by Hope Franke
To that end, she brushed and blow-dried her hair and applied a small amount of make-up. She cleaned the bathroom and straightened the living room. The kitchen was already spotless. Her half-empty bottle of wine sat beside the microwave. She almost dumped it, but couldn’t face pouring good money down the drain. She put it in one of the cupboards out of sight. Her stomach was ready for a little food, so she ate a piece of toast, washing her plate and knife immediately afterward.
Now what to do? Laundry? She could wash his clothes, but that would mean going into his bedroom, and she didn’t feel comfortable doing that. She dusted the TV and the end tables, pausing at the mystery door to see if it was still locked.
Yup.
She sat on the sofa and stared at the bare walls.
And she got an idea.
Taking her sketch pad and drawing pencils, she headed out into the spring sunshine, wearing a light jacket with her torn jeans. She planted her sunglasses firmly on her face. It was a short walk to the park, where she claimed one of the few empty benches. She wasn’t the only artist to be found along the banks of the River Elbe capturing the landmarks on paper. After sketching out the skyline to her satisfaction, she walked across the bridge, pausing near the arched gateway to the old town to sketch a street musician playing the violin. Then she continued on, entering the city square that surrounded the Frauenkirche. A dog lying in the sun at its owner’s feet at an outdoor café caught her interest. She sat at a table across from them and ordered an espresso, and busily sketched the dog while sipping at it.
She had three sketches she liked when she headed for a euro store to buy frames and finishing nails. She knew Micah had a small tool kit in the bathroom beside the washing machine. It had to have a hammer in it.
When she got back to the flat she chose a bare wall in the living room and hung her three framed sketches in a cluster. She smiled with satisfaction. They looked good there.
It was almost six and Katja wanted to make dinner for Micah for a change. She cubed the chicken breasts she’d found, added a jar of curry sauce and simmered it on the back of the stove. She kept her attention on the task at hand. She didn’t want to burn or overcook anything this time. She made a pot of rice, timing it precisely, and prepared a salad. She grabbed a couple bills from the fruit bowl and raced to the bakery café around the corner. She bought a fresh loaf of bread and two slices of apple cake for dessert.
When she returned, she smelled smoke. Oh no! She should’ve turned the chicken down. She quickly moved the pan off the element and opened the windows. What was she thinking? Did she want to burn the place down?
This was not exactly the scene she wanted Micah to come home to. What now?
She dialed the number for the Thai restaurant down the street. If she hurried she could be back before Micah got home.
Somehow she managed to have the table set including a new bottle of sparkling water, when Micah arrived.
“Hey,” he said when their eyes met. His gaze moved from her to the dinner waiting on the table.
“Hey,” she said. She felt nervous and embarrassed. “It’s just takeout.”
Micah set his briefcase down and removed his suit jacket. “I’ll wash up first.”
“Okay.” Katja sat in what had become her place at the table. Micah returned wearing jeans and his dress shirt untucked. His top button was undone. No tie.
Katja gulped. He was so attractive.
She managed to find a few words. “How was your day?” Okay, they were lame words.
“Good. And yours?”
Really, they already sounded like a boring old married couple.
“Look, Micah,” Katja started. “About last night.”
Micah’s eyes glistened with amusement. “It’s fine, Katja. You went out. You had fun.”
“Still, I should’ve told you. I should’ve invited you. I don’t usually drink that much. I don’t know what got into me.”
He grinned. “It’s okay. You were cute.”
Katja’s jaw dropped. Did he really just say that?
Micah turned his attention to the meal in front of him and dug in. She wished that he’d keep talking, or at least ask her questions, but he seemed okay with the silence.
“I have something to show you,” Katja said after they were finished eating. He followed her into the living room, and she showed him the wall. Micah’s expression remained staid as he stared at her sketches. She worried that he didn’t like them, or worse that he was angry she’d taken it upon herself to hang art without asking.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed,” she mumbled.
“No, no. They’re great.” He turned to her, taking in her face. “You’re really talented. Not just with music, it seems.”
Katja felt her lips tug up. A compliment from Micah meant the world. “Thanks.”
Just when she thought their relationship might take a turn, Micah’s cell rang. His mother again. He disappeared into his room, and twenty minutes later he returned, turned on the TV and watched the news.
It was just like any other night. Nothing had changed.
The next morning, Katja sat at the kitchen table, her notebook opened up to a new page, her pen lying beside it. She picked out notes on her guitar and hummed, then she gripped her pen and started scribbling.
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
She nibbled on her pen, considering Micah and how different they were from each other. If she were smart, she would leave this place. If he were smart, he’d make her.
And you know, you should know
That to stop just means you should go
(I should go)
We live in different worlds
She quit when she noticed the time. She had a half-hour slot booked to busk in the square in the old town. It was her first time to get this location, and it was prime for busking with a lot of pedestrians, especially this time of year. She put away her notepad and packed up her guitar. It was a fifteen-minute walk, and her arms would burn by the time she got there. She needed to arrive with enough time to let them recover.
It was warm enough now that she no longer needed gloves, which made playing much easier. The strings didn’t go out of tune so quickly. She opened her case, dropping a few coins in, strapped the guitar on, checked the tuning and began to play. Most of the people kept walking by on their way to shop, or to work, or to sight-see, but some stopped to listen, and a few threw money into the case.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she felt happy to play for so many people, even if they weren’t exactly listening.
Then her gaze landed on a familiar face, and her heart stuttered.
Micah.
He stood there in his blue suit jacket, a white cotton scarf around his neck, and dress pants that hung perfectly over leather shoes. The breeze blew curls off his face.
How long had he been watching her?
And why did she care? Why did his presence make her pulse race? It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard her play before, but it was the first time he’d seen her in action on the street. This was her turf, and it was far from the wealthy, sterile world of banking.
What was he doing here?
Then she remembered he worked at a bank in the center of the old town.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her song. When she opened them, he was still there watching. She looked for a sign that he enjoyed what he heard and what he saw, but his brow inched down and his eyes narrowed.
He didn’t understand her. He thought she was a fool.
Maybe she was.
He left before she finished, so she didn’t get a chance to talk to him. She bought groceries with the money she’d earned, and he made dinner when he got home, just like usual. She didn’t say anything about seeing him at the square. She didn’t think he would say anything either. Micah was consistently the strong, silent type
, but that night he proved her wrong.
“Why?” he asked simply.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? I mean, I get that you like to play guitar and write songs, and you’re good, but making a living as a musician is obviously very, very hard.”
Obviously.
“So, you think I should be a secretary or a nurse or something and just do music for fun?”
Micah shrugged. “Why not? At least then you’d be able to support yourself.”
It was like a cement truck backed into the room and started dumping when he said that. Katja caught her breath. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“No, I didn’t…”
Katja stood and started clearing the table. “It’s fine. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I get it.”
She felt a tug on her arm. Micah towered over her, his head tilting, a look of remorse on his face. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Katja. I’m just trying to understand.” The melancholy he’d been masterfully hiding returned to his eyes. “Why did you leave home?”
She found his nearness intoxicating. She backed up, shaking it off. This quiet, sad man was not for her.
He ducked to force her to look into his eyes. “Help me to understand.”
She gave him a sharp look. “My stepfather and I don’t get along. Let’s just say he wants more from our relationship than I’m willing to give.” Katja blinked hard. She couldn’t believe she just blurted that out. That was private and none of his business.
Anger flashed behind Micah’s dark eyes. “I see.”
She turned. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. Have you reported him?”
She hadn’t. It would only cause more trouble. Just another thing he couldn’t understand about her. “Can we drop it? I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“Okay.”
She wanted to say something to remove the dark, heavy blanket that had fallen over them. “Come to my gig at the Blue Note.” Maybe that would help him to understand.
Micah’s gazed softened, but he didn’t quite smile. “I’ll be there.”
Katja told Micah she had to leave early to set up. It was true, but she also didn’t want him to feel like this was a date.
Maurice let her in, giving her a friendly, boisterous pep talk, and she set up her stuff on the stage. A guy named Holgar set up the house sound system and she tested the mic. The guitar sounds bounced off the walls, but that would fix itself when the room filled.
Hopefully, it would fill.
What if no one showed? No one but Micah? That would be so embarrassing and further prove his point that she should do something more responsible with her life.
She breathed deeply with relief when people started showing up and the seats filled. She recognized the regulars, including Sebastian and his gang, and waved as they walked in. She froze to the spot when Micah entered. He was dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt. He looked freshly showered. He drew a hand through his hair when he spotted Katja, messing it in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
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.
