I always took my German lessons in his tiny boathouse. The boathouse's interior was decked out with an old weathered Chesterfield sofa, a wooden office desk, an overladen bookshelf and the corners of its four walls equipped with Sonos speakers. It was simplistic and nuanced like its primary occupant.
I sauntered down the uneven cobbled path on the left of his house towards the boathouse for my lesson. The electronic beats and strings of a remix track by Placebo / Digital 21 & Stefan Olsdale reverberated against the boathouse's wooden frame. It reminded me of possibly attending an industrial warehouse rave in Berlin at midnight. I told myself I am here to sit and speak German for an hour and catch the train home.
As I wiped my feet on the doormat, he materialised in front of me brandishing some worksheets "you're late, Fräulein".
"Es tut mir leid, Herr Hoffmann (i am sorry, Mr Hoffmann)", I replied.
He gestured for me to sit on the sofa. Taking off his leather biker jacket, he draped it over the armrest revealing his light denim jacket buttoned to the collar and navy scarf. His dark hair was slicked back today and he had an air of acuity.
"You know you can call me by my first heiße. Addressing me solely by my surname sounds so stuffy, old and hierarchal" he stated in English as he placed the worksheets by the desk and sat down to cross his legs on the sofa beside me. "Although i am your Lehrer, am i not also your equal as a human? Let us change the tables around, why don't you teach me something today?"
I baulked, unexpected and unprepared. He wanted to know about my world on my footing so I replied "...alright Wolf, I will teach you how I did my fishtail updo today then. You can try doing my hair later after my demonstration".
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement and a flirtatious air, "show me, Mädchen (girl)".