“I hate this fucker!”
Jonathan threw one of the darts as hard as he could, missing the bull´s eye only by a milimetre.
“Fuckgood shot. I could kill him, this little ass.” He threw another one. “Paul, sincerely, I could kill him.”
“Good lord, man, who are you even talking about?”
“Her friggin lecturer. Silke, she keeps raving about him, this punk. Oh, he´s sooo intellectual. He´s sooo interesting. He´s always so well–dressed. Bah!”
He hurled his last dart against the wall.
“If I hear about him just one more time, I swear, Paul, just one more time, I won´t be able to control myself.” He smiled while he said it, but it was not clear what exactly that smile meant.
This is part of the ongoing A Big Plate of Sideorders series, an Erasmus memory.
“Okay, all right. Well, do you know his name?” I asked, running through the list of lecturers at my departments. “I mean, after all, I do study the same subject as she does, right? I might actually know him.”
“Of course I know his name. As often as I need to hear it, do you think I could forget it? His name is…” He was gathering strength to cover the name with a rich topping of vitriol: “Petzold, this pisshead!”
I needed to laugh. “Oh, Jonathan! You have never actually seen him, have you?”
Jonathan hissed, “No, I haven´t. And that´s probably also better. For him.”
“Well, if you had, you would know that he is approximately one head shorter than you are and also close to retirement. He is cute, ya, he is, but more in the sense of cute like a tiny grey-haired man who loves Harry Potter books, that´s how cute he is.”
Jonathan was one big breathing question mark. “Really?”
“No nonsense, man.” My face was one big grin. “She has never mentioned those facts, right?”
“She´s a clever girl then. You are as safe as money in the bank. Relax.”
“No pulling legs?”
“None of this, Jonathan. Really, you are droll.” I padded him on the shoulder. “Next time, ask Google, I mean seriously.”
Apparently, Jonathan and his lady shared their jealousy. While Silke provoked him with her old professor, she herself was informed that Jonathan´s tandem partner was about the fuck-ugliest chick he could have ever met. In reality, she was a young hottie with, as Jonathan put it, fine firm boobs. He had not touched them ever, he swore, but she was a Nine to Ten and it was better if Silke did not know about that.
“Usually I speak with my old man about girls”, Jonathan mentioned. “He always has the right answer.”
“I guess he´d also urge you to google the name next time.”
“Possible. Not that long ago, for example, I noticed that I started to like blonde girls a lot. Indescribably, blondes everywhere. Around every corner. I was magically attracted to all of them. I swear I couldn´t look the other way. Blonde above all others. They completely turned me on. Well, and Silke is…”
“…not so blonde.”
“Exactly”, he agreed vehemently. “So, I was able to speak with my father about all that. He´s a tremendous listener and knew exactly what to say. He´s very fastwitted when it comes to these matters.”
“So he told you to…?”
“He said I should just ask Silke to dye her hair.”
“Isn´t it?” Jonathan threw his darts again, this time much calmer and far more effectively.
“I believe it was wonderful having your girl over for some time.”
“Sure it was. When we hugged each other at the airport, for the first time in months, it just felt amazing.”
“I can imagine.”
“You know, to finally have a woman in your arms again. And believe you me, I had really missed that feeling. When we came to the DH Lawrence house, we needed to clean for half the day, so dirty it was.” Jonathan picked up the ricochet. “But after that, we fucked all rest of the day.”
I almost spat out my tea.
“Okay, thanks for the info.”
Jonathan laughed. I remembered the nude he had shown me upon my arrival to Liverpool. He was a little tactless sometimes. Silke was a slender gal. She had long stick-straight hair, and a good body.
Jonathan had been with her for quite some years now. They knew each other from back in the days in Southern Bavaria. She had stayed with him from his wilder boxing days until he became a stiff-backed shirt-wearing student of Philosophy, German Language and History in Erlangen and had followed him there. When he had cut off his shoulder-length curls, she had been furious. But through all phases and shifts she stood with him. I, on the other hand, had gone from short to long hair, from clean-shaved to full beard, yet, just like Silke to her Jonathan, Sandra had always been there by my side.
But it was difficult, of course.
For Jonathan, it all looked like a simple arithmetic discipline. I gave her a ring, he said, and I wrote her a letter, and everything is okay, so you buy your girl a ring too and write her a letter, and things gonna be swell.
“When is your woman coming over?” he asked.
“Two weeks to go.”
He grinned. “Any trip to the Lawrence house planned?”
“Not until now at least.”
“Interesting place.” Jonathan laughed loudly. “Give it a try. It has history.”