Sunday, May 17, 2009

A Most Agreeable Semester




'Tis true. I am home in California, in a land known as "The Valley," where the nights glow softly with the illumination of a thousand sex stores, and mini-kegs are surrounded by lost souls caught between high school and real life huddling to keep warm in the winter of their discontent. It is a land where one never wants for a liquor store or movie theater, abundant in heated swimming pools and wilting trees, where wandering youths find solace in the glowing Beacon of Denny's in the wee hours of the morning. It is a magical place.

I went to Bonn with a quivering eagerness for a different life, but initially found that it was just me living the same life in another country. A slow-burning love smoldered in the background for months before becoming apparent; Bonn would be my Mr. Darcy. At first cold, harsh, and unintelligible, Bonn insulted me with its heritage and wealth (not to mention its finely tailored top-hat and tails) but slowly I unclenched my fists and spent the next few months exchanging complex and witty banter before declaring my love at the last possible moment, finally relinquishing my pride (or prejudice, I forget which one).

Bonn bewitched me, body and soul, and until I re-read Sense and Sensibility, I will stick with this metaphor. Though I am no Elizabeth Bennett (try as I might, I can't learn those dances and the phrases "most agreeable" and "take a turn about the room" usually stop a conversation instead of inviting a more elegant one), I read a lot of books and wear a lot of dirty clothes, so it works. My dying alone amidst the company of a dozen cats and a rocking chair instead of in a handsome Victorian estate is irrelevant to my point.

My point is that it took me a long time to fall in love, and when I did, I fell hard. But the greatest romances are often short-lived, and while in 10 years my life will be drastically different, once or twice I might stop to think about Bonn, where he is now, and if he is married with two children and a farm, just like we talked about that night at the fair. I will wonder about his life without me, and fantasize, just for a moment, that perhaps he is out there thinking of me in my rocker stroking my cat, just as he predicted. I also might one day drunkenly text Bonn, in which case, I apologize in advance.

I loved Bonn, from its train-station "sexy shops" to it's pitiful attempts at Mexican food, from its threatening "ACHTUNG!" messages over PA systems to its jubilant cries of "Alaaf!" during Karneval, from its be-mulleted youths unable to dance with their hips to its inability to detect sarcasm, I loved Bonn. I always will.

But for now, our letters will be tied with ribbon (naturalich) and hidden away to be retrieved only in times of great sadness or great joy as a reminder of a life I once lived, if only for a few short months. I will seal them up with my photos and memories, retell my stories with the fluidity of a glass of wine, and cherish them as my most sacred possession with the ferocity of a mother for her child. Bonn was never mine, but for a brief moment I was his.

And thus ends the self-important memoirs of an idiot in Germany, a foolish girl who thinks she knows about life and has seen a thing or two. So it ends, and so it begins as the new adventures in a distant land, known as "The Valley."

Alles Liebe,
Jess

3 comments: