Preaching to the Choir

by Kitty Parker

  Ana gave me a stern look. "Kurt Matthews. Spill."

  "He's just some guy I go to school with," I sighed. "No one special."

  Onkel Franz wagged his finger at me. "Ach, but if he vas not special, Bryce vould not haff mentioned him, yes?"

  "Actually, Kurt and Lotte have quite the history," Eden divulged. "It's one of those love-hate relationships."

  "Except there's no 'love' part of it," I amended.

  "That's her story, anyway," Bryce chuckled.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "Oh? Do have a different story that you'd like to share with the class?"

  He nodded emphatically. "Yes, actually, I do. I have a theory," he informed the entire table. "That Lotte and Kurt are going to wind up married, living in a suburb, with 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and a dog."

  "Cat," Eden corrected him. "Lotte would definitely have a cat."

  "And I don't think Lotte would have such a cookie-cutter, traditional American life, either," added Ana. "She's not the white picket fence type."

  "She's sitting right here!" I snapped. "Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room! And you," I pointed at Bryce. "Banish those ridiculous thoughts from your mind!"

  "You are a bit defensive, Lotte," Tante Elsa pointed out, grinning from ear to ear.

  "You are in denial," agreed Onkel Franz.

  Across the table, Lukas tugged on Ana's sleeve, asking what was going on. She gave him a quick explanation, in which I distinctly made out the words "leugnen (deny)" and "verheiratet (married)."

  Lukas giggled. "Lotte hat einen Freund! Lotte hat einen Freund! (Lotte has a boyfriend! Lotte has a boyfriend!)" he teased.

  "Du hast einen Freund, Lotte? (You have a boyfriend, Lotte?)" asked Oma Irmgard, perking up and looking quite excited.

  "NEIN! (NO!)" I shouted, throwing up my hands in exasperation. Only my family could possibly be this nosy.

  "Lass sie in Ruhe (Leave her alone)," Onkel Friedrich sighed.

  The table became quiet. No one ever ignored Onkel Friedrich when he spoke.

  "Verhört sie nicht (Don't interrogate her)," he went on softly (Onkel Friedrich never raised his voice). "Sie will nicht über diesen Jungen sprechen. (She doesn't want to talk about this boy.) Ihr sollt ihre Wünschen respektieren. (You should respect her wishes.)"

  That was the end of the Kurt conversation. Onkel Friedrich was officially my hero.

  ----------------

  After some embarrassing photographs, some awkward translations, some wet kisses, some bone-crushing hugs, and many promises to come see the concert, Bryce, Eden, and I left my grandparents' house and headed for the Tacheles, my favorite spot in all of Berlin. It was located in the middle of the old Eastern sector, on Oranienburgerstraße, a street filled with avant garde artists, unique little restaurants, and, if you went late enough at night, the occasional prostitute. At first glance, the Tacheles looked like an old, graffitied building that had never been rebuilt after the bombings of World War II. Inside, though, it had been turned into art studios and galleries, and there was a fantastic outdoor bar in the back. The ground was covered in sand, and giant metal letters served as benches for those who wished to kick back with a drink. My personal favorite was the "L," because, well, you know. However, as Eden, Bryce and I made our way onto the sand, I saw that the "L" was occupied by a couple who were ferociously making out. Damn them.

  "You guys want a drink?" I asked as Bryce and Eden settled themselves on a large "S."

  Eden shrugged. "Sure."

  "Ditto," Bryce agreed.

  Looking forward to a nice beer, I approached the bar (which happened to be an old VW microbus painted to look like someone's rather colorful acid trip) to peruse the menu. The cheapest item on the list was Berliner Pilsener, or, as my father liked to call it, "Weasel Piss." I obviously wasn't going to get that, despite the price. I personally was a fan of any sort of Hefeweizen, or wheat beer, but it was a gamble as to whether or not Eden and Bryce would like it as well. As I was going to be generous and treat my friends to a drink, I decided to be safe and settle on Beck's.

  "Drei Beck's, bitte (Three Beck's, please)," I requested, handing the bartender the appropriate amount of cash.

  He received the money with a lecherous grin. "Sofort, Schöne. (Right away, beautiful.)" In some weird attempt to entice me, he winked.

  Ew.

  I took the beers that he gave me, thanking him but being sure not to make eye contact. The last thing I wanted was to give Casanova McBrewski there the idea that I was enjoying his flirting.

  "This place is wicked awesome!" Bryce exclaimed as I returned with the drinks.

  "That sentence was wicked Bostonian," Eden giggled as I handed her a beer.

  Bryce grinned and took one for himself. "You know you love it."

  I raised my bottle in a toast. "I'll drink to that."

  Eden followed suit. "To Bryce's Bostonian vocabulary!"

  "Amen!" Bryce clinked the bottom of his beer with each of ours in turn, and we all took a hearty swig. We weren't intending to get drunk, of course. There's just something wrong about being in Germany and not having a beer.

  Sighing contentedly, I lay back on the "S" and looked up at the steadily darkening night sky. I knew that we would have to get back to the hotel relatively soon to prevent Mr. Faulkner from having a coronary, but it was still nice to enjoy the moment.

  "Do you think you'll ever move back to Germany, Lotte?" asked Bryce.

  "Depends," I answered without sitting back up.

  "On what?"

  "On life; job, significant other, family, stuff like that. Anything could happen, you know?"

  To be honest, I'd never really thought about it seriously. I figured that I still had plenty of time to get my life in order, though. Thinking about permanent living arrangements for the distant future was not particularly high up on my priorities list.

  I must have zoned out, because the face that was suddenly right in front of mine shouting "boo" was rather startling.

  Letting out a yelp of surprise, I accidentally rolled off of the "S" and into the sand. "Bryce, what the hell?!" I wailed, rubbing my rear end, which had borne the brunt of my not-so-graceful landing.

  Bryce howled with laughter. "Sorry, Lotte, I just couldn't resist!"

  I threw a handful of sand at him.

  "Hey, that got in my beer!" he whined.

  I smiled triumphantly. "Serves you right, you Dummkopf."

  "Oh no you didn't!" he gasped, pretending to be shocked at my usage of German insults that weren't particularly insulting.

  Eden shook her head. "Oh, I think she did, Bryce. Whatever shall we do with her?"

  Bryce's eyes glinted malevolently. "Oh, I've got a vague idea..."

  ----------------

  "Put me down, you oaf!" I commanded, pounding Bryce's back once again with my fists.

  "Nope," he replied cheerfully, continuing to carry me like a sack of potatoes, just as he'd been doing for the past fifteen minutes. "It's getting late, and we have to head back to the hotel anyway. You might as well enjoy the ride."

  "But everyone's staring!" I hissed.

  "They'd stare less if you'd stop acting as though Bryce was your personal punching bag," Eden pointed out.

  I ceased flailing. "Can I please walk from here?" I begged. "I hate being a spectacle!"

  "Fine." Bryce set me on my feet. "We're at the lobby, anyway."

  As I regained my bearings, I noticed that we were, in fact, standing in front of the double doors at the front of our hotel. I could only hope that no one I knew had been looking out the window. If someone had seen me, I'd never hear the end of it in the morning.

  Bryce, Eden, and I made our way into the lobby, and the two of them headed straight for the elevator. I, however, hung back for a minute to admire a large painting of Marlene Dietrich that was hanging on the wall, then took the stairs.

  As I made my way down the hallway toward my room, my ears were assaulted with a large volume of incoherent m
oaning and grumbling. There seemed to be a problem in room 414. I normally wouldn't have stopped to listen to other people's meltdowns, but I couldn't help but feel personally involved when I heard my name.

  Two different voices - one lower and one higher, but both distinctly male - were involved. The owner of the high voice, whom we shall call Bob for clarity, seemed to be attempting to calm the low voice down. The low voice, whom we shall call Biff, seemed rather upset and frustrated and, if the muffled thumping noises were anything to go by, was taking it out on his pillow.

  "It'll be alright, dude," Bob insisted. "I can't go on like this forever. I mean, the Cold War ended, didn't it?"

  "Gorbachev was a whole fucking lot more friendly than Lotte," grumbled Biff.

  I bristled, fairly insulted at coming out on the negative end of a comparison with a Russian dictator.

  "Well, maybe you should just try a little bit of Detente, then?" Bob suggested.

  Wow, someone must have aced his U.S. history class.

  "Diplomacy?" asked Biff.

  "Exactly."

  "But she's mad at me!"

  My eyes widened. I had a feeling that I knew who Biff was.

  "So what? Approach her in a remorseful way. Prove to her that you're willing to step up to the plate, you know?"

  "What am I supposed to say to her?"

  "Apologize for acting like a horny idiot when you walked in on her."

  "I wasn't...horny..."

  Bob (whom I now suspected to be Adam) chuckled. "Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, you know."

  To avoid completely blowing my cover by bursting into laughter, I bit my tongue and dashed down the hall. Perhaps there was something to be said for old idioms after all.

  Chapter 13: Sag Mir Wo Die Blumen Sind

  "That guy has to be the most obvious tourist I have ever seen."

  I looked to where Jane was subtly indicating. A man was waiting, as we all were, in the long line to get into the Reichstag, wife and kids in tow. He was wearing what had to be the most colorful, garish Hawaiian shirt in the world.

  I wrinkled up my nose. "Why would he want to wear that?"

  "Maybe his wife made him wear it," Eden suggested.

  "Why would she do that?" asked Jane. "I certainly wouldn't want to be seen in a public place with a guy who looked like a wannabe surfer-dude."

  Eden shrugged. "So she won't lose him in crowds if he wanders off?"

  "Ede, this is a fully grown man we're talking about," I pointed out. "He's pretty unlikely to go chasing shiny objects or something and wind up getting lost."

  She held up her hands in surrender. "It was just a thought."

  Jane's eyes widened, and she elbowed me sharply.

  "Ow!" I yelped. "What the hell was that for?"

  "Shh!" she hissed. "Kurt's walking over here."

  I peeked over my shoulder. Sure enough, there was the oh-so familiar tall figure coming toward me, hazel eyes trained on the concrete walkway.

  "Shit," I muttered.

  Jane patted my back. "Just stay cool."

  "Cool. Right, cool." I took a deep breath in, preparing myself for the pending encounter.

  Kurt cleared his throat to signal that he was next to me. I looked up hesitantly, choosing to focus on his chin (which was ever-so-slightly stubbly, but not enough to be completely disgusting) rather than his eyes, which I wasn't sure I could handle at that particular moment.

  "Er, Lotte," he began. "Could we, er…"

  I nodded. "…yeah, we need to…"

  "…um, later?" He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  "Yeah…" I mumbled, turning my gaze away from him and toward the large stone building in front of me. The sentence carved above the entryway - "Dem Deustchen Volke," or, "For the German People"- suddenly became absolutely fascinating.

  "So…" he trailed off. "Um…see you later, then…"

  "Sure…"

  I only deemed it alright to look at him after his back was already turned to me as he retreated to his place in line.

  "Well, if that wasn't awkward…" Jane commented sarcastically. "You really need to work on your people skills, darling."

  "So, are you going to apologize to him?" Eden inquired.

  I sighed. "Yeah, I suppose so." I just needed to find a temporary storage unit to stash my pride in for an hour or two. Maybe Brigid would let me borrow her suitcase…

  "Karten, bitte (Tickets, please)," requested the burly security guard at the Reichstag entrance, interrupting my thoughts.

  I handed him my ticket and motioned for Eden and Jane to do the same. As we stepped into the building, we were met with a line of beeping, airport-like security devices manned by a handful of armored officials.

  "That's rather…scary," whispered Eden.

  Jane chuckled. "You should see the security you have to go through to get into the White House. It's so much worse."

  "Well," I noted thoughtfully. "They're slightly less paranoid about terrorists over here."

  Will Buckley (Asshole Extraordinaire, Anti-German Bigot, American Jingoist, All-Around-Douchebag… oh, and the guy who enjoyed calling me "kraut" whenever he got the chance), who happened to be standing in front of me, turned around and fixed me with a glare. Actually, it looked more like he was extremely constipated, but I had a feeling that he thought he looked intimidating.

  "What?" I demanded indignantly.

  He looked me up and down. "You're an insult to the proud nation of America," he declared with sneer.

  I snorted. "You're an insult to the human race. Everyone's entitled to occasional moments of stupidity, but you abuse the privilege."

  Will was not amused by my incredibly clever insult. He grunted with all the grace of a caveman during mating season and turned back around, muttering something that sounded a whole lot like "damn immigrants."

  Well, a xenophobic, narrow-minded comment like that couldn't go unpunished. Instead of bawling him out, however, I opted for a more…creative form of revenge.

  Putting on the most serious face I was capable of, I carefully approached a security guard with a name tag that read "Ralf," who was standing near one of the x-ray machines. "Entschuldigung (Pardon me)," I whispered. "Ich glaube, dass dieser Mensch da etwas für eine Waffe hat. (I think that that man there has some sort of weapon.)" I subtly jerked my head in Will's direction. "Ich bin sicher, dass ich etwas in seiner Hose gesehen habe. (I'm certain that I saw something in his pants.) Vielleicht war es nur seiner Schlüssel, aber trotzdem... (Perhaps it was only his keys, but even so…)" I trailed off ominously.

  Tensing, Ralf thanked me and whispered something to one of his colleagues. I stepped back into line to watch the fun unfold.I didn't have to wait long.

  "Entschuldigung (Excuse me)," Ralf began seriously, stepping up to Will and placing a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Aber Sie müssen mit uns kommen. (But you'll have to come with us.)"

  "Huh?" Will grunted unintelligently.

  The security guard rolled his eyes. "I am sorry, but you will haff to come vith us, sir."

  Panic seeped into Will's eyes as the blood drained from his face. "What did I do?"

  "Ve haff reason to suspect that you are carrying a veapon," the guard replied gruffly.

  I could practically see the letters WTF floating above Will's head (punctuated with a large question mark, of course) as he was dragged off behind a large security screen.

  Under normal circumstances, I never would have committed an act so blatantly bitchy, but Will Buckley was a special case. He despised all foreigners (Jane had gotten more than her share of rude comments from him as well), but he seemed to have a particular dislike for Germans. I knew for a fact that his father was a veteran and had been stationed in West Berlin during the days of the Soviet occupation, so my theory was that Will had somehow inherited his hatred from his dad's old prejudices. Of course, there was also the possibility that he was just an asshole.

  "Let me guess," Jane began, amusement evident in her tone as Will bellowed someth
ing about the American Embassy. "You had something to do with that, didn't you, Lotte?"

  I flashed her my best innocent smile.

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  ----------------

  The view from the roof of the Reichstag was completely mind-blowing. I had actually never been up there before, so I was just as captivated by the scene laid out before me as everyone else.

  "What a great view of the Brandenburg Gate!" Eden marveled, snapping a photo. "By the way, Lotte, we definitely have to take at least one cheesy tourist picture in front of that thing."

  "But I'm not a cheesy tourist!" I complained, pouting.

  "It's part of the experience!" she insisted. "When you go to Berlin, you have to take some sort of clichéd group picture in front of the Brandenburg Gate. You're a part of the group. Therefore, you must be in the picture."

  "I hate your logic," I grumbled.

  "Speaking of cheesy pictures," interrupted Bryce, draping his arms around Eden and I. "We're going to take one right here with this lovely glass thing in the background." He indicated the dome that sat on top of the Reichstag like a spherical toupee.

  I started to object, but he cut me off. "No ifs, ands, or buts, Lotte!"

  Deciding to be difficult, I crossed my arms. "No!" I protested in a five-year-old-like voice. "No picture!"

  "Lotte," he threatened, dark eyes twinkling. "I might just have to spank you if you keep being naughty!"

  If Bryce had been anyone else, I probably would have smacked him for making such a blatantly sexual comment. As it was, I played along. "Can't catch me!" I crowed triumphantly, dashing away across the rooftop, dodging groups of rather surprised tourists. Of course, I knew that running away was completely futile, as Bryce was an athlete, but whatever.

  "I'm gonna getcha!" Bryce cackled as he gained on me.

  I turned just my head around and stuck my tongue out at him. "Eat my---oof!" My taunt was cut short as I crashed headlong into some unfortunate bystander and fell flat on my ass.