Wow, I cannot believe today is our 6-year anniversary.
M, let me take you down memory lane:
8 years ago I was cursing my luck when the most conceited blond smiley-boy joined our class in the Wirtschaftsgymnasium. I remember he sat behind me, next to A, as they knew each other from secondary school. I got him into trouble in his first English lesson by suggesting he give a smart answer to our military-minded teacher. Stupidly he did. Yes, I can be mean and I did not like him. His arrogant manner, the way he started hanging around with the people I liked, that he always needed to be centre of attention, his clothes, the colour of his hair, the way he walked, just everything made me wish he had not come into my life. When M (another classmate) and I decided to initiate special days (suit-day, blue hair day, etc.) he was the first to comment negatively. But surprise, surprise, he did turn up in a suit and agreed to put blue gunk on his hair.
He really brought out the worst in me: I remember trying to throw a wet sponge in his face during lesson time. I cannot remember the full turn of events, only that he sat behind me and for some reason pissed me off. Hot headed as I was, I stood up in the middle of the maths lesson and strode towards the blackboard. There I picked up the wet sponge, turned around and walked back to my place. I cannot remember if I threw the sponge at that point, or if M had jumped out of his seat and had moved away. The next memory I have is of me standing in front of the maths teacher with the sponge, trying to get a good aim at M who was hiding BEHIND the teacher. WHAT the teacher must have thought is beyond me! Anyway, I was sent from the room for “unruly conduct”. Good thing too, I guess.
But the idiot always used to take any opportunity to put my back up: I used to visit C at the Freies Gymnasium during her lunch hour on Fridays and of course came back stoned out of my mind. He was the one who got the WHOLE class singing “En Haifisch, en Haifisch, das isch en Fisch wo high isch”. Every Friday I would have to listen to a choir of young halfwits singing that song. Thankfully the weed was of very good quality.
I will never forget the first time he called me. At that time I used to hold regular telephone marathons with two classmates. But anyway, in those days we did not have ISDN so when M introduced himself I nearly dropped the phone in shock. I was so taken aback that I forgot to be polite and asked him straight out: “why on earth are you calling me?!”
But we chatted, I was civil, unsure if his calling was some elaborate trick of his mates. Somehow we started to get on and very soon after I found out that he was a Jehovah’s Witness. My interest in him increased tenfold! Conversations on “the meaning of life” and “God” were my favourite at that time. So I began to pick his brains on the Bible, the holy trinity, no sex before marriage, etc. Our telephone conversations became longer but I remained unsure if I liked him, as he still acted as if he was God’s gift to mankind.
He turned 18 and inherited a little Polo car from his brother. Our telephone conversations gave way to regular (almost daily) night time visits during which we talked until the wee hours of the morning. I believe many discussions were about my heavy consumption of illegal substances which he could and did not want to accept. Our feelings for each other were growing, but this budding relationship was further hampered by his baptism as a JW. Besides disapproving of smoking in general, the JW do not encourage relationships with people outside their religion. Cue a hard time for both of us, during which we maintained the status “just good friends”.
Fast forward to August 11, 1999, the day of the total solar eclipse. A few classmates & I had decided to drive up to a field in France somewhere to witness the spectacle. It was just after the summer holidays and M had been to America. He used to go on about me wearing flared trousers (I was a regular little hippie – sort of flower girl meets Dracula type of gal) and I positively HATED the clothes that he wore (disgusting fleece jackets and sensible tapered brown jeans - Mummy's choice). So imagine my pleasure when the boys came to pick me up and he stepped from the bus in absolutely gorgeous black flares! Apart from really liking those trousers (yes, I know) I interpreted his change of style as a sign that he really did like me.
Actually our getting together is not romantic at all. It was, so to speak, a third-party decision. After having “lost” the rest of the class at the Grün 99 (a class trip where we sort of forgot that we were with the class), some stunts where we went walking in the 9 o’clock break and came back one HOUR later claiming that we had not heard the bell (so embarrassing) or sitting in front of the classroom talking whilst the others were inside having a lesson, the others had finally tired of our repeated “no we are not together” and decided that as of that day we were.
A week or so later, tragedy hit my life when a good friend got hit by a drunk driver and died. My world came crashing down, leaving me reeling. C and M both helped me through those dark weeks, even though they intensely disliked each other (and still do, although both have grudgingly come to accept the other’s presence in my life). It was during that phase that M really established himself as someone I could lean on and I began to trust him.