four letters during the first two weeks I was in Spain, but then the letters stopped coming. I had every reason to be concerned about the impact of this holiday job on our relationship, especially because Michelle was sitting at home with nothing to do. I phoned her as soon as I arrived home. It was a Saturday, and she immediately came up with an opportunity to meet the very same evening: she would attend mass in a neighbouring village, could I meet her at the church? I would have met her even if she suggested Mars! To my surprise, she actually insisted on going to Mass instead of going to a pub for a chat. And after Mass, she was in a hurry to return home "to avoid arousing suspicion." I returned home with a bad feeling. I was certain that my worst dreams were about to come true: things were more than just skewed between the two of us. Luckily, I had over-reacted: the following day we had a wonderful time together at volleyball and during the days and weeks that followed, we met quite often. We took part in two summer hikes together and went to all the performances and summer balls in the area.

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But things just weren't like before. While waiting for Michelle's arrival at one such occasion, I met a distant cousin. He told me he met a girl a couple of weeks before and had asked her on a date for this particular night. We were chatting over a glass of beer when Michelle arrived with a friend.

"Ha! There she is!" he

announced, leaving me at the counter. To my surprise, he didn't walk up to Michelle's friend, but to her.

They had a short

conversation, after which he left. "Oh, it was just a kiss!" Michelle laughed when I asked her what had been going on between them. "You know how boys are: you give them a kiss, and they think you're in love with them!"

"A French kiss?"

"Why is that

important?" Hell, yes, why would I care about her French kissing somebody else while I wasn't around? But there was more: now, we always met either in Michelle's village or in the immediate surroundings thereof. Because she was afraid that people might tell her parents if we were too close, we talked and danced, much like she talked and danced with anybody else.

Elly had been right when she

claimed Michelles was the most popular girl in their village, which meant that I had to stand in line to have a dance with her, and that there was almost no opportunity for a private chat "because otherwise they would immediately notice." Because of this, our meetings stopped being the moments that I was looking forward to. On the contrary: it was with a certain reluctance that I saw the

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date of the next farmersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ball approaching. After almost every evening out with Michelle, I now returned home always more disappointed. "I cannot imagine not seeing you anymore, and yet, apparently all that I do is grieve you," she replied when I complained that I had enough of taking turns for a quick chat or dance. And I here I stood with her letter in my hands, just as the summer holiday was almost over and she was about to start going to school in nearby Aalst. I almost knew the letter by heart now. But it was really not necessary to know the whole letter: the first words were clear enough: this was the end for us. In fact, I'd better only read the first words, because everything that followed might just as well have been dictated by Katherine: that she was too young to tell her parents about us and that she wanted to enjoy life a little longer and not commit herself yet. The more I read the letter, the deeper the pain seared. The 'Katherine-wound" was suddenly back in full force and bleeding like hell. I felt as if all the time that had passed since Katherine and I broke up, all the things I thought I had learned since then, simply weren't there anymore. Everything had just been an illusion.

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The painful memories didn't even feel like memories: I relived everything and knew one thing only: I couldn't make the same mistakes as before. I should stay away from Michelle immediately and as far as possible. Not contact her again and even not visit her village again. "Nie Wieder!" Never again, I swore softly, wishing I could do something - anything - to break through the burden of pain that oppressed me. After I called Michelle to confirm receipt of her letter, I went to the garden and chopped down a small tree to release my energy. Chopping down the tree was the easy part. Chopping it into small chunks of firewood took me until darkness.

By the time I

returned home, I was exhausted, but the pain and sadness were no less than before. For days I felt as if my surroundings were suddenly different; as if I perceived everything clearer.

In this new, strange world, I

wandered alone. I didn't feel like visiting Rudy or even Danny, didn't feel like doing anything. There was no school, no fixed schedule, just idle time and I had no idea what to make of it. After accepting the job in Spain, I had told myself that I would go on holiday after my vacation job and not look for work before the end of October. September and October would be my special summer vacation, much like some little Sabbath Year that I had reserved for myself to enjoy. The contrast between dream and

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reality could hardly be greater: empty days aimlessly followed one after the other. Nothing made sense. I ran away from home at eleven at night, without knowing where to go, simply to avoid the painful hours that I would otherwise spend in bed brooding. But wherever I fled, I took my greatest enemy with me. Rather than going somewhere, I usually ran away everywhere. Even if I did end up at Rudy's or Danny's, I soon ran away again, because my total lack of plans and ambitions compared to their future plans, was more than I could bear and their friendliness and cheerfulness felt like a betrayal to the pain that burned inside of me. I started going to clubs on my own again with a novel in my pocket. I had long since become tired of reading stories, but I lied to myself that reading would at least help me to achieve a better command of English. The fact that reading felt more like an effort than entertainment didn't bother me, because in some twisted way, it was just another way in which I tried to afflict pain to myself. As if pain could be fought with pain, like fire with fire. Because I was often in town â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;till very late at night, the people that came to talk with me were amongst the most miserable and lonely. I hated it when they bought me a beer and then thought they had gained themselves the right to bother me with their personal misery: "Look at this picture, isn't she beautiful? That is my wife; and this beautiful baby is my daughter!"

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I discovered how the city at night turns into a melting pot of dissatisfaction, frustration, loneliness and regret. I was surprised also to find that I was not the only one who felt the need to punish himself. So many people wandered around, endlessly telling about their grief to random strangers. But most of all I wondered about myself and why I saw them as failures and only felt cold contempt for these cry-babies, while in fact I was visiting the same bars, for the same reasons, fleeing from the same pain. Worst of all were the weekends: I didn't want other people around, even though it was clear that the loneliness was boring me to death. Yet the boredom wasn't even the worst. Much worse was to watch other young people enjoy themselves in company; while I drank my beer alone at the counter. I had read that after the amputation of a limb, people sometimes still feel pain in the body part they no longer had. With me, it was just the same: I missed Michelle so much that I had to be careful not to start talking to her, or ask her to dance with me. Saturday nights, when there was a lot of fun in town, were the evenings when I might return home early and get to bed at nine or ten, knowing all too well that my biological clock would keep me awake most of the night and that a night in bed was just another way of torturing myself. Occasionally, I would get out of bed again in the middle of the night and walk the five kilometres to town.

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The Employment Office sent me a few addresses where I had to go for a job interview. All jobs offered were in Brussels and I didn't want to commute to Brussels every day. Since refusing to show up would lead to my jobless allowance being revoked, I had to make an appointment and travel to Brussels for the interviews. But I had a solution: I arrived in sneakers and jeans, wearing my tie under instead of over my shirt, appearing to be willing to accept any job. But when I was asked what job I had in mind, I answered that I dreamed of keeping a bar or lied that I was planning on leaving the country to work abroad as soon as possible. After all, why shouldn't I move to a different country? True, I had a diploma of secondary education only, but I was fluent in four languages and even knew a little bit of Spanish. I was doomed anyway. If I had to do less qualified work for the rest of my life, I might as well do it in another country. The experience might even pay off later!

The more I thought about it, the more I saw

emigration as a valuable alternative to wasting my life at a desk in some dull office. In the meantime, summer was over. I realized that it was time to start looking for a job anyway. From the newspaper and a directory of local businesses, I selected ten job offers from companies in the area. In between, I also responded to

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advertisements of the embassies of Australia, Canada and South Africa. The first response I received was from the South African Embassy. It wasn't just a polite letter, but a thick envelope that contained a personalised letter, a set of informative documents and some documents that I was asked to fill out before making an appointment for an interview.

The documents were of an

impeccable quality and didn't fail to impress me because of the extensive and impressive information. Less than a week after I had filled out the documents and returned them to the Embassy, I was invited for an interview with the ambassador. Again, I was impressed: the man was young, dynamic, looked very professional and spoke Dutch flawlessly. We discussed the opportunities his country offered to young people 'preferably from the Netherlands or Flanders' and I left feeling content. A few days later I received a confirmation of the conversation, informing me that I qualified for immigrating to South Africa, along with some more documents for completion. As the ambassador had warned me that it would take a couple of months before I would be able to leave for South Africa, I decided to try and get a job until then and to save as much money as possible before my departure. With the experience in Spain in the back of my mind, I wanted to have sufficient money at the bank to

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pay for a return ticket to Belgium any time, should I encounter problems in South Africa. For a while, it looked as if I might really leave for South Africa soon. As a country, South Africa wasn't my first choice. I was well aware of its fame of being one of the most beautiful countries in the world. South Africa was appealing also because the name evoked adventure and sounded pretty exotic. Moreover, being Flemish, the historic ties with the country attracted me. My grandmother had told me how, when she was a child, our family had supported Paul Kruger and the Boer War against the British. Learning to understand and speak Afrikaans couldn't be too difficult since the language originated from my mother tongue, Dutch.

But this was 1972 and The South African Apartheid

Regime was denounced on television every day. What would I get into if I emigrated to that country? There was something else that kept me back from travelling to South Africa: After I had filed my application, I was told a terrifying story by a cousin of Michelle's. "What job have you applied for?" he wanted to know. "Clerk," I answered. The man had immigrated to South Africa about ten years earlier. Asked what his job preference, he had written 'bediende', just like I had. 'Bediende' is Dutch for 'clerk'. But apparently in South African the word means 'house servant'. The documents he had filled out

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were in Dutch, so there shouldn't have been a problem. But upon his arrival in South Africa, the officials laughed him in the face and told him: "That's what you guys try all the time: you say you want a job as a house servant, but once you're here, you think you can get another job just as easily." He was forced to accept a job as house servant, or lose his accommodation and integration allowance. Because of the low salary, he later became a stoker on a coal train, until he managed to save enough to return home. I hesitated. The final set of documents was still on my desk and I postponed taking them in from day to day. I convinced myself that there was no need to hurry, that I better first waited for the response of Canada or Australia. But even when it became clear that these countries were only looking for people with advanced technical degrees, the letter for South Africa remained on my desk. Trust had been broken. Meanwhile, I had also received invitations for interviews from three of the local companies I applied at. The first company I visited, a manufacturer of asbestos cement building materials, was looking for a correspondent. The company was housed in old, dusty buildings and it was clear that it didn't really thrive. I couldn't care less though: I was looking for a temporary job, so I might as well work here for a couple of months.

I entered, had two

interviews, did some tests and was hired immediately.

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Mid-October the classes in higher education had started. Michelle attended classes in the same school as two of my sisters and one day, while I was waiting for my sister, I bumped into Michelle. The previous time we met, was about a month earlier, when we were still together and it clearly felt strange to accidentally meet like this. "One of us still owes the other two beers!" Michelle smiled. "I think you should pay them, because you broke up with me!" I replied. So we decided to have a beer together and had a very friendly conversation during which we also discussed the reasons of the break-up. After six years at a boarding school, Michelle was enthusiast about the freedom she now enjoyed. If one thing was very clear, it was that she wanted more than ever to enjoy herself and that she had no intention to commit herself seriously to anybody. On November second I started my professional career. I soon learned that the company I was working for, was at the verge of bankruptcy. The salary was low, but there was an enthusiastic team and I never regretted one single moment having taken the job. Soon I was up to my ears in work, performed free overtime nearly every day and even helped on the weekends to repaint the neglected offices. With my colleagues, we dreamt of achieving a turnover for the company. The good relationship at work soon extended to our private lives too: some of my colleagues were not yet married. Occasionally we would spend an evening at their

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places, watch a movie together or go to some festivity during the weekend. The work and the new contacts absorbed me. Sporadically, I would also still visit Rudy or meet Marc and Elly at the volleyball club at which I showed up with irregular intervals, mostly after Marc insisted I should come. Sometimes, Danny would visit me in the evening, but by now we had completely estranged from each other and each time after one of his visits, I was frustrated because I felt I had just been annoying myself and wasting my evening. No matter how well the weeks were filled, I kept struggling with an underlying sense of unease. To me, my colleagues and friends were only relationships that offered me a moment of diversion that for a very brief time made me feel less aware of the basic emptiness of my life. Especially during the weekends I was feeling bad: how could I enjoy a movie or a concert when there was no one next to me that I cared for and with whom I could share the experience? How could I meet someone to replace my amputated limb if I didn't even have the courage to go out and approach people? By Christmas, I realized one of my old plans: I hitch-hiked to Germany again, this time with Rudy. We spent Christmas with my aunt, and then returned to Belgium with Rolf to celebrate New Year with my family.

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Rudy laughed when I appeared all dressed up for the journey. I was wearing three pairs of stockings, two trousers, two sweaters, two coats, gloves and a ski-cap. By the time we were walking in the bitter cold German freezing night, desperately trying to get a lift, Rudy had long stopped laughing. Even though the gloves and the ski cap were worn alternately, Rudy believed he would freeze to death and not survive the night. His feet were covered with blisters, but because of the low temperature and because we couldn't find a warm shelter anywhere, there was no alternative to keep walking. At about one hundred kilometres from our destination, we started quarrelling because Rudy claimed he could go no further and I should call Rolf to come and pick us up, which I refused. Luckily, by then the night was over and temperatures were slightly rising. Also, Rudy's miserable condition invoked the compassion of the passing drivers and, after a pause for breakfast at a cafĂŠ, we arrived tired but happy at our destination by noon. When we returned to Belgium, the first item on the agenda was to celebrate Christmas at the volleyball club. Rudy hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t recovered from the trip yet and dropped out. The party was already well on the way when I entered with Rolf. Michelle had stopped playing volleyball after we had broken up and was not present now either. It felt good to celebrate amongst

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people I knew. The intimate atmosphere of the small club room and the presence of Rolf contributed largely to that positive feeling.

Soon we were the central focus of attention, with

everybody wanting to know more about Rolf. In a corner of the little room, Brenda and her friend took no part in the fun. The boy was constantly arguing, while Brenda was looking bored and was staring at the dancing couples and at the fun we were having at our table. Brenda was one of the youngest girls of the volleyball club. Although she was only fifteen, she was a very beautiful and sweet girl with an air of softness and innocence hanging over her. Yet, when it came to having fun, she was usually always among the first to join in. When Brenda left the clubhouse, I decided to ask her what was wrong and I walked after her. "I hope you're not going home yet?" "No, I'm just going to the toilet." "Me too." The toilet was separate from the club house, at the other end of the field, so we had time for a short chat.

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"I'm not used to seeing you sitting on your own in a little corner. Why don't you and your friend come and sit at our table?" I suggested. "Oh, Sean! My friend you say? Five times already I asked him to leave, but he just won't understand that things are over between us. Earlier, he was even crying and repeated how much he loves me and that I should stay with him. But meanwhile, all he does is ruining my evening!" I laughed at the indignant tone with which the poor guy got the blame for her ruined evening. "If that's the problem, why don't you just leave him in his corner and join us?" I challenged her. But she didn't dare. "OK., in that case, I shall tell him that we're waiting for you." "I'd rather you didn't, Sean. But will you wait for me to walk back? I don't like to walk alone in the dark." I lit a cigarette and waited until she was ready. "How long are you planning to stay?" she asked on the way back to the club house. "I guess we'll stay â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;till the end."

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"If only he would be so smart to leave earlier! What a shame to see this nice evening ruined!" "Everything depends on you!" I smiled and when she looked back at me with a comical grimace, I brought a finger to my lips and then moved it to hers. Or at least: that was the intention. But before my finger reached her lips, our eyes interlocked and suddenly she was lying in my arms and we were kissing." When I looked at her again, I noticed that she was crying. She reacted to the surprised expression on my face by laughing through her tears and whispering: "Oh, Sean, if only you knew how long I've been dreaming about this moment!" "Both our dreams have come true then," I whispered, and we kissed again. We entered the clubhouse separately. Nobody noticed that we had even seen each other outside.

But she carried my telephone

number in her purse and we had agreed we would go out together the next day. We went out the next day, and the day after, and New Year's Eve and all the subsequent weekends.

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Brenda was a totally new and refreshing experience. She cried when the journal showed pictures of poverty and war or when she found a dead bird along the road. In general, she compared life to an egg on a table: if anything disturbed the balance of the table, the egg would fall to the floor and break. Meanwhile, she shared in the joy and misfortune of movie characters as if they were real people and showered me with an abundance of tenderness and affection. Whenever I entered too deep into a subject, she would laughingly ask me to stop and leave the thinking to the horses, which have bigger heads than humans. There was little secrecy at Brenda's home. Despite her young age, I could call her at home at any time and visit her or take her out. Her mother was a beautiful, gentle woman, but she was very silent and bitter. Her father ran a small transport company. He was a closed, even surly man, who flourished only after he drank a couple of glasses. But at such times, he had a tendency to exaggerate and make the strangest observations. One night when he drove me home after a party, he suddenly asked: "Did you enjoy the evening with my daughter?" I confirmed I had a wonderful evening and added: "She's really a very sweet girl!"

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There was a moment of silence, after which he said: "Well, you may think that you are happy now, but you will soon discover that dating is much more exciting after you are married, and then start going out again." I was perplexed and didn't know what to answer. I wasn't very lucky with the schools my girlfriends attended. Just like Michelle, Brenda too was going to a boarding school in another town. We never wrote though. Every now and then, Brenda would call me, but otherwise she would be my weekend sweetheart only. Since I had no car, we would generally meet at the volleyball club on Sunday morning and have somebody drive us to a nearby youth club, where we spend the rest of the afternoon. Brenda was apparently known to a lot of people at the club, and everyone felt the need to declare themselves some kind of bodyguard of hers. To bump against Brenda or to knock over a glass of hers was a very dangerous incident here! However, all this competition and jealousy of Brenda's bodyguards were only amusing to me. After all: Brenda had eyes for me only, danced with nobody else but me, and avoided conversations with other guys by retreating as quickly as possible with me in the darkest corner of the club.

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Brenda was like a fairy and with her kindness and love, healed the pain of my loneliness. She didn't hide that she was jealous of the older Michelle. Both were distant relatives and shared their dark complexion and the symmetry of their features. Because Michelle was older, Brenda looked up to her and therefore was afraid that, if ever I had to choose between the two of them, I would leave her and return to Michelle. I regularly had to promise her I wouldn't return to Michelle if that opportunity would arise. To me, Brenda's uncertainty was just another symbol of how much she liked me. "Michelle is a part of my past," I implored Brenda. "You are the only one who matters to me now." The sweet sensation of being loved again transcended my life. Away was the loneliness, away the idea of emigrating, away the one thousand and one reasons why I had been unhappy. Since Brenda also gave me no reasons to worry or doubt, I found back happiness and started enjoying life again. The fact that Brenda was at a boarding school had its advantages: I spent my Sundays with her, but Saturday evenings I went to Rudy's more often. Danny went through a rough period at this time and regularly visited me at home. He asked me to go out with him, because he had nobody else to keep him company. So, whenever I had no plans for the Saturday evening, the two of us

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went out together. In order not to make Brenda feel even more uncertain about me, I didn't tell her. I celebrated Carnival Aalst this year again with Rudy and his friends, but the best day was Monday, when Brenda joined us to party. By the end of the day, she was so tired that she almost couldn't walk anymore and I had to carry her to the place where her father would pick her up. The week after, we continued celebrating Carnival - This time in Ninove. With the emigration plans definitively stowed away, the need to have a car of my own became stronger.

Fortunately one of

Danny's uncles was a sales representative at a garage. The moment I left the garage with my lovely second-hand car, I felt my life had really taken a turn since I had met Brenda and that now everything was going exactly the way I had been dreaming of. When Brenda called me to inform me that she couldn't make it for our Sunday date, because she had left the school without permission and therefore had to stay in school during the weekend, I didn't let her absence spoil the fun. After all, Danny was waiting for me to go out, and strangely enough, since I was with Brenda, everything was fun again - even going out without her.

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The following week Brenda called again: she had to stay at school again. I remembered my own time at the boarding school and the times I had to stay during the weekend, and felt sorry for her. That week, however, I met Krist'l in town. Krist'l had been with a boy for a long time, but had finally decided to end the relationship and had been going out for a couple of weeks with a group of friends.

It didn't take us long to discover that we were two

kindred romantic soul mates. We searched for a place where the music was not too loud and spent the entire evening talking. When I returned home with Danny, he was angry because I had neglected him. He even accused me of excluding him deliberately and threatened to tell Brenda that I had been out with another girl. His anger didn't impress me much: I had done nothing wrong, so he could tell whatever he wanted. Yet the incident set me thinking about why I would even bother to go out with Danny. I warned him that I didn't tolerate his threats and wasn't planning on going out with him again if it resulted in this kind of situations. He toned down and we decided to go out together again the following week. That Saturday, I found Krist'l waiting for me at the door of the club. Danny wisely decided to go elsewhere and we agreed that I would wait for his return. When he returned, he found me and Krist'l kissing. Again, he showed himself deeply outraged - this

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time because of my immoral behaviour. And again he threatened to tell Brenda that I was cheating on her. On the way back home, I recalled our agreement and told him that he needn't wait for me anymore the next Saturday, because I wanted to go out alone. Although I knew I shouldn't date two girls simultaneously, and I certainly knew that this situation couldn't last for long, I couldn't get it over my heart to dump Krist'l and I certainly didn't think of breaking up with Brenda. So I went out with Krist'l on Saturday and with Brenda on sunday. To my surprise, two weeks later, Danny suddenly showed up while I was with Krist'l and told her that I had another girl that I usually saw on Sundays. Brenda already knew he was a jealous type and didn't believe a word he said. However, when he dared me to hand my wallet to Krist'l and told her I carried a picture of Brenda in it, I knew there was no use in denying. Krist'l fled back to her friends crying, while I left the club angry, with Danny - who kept repeating that it was his moral duty to save me from being foolish - trailing behind me. A week later, the incident forced me to produce a wry smile after listening to Megan. I was driving to Brenda's when she stopped me. Meg was a member of the volleyball club. She was also one of Brenda's closest friends and lived only a few houses away from

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her. I knew the girl liked me, but was very surprised when she waved to make me stop. The bitter irony of the story she told me was so strong that it made me smile. I learned that Brenda had met a boy at school during the first weekend she was not allowed to come home. The following week, she had been at home, but had faked a story about a second punishment in order to be able to go out with her new boyfriend. According to Meg, Brenda had boasted that this week was my turn again to take her out. Strange, I thought, that one never feels grateful to the people who convey this kind of information. If I had,'t known, everything might still have been possible. Maybe Brenda would have dumped the other guy? As long as Brenda hadn't told me about the situation, the storm could have blown over, but since I now heard it from somebody else, I couldn't pretend I didn't know. I thanked Megan and continued to Brenda's. I thought back to the previous weekend, when Brenda's parents had been to a business dinner and I had spent the afternoon and evening at Brenda's home. Brenda had still been in the bath when I arrived. She had cooked spaghetti for the two of us and we had spent a wonderful time together. There had been no indication at all that something was wrong between us. Much to the contrary. And now, I knew that at the time she had also been dating somebody else. The

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memory of that glorious day didn't make me feel any better when I rang the doorbell at Brenda's. Brenda opened the door herself. It didn't take her long to realize that I knew about her double date. "Brenda, I think we have a problem." "Who told you?" She asked resentful without asking for any further explanation. "I'm here to say goodbye," I replied without answering the question. Brenda didn’t like the idea of saying goodbye at the doorstep. She dressed quickly and I drove to a quiet café to talk. She looked more angelic, beautiful and sweet than at any other time. I thought about how strange it is that you sometimes only know just how much a person means to you, when you know that they will disappear from your life. Even before I opened my mouth, I was making things much more difficult for myself than necessary again. While looking at Brenda opposite me at the table, I was wallowing in feelings of loneliness already. "I’ve really become good at this!" I analysed myself, staring at my half empty glass of beer.

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"Hey, you're not going to cry, are you?" Brenda said laughing, looking at me in a surprised, caring, worried, confidential way. I was astonished myself. How many times in my life had I wished that I could cry, hoping that crying would bring some relief for the pain? This time, however, I didn't have to force myself: my eyes were filled with tears and to my surprise, I felt them roll down my cheeks. Brenda was only fifteen. I had known from the start that our relationship wouldn't last forever, and had never really cared. Everything was perfect the way it was and for once there had been no need to keep things secret for anybody. This had allowed me to enjoy what we shared without worrying. Really strange, I now thought: Only now, when it is over, do I fully appreciate how much joy she brought into my life. I realized that I would miss Brenda and that she had meant more to me than I would have admitted. Until a few minutes ago, Brenda was that pretty, sweet girl that chased the loneliness and the grief over the loss of Michelle from my life. When I looked at her now, I knew she was so much more. I liked her, I was really in love with her, and she had given me butterflies and coloured my life. I knew I should be grateful, but for the time being, the pain was still too strong.

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She ran her hand gently across my face and wiped out the traces left behind by my tears. I could easily have started crying again. But to what avail? The milk was spilt. "Come," I said, pulling myself together, "I'll take you home."

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Chapter 7 "At the foot of my heights I live. Where are my tops? Nobody told me yet. But well I know my depths! " (Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra)

Almost every weekend, Danny dropped by to invite me to go out with him, but I never forgave him for telling Krist'l about Brenda and either refused to go with him, or made sure I was away from home before he arrived. After the break-up with Brenda, I was very pleased that I hadn't neglected Rudy completely during the past few months. Thinking of Brenda didn't really make me feel sad, because I knew I was lucky to have known her, and always remembered her with great joy. Still, I would have been lost without Rudy. Yet, I had become more resilient. Only a few months before, I had admitted without resistance to many mood swings after the breakup with Michelle; now I succeeded without too much difficulty in rationalizing the situation and managed always better to relax when I went to bed and almost immediately fall asleep. What was so terrible about the termination of a relationship? What nonsense was the idea that I had to suffer whenever there was no

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girl in my life? After all, there was no reason to look at each break-up as a personal failure, to feel rejected and inferior. Wasn't it far better to discover as soon as possible that a relationship didn't work, rather than to become unhappy afterwards? My father always accused me of not being able to make someone feel happy. Maybe I had subconsciously felt the necessity to prove him wrong? Yet, why should I even feel obliged to make others happy? Each of us had to decide for themselves whom they wanted to live with. The girls that dumped me had been right to do so when they felt that my presence in their lives caused them more problems than benefits. After all, they had every right to pursue their own happiness in the way they thought was best. Not everybody had to come to the same conclusions, and certainly not at the same time! Why should I then behave like a weeping willow and stop being cheerful, just when I most needed my energy and joy to attract other people? Yet, philosophy is one thing. The hard law of life is at times something very different.

Weekends remained problematic.

Despite all theories I remembered too well just how nice weekends could be when shared with a girl I loved. Of course I could make the best of it, and of course I would soon enough find somebody I could love. But no truth on earth could prevent that I started to

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feel lonely again the very moment that I walked into a discotheque or bar. Occasionally I went out with Marc and Elly, or with the friends of the volleyball club. But the club was closed down because rumours had been spread about indecent behaviour and alcohol abuse by minors, and at the village no adult person was willing to take the responsibility for the supervision of the club's activities. As a result, I returned back to my natural habitat: Aalst. Only to discover that the nightlife in town had lost its attraction completely. The magic, if it had ever existed, was worn out and I was mainly bored over the weekends. The most important reason why I didn't sink into depression was due to something totally different. Or rather, someone else: Claire. To my great surprise, one morning, I found a letter from Claire on the doormat, inviting me to spend the summer holiday with her in England. I accepted immediately. Until leaving for England, I spent a lot of time at Rudy's. We mostly stayed at his place and would occasionally visit an expo. Thanks to Rudy, I wasn't alone, and even started dreaming about completely new venues.

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Rudy wanted to see a part of the world. During his summer holiday in Spain the previous year, he came upon the idea of crossing Europe in a delivery van after completing his teacher training. Or maybe even travel to India and Nepal in the wake of the hippie crusades. Rudy's dream became a recurrent topic in our conversations and gradually became a realistic option for the future. One day, I met a friend of Michelle's in Aalst, who informed me that Michelle was also in town and told me where to find her. I found her at a bar with Ivo, a boy who lived near her school. The last time I saw Michelle was a couple of months before. At the time, I was dating Brenda and Michelle had laughingly called me a paedophile because of Brenda's young age. I was surprised to find her with a boy now who didn't look any older than Brenda, looked smaller than Michelle and wasn't able to hold a normal conversation. "Who's the paedophile now?" I laughed when the boy went to the toilets. "He's eighteen! Isn't he cute?" Michelle defended the boy. I couldn't agree less. Late one evening, a couple of weeks later, I received a phone call from Michelle: she had abandoned her studies. Michelle resigned during the exams and had spent the remaining part of the day in town with Ivo. Could I please come to Aalst, pick her up and drive her home because there were no more buses?

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Michelle was drunk, I noticed when I went to pick her up in Aalst. Moreover, Ivo wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t happy that she had called me, so I found the two quarrelling over me when I entered the cafĂŠ. Getting her to leave the cafĂŠ and get her in the car was a rather emotional affair. The next evening I received another call - this time from Michelle's mother: Michelle had left the house after a discussion and was seen hitch-hiking to Aalst. It was eleven pm and she was not back yet. Did I know here she was? I did not, but I promised to go look for Michelle and left immediately for town. I chuckled, thinking that one reason why Michelle had broken up with me, was in order to prevent that her parents knew she was dating. For people who weren't supposed to know about me, they surely knew very well how they could get in contact with me!

The chuckle was short-lived: in all of Aalst,

there was no sign of Michelle. It was late at night when I drove back home and called her parents to tell them the bad news. Of course, her mother was even more worried now and begged me to return to Aalst and continue searching for Michelle. Michelle and I basically lived on the same road - thirteen kilometres from each other. On my way back to town, I noticed a moped approaching that carried two people: Ivo and Michelle. Ivo was definitely not relieved to see me show up again, but fortunately Michelle preferred driving thirteen kilometres by car to

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bridging the same distance in the middle of the night on the luggage rack of a small moped I wanted to drop Michelle at her destination and return home immediately, like the night before. Apprehensive about a new fight with her parents, Michelle asked me to go in with her. Which I did. Michelle's parents were very grateful to see me arrive with her and invited me over for lunch the next Sunday. Suddenly "The part of my past" as I had referred to Michelle when I was with Brenda, was prominently back into my life. "When both Michelle and her parents turn to me in difficult moments, all may not be lost!" I realized. Would I want Michelle back if I could win her back? You bet! As soon as I finished working the next day, I drove to Michelle's "to verify if everything was in order." Michelle was very silent, but her mother expressed her gratitude again and reminded me that she counted on me to join them for lunch the following Sunday. While I was still at Michelle's, Ivo showed up. Although her parents didn't know the boy, they blamed him for Michelle's bad study results and refused to let him in. Michelle went outside to talk to him. Her parents feared she might invite him to a nearby

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cafĂŠ for a chat, but to everyody's relief Michelle entered again after a couple of minutes. I kept visiting Michelle regularly from that day onwards. We had interesting conversations and within me grew the hope that Michelle would soon dump Ivo and return to me.

Michelle

remained faithful to Ivo though. Because she wasn't allowed to go out alone during the weekends, the two of us went out together. At least, that was the official version. In reality, I picked her up at home and drove her to Ivo's.

At the end of the evening, I

returned at Ivo's and drove her back home. Anybody else might have thought it a strange decision to accept playing taxi-driver and transport the girl I wanted to and from her lover. I had no problem with it: this was something that couldn't last long; that much was clear. Already the first time I met Ivo, I had been very conscious of the envy Ivo felt towards me. Not only did I share a history with his girl and knew her much better than he did, but I was also much more open and communicative. Whenever I was around, Ivo was defensive. Physically, the boy was no threat to me, so the more hostile he reacted, the friendlier and more relaxed I responded. I never hid my ulterior motives which, in combination with the familiar way in which Michelle and I treated each other, made Ivo

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feel worse.. My hope was that Ivo's jealousy would make it clear to Michelle that I was a much better match for her than he. Since Michelle didn't attend classes anymore, and as she was apart from our weekend escapades - grounded because of her forbidden relationship with Ivo, I was the only one with whom she could share her worries. I visited her about every other day at home and soon felt that she was looking forward to my visits. The whole situation created a joyful expectation in me. I just knew that the relationship between Ivo and Michelle wasn't strong enough to last long and I hoped that Michelle and I would be dating again soon. As hoped, Michelle's relationship with Ivo didn't last long. "What shall we do next weekend?" I asked Michelle after she told me about the break-up. "We could go somewhere together?" Michelle suggested. I restrained myself from starting a little dance of joy. Things now really began to look good! But the following weeks I discovered that I had been a little too optimistic. I took Michelle to places outside her village, because I remembered too well how popular she was with the boys there and had no intention of queuing again while waiting for an opportunity to dance or talk with her. In towns where nobody knew her, at least there was no competition. We enjoyed going out

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together and on the dance floor I felt confident that Ivo would soon be totally forgotten and that everything would run smoothly. I was very open with Michelle about my intentions. Not only had I told her from the start that I wanted her back, I had also made it very clear that I didn't want a superfluous, secretive flirtation again. If she chose me, she had to tell her parents about us. Michelle's reaction had been equally open: she did want to date me, and she didn't care whether her parents found out or not, because it was clear that they wouldn't object. But to officially tell them that we were a couple and that we were dating with the prospect of a possible marriage later, was too much. "After all, I am only 18. I want to resume my studies and during the next couple of years go out and have as much fun as possible!" It was impossible not to think back to Katherine.

I was almost

three years older now than when I first met Katherine and the situation I was in couldn't be more identical. And so was my decision: I refused to date Michelle for fun, but kept visiting her and taking her out, hoping that I could make her change her mind. One thing I had learned from the experience with Katherine: this kind of approach required an expiration date. I was not planning on courting Michelle indefinitely. I had no intention to waste

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months of my life again running behind a carrot that I couldn't get hold of. For this reason, I never cancelled my date with Claire. I told Michelle that, unless she changed her mind, I would leave for England for two weeks in July. I was glad to see that Michelle didn't like the idea that I would be staying at another girlâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house for two weeks. She argued I had nothing to win in England. After all: we enjoyed ourselves together and I could come over at her place any time I wanted. I could tell that she really was not comfortable about it and that she was afraid that I might fall in love with Claire. As for me, I knew from experience that leaving during the summer holiday meant that Michelle would meanwhile attend local activities. There was always the risk that she would start dating one of her many local worshippers, or get to know somebody new. But this was less of a problem now. If I continued to take her out without some form of commitment between us, I would lose her sooner or later anyway. That much I was very certain of. Visiting Claire now would be a strong signal to Michelle not to take my presence for granted: she was used to having me around all the time already and I risked to be thought of as a good friend who kept her company until she found somebody new to date with.

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Two weeks without me might be just what she needed to make up her mind. So I kept my date with Claire. Unless ... One day before my scheduled departure, Michelle came up with an event we could attend together the following weekend. "OK.," I laughed: "You know I'll be in England then. But here is the deal: I'll cancel my vacation in England and take you there if you decide now to date me again. But if you say 'yes', we should be serious about it and tell our parents immediately." Michelle repeated that I went too fast for her, that she first had to decide for herself what exactly she wanted. We had a serious conversation that evening. For the first time I told her that I wouldn't wait for her for ever and that I'd stop courting if she hadn't made up her mind by the time I returned from England. The next day I worked â&#x20AC;&#x2122;till five thirty pm as usual, then quickly drove home to eat and throw my bags in the trunk, drove up to say bye to Michelle ... and left for England. First stop was Ostend, where I had to get on the ferry to Dover. I hadn't been in Ostend since I visited Stephanie. It seemed unthinkable that meanwhile two years had passed already.

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On the ferry to Dover I thought about the past few years of my life. Everything I had done and experienced mattered so little to me. The studies, the work, the people, including my relatives were no more than props on the stage of my life. The core of my life, the only fractions in my memory that stood out and were brightly coloured by emotion, were the girls who had meant something to me and the dull pain of the times when there was nobody. All the other memories about what had happened at home, at school or at work, even the experiences shared with friends, were clouded in the fog of indifference. The people who loved me most, the places and contacts that determined my day to day life, meant next to nothing to me! Claire lived in the North of England, near Durham. I reached Dover about five hours after leaving Michelle. After a long week at work, it was irresponsible to drive six hundred more kilometres now. I decided to drive to London and then look for a place to sleep. Finally, I left the motorway in Luton around three a.m. I found a quiet spot in a blind alley, parked my car and fell asleep. The cheerful tinkle of milk bottles woke me from my dreams. Twenty minutes past seven, I noticed, suddenly wide awake. This milkman must start his rounds very early each morning! I thought, watching the man deliver bottles of milk on the doorsteps.

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I got out of the car to stretch, changed my T-shirt, washed my face, combed my hair, and decided to take a short walk. After a warm night, the heat of the previous day still lingered in the grass and bushes on the side of the street. The air smelled damp and healthy and a clear sky announced another hot summer's day. I looked around at the small English houses, built in ordinary brick and often passed on from generation to generation, and enjoyed watching how the street slowly came to life. While the people left for work, only now did I fully realize that I didn't have to work: my vacation had begun! I ate a sandwich in the car, turned on the radio, drove back to the motorway and set sail for the North. By noon I entered Claire's town. I asked the first pedestrian that I noticed on the streets for the direction to Claire's address. The man was drunk, but full of good will and because he couldn't explain very well how I had to drive, he suggested I'd take him with me in the car and he would guide me to my destination. Moments later I surprised Claire, who hadn't expected me this early in the day. Claire was alone at home: her father was out to help a friend and her mother worked in a shop in the city. The time spent with Claire was great from the first moment onwards. "Miss Claire, I presume?"

I paraphrased the famous encounter between

Livingstone and Stanley, whereupon her happily surprised outcry

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"Sean!" immediately determined the atmosphere. Although we hadn't spent much time together when we'd first met in Ostend two years before, there was an instant bond between us. In no time we sat laughing and chatting over a cup of coffee, almost as if we'd known each other for years and I immediately felt at home in the small, but cosy house. For two weeks we explored the entire area: Durham, Lambdon Lion Park, Barnard Castle, High Force, Bishop Auckland, Newcastle, Whitley Bay ... We took long walks along Hadrian's Wall and the river Wear, drove into the fields and enjoyed the beautiful undulating countryside and its vast panoramas. We went swimming, played tennis, and even played bingo with the members of the local cultural department of the RAF. Every day was a party in a particularly welcoming and loving environment, filled with new discoveries. Claire introduced me to her friends and I experienced what Rolf had experienced in Flanders. Soon, everybody had noticed the Belgian car, and in the local pub Claire and I were the centre of attention. Together with her friends, we visited a discotheque and some of her friends invited us at their homes. In short: both Claire and I had the time of our lives. Both Claire's parents worked. So we did the weekend excursions together, but ninety percent of the time we were on our own.

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When we were alone at home, we listened to music, played a game of chess or read the newspaper. But above all: we talked. We were sounding boards to each other. With 750 kilometres between us, sharing experiences came natural. There was no need for drama, no reason to make ourselves look different from whom we really were. So everything was discussed: our moments of loneliness, our dating experiences, our dreams and failures, the uncertainty about what the future might hold ... All these confidential conversations were often laden with emotion and created a strong bond between us in no time. Often, the conversations were so intimate that we had to change the subject as soon as someone else joined us. We only just knew each other, but we knew things about each other even our closest friends or parents didn't know. It was not uncommon that one of us would complete a phrase that was started by the other. Our conversations led us to discover how deeply certain powerful experiences had affected us, because we recognized ourselves in what the other shared or because together we explored why certain subjects had suddenly entered our conversation. The strong bond soon became evident in the way we looked at each other, in our behaviour and in the way we reacted to an accidental touch. "Look how scared we are of each other!" Claire observed at one such occasion at the end of the first week.

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The conversation that followed simply had to end with a kiss. Since the first days of my stay, I was careful not to create any misunderstanding.

Especially with what had happened with

Stephanie still fresh in mind, I emphasized that I saw my future in Flanders and did not believe in long distance relationships. But, hey, a little kiss couldn't hurt? We were both young and free and knew what was at stake, ... So? It was a serious mistake. The kiss tasted too sweet and instantly changed the whole stage. We couldn't deny any longer what was happening, nor how we really felt about it. When I slipped from the coach where we had been kissing, I remained laying on the floor, panting and confused. The week after my return to Belgium, Claire would be leaving with her parents for a fourteen days holiday in Blackpool. Claire suggested there was no need for me to return to Belgium. My job? No problem! Claire's mom assured me that she would find a good job for me in no time. If I agreed, she would start looking right away and I might even have a new job by the end of the week! "You cannot possibly imagine how much I envy Michelle!" Claire replied after I made it clear that I couldn't accept the fantastic offer. I didn't answer, but I thought sarcastically that I wouldn't even be in England if there was any justified cause for jealousy. I

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was almost certain that Michelle wouldn't accept my offer and that, after returning home, I would be completely on my own again. Although Claire thought otherwise, it wasn't Michelle who kept me from staying in England, nor the way I felt about Claire. I knew Claire well enough by now to feel certain that she would make a good wife for me. But I also knew that an initial infatuation was no guarantee that things would work out for us the way we might hope. Also, this was England. Not being a native English speaker, I was unfit for any administrative job. I would have to accept manual labour to earn my living and start studying intensively if I didn't want to get stuck in manual labour for the rest of my life. Already the year before, in Reading, I noticed that labourers earned a lot less in England than in Belgium. What I saw and heard during the first week of my stay in the North made it clear to me that the situation was even worse here.

Reading was

situated in the relatively prosperous South of England. Here in the North, the economy was at a turning point. At this time, the mines that traditionally had been the backbone of the local economy, were being closed down one after the other. However low my salary in Belgium, in comparison with many people here, I was rich. There was a sky-high unemployment rate in the region and the social benefits were barely more than a pittance. Those who still had a job, had to work significantly

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longer hours than I for a paltry wage. A lot of young people couldn't find work at all and often left for London with empty pockets, hoping to find a job there - often hitchhiking, because even a train ticket meant a substantial financial drain to them. Claire's friends reacted with disbelief at the fact that I had my own car at my age. Claire was lucky: both her parents worked and as a superintendent, her father enjoyed a decent wage. Also, Claire had secured herself a job at Barclays Bank, where she would start working after she returned from Blackpool. But everywhere around me, in the city and at the homes of her friends, I saw other conditions: poverty, decay, alcoholism. In shops, people bought cigarettes per piece, and some even carried a cup with them and bought milk or vinegar per cup. A kiss was OK, but since I saw no future for myself here, I couldn't go beyond that. I most certainly didn't want to deceive Claire. She was too good and sweet to give her false hope or abuse her love. And I didn't want to put myself in a situation where I would find it impossible to leave Claire behind. Our bond was strong enough to survive the differences in desires and intentions. After I explained my plans to Claire in great detail she looked sad, but then smiled and said she had still another week to convince me to change my mind. And indeed, she tried: when

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we were home alone, she built a romantic atmosphere with candles and music and we danced together. Also in choosing daytrips, she proved herself a master in finding the most romantic destinations. The second week, the difference in hopes and plans created a constant tension, which Claire's mom was quick to notice. Her daughter was in love and behaved correspondingly, but what about me? I read the concern in her face, but couldn't say anything. Until one evening, when Claire had driving lessons and I found myself alone with her mother in the living room. She suddenly remarked that she had a very fine daughter. I confirmed and added in a soft tone: "And she has organized me the best holiday of my life. It's truly unfortunate that at times like this the days pass by so quickly. In a few daysâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; time, I'll have to leave again. It feels unreal to know that we may never meet again. She really deserves someone who can make her happy!" I looked her mother straight in the eyes, aiming at making my message even clearer that way. She didn't even blink. Looking straight back at me, she said in a friendly tone: "You know that you don't have to leave. Stay with us. Go to Blackpool with us. After the holiday, we will find work for you here!"

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She looked at me so intensely that I didn't dare to look away, as if that would have meant treason to the hospitality and the love that I had been receiving here. "I cannot," I said slowly. "My holiday is almost over. I need to be back at work on Monday." The silence that fell after these words was heavier than I could have imagined. For a while, we kept looking straight at each other, but nothing more was said. I wouldn't have been able to say anything more if I had wanted to. Already I was fighting back tears. "L'amour est enfant de BohĂ¨mes, il n'a jamais connu de loi: si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime ...," was singing in my head. I was feeling miserable here, with these dear people, that truth should feel as sharp: "l'amour est loin - tu peux l'attendre; tu ne l'attends plus - il est lĂ tout autour de toi. Vite, vite Il vient, s'en va, puis il revient. Tu crois le tenir, il t'evite, tu crois l'ĂŠviter - il te tient! " How desperately had I been looking for a girl like Claire these last years? A good, smart, witty, pretty girl that made my heart beat stronger and who was willing to unconditionally try and find out if we matched enough to stay together. The true, honest, love that I sought for so long was offered to me here on a golden platter -

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unsought and unexpected. And even though I recognized it, there was nothing I could do but reject it! The farewell was now rapidly approaching. The beautiful surroundings kept seducing me. Between Claire and me hung an atmosphere of melancholy. Everything had been said, confirmed and reconfirmed. We knew very well what to expect. And yet ... Two days before my departure, a sudden downpour of rain caught us while driving in the midst of the fields. Impossible to drive any further.

I parked the car on the side of a country road and

suddenly, we were in each other's arms, kissing passionately, desperately. Feverish, we climbed over the front seats to the back of the car. I didn't know anymore what resounded loudest inside of my head: the yes or the no. We kissed, took off our clothes, caressed ... only at the last moment did I succeed in pulling back, praying that Claire would not insist. She did not. She stared at me for a moment with these strange, beautiful, bewildered, sad eyes, then abruptly rose and silently sat next to me. I watched her in silence. I felt the affection for her in every part of my body, but didn't dare to move or speak, because I knew that anything was in one way or another determining our whole future now.

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Claire was the first to move: she climbed over to the front seat of the car. I followed her example. For a while, we sat silently next to each other, blankly looking out to the still pouring rain outside the car, barely visible now through the steamed window panes. After a time, Claire lied down. She coaxed her head despondently in my lap and stroke me gently. It was a sign of capitulation; we knew; we both felt. We remained like that for a while. Without music, without saying anything. When the rain stopped falling, I opened the window slightly.

The sweltering temperature had

given way to fresh air, filled with rising mist. Healthy air flowed into the car. "The views from the hills are at their best now," I mused aloud. Claire assented with a soft voice and sat up. "Come, let's have a look ..." On the way back we made a detour to the highest hill in the neighbourhood, then continued past the Romanesque church and the ancient bridge over the cobbled bed of the Wear. For the last time we walked hand in hand beside the river and looked for flat stones that we could make jump up when we threw them across the water surface. Again we were very quiet. The last hours of the afternoon, we had scarcely spoken a word. Although I wondered what impression the silence left on Claire, to me there had been no need for words. I

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felt so comfortable in Claire's presence and in the silence I was most aware of all of her affection for me. I guess it had the same effect on her, because when I wanted to return to the car, she pulled my hand: "Do you remember that we came here the second day you were with us and you said that this place is so idyllic that you would always want to return again?" She gave me a moment to respond. I nodded. "Don't walk away then. Stay!" She embraced me and then didn't want to break the embrace. "As long as you are kissing me, you cannot leave!" she whispered. But in fact, for some time already everything we had done and said, confirmed just that: I was already leaving.

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Chapter 8 "Man doesn't go from error to truth; He goes from truth to truth, from a limited to a wider truth." (Vivekananda)

Only a few hours after I got home from England, I sat at my desk at the office again. My surroundings seemed surreal. Only sixteen days separated me from my previous day at the office, and yet how difficult now to imagine that this was the life I had deliberately chosen. With work demanding all my attention, I had little time for daydreaming. After work, I hurried home, ate a quick meal and left again to tell Michelle about my holiday. At home they were particularly satisfied that I was back safe and sound. Michelle received me with open arms and wanted to know all the details of my holiday. It was late already when I left her, but I had one more visit to do: I had promised Rudy that I would drop by before returning home to sleep. Rudy had been thinking while I was in England: he immediately started an initiative aimed at convincing me that it was better for me to quit my job immediately, leave on holiday to Spain or Italy with him and start higher education in October.

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His timing was certainly perfect: after the wonderful holiday, the grey factory environment was a real anti-climax. The holiday dreams didn't really arouse my enthusiasm, but the idea of returning to school looked very appealing. After all, there wasn't much left of my salary at the end of the month. I could sell the car and if I kept my leg stiff, there was little my parents could do to stop me if I registered at school again. I promised Rudy I would consider the proposal, but added immediately that everything depended on Michelle: if she wanted me back, I would continue working and start saving for our future. Rudy didn't understand my desire to commit myself to Michelle, or any other girl for that matter. And he totally couldn't grasp why I would plan my future around Michelle. Even if she chose for me, she planned to return to school herself. Heaven knows what situation I might be in by the time she would have finished her studies! "Man, you're only nineteen. You've the best years of your life ahead of you and for some dark reason, all you can think of is burying yourself in a marriage and in an eight to five job in an old factory!" He exclaimed. A few days later, he came up with a new proposal: "Look, you told Michelle she had to make a decision while you were in England. Has she decided yet? You cannot wait on her forever.

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In a couple of years from now, you will blame her for all the wrong you are bringing over yourself. Why don't you grasp the opportunities that currently lie just for the taking? If you don't, you will be the only one who's to blame for it!" Feeling that he started to convince me, he continued: "It's simply time that you start to make decisions yourself. When it comes to your future, you cannot make yourself dependent on decisions from other people. Let's forget about the holiday plans. Concentrate on where you want to be in September. The school year begins in October only, which means that you have all the time you need to quit your job." There was a lot of truth in what Rudy said, I realized. Did I want to remain a low ranked employee all my life?

I could get a

bachelor's in two years time, which would allow me to teach languages: English, French, Spanish, ... " I had an appointment with Marc and Elly for the next Sunday. Rudy was invited too. So I told Michelle that I would stop visiting her if she didn't decide by then. Her first reaction was to repeat that it was too soon. She was not ready to commit herself, but liked having me around. I explained to her that I declined the job of 'best friend' because I needed a perspective and by becoming her best friend, the only thing that looked certain was that I would eventually lose her to somebody else.

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Michelle's mother invited me for lunch that Sunday. We arranged that Rudy would come over after lunch and that we would drive to Marc and Elly's together. During the week leading to D-day, I kept visiting Michelle every other day and reminded her that Sunday would be the last time she saw me, unless she accepted to date me. She only reiterated that I should not require this kind of decisions from her now, because I knew she was not ready yet. Sunday was a lovely summerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s day. I had a delicious lunch at Michelle's, after which the whole family moved to the backyard, where we enjoyed a couple of drinks. The atmosphere was great and the afternoon passed by much too quickly. I was surprised when Rudy arrived an hour before the agreed time. "I hitch-hiked and got lucky!" he explained. Michelle's mother understood that nobody was in a hurry to leave and invited Rudy to stay and have a drink with us until it was time for the appointment with Marc and Elly. Rudy accepted. Meanwhile, I noticed that I was becoming tense. I had reminded Michelle earlier in the afternoon that I was serious about what I had said and that this would be the last moments that we spent together, unless she decided otherwise. Occasionally I looked at her, but she was just as joyful and relaxed as ever and nothing in her behaviour showed that she had come to a different decision or that she was planning to tell me anything. After Rudy arrived, I

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started mentally preparing for the definitive farewell that seemed likely to follow. When it was time to leave, I still had no answer. No car keys either, I discovered after I had put my coat on. Michelle's parents had left in the meantime. So, with Rudy growing increasingly impatient, Michelle and I started looking for the keys. To no avail. Until Michelle suddenly asked: "Will you take me to the Donk Lake next weeks if I find your keys?" "You know I'm not coming back after today, unless you say you want to date me." She laughed, as if I had told a good joke. Then smiling answered: "Yeah, sure, but what's so special about today? We could have a great time at the Lake. You might as well say goodbye there. If I find your keys, will we go to the Lake? " "You're right!" I was smiling too by now: "I agree. If you find the keys, we'll go to the Lake.â&#x20AC;? Immediately, she took her purse, pulled out the keys and ran outside laughing. Half dazed, half laughing I ran after her. "Everything is all right!" I knew, while cheating the keys from her.

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After a cheerful goodbye, Rudy and I left for our appointment. Rudy couldn't appreciate the game with the keys.

Later, he told

Marc and Elly that it was clear that Michelle didn't like him. "How long will you continue wasting your time with her?" he asked again. I didn't answer. But inside, I was feeling as joyful and happy as I had ever been. Already I was thinking about the next weekend. Whatever Rudy thought or said wasn't important anymore: six days to go until next Saturday, and then, finally, I would hold Michelle in my arms again. That I was sure of, and that was all that mattered.

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Epilogue "some of us may offer a surprise. Recently have you looked in our eyes. Maybe we're your conscience in disguise. We're well informed, and are wise. Please stop counting us lies. We know Afghanistan's Invaded. We know El Salvador is Dictated. We know America is inflated. Oh, but our lives have just begun. We are the warriors of the sun." (Joan Baez)

The past is a haze, above which the peaks of memory protrude. During the three years that started on that first school day when I met Katherine, I lived through the best and worst of times. I met some wonderful people, some of which I am still thinking back to with gratitude and love. I married Michelle two years later. We built our house adjacent to her parents' and were blessed with a beautiful daughter. After having worked in local companies for fourteen years, soon earning more than most of my higher educated friends, I choose

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for the less paid but more comfortable and secure life of working at a bank. Looking back now, the only thing I regret are the moments that I succumbed to despair, withdrew into myself and walked the streets of my hometown in bitter loneliness. But meanwhile I understand that this too was part of that great adventure that everybody faces and is called: "becoming me." Although these times of crisis were a nightmare while I was living them, they were also times of confrontation with myself, which contained profound riches of themselves: questions that we normally lightly pass by, suddenly stand out very clearly during these periods, requiring well defined answers. Essential questions such as: Who am I? Does my behaviour reflect the person I am? What do I want in life? What is important to me? What do parents, family, work, culture, social engagement ... really mean to me? Also practical questions, like what part of my behaviour do I have to change? How can I make my dreams come true? How do I build bridges to other people ... and keep the relationships going? How do I deal with half-successes and failures? It's in the midst of the ashes of successive volcanic eruptions that new mountains arise.

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1970 - 1973 ... sometimes it seems an eternity ago. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday. Meanwhile the mantle of time has covered the joys and sorrows of that time alike.

But every

significant experience in life leaves its traces and in some way, becomes part of ourselves.

Sometimes consciously, often

unconsciously, all these experiences are the angels and demons that determine our beliefs about and attitudes towards life. They energize and inspire us, or inhibit, discourage and frighten us. It's important therefore that we know and recognize our spirits, know our strengths and weaknesses and recognize them in others. Katherine has never been only Katherine to me. She was the good spirit that came into my life at a moment when it was time for me to change from a boy into a man. She was a catalyst who held me a mirror. But instead of learning from the mirror, I attributed all kinds of roles to her that did not emanate from herself and that, therefore, she was unable to fulfill. After all, Katherine was only sixteen when we met. Just like me, she still had to find herself. But she was far ahead of me at least in this way that she knew her priorities: "first study, then love." Did it make her adolescent years any easier than mine? I sincerely doubt it, because whatever road we choose, the questions that we are faced with are very similar for all of us.

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Katherine was important to me too because, unlike the previous times that I had been in love, for the first time in my life it looked like love need not be only a flower bud which suddenly opens, shines for a couple of days or months and then wilts. Sure, there were huge differences: I had been visiting bars and clubs for years already, and to me they had lost most of their magic already at a time when Katherine took her first steps in the nightlife and still believed she could find the joy and fun she was looking for there. She stood at the threshold of a chapter that I had already read and wanted to close as soon as possible because I knew it was meaningless unless shared with somebody you love. When Katherine appeared in our class, I 'reserved' her for me, as if she was some new toy that I had discovered. When she dumped me, playtime was over. She left me feeling rejected, hurt, insecure, lonely, isolated, unloved and lost in the ocean of life, without any clear direction. Thus forcing me to do exactly what I needed to do at that age: have a good look at myself. I come from a time when it wasn't easy for parents to offer guidance to their wiseacres of children. The dream of my parents was that their seven children would obtain a certificate of secondary education. In the seventies, at seventeen, one should have dreams beyond that. Bigger dreams than only a secondary

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degree. I had no other dreams than my desire for love, harmony, security and tenderness. To this day, I remember the French lesson so well, when the teacher asked us what we wanted to become in our lives. "Physician," Danny replied - and the whole class burst out in laughter. "Clerk in some dull office," I said - and no one laughed. Danny never became a doctor. His dream was a little bit too ambitious for someone who is attending a technical trade school. But he did earn a college degree and became gym teacher. There are many forms of stupidity. Danny's wasn't the worst kind. I was raised by parents who defined themselves as 'poor' and who lived their Catholic Faith with an intensity unknown to most other families from our village. As a child I believed that we were "different". "We are the Jews of Terjoden" I used to say, because our village's name means "At the Jews".

Add three years of

boarding school at a much too early age to this basic material, and you're likely to end up with an estranged, lonely and confused boy. Gradually, I discovered that we were not that different from other families, not even poorer than average, and blessed in so many ways: I never knew the plagues of disease, alcoholism or lack of affection, and in our family, almost anything was open for discussion.

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Grown up amongst girls, I have always found it easy to talk with girls about my emotions. In Katherine, Claire and Michelle, I found soul mates and sounding boards. But it took a long time before I stopped endlessly projecting myself and became interested in what they really felt and meant when they said something to me. Timing is important. "You cannot have and have not at the same time," I told Katherine when she didn't want to commit to me, but neither wanted to lose me. It was a situation that would become recurrent. Like Katherine, also Maryssa and Michelle felt they were too young when I demanded to be more than just a secret teenage sweetheart. Should one in such cases accept and walk away, as I did with Maryssa or fight for more, as I did with Katherine and Michelle? The basic truth is that the girls were right: we were too young. Only, sometimes you just know that you've met a person who has the potential to be more than only a teenage sweetheart, and that's what makes things difficult. Looking back, I don't think there are right or wrong reactions to the problem. Except fighting too long. "In Aalst alone there are a thousand girls like her," Udo said. "Why do you grieve, you can have ten girls at each finger if you want," Danny wondered. They were right of course: there were a thousand girls like Katherine in Aalst, just like there were a

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thousand boys like me. But when you're in love, the other nine hundred ninety-nine don't matter. The problem with Katherine was that we were in the same class and though our choices were totally opposite, we couldn't hide that we shared the same feelings inside. Our melodrama became a tragedy when we aimed at something different and simultaneously desperately tried to each maintain our own illusion of something which wasn't even there in the shape that we wanted it, as was best expressed in her proposal to date until the end of the school year. Nobody needs Romeos and Juliets, who squander their narcissistic lives meaninglessly. We must know what we want, and pursue realistic goals. A setback then causes only respite. The pain that we experience in relationships with other people is largely there because we need it to grow. But no knowledge ever appeases the pain. Other pains, we create ourselves. Worse, we sometimes generate a devilish pleasure in the torments that we inflict to ourselves and refuse to leave the hot water or the darkness when we easily could. Nobody can help us as if we don't want to be helped. Even less if we decide to make our own happiness dependent on the decisions of another person and reduce our own life to a painful exercise in pleasing others at the expense of our own needs.

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But like everything, all of this is only theory. Reality will always be so much more complicated, and making the right choices will at times resemble most of all choosing between the plague and the cholera. Even if Shakespeare was right when he wrote that the reason why some of us are underlings is not in the stars, but in ourselves. A lot depends on what we believe the stars are holding for us.

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