Girl from Mars (7 page)

13

History.

“Louis the fourteenth. Remember him?
L'état, c'est moi
?”

I couldn't care less. What is it about Laura? Every time I look at her, it's different. Sometimes it's as if she's always been here. (Of couse she's always been here. She has been in this class for a few months just like the rest of us.) And sometimes it's like she's here for the first time. For me. Like she's just landed on my planet.

And then again...

Then I look at her and she looks at me, and it's different again. Not bad different, but weird, like when you hear a new song that sounds strange but not in a bad way. And at some point you find yourself humming along, and you remember the words as you lie in bed, thinking of Laura and smiling into the dark, because the song is good, better than the others, and because it makes your heart beat faster, and it reminds you of yourself.

That's what it's like with Laura. It's weird.

My fingernails are all splitting. I pick at them, and bits of nail fall onto my history book. Outside the leaves are still falling. Behind the birches is my bike, and it's freezing.

I imagine what it would be like to just stand up, maybe grab my coat. Walk past the other desks, chairs, idiots who I've never exchanged so much as two words with. Walk past the teacher's desk, and it's all over now, baby blue. Stand up and use my legs. Look, outside there's a world that exists between 8 a.m. and noon. Outside there's life to taste and smell, and in winter it's cold. Then I just keep going. Leave this small town and go out through the fields and through one small village after another, even farther than I've gone on my bike. And maybe then I'll get on a train and keep going even farther. And maybe I'll get to some place that looks nice and I'll get off. And then maybe I'll stay there.

“Go on, read!” hisses Ines.

German. I'm reading out loud. Stumbling over the words. Then Ines reads. Then Patrick. And then the text is finished.

“What is the author talking about here?” Once again no one puts up their hand. Except maybe Gesine, who probably once swore to herself that she would always put up her hand and would always know the answer.

I can't even remember what we've just been reading. I look out the window again.

“I think...I don't know, but it sounds damned sad,” I hear Laura say. I look up at the front.

“And why is that?” asks Lämmert.

“Because nothing's happening and he can't stand it,” says Laura. “Because he's sleeping and he can't wake up, even though he wants to.”

If I ever did stand up and leave, I'd take Laura with me, and later I'd ask her where she wanted to get off.

14

That evening I go up to my room. Turn on my music.

Think for a bit, I don't know about what.

Outside something's moving on the balcony. I open the door and there's Dennis.

“Well?” he says.

Well? What does that mean? Does it mean how are you, or what are you up to, or God you scared me, sit down and tell me how your day's been?

“Well?” I say back.

Dennis leans against the balcony railing and looks out at the fields that start at the end of our garden. Then he looks at me, pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and holds it out to me.

I hesitate.

“You smoke, don't you?”

I look back into the house.

“It's okay. Mum and Dad are watching television.”

So I take a cigarette and light it with the lighter that I keep behind the eavestrough.

Then we stand there smoking and looking out at the fields.

“What are you listening to in there?” Dennis asks, nodding in the direction of the balcony door.

“Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No. What is it?”

“It's a tape. Laura made it for me.” She gave it to me this morning. A cassette that she made for me. For me. For Mi.

“Laura, eh?” he says, looking at me briefly. “Turn it up. You can hardly hear it.” And then he goes back to looking at the fields.

I go inside, prop the door open with a flower pot and turn the music up a bit. Go back outside.

I finish smoking the cigarette and listen to the songs Laura put on the tape for me. Dennis has another smoke. And we don't say anything.

When he's finished, he crushes his butt and flicks it in the direction of the fields.

“Do you know what you need out here?” he asks as he turns around.

“No, what?”

“A bench. So you don't have to stand out here like an idiot. You need a bench.”

And then he leaves.

15

Later the doorbell rings. When I open the door, Laura is standing there.

“Are you free?” she asks.

I nod. “What's the matter?”

“Things are shit. I want to do something. Can you come with me?”

I look back in the direction of the living room and call out, “I'm going out.”

No answer, then Dad says absently, “Okay, bye.” I take my jacket off the hook. We go out to the street and the door swings shut behind us.

“What do you want to do?” I say. “Get something to drink? A pizza?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don't want to see any people.” She looks up. “Just you. Let's just go somewhere where we can sit and look around. I don't care where.”

So I take her hand and pull her down the street as fast as I can. I pull Laura behind me until I start to gasp for breath, and she's panting and laughing. We keep running
until the streets don't have any names any more, the town is behind us, there are hardly any houses, and then nothing more.

This is the highest spot around. A little hill in the middle of nowhere, with a bench. From here you can see the lights of town. The cars on the highway throw their lights like glowworms in the night.

We sit on the bench. Laura's breathing slows down. I can't see her face.

And then she says, “It's exactly the way I imagined it.”

I'm still holding her hand and am a bit horrified when I realize it. I let go and look out at the houses in the distance.

Laura doesn't say anything else. She fishes around in her bag and then hands me a lighter.

“Can you give me a bit of light?”

I hold the lighter and the flame flickers a bit. Laura pulls her tobacco pouch out of her bag, stacks three papers together, rips a piece of cardboard from the package and rolls it to make a filter. Then she pulls a little bag out of her tobacco pouch and sprinkles grass over the tobacco on the papers.

I've seen all this before at parties — a small group huddled in a corner of the garden somewhere, sitting in a circle while one of them rolls and the others watch in silence, like they're witnessing the blood and body of Christ being turned into wine and bread. Maybe it's so funny because nobody talks, just like Laura right now. She's concentrating.

I start to say something, because it's too weird and quiet.

“This is one of my favorite spots. I got my first kiss here. Ever since then I've come up here by myself. It's probably a bit cold today, but it's really nice in the summer.”

Laura holds the tip between two fingers, presses back the edges, examines her handiwork, clicks her tongue and says, “Pretty good.”

I don't think she heard a word I said.

“I'm pretty proud of this, I have to say. Given that the light here is absolute shit.” Then she takes my hand and puts it on her shoulder. “So, Mi, now you have to pat me on the back and congratulate me on this excellent rolling job.”

I pat her shoulder a bit and pull my hand away. Sometimes it's so easy to touch someone and sometimes it's...

“Yes, congratulations. Great job,” I mumble.

She seems satisfied. She burns down the tip, blows away the ash and lights the joint properly. She inhales deeply, waits and then lets the smoke out slowly. She takes another drag and hands the joint to me.

“You've smoked pot before, right?”

“Mmmhh.” I almost believe it myself. I take a drag, get a lungful of smoke, practically have to cough. I hold the smoke inside me like Laura, my eyes fill with tears and I think I'm about to die when I slowly breathe out. I take another drag, this time more carefully, until my
lungs are full, then I hand back the joint. Breathe out.

I feel warm. We are sitting on a bench in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in a forgotten galaxy. Time stands still. Maybe time is nothing but inhale, wait, exhale. Doesn't matter whose breath it is, yours or mine. The world only moves when you and I are breathing.

Below us the houses are lit up like Christmas. I'm not at all cold, even though it's winter. I take another drag, and my coat and my hat and scarf keep me warm.

Breathe out. My hands might be freezing, but I won't ask them, because then they can't complain. I listen to Laura's breathing, I can see the little glow in her hand, take it from her, breathe in, wait. The earth is spinning very slowly tonight. Breathe out. Everything is quiet. Peace on earth and good will toward men. It would be nice to hold her hand now, but I can't move, can't move my head. My gaze is fixed on the valley, on the lights of the little houses.

Suddenly Laura starts to talk.

“I had a really nice afternoon. With Phil.”

The P-word.

“We listened to music and Mum cooked and we ate together. And then she told me she has to go away again, for three weeks or so. Three weeks. Maybe even longer. She just handed me some money and said she was pushing off, just like that. And I was pissed off. I told her that she should think about me, too, and she said I sounded just like my father. It was almost funny. No, actually it was sad. Phil just stood there and said absolutely nothing.
Nothing. You know? And then I got mad and threw him out. Shit.” She sniffles. “Was it stupid of me to do that?” She looks at me, but I have no idea. Phillip. How do I know what he's like?

“Too bad he isn't here,” she says, giggling a bit. “I think you'd like him when he's stoned. Although, what do I know? But I think you two could actually get along.” She stops giggling. “In any case.” Pause. Takes a drag. Talks again as she's exhaling. “Phillip is great. You can really have a great time with him. We're good friends. Too bad. Whatever.” She's quiet again.

I smoke the end. The filter is getting hot. I throw away the butt.

Suddenly she leans her head on my shoulder, so all I can do is sit still and stare out over the valley.

“Go on,” she says. “Tell me about your friends. About Ines and Suse.”

But as I sit here, unable to tear my eyes away from the houses down there, I don't know whether they're my friends or not. I don't know what friends are, or whether I would talk about Suse and Ines the way Laura talks about Phil, even though she's mad at him. I don't know anything any more. I'd shrug my shoulders, but she's leaning her head on me and I don't want her to move it. I'm afraid that she'll take it away if I move.

“You're not saying anything.” She giggles again, and I'm trying to think of what I can tell her.

There's so much I want to say and so much I want to know about her — so much — but my mouth is dry and
my thoughts can't find their way out of my head. I feel so good so let's just leave everything like this. And leave Ines and Suse out of it. They'll spoil things.

“Mi, look at me.” She flicks on her lighter and it lights up our faces. I turn my head toward her in slow motion. It lasts for hours.

When Laura sees me, she starts to giggle again.

“You're stoned! Ha! Look at you! Stoned!” Then she laughs out loud.

The corner of my mouth moves up toward my ears. I'm the Cheshire cat. I can't stop myself. My face muscles have a life of their own. I start to hum and try to remember which song it is.

“I'm hungry,” Laura says suddenly. She takes my hand again, and my hand fits in hers like a little squirrel in its den. Slowly we walk down the path and this time she's leading me. I realize I'm singing this song and I have no idea where it came from. It was inside me, and now I'm singing, but where did I learn it? Doesn't matter, I just keep singing, louder and louder, all the way down the hill. All the way to the chip stand.

Hooray! And I'm thirsty!

“I'm thirsty, Laura!”

“Yeah, me, too!”

And then I sing some more and Laura squeezes my hand.

The streetsweeper is standing by the chip stand. We all know him because he says hello to everyone and is always so friendly.

“Two large fries, one with ketchup and mayonnaise and the other...?”

“With, um, mustard?” Yes, mustard. “And a Snickers bar. And a large diet cola.”

The chip man is happy to make a little money at the end of the day, and I spend the rest of my money on the food, but I don't give a shit. I'm happy that I have a mouth I can open and stuff all this delicious food into. That I have teeth that chew and a nice chip man who really puts mustard on the fries. And that I have a throat so I can wash it all down with cola, and a stomach to hold it all. It's fun to eat. It's fun to watch Laura eating.

When we've finished, the chip man sticks two Jägermeisters in front of us.

“Here, girls, these will warm you up.” And we say thank you politely, like good little girls. Laura starts giggling again, and the streetsweeper grins and takes a sip of his beer. I suddenly burst out laughing and start singing again. Then we take each other's hands again, just like little girls.

We keep walking, and then Laura suddenly stops and takes my face in her hands and presses her mouth against mine, very softly, very lightly. It lasts forever and for no time at all.

Then she pulls me into the Erdbeereis, where we see Mario and a few other kids, so we sit with them. Laura gets a pack of cards from the owner and we start playing a game of Mau-Mau. Mario gets us a beer. I win, Laura winks at me and plays badly, but she laughs.