Published
Begin by leaving your boyfriend of two years because you have stopped enjoying each other's company. You’ve both become apathetic sloths, bored and tired, without anything to say to one another. You will go out and accidentally do meth and still go to your job at 8:30 the next morning. A single woman who is coming down from dirty drugs is exactly who you are. It is early September, and the city is going through a heatwave, which only amplifies the hangover while allowing you to forget you are going through a breakup. You are in pain, but also you are at peace.
Two hours into your shift, there is only one customer: a man with a mustache, maybe 35, and seemingly European. His belongings will be messily splayed out upon his table with little bits of paper and tobacco everywhere. Your coworker tells you to get a good look at him because she thinks he's sexy. The meth comedown allows you to feel invisible and fearless. You go to the lone man’s table and stare at him. You lock eyes for about seven seconds until he breaks the silence by asking for the bill. His accent is unidentifiable. His bank card and name will allow you to determine where he is from: Germany. Remember his name so you can Google him later.
Three days go by. You start to feel normal again. You go out. You drink six negronis, and you and your friend imagine who you should be with. Tell your friend about the sexy German you recall named Gerhardt L. Bauer. He’s an architect. He has his own firm in Berlin. By this point, you have lost the emotional capacity to care about how anybody sees you. Being crazy is not something to worry about. Click the Follow button. He will follow back within one minute. You will scream.
You and your friend draft a first message, but before you figure out what to say, he will message you. “Were you my waitress three days ago?” Be simple. Reply, “Yeah.” He types for 10 minutes and then doesn’t send anything. You say, “I stole your name off your credit card.” He tells you you are crazy, and you will say, “I know.” 30 minutes later, you are at a bar with him, having the time of your life. You spend the next six days running around Manhattan like children. He is confident and charming. He is like a German Humphrey Bogart. He stares at you and tells you how pretty you are. He still retains an edge, he gets grumpy with you. He texts you about everything he has seen in your hours apart. He kisses you as if his life depends on it. You are in love. He will invite you to Berlin.
By the time you get to Germany, you will have known Gerhardt for 23 days. You wait anxiously for him to walk through the door of a dingy bar. As you light your fifth cigarette, he walks in, and what you thought would be a cinematic embrace instead is a light shoulder grab. The conversation is jerky, pausing and going nowhere at that. He is not there. You try to ask him about his job but his replies are uninviting. He says you can sleep over if you want. His apartment is small and messy. His bed is unmade. As you get into bed, he tells you how tired he is and that he will fuck you in the morning. When you get close to him to try to arouse him, you will feel like a ghost. He kisses you once and turns over to go to sleep. It will be difficult to fall asleep. The jet lag and anxiety keep you up as you go through every possible scenario that could have turned him so cold. You will wonder if you got ugly during the two weeks you were apart. Suffocate him with quiet advances. Fall asleep.
In the morning, you will open the windows. The cold air will feel good. You will watch him sleep. He will get up slowly and ask you to make him coffee. To make him coffee, you will first have to wash not one but two dirty espresso cups. He will apologize and tell you that his only two cups are dirty because a girl was over the morning before. The tension will be formidably palpable. As you stare out the window, holding back tears, he will admit that he doesn’t like your body. He doesn’t like that you were born a man. He tells you that he likes pussy too much. He goes into detail over coffee about his favorite bodily flavors he can only get from eating a vagina. You will cry not to make him feel bad but because there is nothing else you can do. He will not stop speaking. You leave.
Three months later, you will be back together with your ex-boyfriend while visiting a friend in Berlin. You will bump into Gerhardt at a bar while your boyfriend is at a cemetery down the street. Gerhardt will be happy to see you. He will thank you for your existence and go into great detail about his sex life. He will drop the word girlfriend, and you will be propelled into curiosity. He thinks you and her would get along great because she, too, has a penis. Just like you.
