Doubt Cloud: I am intrinsically flawed. I know it.
Brokenhearted, I let Gisela whisk Papa away eternally.
This afternoon, when the word “Papa” slips from my lips, Mother exclaims in an upset tone of voice, “He is no father. Why don’t you stop calling him that? A sperm donor, that is all he is and nothing more. A real father would never do what he did to you!” I admit, Papa’s behavior wounded me deeply, but I have a hard time incorporating Mother’s suggested terminology. So, I don’t.
~~~
It’s a crisp, blue-sky summery morning. I fervently parade around the asphalt front yard of the red brick elementary school building, wearing a shy grin on my face, while holding a huge cone-shaped goody bag in front of my body. The conehead-shaped container that stands about a meter tall is a customary present that parents give their children on the day they enter first grade. Mine runs over with Schlickersachen. Much to my liking, I admit.
I giddily explore my surroundings, but upon seeing a few fathers march in to accompany their daughters, the look on my face turns to rain. I so wish Papa was here. But he’s too busy making babies with Gisela. At least, that’s the impression I got from hearing Mother talk. Gulp.
~~~
Fast forward to a year from now—Mother informs me that Dad has become the proud father of a son.
Enviola: It’s the ultimate betrayal. Now I will, for sure, never matter again.
Blushetta’s Curse
The mere sight of Mrs. Huber, the fifty-something-year-old, long-nosed elementary school principal who wears her braided white hair rolled up in a bun, invokes sheer panic in me, especially when she looks at me with her stinging gray eyes. Each time she lectures, I hear only a wee bit of what she is trying to convey because I’m consumed with anticipating her every move. I mean, honestly, who’d be foolish enough to risk falling victim to any one of her notoriously unjust disciplinary actions, by needlessly shining the light on oneself?
This morning, I sit erect like a statue, quiet like a mouse in my chair, following her agitated silhouette demeanor, wishing and hoping that I won’t be the one the cobra strikes out at today. I watch Heinrich, the fellow in front of me, form grimaces behind the principal’s back. Can’t help but burst out laughing; no, timidly giggling. Before I know it, Mrs. Huber, whose expression now reminds me of a slightly irate canine, stomps my way and stops right next to my desk.
Scaredy Cat: Don’t breathe.
“Stand up and hold your hands out,” she sternly demands. Reluctantly, I follow the order. At once, the ruler swishes down on my fingers. I flinch, feel the water build up around the rims of my lower eyelids, but I put forth every effort to keep actual tears from rolling.
Tough Gal: Don’t give her that gratification.
Scaredy Cat: I won’t. Sure hope though, there isn’t going to be much more of this.
I feel the sharp pain of the ruler hailing down on my hands a second time. Mrs. Huber turns away from me and waddles back to her podium.
It is around this time in first grade that I see more of Blushetta, the part inside me that turns redder than a rooster’s comb when all eyes are on me, like when the teacher calls on me, for instance.
Blushetta: They know so much, and I know nothing. I am nothing. I hate that they have some sort of power over me.
I don’t remember when blushing first ambushed me. It likely started before I entered school. Regardless, I cannot shake the suspicion that Blushetta is here to stay, that there is nothing I can do to keep her at bay unless a miracle happens.
Scaredy Cat: Maybe it’s just some stupid phase that will vanish as you get older.
I hope so. From now on, I will study the faces of people much closer, eager to find the smallest bit of evidence of Blushetta in them. I barely come across anyone, but the times that I do, I rejoice.
Blushetta: That’s nice, but I know they don’t have it as bad as I do. No way.
Enviola: I wonder what makes the majority of folks so lucky to being spared this pestering fluke.
Doubt Cloud: It’s so fucking unfair.
To outsmart this nuisance, I discover that if I can pose a question to a person before they can, then I can keep Blushetta under wraps.
Blushetta: It’s a start, but it only scratches the surface of my predicament. You must find a reliable antidote with lasting effect.
Scaredy Cat: You have to. I can’t fathom having to walk on eggshells for the rest of my life trying to outsmart this hideous dilemma.
Doubt Cloud: It’s like wearing a “Come disrespect me because I have no self-esteem” label on my forehead.
In nature though, all my timidity vanishes. Being an avid climber, I can conquer tall trees. My favorite is the birch tree that reigns over the playground of the Middle School. My friend Susie and I creep up the strong branches this afternoon. Much to our surprise, we find an inviting, human-sized nest that must have been built by previous tree enthusiasts. It is constructed and secured in one of the branch forks, held together by several layers of sturdy twig bunches that are topped with leaves.
Pretender Babe: Awww. I’m just gonna close my eyes and pretend I am with Tarzan in the jungle.
Pristina: I would love to spend the night up here.
~~~
This afternoon, a few neighborhood kids and I light a campfire near the shrubs of the public playground. We roast marshmallows and potatoes on sticks. Someone suggests playing “Indians hunting for squaws” where the boys entrap the girls and ultimately, tie their catch to a tree.
I purposely make it easy for my favorite, Frank, to capture me. Now that he’s got me, he fastens the rope tightly around my wrists and binds me to the nearest trunk. This bondage game tickles me and even makes me forget all about Blushetta.
The Newbie
Somewhere around age seven, Mother introduces us to Otto, a tall slender man who is four years her junior. Unlike the bushy, curly head of hair that Dad carries, Otto’s dirty blond tresses hang straight down almost to his chin. He wears Beatles-style clothes, and his reddish mustache outlines his lips like a pointy-edged horseshoe.
Within a few months, the two marry. I feel hollow, like my inner light has permanently turned off ever since that dreadful day that Dad bailed on us.
Pristina: What concerns me is—why do people have to start new lives with other people?
~~~
Early 1970’s
Nearly a year has gone by since Otto entered our lives. He attains his engineering degree and with the hike in income, we immediately set course for a rustic farm in the relaxing backcountry of the Austrian Alps. Having calves tickle the top of my hand with their scratchy tongues, and grunting pigs nudge my fingers with their cute slimy round noses as I feed them potato peels, brings instant brightness to my grieving presence. Vicki and I spend some time amongst the tethered black-and-white mottled cows taking turns squirting milk into each other’s mouths straight from their udders.
On the Feldweg, Sis and I encounter a snake. Petrified of its potential for being poisonous, one of us—I forget who—throws a brick on top of the serpent. Freaked out by the blood that splatters us, we escape the scene with shrill screams. Dust laden, speckled with red dots on various body parts and clothing, and clouded in animal scent, we schlep through the dimly lit corridor of the farmhouse, up the stairs to the room that we share with the “adults”.
“Supper will be served in roughly forty minutes. But…Pfui Teufel…look at you. You both need to wash up before we eat,” Mother yells out.
With Otto in need of a shower as well, the “adults” decide that for the sake of saving time, the three of us better share the basement stall, which barely measures two and a half square feet.
I step inside the basin first, wearing a one-piece bathing suit that I am determined to leave on. Only inches separate me from Otto who towers in front of me. With barely enough room to move, I feel forced to look his way. My eyes catch glimpses of him joyfully lathering away at his private part. I feel horribl
y uncomfortable, especially now that I notice his thing increasing in size.
“I know, it’s big,” he brags, wagging his erect penis my way.
I giggle, but in all earnestness, I wish for the ability to dissolve into thin air. As fast as humanly possible, I wash off any residue of soap on me and escape the enclosure.
Now that we are gathered around the dining room table, no one mentions a word about the incident. Hence, I file it away in the chest of Forever Buried Secrets.
~~~
Amsterdam, Netherlands – 8 Years Old
Three weeks have passed since we returned from the farm. This morning, we leave for a weekend trip to the land of the Dutch. An uncomfortable yet exciting feeling washes over me as I walk beside Mother, Bruno and Vicki down the famous Canal Street on this gloomy gray sky day.
With each step, I feel like I should be watching my back because, according to the “adults”, this area is famous for drug dealing and other questionable behavior. I think that it is best not to let my guard down. Who knows what could transpire at any given moment? Sure enough, while I am brooding over this and more, a couple of strange-looking men approach us. I hear them say something to the “adults,” but can’t make out what. The fellows’ dark secretive demeanors frighten me. As quickly as they arrived, they now take off running, fully disappearing from my sight. Otto reveals that they tried to sell us hashish, something quite common to this vicinity.
Around the next corner, I spot an inviting red-and-white building. The “adults” set course for it, and Vic and I follow closely. Upon entering, I see them light up like little children in a candy store. “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back,” Mother hollers while hanging onto Otto’s hand as he pulls her along. They both vanish in the far back end of the room. I look at Sis in bewilderment. Next thing I know, Vicki takes off to the other side of the store, and I, although still uncomfortable, explore some of the items displayed on the shelves in front of me. Something tells me I’ve seen similar gadgets and garments inside one of those glossy catalogs at our house…maybe even inside the “adult’s” bedroom.
Five minutes pass. Sis and I reunite. We look at a few of the magazines and gizmos together, giggling here and there when picking up one that appears overly-bizarre, like the two silver balls that each hang on a string for instance or the band of cheap looking pearls that, as far as I understand, isn’t intended to be worn around one’s neck.
Now that fifteen minutes have passed, I see Mother and Otto head our way from the back end of the room. They show up in front of my face within seconds, instantaneously herding Vic and I outside where we continue the sightseeing. At one part of the road, several buildings with big showcase windows catch my eyes. Behind the glass, I make out alluring women lolling around in skimpy outfits. I can sense my pulse beat faster. Otto enthusiastically photographs some of the ladies from about twenty feet away. The word Nutten drops from his mouth.
Utterly fascinated, I watch the prostitutes’ every move.
Blushetta: They look like rock stars.
Affirmative.
~~~
Costa Del Sol, Spain – 1971
Vacation falls upon us again. This time we set course for Calpe, a lively coastal town in the south of Spain with a dry, hot climate. Excitement escalates as we pass underneath the brown hacienda-style gate that says, “Welcome to the Campground” on the upper beam.
Thanks to family team efforts, our tent is set up in no time. Once everything’s put into place, we hurry down to the water to get a good look at the humongous glistening waves of the Mediterranean Sea. I drop onto the towel in my tri-color striped bikini and take in a few strong gulps of the invigorating ocean air. Vicki, who’s nearly eight now, snaps off her top and flops down right next to me on the quilt.
Miss Vanity: Whew. Not I. I am skinny as a rail.
Blushetta: And who needs it? It’s only going to increase the chances of being ridiculed by Otto.
Scaredy Cat: Yeah. I don’t need him to comment on my feminine development or the lack thereof.
Miss Vanity: Besides, I got enough to deal with having to hide my smile after the “adults” and Vicki accused me of having Bugs Bunny teeth not long ago, suggesting I refrain from showing them altogether because they aren’t a pretty sight to see.
It really doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, because I hear Otto assign me the new label “The Prude”, which amuses everyone but me.
~~~
A Couple of Years Later
The “adults” present Vicki and me with the choice between three weeks of down time on the dude ranch by the Swiss border that I have been to before or a trip to Spain. I sign up for the country adventure again, while Vic settles for fun in the sun.
~~~
I feel on top of the world now that I gallop the pony I’m assigned to take care of for the next two weeks, bareback, through seemingly endless woods. What could be better than jumping over fallen logs, participating in herding sheep, and taking part in group rides from city to city? Happiness has returned.
Aside from falling in love with the lifestyle, I develop a huge crush on Benny, one of the head wranglers, who gains my vote for the most amazing-looking boy ever. My legs turn to mush when I see him prance around bare-chested on top of the stunning palomino stallion, radiating like a crystal. He reminds me of an Apache warrior, although his hair is not nearly as long as that of a native Indian chief. No doubt he is every girl’s dream.
Romantika (a.k.a. Romy): It really hurts that he doesn’t take much notice of me.
Doubt Cloud: I can see how he digs the cooler, more experienced-looking chicks on this ranch. Well, how can he possibly like someone like me? A boring looking gal who’s lacking development in all the right places—whatever the right places are—pale, with flat, dull, brown hair and no make-up.
Consequently, I attach myself to a few of those hip and trendy gals and study them closely in the hopes that some of their magic is going to rub off on me.
Coming to terms with the fact that Benny will probably remain forever unattainable, I settle for his buddy, Holger. Holger is cute, too, but I do not lose myself in fantasies about him, the way I do about Benny.
Much to my surprise, on this full moon night, some of the cool chicks ask me to tag along to a river party; I gladly accept. We sneak out of the dorm at nine, making our way down the dark, deserted country road. Seeing everybody dive into the dense, pitch-black cornfield each time a headlight moves our way makes me giggle.
The party is already winding down. I take a seat on the grass near the fire and listen to the intoxicated guitar player while sipping on my beer. Twenty minutes pass. By now, most of the crowd has dwindled, and we slowly embark on the trip back to the girls’ lodge. As we stroll along, one of the cool girls suggests that we take a detour to the boys’ ranch house, located approximately two miles from our domicile. Everyone agrees. I’m elated.
We arrive. Not having a clue about which boys sleep where, I knock on the window of the trailer that is parked on the front lawn of the main barn. I hold my breath. To my surprise, Holger’s face comes up behind the glass. He signals that he will be right out. His shapely body shows up in front of me, covered only by a pair of washed-out blue jeans.
“Hey you,” he says in a low tone of voice that bears excitement.
My heart begins to race, as he playfully pulls me inside the trailer and locks the door behind us.
“I am so glad you came by.”
His hands scout out my physique while we roll around on top of his bed. He takes off my shirt. Instantly, I press my warm breasts against his chest. We kiss. He attempts to pull down my pants but Scaredy Cat panics. I free myself from his embrace.
“I am really sorry, sweetie, but I have to leave.”
“Dang, girl. Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“I don’t want them to come looking for us, you know? We’ve already been out for some time. I’ll see you again soon, I hope.” I give him a quick kiss
on his mouth and head for the door. After spending several minutes rounding up the rest of the gals, we all depart.
Two days go by and Holger and I collide again. This time, we retreat into the quiet hay barn behind the riding arena in broad daylight. After a couple of hours of kissing and necking, a kid finds his way onto the hay stacks and informs me that my parents are waiting in the office.
Ragelina: Fuck. They are way ahead of schedule…not supposed to be here until days from now.
Scaredy Cat: I better leave. Too risky to make ‘em wait.
Romy: Trading going home for this? Are you out of your mind? I’m not going.
With a heavy heart and a giant pout on my face, I tear away from Holger’s embrace and grudgingly make my way over to the main house. Upon arrival, I ask the “adults” for an extended stay, but they demand that I get into the Mercedes immediately. They carry me—one holding my upper body, the other my legs—and wrangle me into the backseat of the vehicle. Unable to contain my rage, crying hysterically, hissing and moaning, I struggle like a wild animal that’s being stuffed inside a cage. I hate them for taking away my happiness.
CHAPTER 2
Rapture Amongst the Trees
Some woods are clean, others are dirty, and still others are dirty in quite a different way.
Black Forest Region – Mid 1970’s
The sound of crackling twigs giving way under my shoes fills my heart with a wondrous urge for adventure. Greedily, I suck in more of the beguiling forest scent that’s pervading the air. I stand still for a moment and focus my gaze on the tour bus over by the Autobahn’s rest stop parking lot. Several of my classmates, who now appear the size of toy soldiers, busily dart into all Himmelsrichtungen.
My mind revisits the swell time I had at the school country home this past week, but quickly switches to trying to predict what the minefield-like atmosphere at my house in Wolfsburg a few hours from now is going to be.
Dealing Flesh Page 2
