by Strauss, Lee
She finally came to her senses and pulled her gaze away. In her peripheral vision, she saw him slip into a seat at the back. He ordered a cola, and then stared at her as she continued to set up.
She swallowed and fought back her nerves. She was a professional. She could do this.
After testing her mic and strapping on her guitar, she nodded to Maurice, letting him know she was ready.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maurice bellowed out with his warm, friendly voice. “I’m pleased to introduce to you an incredible new talent. I’m sure she will go places! Help me in welcoming Katja Stoltz!”
She waited for the applause to end, then said, “Thank you for having me. I’m opening this night with a new song. It’s dedicated to my friend, Micah.”
Katja caught his eye and swore she even saw his lips tug up into a slight smile.
Friend, won’t you calm my mind
I feel like it will implode
The difference between you and I
Is like the sun and the moon
And you know, you should know
That to stop just means you should go
I should go
We live in different worlds
It is obvious
that one of them makes
the other one feel small and cold
Let me dream further,
I need more
And you know
that I’m living on the moon
She sang through her list of songs and though she worked to engage the crowd, the only person she really cared about sat alone in the back corner of the room.
Maurice congratulated her on her set, and the crowd swarmed her when she stepped off the stage to buy her CDs and to get autographs. She kept looking at Micah from the corner of her eye, and he raised his empty glass to her.
Sebastian approached and gave her a hug. “That was amazing. I love that Sun and Moon tune. It rocked!” She laughed at his enthusiasm, and turned back to see Micah’s expression, but his table was empty. He’d left.
A wave of disappointment washed over her. Of course he wouldn’t stay to the dire end. This wasn’t his scene. Plus, if he walked her home, it might look like they were together. She understood if he didn’t want to accidentally run into someone he knew with her alone at his side.
She packed up her guitar and remaining CDs, pocketed her earnings and accepted the complimentary beer Maurice offered her.
She took her time walking home, needing to unwind from the adrenaline rush that a concert brought on. It was a good night. She was good, her songs were good, and the crowd loved her. Micah saw that, at least.
He was sitting on the steps of his apartment building when she got there. She smiled widely, surprised but happy to see him there. She set the case down and sat beside him.
“The sun and moon aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said. “They need each other.”
His dark eyes locked on hers.
“I know,” she whispered.
He leaned toward her, reaching up to stroke her cheek. His touch was like a bolt of lightning. Searing heat tingled through her whole body. His lips hovered above hers, teasing. He was going to kiss her and she wanted him to. She’d wanted him to kiss her for a long time now.
Her heart stammered, and she held her breath. She was ready to close her eyes when he suddenly pulled back.
“Micah?”
He rubbed his face with his hands, standing briskly. His expression tensed with a flash of anguish in his eyes, like he was torn. His eyes flickered to the ground, then down the road and up at the sky. Everywhere but at her.
“We should go in,” he said stiffly, hopping the steps to the door and opening it. Katja grabbed her guitar, wide-eyed with confusion, and followed after him.
What just happened?
Micah disappeared into his room and never came out again. Katja’s annoyance turned to anger. Just who did he think he was? If he didn’t want to kiss her, she didn’t want to kiss him, either. They were roommates, nothing more.
She tossed and turned on the sofa bed. Normally, she had no trouble falling asleep but tonight was different.
It was a full moon. The moonbeams reached in through the window and stroked her face.
He was the moon.
Micah’s gravitational pull gripped and stretched her. He was nothing like anyone she’d ever met before. He was darkness and light, sadness and hope. A complete enigma.
His bedroom door creaked open, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to sleep. She expected him to pad into the bathroom, but he turned left instead of right. She heard a key turn a lock.
She opened her eyes to slivers, catching his form as he disappeared into the locked room, closing the door softly behind him.
Part of her wanted to jump up and follow him. What was in there?
She sat up, her gaze never leaving the crack of light coming from under the closed door. Should she go? She would knock first. Would he let her in? Would he be angry?
The questions flooded her brain. All the while her body managed to balance on the squishy surface of her bed. She tugged the long T-shirt over her butt and stepped onto the floor.
She could find her way to the bathroom in the dark with her eyes closed, but the locked room was on the opposite side. Katja fumbled her way around the furniture, catching her toe on a chair leg.
She cried out in pain.
Immediately, the light under the door went out and Micah appeared in the hallway. He quickly closed and locked the door, and when he turned to her, the moonlight landed on his panic-stricken face.
Katja held her foot, rubbing her toe vigorously, before letting it go. “What’s in there, Micah?”
“It’s nothing.” His eyes moved to her bare legs, and then back to her face. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He turned, and disappeared into his room, leaving Katja feeling more curious and more disturbed than ever.
Working alone in Micah’s apartment day after day became too dreary for Katja. Tired of staring at white walls and being taunted by the locked door, she’d begun to frequent the coffee shop on the corner. It was brightly painted with a warm and welcoming atmosphere, and the smell of the in-house bakery was heavenly. Here she could enjoy a cup of coffee that tasted as good as the ones she made with the fancy machine at Micah’s, and she could people watch, too.
Katja ordered milk coffee and a scone with butter and jam from a slender, middle-aged woman who she’d come to know as Frau Renata Beck. Frau Beck wore the standard black skirt, white shirt uniform with the café-specific apron, tied her greying hair in a low ponytail and wore sensible shoes. She also liked to laugh, as did Katja, and they often joked around about tabloid news, and cooed together at cute babies who arrived in strollers with their mothers. Before too long, they were on a first name basis as friends.
People were fascinating, and in Dresden there were all kinds. Katja sipped her coffee while gazing at the interesting characters outside the window. There was the attractive, hippy owner of the import gift shop across the street sitting on a collapsible wooden stool, smoking a cigarette. He snubbed it out and followed two young women dressed in jeans and trendy jackets, tourists likely, back into the shop. In the park next door, a group of punks stood around an old boom box. They had spiky Mohawks on their heads and dog collars around their necks and actual, sizable dogs dozing at their feet. A white-haired woman with a cane stopped to examine the produce on a sidewalk display outside an organic produce store. It was run by a very small Asian woman who came outside to assist her.
The energy was inspiring. Katja always brought her notebook to scribble down song ideas and lyrics, and her sketchbook to draw in. She did a lot of faces. Her unsuspecting subjects stood in line at the coffee shop waiting to order, or quietly drank their beverages and ate their desserts at nearby tables, believing they were alone and unnoticed.
Renata wiped the empty table next to the one Katja sat at. “Schatz,” she said with a look of concern. “Are you all right? You look
unsettled.” She was more motherly toward Katja than her own mother ever was, and it both eased her pain and added to it.
The events of the night before weighed heavily on Katja, and she had difficulty hiding her emotions from this woman. Still, she couldn’t confide in her. What would she say? She lived with a guy she barely knew who had a mystery room he kept locked? If she were Renata, she’d be telling herself to get packed and moved, pronto.
Not only that. Today was her birthday and she had no one to share it with. She supposed it would be okay to let her know that.
“It’s my birthday, Renata.”
“Oh, Engel.” Renata dropped her cloth and swooped down to hug her young friend. “All the best!”
She pulled back and stared Katja in the eyes. “Birthdays can be harder than they are happy sometimes, isn’t it true? But let me get you a piece of apple cake, my gift. That will cheer you up, yes?”
Katja forced a wide smile. “That’s sweet of you.”
“Something sweet for someone sweet, Süße.”
Unlike most Germans, Renata loved to use nicknames. Treasure, angel, and now sweetness. Katja couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.
Renata squeezed her shoulders. “Your face just lights up when you smile,” she said. “You must to it more often.”
Katja knew her broad smile was one of her distinguishing features. You had to know these things about yourself as an artist. It was a tool she’d used to disarm many a guy, teacher, employer… even her step-father. A move that had backfired.
She pushed thoughts of him away, but she couldn’t help thinking about her mother and sister. Had they even remembered that today was her birthday?
Didn’t matter. Today she would be happy. She would fulfill her role as the sun.
Katja picked up her sketching pencil and began stroking the blank page in front of her. She started with long curving lines that turned into an orb. She divided it in half with a concave line. On the wide side, she added the flares of the sun. On the concave side, the shadows of the moon. The images became faces, facsimiles of her adventure-seeking eyes and Micah’s compassionate gaze. Her smile and his frown.
She pulled back and studied it. Her lips tugged up, and she let her smile take over her face. She liked it.
Katja took time to savor the apple cake, enjoying each bite until she finished. Then she cleared her mess away, gathered her things and waved good-bye to Renata. She wanted to busk at the bridge during the afternoon, so she had to go back to Micah’s apartment to fetch her guitar. The morning had started out grey and gloomy, but now the sun was peeking out. She could trade her jacket for a sweater and leave her scarf at home.
She brushed her teeth and her hair and applied a little makeup. Before she left, she took another look at her sketch. She added a title, Sun & Moon, dated it and signed it. Then, after deliberating for a few minutes, she taped it to the surface of the locked door.
The combination of a beautiful afternoon and her determination to smile brightly paid off. Her busking donations were better than they’d ever been since she arrived in Dresden, and she sold two CDs.
That meant she could afford a cake. She stopped at the bakery on the way home and chose a small one—there was only the two of them to eat it—that was dark and chocolately and creamy. She wrestled with balancing the precious package while carrying her guitar, opening doors and maneuvering up the steps to the flat, until she had it safely landed on Micah’s kitchen table.
She decided to make dinner, but this time she lit a candle and turned on the satellite music station to a soft jazz channel.
Micah couldn’t contain his surprise when he got home. His eyes flickered and his lips twitched. “What’s this?”
Katja immediately suspected that Micah felt he was getting railroaded into a type of date, and she hurried to calm his fears. “It’s nothing. Just, it’s my birthday. I thought we could celebrate, but if it’s too much…” She blew out the candle feeling stupid. Why did she even tell him it was her birthday? Weren’t things already awkward enough after last night?
“Katja, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Micah picked up the lighter and relit the candle. “Happy Birthday!” he said in English. Then he smiled. Actually, full-out smiled! Katja thought it was the best birthday gift he could’ve given her. But then he surprised her again. “Wait here,” he said, before disappearing into his bedroom.
Like she had anywhere to go.
He emerged with his tie off, shirt untucked and a small package in his hand.
Katja was confused. How could he already have a gift when he didn’t even know it was her birthday?
“I bought this for you a while ago,” Micah explained. He jutted his hand out to give it to her. “After that night when you left without telling me and came home late.”
Katja blushed. “I remember. I’d had too much to drink.”
“Yeah, well, I hated that I couldn’t call or text you.”
“So you bought me a phone?” Katja was touched. It wasn’t fancy or expensive, just a pre-paid kind, but still, it meant Micah cared about her. Her throat grew scratchy and she found it hard to swallow.
“I didn’t know if you’d appreciate it,” Micah added, “and there never seemed to be a good time to ask you. Before now.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I do appreciate it.” She looked at him, not knowing what the protocol between them was. Should she hug him? Kiss his cheeks? Do nothing?
Micah answered her by sitting down. “It’s my pleasure. Now you have no excuse to let me worry about you.”
A bubbly joy spouted up in Katja’s belly. Someone worried about her. Micah worried about her. It felt good.
They dug into the simple meal of pork cutlets with potatoes. Katja wrinkled her top lip. The meat was on the dry side. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep trying.”
Micah grunted happily. “You can’t be good at everything.”
Katja supposed he was right. Micah poured two glasses of sparkling water and she took a sip of hers. “We’ll need the whole bottle to get this dinner down,” she joked.
He motioned to her new phone. “You could call your mother. I’m sure she’d like to hear from you on your birthday.”
Katja rested her fork on her plate in slow motion. “I doubt she even remembers.”
Micah considered her. “You’re her daughter,” he said softly. “I’m sure she remembers. Call her.”
Katja stared at her hands, her happiness draining from her.
Micah startled her by shifting over to the empty chair closest to her. He stared into her eyes. “What happened?”
Katja supposed he found it odd that she never communicated with her mother, especially in light of the fact that he talked to his all the time.
“My father left my mother and me when I was five,” she began. “For a couple of years it was just the two of us, and it was okay. At least I thought it was okay. I didn’t know my mother had started taking pills to cope with her growing depression. Then one day, seemingly out of the blue, she married Horst.”
Katja didn’t know why she was telling Micah this. He was pretty tight-lipped about his own secrets, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Horst was nice enough at first,” she added. “Always bringing me candies and small toys. Then I noticed my mother was getting large in the stomach, and soon afterward my sister Sibylle was born.
“Mama never lost her baby weight, and I grew into my curves. Horst’s affections moved from my mother to me. He was always touching me and flirting with me. Mama was too drugged up by this time to notice, and when I tried to talk to her about it, she called me an ungrateful liar.
“She was just scared. I know that now. She had no way of supporting us without Horst. She lost her job, and eventually she stopped coming out of her room. She barely got out of bed. I was used to the house being empty after school. Sibylle learned to go to our neighbor’s flat until Horst came home.
“One day Horst came home from work early. He’d gotten laid off from his job and had been drinking. When he laid his glassy-eyed glare on me, his lips pulling up into a smarmy smile, I knew I was in trouble. I ran to my room, but I wasn’t fast enough. I tried to block the door with the dresser but he pushed it open and then shoved me onto my bed.”
Katja dared to look at Micah and then closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see his pity. He gripped her hand and squeezed.
The emotions of that moment flooded back like the attack had happened yesterday: Horst’s heavy body pinning her down, his putrid breath choking her, the stench of his hand clasped over her mouth, and the fear that exploded in her mind, incapacitating her. The way he thrust his meaty hand under her shirt, scratching her flesh with jagged nails. How she trembled with disgust when it found its way under her bra and squeezed her breast. The shameful and filthy way she felt being touched by him. His ropy lips on her neck.
She swallowed hard at the memories. A quiet sob escaped her lips. “I squirmed and tried to fight back, but he weighed twice as much as me. My mother was passed out from pills in the next room. She was there, but couldn’t help me.
“And then a miracle happened. My friend Henni stopped by. I’d taken her math textbook by accident. She knew I was usually home alone after school, so she just walked in, looking for me. She appeared at my doorway before Horst could move. He was so drunk, he just started laughing at the shock on her face. Like being caught trying to rape your step-daughter was hilarious.”
Katja’s hazel eyes were wet with tears. “That’s why I can’t go back. That’s why I can’t call.”
Micah nodded with understanding. “What about your sister? Is she safe?”
“I hope so. She’s actually his blood daughter. I’m not related to him, except through marriage. I don’t think he’d touch her. Besides, she’s only eleven.” Horst was a pervert, but he wasn’t a pedophile. She’d found his stack of dirty magazines. He liked his women post pubescent.
