by Calia Read
The car was parked right outside the exit where cabs waited, the drivers standing together smoking and talking loudly in German. A bus drove by and exhausted people like myself lingered on the sidewalk, carrying their luggage or waiting for their ride. I tossed my bags into the back seat of the silver BMW and made my way to Munich. One word could describe driving on German roads: insanity. Cars weaved in and out of lanes. Horns honked. Construction work that had one lane closed. At stoplights I looked around. I knew I was home. I could feel it. It was a sense of belonging as I saw the bustle of people hurrying across the crosswalk, or when I looked at the modern, high-rise buildings mixed in with old architecture.
Soon I was driving out of Munich, leaving the city life behind. The cars became sparse and I was able to put my foot all the way down on the gas and enjoy the thrill of going so fast it felt like I was flying. A heavy wooded area that went on for miles flanked the road. I squinted and saw the trees perched on the mountains with peaks that looked as though they were piercing the sky. That was the only sign I needed to know that I was officially in the Bavarian Alps.
Twenty minutes later, I was driving into Garmisch, a small, frescoed town, with mountains settled around it like a fortress. Driving downtown, everything felt compact. Absolutely nothing had changed about this place. Downtown Garmisch still had wide streets and half-timbered buildings practically built on one another. A few houses had fresco-like paintings on the outside. Flower boxes were hooked to windows. The outside of cafés looked more like beer halls.
The roads were packed with cyclists, many with baskets filled with belongings. Taxis zoomed past me. A second later, another car or van would honk before it passed by, and made it back into the right lane seconds before the car in the opposite lane drove by.
It was fucking chaos, and it was Germany, and no one was fazed.
That was how you recognized the tourists from the residents. Tourists looked around in awe, tennis shoes on, and a camera strap around their necks. But the residents went about their business, used to the beautiful view and crisp air after being nestled in this ski-resort town their whole lives. It was all they knew.
I followed the directions and found myself downtown, in a quiet section of homes with gabled structures placed here and there. The smooth pavement gave way into cobblestone. Compact cars were parked along both sides of the narrow road.
I glanced at the GPS and took a right, and all too soon I pulled up in front of 69 Romersbuhl Strasse. Home for the next seventeen weeks.
Large houses loomed in front of me, but I wasn’t fooled. German houses were optical illusions. From the outside they look huge. Inside, everything was small and compact. Spiral staircase. Wood floors. No closets. Just schranks.
Before I made it to the door, it swung open and a small, older woman stepped out. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. Her blue eyes looked me up and down bluntly. Her skin was a leathery brown and wrinkled from the sun.
“You Mathias?” she asked, her accent thick and extremely Bavarian.
“I am.”
She held her hand out and squeezed my hand in a tight grip.
“I’m Frau Stubenrauch. Your landlord.” She dropped my hand. “You’re here early,” she said approvingly, as if I’d passed some secret test. “Follow me.”
I trailed behind her, carrying both bags. The pathway was narrow and lined with fresh flowers. She opened up the door, and I stepped into the front room. I thought the pathway was narrow, but this was even worse. There was barely any room for the two of us, without our shoulders touching. Straight ahead were two closed doors. A spiral staircase to my left led up to the second floor. Frau Stubenrauch went up the stairs. I followed. She stopped at the second door on the left. Her keys jangled as she opened the door.
I walked in and instantly smelled Lysol. This apartment wasn’t great, but at least it smelled clean. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t need much. The floor plan was simple: just one giant room. There was a small kitchenette to the left. On the right side, shoved up against the window, was a queen bed and a nightstand. The bathroom door was right next to the bed. On the opposite side of the room was a German schrank that ran against the length of the wall. It had a small space for a television. Cabinets were opened for me to put away clothes. The rest of the cabinets were for storage, but I doubted I’d even use them.
Frau Stubenrauch walked around the small kitchen table and crossed her arms. “I vant quiet,” she said in broken English. “No loud noises. Vat means no women!”
I raised my brows. Women were the last things on my mind right now. “I like quiet too. So we’ll get along great.”
She peered at me a second longer, looking unconvinced. Yet her lips weren’t in a thin line. She still wasn’t smiling but it was a small improvement.
“You like?” she asked and nudged her head toward the empty space around me.
I scanned the apartment. “I like.”
“Good. I leave you.” Frau Stubenrauch released the key from her key chain and handed it over. She left seconds later.
I dropped my bag. The sound echoed around the large room like a gunshot. I crossed my arms and exhaled loudly. So this would be my new home.
It didn’t matter to me. All I needed was a bed to sleep in and a table to spread out my sheet music and I was good.
It took me just fifteen minutes to unpack. I made myself at home, started up my laptop, and started to listen to some of my favorite pieces by top composers: Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, Liszt, Bach, Mozart.
Whenever the notes rang around the room, I found myself using the table as a makeshift piano. My fingers danced across the surface.
I wished I could always play that easily.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but when I stood up I realized how stiff my body felt. I could sit for hours and get lost in the notes. The melody. All of it.
I rubbed the back of my sore neck and pushed myself away from the table. When I glanced at my watch, I realized that half of my day was gone. The jet lag was fading and now I was on adrenaline. Soon I would crash, but for now I was antsy. I needed to get the hell out of this small apartment. I called Andreas Meier, the only friend I had in Germany that I kept in contact with. My visits to Garmisch were so sparse that the people I did meet were always friends with my grandparents.
He answered on the first ring and said: “Are you in Munich?”
“No, I got in this morning and immediately drove here. I’ve spent the whole day going through music.”
“You drove to Garmisch? I would’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“No, thanks. I’ve seen the way you drive.”
Andreas just laughed. “I’ll come there. We can catch up and get a drink. It sounds like you need a break.”
I needed a piano. That’s what I needed. I needed to see all eighty-eight keys. I needed to be prepared for tomorrow. I didn’t want to fuck this up, but I needed to relax and I wasn’t going to relax cooped up in this place.
“I don’t know if drinking the night before my new job is the best idea.”
“I didn’t say you had to drink yourself into oblivion. Just one drink.”
I rubbed a hand down my face and looked down at the ground. “Just one,” I said with heavy emphasis.
“Of course, of course. I’ll be there in an hour.”
We chatted for a few more minutes and then Andreas brought up the next day. “What’s your student’s name?”
“Katarina ... or Katja? Something like that.” Over and over Tobias had said her name, but my mind was drawing a blank.
“I think you should familiarize yourself with your student’s name or you’ll be off on a bad foot instantly.”
“Don’t fucking remind me.”
K A T J A
In Garmisch, Germany, there was a nightlife hidden beneath the city. When the sun set, and most people went to bed, a different group of people came alive—the ones that thrived off the beat of the music and that got a rus
h from meeting people from all walks of life.
Most of these clubs were off the beaten path. But there was a nightclub that only the select were allowed to step into. You went to this club looking your best, knowing that when you walked through the front doors, you’d have the experience of a lifetime. It opened up at ten, but most people started to filter in at eleven. That’s when everything came alive.
Right now, that’s all I wanted. To be alive.
I only had a few hours left of freedom, and I intended to make the most of them.
Tomorrow I was meeting my new piano instructor. All I knew was that ‘it’ was a he. Opa offered no name and I didn’t ask. Male or female I knew that my instructor was going to be tough. There were hours of practice ahead of me. Every moment of my life would revolve around the piano and perfecting my skills.
So tonight I was going out with my roommate, Simone.
Even though she didn’t live in Garmisch, she could smell a man and a party a mile away.
We met in Munich over the past year where the both of us were studying at the University of Music and Performing Arts. She was a violinist. Because of her love for music I liked her on principle. She was this small person, with so much fire in her eyes—the complete opposite of me. That should’ve made us incompatible friends, but if anything, we balanced each other out.
She would be staying with me the whole summer and would go back to school.
I wouldn’t. My interest began and ended with the piano. I lived and breathed it, and every day sitting in class, every night studying into the late hours just felt like a waste; I’d already found my passion.
That’s why I had a new instructor. He, whoever he was, would take me further. Sharpen my performance. Make me known across the world.
At least, that’s what Opa said. I wasn’t as convinced. I just wanted to play.
We waited in line, outside the club for twenty minutes. And when we made it to the front, the bouncer looked us up and down, gave us a blunt nod, stamped our hands, and we were allowed through. We stepped through the glass doors, and immediately we were swallowed into the darkness. Only a small glow of lights coming from the main room guided us forward. The music was so loud that the walls rattled. The sound of my heels clicking against the floor was swallowed up. We finally entered the club.
“Soak it in, Katja,” Simone said into my ear.
“Oh, I am,” I shouted above the music.
The hazy glow of ceiling lights and the ones built into the wall caressed everyone’s body in deep shades of purple and blue. Their bodies writhed to the beat. They looked unearthly. It was an entrancing sight that gave me a rush. It sent my heart into overdrive and made me want to step forward and blend into the crowd.
“I’m going to dance,” I shouted to Simone. She grabbed my wrist before I could walk away and shook her head.
“Be patient, okay?” she replied. “We need to get a few drinks first.”
We turned our backs on the dance floor and made our way through the throng of bodies. There was a bar to the left. It was packed. Some people were sitting and the others were squeezing in between the chairs. People shouted their drink orders over one another and I was willing to bet that by the end of the night there would be a fight or two broken up. Simone fit her small frame between all the people as if it was nothing and found us two open bar stools. I quickly hopped onto my seat, scanning the people around us, while Simone shouted at the bartender.
“Hier drüben!” Over here!
For such a small person, she had such a powerful voice. The bartender looked our way and she quickly rattled off what we wanted. When she was done, she brushed back a few strands of her short brown hair away from her face. Her hair was nothing but wild, flyaway curls. The style matched her headstrong personality perfectly.
I scanned the bodies that surrounded me. They were mostly guys. Brunettes, blondes. Tall, skinny, or buff. Take your pick. The options were endless. I was just trying to find one that I could dance with tonight. Someone that I could have fun with.
The bartender handed us two shots and moved on to the next person. I grabbed one shot and smiled, knowing that it wouldn’t be my last tonight. Not if I had a choice. Simone raised her glass in the air, and I did the same.
“To your new teacher!” she announced dramatically. “May they at least be under fifty!”
I grinned widely and tapped my glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
The shot burned going down. I squeezed my eyes shut and pursed my lips together. Simone took it down like a champ.
“What do you know about ‘The Instructor’?” Simone asked.
“Well, I know it’s a he.”
“I already know that, but keep going.”
I checked off the facts with my fingers.
“I know he’s German.”
“Naturally.”
“And last, but not least: I know he’s a talented pianist, if Opa hired him.”
Simone frowned. “That’s it?”
I waved three fingers in the air. “That’s it.”
“Doesn’t sound very promising.”
Three things weren’t much to go off of, but Opa was picky. Not many people got his stamp of approval, and if this one person met his qualifications, then I knew this mystery instructor had more talent than I’d ever have.
Resting her elbows on the bar, Simone pointed at my outfit. “How does it feel to be wearing a dress that doesn’t go past your knees?”
I looked down at the skin-tight black dress Simone loaned me. It hugged my body like a second skin. It was different from what I usually wore. The hemline rode up my thighs, a plunging V-neck that made me feel like my breasts were spilling out. But it was liberating. This dress made me feel feminine and sexy, and those two feelings together brought out a confidence that only came out of me when I was on stage with a piano in front of me.
“I like it,” I admitted.
“You should. You look great, but I think your Opa is going to kill me.”
“Why?”
She gave me a look that said everything. I grew up with grandparents that weren’t exactly strict, but definitely not lenient. I had freedom, but there were limits. Even at the age of nineteen, those limits were still in place. But tonight I was pushing them.
“Opa will never know, will he?”
Simone smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”
One after another we toasted to each other. And soon, I could hardly feel the burn. I felt a happy buzz overtaking my body.
I drummed my fingernails on the counter and looked around. “Help me find a guy,” I said.
“For what?”
“For dancing and having fun.”
Like any dedicated friend, she started to scan the crowd. “I don’t even know what your type is,” she said.
She had a point. I was married to music, and it left little time for a social life.
“I don’t know,” I discreetly looked around along with her. “A male. A good-looking male.”
“You know what I mean. Blonde? Dark features? Tattoos? Piercings? Tell me your type.”
I thought it over for a few seconds. “Blonde. But not too blonde. Find a happy medium ... dark blonde.”
Simone nodded. “Dark blonde it is.”
The two of us looked around for a few minutes. But the place was packed and it seemed to get busier the longer we sat there. It was impossible to look at someone longer than three seconds before they either walked away or became swallowed within the crowd. I was starting to give up hope and was getting ready to say just that, but then I saw the look on Simone’s face. She kept glancing over to her left and when I followed her eyes, I realized why.
There. Right there.
I found my guy for tonight.
He sat on the opposite side of the bar. There was enough light for me to see his dark blonde hair. It had obviously been styled earlier but now looked mussed, with a few strands touching his forehead. Straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and
a strong jaw. The only thing stopping him from being almost too good looking was the expression on his face. He all but snarled at the people around him. It caused people to back away from him. He seemed to like it that way.
When he wasn’t nursing his beer, he would lean over and talk to the guy next to him. I squinted, watching his lips move and trying to figure out what he was saying.
I wished I were closer. Then maybe I could see what color his eyes were. But at this point, it didn’t really matter if they were blue, green, or even black; I was already lured in.
Right then, he looked away from the guy next to him, across the bar, and caught me staring. I became paralyzed. His eyes drifted over my body so slowly, it felt like a physical touch. I could feel my skin heating up. I could hear my heart drumming wildly in my chest. He looked me straight in the eye, and my mouth became dry. He had the kind of eyes that dared someone to look away, and maybe most people would, in fear, but his gaze sent a thrill through me.
I smiled slowly, knowing with every fiber of my being that I was going to talk to this one.
I think my determination showed because his eyes widened slightly and his lips curved up into a smirk.
Simone grabbed my arm, pulling me out of my little sexual haze with Hot Guy. Until I found out his name I was going to dub him ‘Hot Guy’.
“Nuh-uh!” Simone shook her head frantically. “Anyone else but him.”
I frowned. “Do you know him?”
“Nein.”
“Then why not?”
“B-because,” she sputtered. She was staring at me with wide eyes. “He’s not … he’s not safe!”
I couldn’t help it. My eyes went directly back to him. He continued to stare, but he was smirking, like he knew what Simone was saying to me. The guy next to him was looking our way, but I didn’t care about him.
I. Wanted. Hot. Guy.
“He looks safe to me,” I said faintly.
“You know what I mean. If a guy looks that good and he’s alone ... there’s a reason.”
“I don’t think he’s alone.” I tipped my head where he sat.
Simone frowned. “Okay. So he has a friend. That doesn’t make him good. There are plenty of guys around here. AND,” she shouted, “you’re drunk!”
