I couldn't bear to go home just yet. I didn't want to. I didn't want to have to explain myself, it's childish but I knew it would pass. Eventually. As a kid I'd broken my mom's vase once and I'd hid for a good four hours until telling her. That's what I was doing now, thirty-one years later.
What did I do in those dark days?
I sat a lot. Staring out the window or at a wall. I cried a lot, mostly at night. I thought about going out walking but I was scared I'd run into Margot. I didn't want to have intercourse, not this closely to her death. It would feel wrong.
It took me about six days to get over the fact that Joline was dead and there was nothing I could do about it. Then it took me another two to get myself into a position where I could be sure I wouldn't collapse in grief or physical stress on the way home.
When I finally did set out, I was feeling only slightly better. I was depressed, how was I supposed to feel? Like a sugary cupecake?
Even though Fred never fully forgave me for the thing with Chris he DID end up forgiving me for staying so long. The only reason was a companion I made a long the way.
It was out of the city, a bit further and above the place I'd met the girls, and I had already broken into a light sweat. I hear something clank followed by a rather loud cussing session in a language I didn't understand - and didn't want too.
But it WAS another person, so I decided to drive past. At first I didn't see anything, than I saw two boots peeking out from under a car. I held in a laugh, who the fuck was fixing cars? There was no gas; except for at certain stations where one could pump it by hand. But even those had been mosely used up.
I put my foot down, stopping at the other side of the street parallel to the car and the mechanic. "Hey!" I called over. Better to make my prescence clear ASAP or they'd get mad if I scared them. Apparantly I still did because I heard the sound of their head hitting the metal under the car and more and intenser cussing. I surpressed a smile. Whoever it was got out from under that car, worming side-ways. He stood up and brushed himself off. Then he looked up at me. I was surprised at how attractive he was. He had a square jaw, big blue eyes and floppy blonde hair that gave him a childish look even though he must have been in his mid-twenties. "How ya doin?" I asked.
"Hi." He looked at me a bit angrily. Or maybe that was just his face. "I'm alright, what about you?" I hadn't been able to recognize the langauge from the curse words but I was able to recognize the accent - german.
"I'm fine. What're you working on?"
"The car. It was leaking oil. I almost had it finished but then you came." I couldn't tell if it was inpolite or just german. I'd only been in Germany once as a kid and I'd spent more time eyeing the beer then trying to learn the cultural differences.
"Alrighty. This is going to sound weird; but I'm headed for a farm, my farm, we need another pair of hands. Would you like to come?"
"Can't I at least invite you in first, for a beer?" He said with a laugh. And when he laughed that scary germanness was gone and he just looked like another oktoberfest-goer who was plenty cheerfull.
"Sure." I wheeled my bike over and leaned it against the wall. He led me through the garage. I couldn't help but notice how many tools there were. There was also a motorbike, a ducati. It was almost any man's heaven. Too bad I'd been into accouting and not mechanics.
His house didn't smell of benzin or oil. It also didn't smell like beer. It was a roomy place, modern, with a big TV that was unusable like all the others, a radio playing music - playing music? "Hey, what's your name actually, um, the radio is on. Does it run off batteries?"
"No. I built my own "power bank"." He said noncholantly. "And my name is Matthias eh - Matthew."
"Matthias is the German way?" I guessed. He nodded. "Alright, Matthias, my name is Mack. Funny we both start with an M." I said and held out my hand. He gestured at his oil-besmeared hands and I pulled mine away. He then washed up, with some kind of scratchy soap that looked as if it had sand in it. Then he dried off and stuck his hand out to me. I shook it.
"I build stuff like that for fun. Power isn't that hard to make, you just need more resources the bigger of a thing you want to run with it."
"Yeah. That's fucking cool, man. A man like you is worth a lot in a time like now." It was phrased weirdly but he knew what I meant.
"Would you like a Pilsner or a Weissbier?" He asked me. He opened his fridge and cold air blew out; he literally had a running fridge!
"I'll take whatever you have." So he got two Pilsner out and opened them both, handing me one. "Cheers!"
"Prost!" We clinked bottles.