15 de julio de 2002, 13:55:30 CEST

eine frau in einem schwarzen kleid mit einem weissen hut

sieht, dass die hängematte endlich frei ist und will sich dort niederlassen. bringt aber erst den leeren rühreiteller in die küche. will ein paar oliven & käse mitnehmen, zerrt aber stattdessen den kühlschrank auf die terrasse. überlegt eine weile, gießt sich aber dann doch ein gläschen chardonnay ein. träumt ein weilchen und denkt dann ein paar wörter an den himmel

zärtlichwolken vertraut, weich dazwischen blau dein blau, immer wie die kornfelder für den fuchs den kleinen prinzen erinnern so erinnert das blau dich für mich immer

14 de julio de 2002, 1:17:07 CEST

die katze

murmelt im schlaf etwas von 42. es kann aber auch 41 gewesen sein.

sie wacht auf, zählt ihre leben, zuckt die schultern mit der nur ihr eigenen eleganz, findet sich mit den drei verbleibenden leben ab, gähnt, was für uneingeweihte wie ein grinsen aussehen mag, macht sich über das kalte rührei her, murmelt etwas von "früher wars besser", grinst, was für uneingeweihte wie ein gähnen aussehen mag, rülpst, was für uneingeweihte ohren klingen mag wie "selber schuld", dreht sich noch mal im kreis, legt sich wieder hin und überschläft das ganze noch mal.

um- und einzüge sind für solch sensible geschöpfe eben nichts alltägliches.

12 de julio de 2002, 13:19:16 CEST

das portrait

horcht. aus dem zimmer der schreibenden: tastaturgeklapper. irgendwoher das monotone gemurmel der concierge. ab und zu etwas wie ein gesang aus dem zimmer der fremden. ab und zu ein wellengeräusch, das bis ins haus dringt. die stereoanlage schaltet sich ein. das porträt lächelt wieder.

11 de julio de 2002, 22:53:46 CEST

eine frau in einem schwarzen kleid mit einem weissen hut

kommt durch die eingangstür, die auch heute noch protestierend quietscht. wie eine zweite stimme dazu quietschen die räder an dem kleineen köfferchen, das sie hinter sich herzieht. sie bleibt mitten im wohnzimmer stehen, grüßt vernehmlich und fragt sich, ob das eine säuselnde antwort war oder nur der wind, der durchs haus streift. sie geht auf die terrasse, nickt der gestalt in der hängematte zu und stellt den koffer neben einen liegestuhl.

sie verschwindet zielbewusst in der küche, kommt mit einem glas chardonnay zurück & macht es sich im liegestuhl bequem. sie holt einen brief aus der handtasche & beginnt halblaut zu lesen:

dear friend,

it's true we haven't seen each other for a very long time. but when a sudden change came to my little ordinary life, the only one i could imagine talking to was you.

being with jeff and the boy has been increasingly strange for me. they both live pretty much their own lives now, and although i had wished for that many years, when it finally happened - when it finally dawned on me that it had happened - the only thing i felt was emptiness. resignation, maybe.

i had a little voice in my head telling me that it's all over now. that the best thing i could do was look for a house in florida where i could spend the rest of my life with the likes of me: women who lost their focus in life around forty, took another five years to accept it and spend the rest of their days playing tennis & walking along the beach. i never wanted to go to florida. i still feel like a californian girl.

i was still trying to adapt to the new situation when aunt jane called me one night. she had decided to move to new york, could i help her get packed up? aunt jane had spent her whole life in seattle, and i asked her why she had made that decision. she told me that all of her old friends had died & nobody would be there to say that she had left them. She was free now to do what she had wanted to do all her life: Got to New York. To the real theatres, to the real shows, to the real boutiques. aunt jane is 79.

having an aunt who thinks that she can begin a new life at the age of 79 made me even more miserable. i spent my weekend working beside the old lady who was glowing with happiness & anticipation. 'would you like to have the books?', she asked me. 'no need for my old books in new york. i will get new ones. i'm going to read all the books they wouldn't let me read when i was younger.' i didn't want the old books. i had read most of them when i was a child. 'but be sure to pack my box with the letters!', she continued. 'i might want to read them once i get old.'

she doesn't even think of herself as old.

when we had everything ready for her departure, she invited me to new york once she had settled in. 'i'll write you an email' she said. to me, who had hardly ever dared to press the power button on one of those computers, it sounded like an offense. i decided i wanted to die.

insetad, i drove her to the airport and waved her goodbye.

eine leichte brise lässt die dünnen Luftpostblätter in der Hand der fremden rascheln. sie erwacht wie aus einem traum und greift nach dem glas chardonnay. doch das ist bereits leer. sie klemmt die blätter unter das Liegestuhlbein und geht in die küche, um nachschub zu holen. als sie zurückkommt, schaltet sich die stereoanlage ein und spielt ein altes lied. die fremde schwingt im takt durchs wohnzimmer und nimmt mitten im schwung einen schluck aus dem weinglas.von dem portrait rieselt etwas wie staub. auf dem tisch ein paar brennende kerzen, die waren eben noch nicht da. dann endet die musik, und sie kehrt auf die terrasse zurück, immer noch in tanzschritten. sie nimmt den brief wieder in die hand und liest weiter:

on the way back home, my mobile rang. it was jeff. he had forgotten that he had agreed to meet an old friend from college & was in a real bad situation now because he had also agreed to spend the evening at a bar with his boss & colleagues. Could I meet the old friend at the airport & show him a little bit of the town?

sure i could. except that i almost gasped when i heard the name. i had met this guy only once, at his marriage. jeff had been his bestman. as soon as he entered the room, i had been in love. desperately. madly. and he kept glancing at me. even through the ceremony. after that, we partied in his garden. jeff kept asking me why i was so quiet & I kept telling him i had a headache from the heat. hah! the famous heat of seattle.

i could feel his friend's eyes following me as soon as i moved. i tried not to move anymore. when i went into the house looking for a bathroom, i felt a hand on my shoulder. i turned, looking into his eyes. green. he didn't say anything, nor did i. after a moment he just shook his head and went away.

much later that evening jeff & i went home. i was a little tipsy, an opportunity as well as an excuse for stumbling in front of our host and being caught by him. the shortest and yet most intimate embrace of my life.

that was all there was to it. next thing i heard the guy was moving to another town with his wife. for months, all i wanted was find him. kiss him. love him. every touch carried a wish for his touch. every dream carried a memory of his face.

i never even tried to find out where he lived. i married jeff. we had a child. we were happy. or what we usually call happy around here. 20 years. until recently. until now.

at the next crossing, i turned my car. went back to the airport. arrived just in time to hear his flight would be late. wonderful. i roamed the airport shops in search of something beautiful to wear. some great makeup. something to make me worthwhile. spent a fortune on things i'd never even considered I'd wear. went to the bathrooms trying several combinations of what i just bought. came out in the same old clothes i had worn at aunt jane's. figured it didn't make sense to try & pretend.

& it didn't.

the bustling rhythm of the airport helped a little at first. i explained why i was there instead of jeff. he said that he was in desperate need of a change in his life, if only for a few days. i just laughed & didn't tell him the obvious "me too". i drove us downtown & we took a walk around capitol hill. i remembered talking to some friends & telling them i would never take a tourist to the obvious tourist places, yet there i was in the most obvious tourist place of all. but it didn't matter. walking beside him, feeling his presence, listening to little bits of his life while sharing little pieces of my own. talking wasn't necessary, we were just talking because you're supposed to talk in a situation like this.

later we went to a restaurant not far from his hotel. had dinner, drank some wine. still chatting to fill the silence. at the end he said: i'm glad that you came & not jeff. and i said: so am i. we left & went to his hotel. no sex. but finally a chance to be with each other. silently. maybe even crying a little. maybe even both of us. not sad, just crossing a line.

time to go. 'i'm off to a little place in greece', he said. 'hydra. would you like to come?' - 'i'll think about it.' i said. really no need to think about it. i went home. jeff still missing in bar-action. 17year-old sebastian wondering why i started to pack a suitcase. 'i'm going to visit aunt jane in new york' i said. and that's what i did. spent two weeks in the big apple, helping aunt jane & freeing myself. jeff never even asked when i would be back. looks like he is as happy as i am. my big boy just wanting to know if he could come to europe with me. you'll join me in your holidays, i said. he seemed content.

i'm going to hydra. someday soon. but before that, i would love to meet you.

love, me.

die fremde im schwarzen kleid läßt den brief sinken und lächelt. sie nimmt den letzten schluck aus dem weinglas, verzieht ein bisschen den mund, weil der wein so warm geworden ist, und schaut aufs meer hinaus. dann steckt sie die blätter in den umschlag zurück und geht in die küche, um das glas noch ein drittes mal anzufüllen. Der Umschlag fällt auf den Boden, mit der Vorderseite nach oben. Dort steht in roten Blockbuchstaben:

LETTER TO MYSELF

11 de julio de 2002, 7:51:13 CEST

kann eine katze

denn einfach hier einziehen? fragte sie sich und die wände. auch wenn sie nichts mehr zu sagen hat?

und bringt das nicht zu viel unruhe mit sich?

und sie roch an den spuren, die eine andere katze oder sie selber hinterlassen hatte und streckte sich endlich aus, zum ersten mal in dieser nacht, und schlief ein. und überlebte.