Max walked down from Panoramic hill, shortly before the hour
on a quiet Sunday afternoon, to the International House. He was meeting someone
there at two, and wanted them to believe he lived there. He had posted
something on the "Free & For Sale" Facebook-page, a couple of
packages of cigarette tobacco he didn't like and wanted to give away to some
cash-strapped smoker like himself. In the advertisement, he had mentioned not
being able to find a blend he liked in the United States, and as a result had
tried a couple of varieties before settling on a decent one, one comparable to
the Swiss sort he had grown fond of. That much was true. He had picked up the
habit of rolling cigarettes while living in Berlin, and – damn his optimism! –
had only brought one pouch back with him, figuring he'd find something good
back home, too. He wished he had taken more, but wishing never solved anything.
His phone rang. It was the fellow he was meeting, who had
just arrived. Max waved and hung up, walking slowly towards him and putting a
smile on his face. They shook hands and exchanged small talk; meanwhile Max
handed over the tobacco. The guy who wanted the tobacco's name was Chris. He
seemed nice enough. "You're an international student, right?" he
asked Max, remembering the line in the ad, "Where are you from?"
"Berlin," came the reply. Max had lived there, he
felt like he had lived there more
than he ever had in California. In those seven months there had been enough
experiences, first- and second-hand, to build a little life for someone he'd
never see again. The German language had certainly mangled his English enough,
just a light touch of accent would make the story fit just fine. Enough people
asked him on a regular basis if he was German anyway, so why not have a little
fun with it?
"Really? That's cool!" Hook, line, and sinker.
"Yeah, I dshust got heea about a month ago," Max
said after that, playing up the accent a bit. It was true, after all, that he
had returned just before the semester began.
"I'm hoping to do a semester abroad there pretty
soon," Chris began, and started to talk about his major, and his interest
in learning German, and himself in general, like most people are apt to do. Max
listened, nodding at just the right times. The majority of human beings are
more interested in talking about themselves, and their honesty about such
trifles makes it so easy to make things up – nobody listens anyway. Maybe they
are making it all up too, who cares? It's just a way to fill the silences that
would otherwise make first encounters with others a bit awkward. If you aren't running
you're jaw constantly, there must be something wrong. And besides, if everyone
talked a little less, Max might have had a harder time selling his story,
though he doubted it. He knew Berlin well enough, like the back of his hand,
really, that he could spew nothings about the city as well as a local.
"I can tell you some cool things to do there sometime,
if you like," Max said as he was leaving. He got a friendly "For
sure!" from Chris about the offer, but it was one of those enthusiastic
little insincerities that do so much to color the Californian dialect. Max
turned and walked off, with a self-satisfied grin breaking over his face.
No comments:
Post a Comment