Buchwald Bridge Across the Isar

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-952664-02-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 102 Seiten

Chase is an American ex-pat who followed Maria to Munich Germany. She was neither consulted nor happy about his reintroduction into her life. Alone and away from all that's familiar, Chase struggles with rejection, but clings to a distorted and childish perception of an ideal love. Chase is proud of his abstention from carnal urges, thinking it makes him a step above. He shows disdain for his single colleagues, who explore European destinations every weekend, yet he can't help but be enticed by their crude recounting of conquests and wishes he could similarly partake without guilt or consequence. A chance meeting on the subway with Hans, a burn-victim, forces Chase to reconsider all his motivations, the source of his desire, and trace the roots of his emptiness all the way back to his childhood. Walking alone through the city, Chase stands in the middle of the Bridge Across the Isar: green fields are on one side: gray buildings under construction on the other: a nude beach lies downstream and a prominent church towers dominates the skyline upstream. It's there on the bridge that Chase experiences a fleeting moment of clarity and the confidence to step across to the other side.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Buchwald, Aaron

Leseproben

Chapter 2 Universät Exiting Mike’s building, I turned left from Türkenstraße and walked towards the U-Bahn station. A south breeze tousled my hair and a Bavarian mist formed tiny beads of water droplets on my cheeks that weaved their weary paths down to my neck. The air was crisp but not cold on this Friday night in late August. Another storm was headed this way, but I was feeling completely safe and comfortable walking through the heart of the city at midnight. I tried to picture myself doing the same in New York City around Columbia University. I wouldn’t feel nearly this carefree strolling alone late at night. It’s a pleasure to be twenty-six and living in The World City with Heart. Heading along Adalbertstraße, halfway between Mike’s and the U-Bahn, I passed Ristorante Pizzeria Bei Mario on my right. I often ate dinner at this small hideaway after first arriving in town. Something about it made me feel at home: its blue-and-white tiled, eight-hundred-degree wood-fire oven cooked the perfect pizza. Seeing Mario’s, never fails to bring back the excitement of those early days, entering into the unfamiliar with hopeful, yet calculated, anticipation. When I reached Ludwigstraße a few blocks later, I reflexively paused to marvel at the beauty of the city at night before heading down the escalators to the subway. The sky was deep midnight blue, accented by even darker clouds, almost black, but with a deep purple hue, creating a picturesque backdrop for the yellow Theatinerkirche at Odeonsplatz a half mile down the street. The peaks of the Rathaus and Saint Peter’s at Marienplatz were visible in the distance. Turning the other direction, a couple blocks to the north, was Siegestor, the triumphal arch, which is the unofficial gateway to Schwabing. All of the historical buildings and architectural structures of München are lit after dark and looked especially vivid tonight in contrast to the stormy sky. I entered the Universität U-Bahn to go three stops south on the U6 to Sendlinger Tor. I could’ve easily walked the rest of the way home but the U-Bahn was so convenient. Besides, it was raining slightly harder. I always like being safe and cozy inside while the rain and winds raged outside. I walked down the escalators to the platform and waited for my train. As I stood there, contemplating the events of this evening, I sensed my growing uneasiness in public and began to defocus once more, becoming oblivious to my surroundings as I starred absently, looking right through the giant advertisement on the tunnel wall — Gut, Besser, Paulaner — as if my gaze was focused on something far beyond. My train arrived exactly on time and I boarded the last car. The Munich subways are pristine: they have blue padded vinyl seats arranged in pairs, facing each other, like a fifties diner. It wasn’t very crowded this time of night, so I had no trouble finding an empty pair of seats far from everyone else. I sat down and scooted over to the wall and stretched my legs to get comfortable. I preferred sitting by the far window, virtually hugging the wall, as I had a habit of staring out into the blackness, looking ahead, trying to peek through the crack between the train and concrete, in anticipation of the next approaching station. Shortly thereafter, some guy sat down right next to me. I didn’t turn around. There were at least three empty pairs of bench seats around me, yet he had to choose this one. He was probably drunk. Sometimes it’s a good thing I don’t speak German very well. If I did, I’d’ve likely made some cutting and sarcastic remark. Instead, I just kept looking out the window, too cool to bother acknowledging his presence. Zurückbleiben bitte, came the announcement from the conductor. The doors closed and the train starting to move. "Do you mind if I take zis seat?" asked the guy next to me, in English, with only a hint of a German accent. My body had initially tensed with a standoffish reaction to having my space invaded when he sat down, but there was a calmness about his tone that made me drop my guard and de-clench my jaw though I still had my back to him staring at the pure black image outside the window. "Nein, es macht mir nichts aus" I replied in my best German accent, trying to let him know what I wasn’t sure about myself — that I belong. I paused a moment and still with my back turned, staring out the window, asked: "How do you know I speak English?" It was a matter of pride to me that I didn’t look like an American tourist, ever on guard of how I was perceived, making a concerted effort not to be seen for what I actually was. It’s unbelievably easy, even from long distance, to spot a stray bovine from the American herd. If their glow-in-the-dark clothes, adorned with the name of their university under greek letters sewn across their chest, freshly washed in detergent with ultra-violet enhancing die, leaving them ten shades brighter than natural fibers, didn’t give them away, as you got closer, their bored, half-open, fly-catching mouths certainly would, revealing, at once, by mere place-of-birth, the American sense of inherited entitlement and annoyed exasperation for the local’s unwillingness to cater to their needs, what with the native’s maddening and insensitive preference to speak in their own language rather than English. These day-glow attired US train-travelers unconcealed annoyance is abundantly evident in their body-language, exhibited on full-display to the growing accompaniment of constant moaning about some inconsequential inconvenience suffered at the last pension with only one community toilet, all espoused in a soulless monotone that seemed infinitely more whiny and captious now as I am used to hearing the lyricism of other languages, droning on as they’d sit, slouched, with their backs to one of the world’s foremost pieces of historical architecture, looking vacantly towards a point a thousand feet ahead with a deadened gaze on their faces seeking out the nearest McDonald’s. "You’re wearing Levi’s 501 jeans and Nike high-tops. Only Americans wear that combination." were the words I heard spoken to the back of my head. I had to smile. Sure, I’ve tried to look like a local, but a guy has to draw the line somewhere. I’m certainly not going to trade my Levi’s and Nikes for lederhosen and open-toed sandals. Although when I ride the U-Bahn I always disengage from the moment I head down the escalators, curiosity was getting the best of me tonight. I wanted to see who was sitting next to me: who’s the guy who could tell I’m a Scheiß-Ami at first glance — hard as I try to hide it. I swung my head around to take a look — Jesus Holy Christ — my mouth hung open like a blasé American tourist at a downtown fountain. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I was stupefied, unable to steer my gaze away from his — his — face, or at least what used to be a face. He’d been burned, severely: not just blistered skin, but his entire face was misshaped. He didn’t have a nose at all, only two plastic tubes that stuck out where nostrils normally would be. Seeing this was a shock. Had I gone to a hospital burn-ward, I could have mentally prepared myself for what I might see, but this was unexpected on the subway. Without advance preparation I wasn’t reacting well. I kept staring at what was as excruciating as it was irresistible. My initial impulse was to blurt out: "what the hell happened?" But I stuffed that question back down as it was coming halfway out. I eventually caught sight of his eyes looking back at me. Luckily they hadn’t been damaged. They were blue and expressive and sparked like smiling eyes, although I was unable to confirm an actual smile on his contorted face. His penetrating gaze had an unmistakable look of empathy and there was kindness in his eyes when he said to me, "Sorry I shocked you." "No. I’m sorry." I said. "I didn’t mean to stare." The train stopped at Odeonsplatz. A couple more people got on, then we started moving again. "Did you lose something?" he asked. "No. Why?" He glanced out the window and made a nodding gesture as the train was emerging from the dark tunnel and entering the next station. "It’s artificial," he said. "Fluorescent lights glow so cold in the underground." The train arrived at Marienplatz, which is both the physical and cultural center of the city. It’s a busy station as there’s an S-Bahn interchange with the U3 and U6. Several more people boarded. Some of the new passengers looked at the stranger next to me then politely looked away. Others had trouble controlling their impulses and starred, as I had, while a couple discretely nudged their companions and pointed fingers when he wasn’t looking. We started moving again. I turned my head to look out the...