The timing could have been better. It was Friday night when my ex, let’s call her Mrs. X*, because every pseudonym seems so strange to me, somehow every name has a negative connotation, it’s just wrong, and calling her “the ex” , even if she is “the ex” also a bit stupid by the way, when Mrs X* wrote I was in Davos. With five friends from college. The six of us never really see each other. What is good. We would all have died of liver cirrhosis long ago. These weekends get very out of hand every time. It has not gotten better over the years, on the contrary, since three of the group became fathers, it has gotten worse.
When Hanna sees pictures or videos from these weekends, which she always wants to see, because she once dated one of my friends, who now has twins, which Hanna can’t get into, not because she still wants him, she wanted him never , he wanted them, but she thought he was too childish, which she was absolutely right about, which is also the reason why she can’t understand that now he has children of his own, which I always explain to her, that it is the children who have no proficiency certificate needed, which they never find funny. When I show her footage from those weekends, Hanna can’t believe we’re all in our mid-thirties and not seventeen. They are indeed sad images. However, at the moment we are in, the world and life the most important thing. Anyway, we were already sipping a few pints of beer in a bar in Davos when Mrs X* wrote that she was back from Paris and asked if we wanted to see each other.
My brain stopped working at full speed, so I decided not to write back. Back in touch after all these years and me, actually solid in grammar, making massive typos? Certainly not. I didn’t know what to write either. On the one hand, I wanted to see her. For many reasons, but one reason in particular: this. On the other hand, I was annoyed that she treated me like I was a dressage horse. Now I feel like it, now I don’t have time, but now quickly, then slowly again, with difficulty.
I didn’t write back all day on Saturday. First there was a hangover. Then a little skiing. Lots of beer very early. And liquor. Those damn schnapps!
I answered late at night, just before ten o’clock, we had to take a break. Actually, everyone was already completely exhausted, dead tired, very hungover and very blue again, but stopping is never an option. (Memo to Hanna and probably all female readers of these lines: No, you don’t have to understand that.) I wrote, “We’re welcome to see each other. Until when are you here?” Her answer: “See you Tuesday. Do you have time tomorrow?” I had no. We were in Davos. Only came back in the evening. I suggested Monday night. But she couldn’t, a farewell dinner with friends. “We’ll try next time,” she wrote, sending a winking smiley. A hole, I thought. Write me at the last minute and then basically have zero time. What annoyed me the most was being annoyed, which I tried to solve with a lot of booze. Damn drink!
Sunday evening I wrote to her again. It was already eight and actually not a good idea. I had to work the next day and, as always after weekends like this, I was miserable. The last thing I wanted was to go to a bar and have a drink. And even less did it seem possible to me to make a good fall now. But what should I have done? There was no other way.
I wasn’t really nervous beforehand, I was too tired for that. But when she stood in front of me, I didn’t know what to say. I hugged her extra long, hoping the right words would come to me. Didn’t happen. I stammered as if German wasn’t my native language. She was the opposite of me. She was cheerful, sarcastic, confident, funny, easy going, friendly, cool. It seemed like she felt comfortable. But that’s always been the case. She’s one of those people who stays calm in any, absolutely any situation.
I tried several times to describe what she looked like and what I liked so much, but it all sounds pompous and stupid, so I have to explain it this way: I knew very quickly why Mrs. X* was the big exception, well, my girlfriend once was.
She told me in rapid succession over the past few years. The relevant stuff: she’s single but has been dating a lawyer for a few months, she lives what she calls a “bicoastal” half New York and half Los Angeles, and she hasn’t forgotten about me. After three hours and three drinks each, we ended up with me. And before we continue, we need to clarify something: you are used to the lyrics of Emma, who can put everything she has experienced into the right words in a few seconds and at the same time analyze it and look at it from different angles. And here’s the little difference I can’t change. Emma is a woman. Emma can do this, I have to figure this all out first. I have to find the words and then search for my feelings about them, it can take forever to analyze them. Why do you think women and men always talk past each other? Because they mentally live in completely different time zones! Give me two weeks and I will try to give sensations to experiences.
What I can report so far: I didn’t sleep that night and Sex* almost deserved a few more stars. In the morning we set an alarm so that I wouldn’t be late for work: we were done on time. Monday I tried to sleep for two hours when she had her farewell dinner. Did not work. After dinner she came back to me. She left on Tuesday.
That was two days ago. She’s been gone for two days. And for two days I’ve been trying to understand what just happened.
Update, hopefully with insights from my side, will follow.
as long as
am
