The Hidden Path (WINNER OF THE BEAUTY AWARD for Spiritual)

Smoking

Don't just adopt opinions, develop them.
- Charles Isbell

After a demanding week of school – our English torture on Monday, a written Latin examination on Wednesday, my history teacher had decided to quiz me on Thursday (fortunately, I had been prepared), and Prof Hausmann had thought that it would be a good idea to have us run 5 km (oh, joy!) for our physical education on Friday – I was convinced that I had surely earned the right to have a lot of fun at the weekend!

On Saturday evening we – meaning the usual gang – all congregated at Stoffi's place in Neumarkt.

He lived together with his aging grandmother and basically had half the ground level of her small house for himself. Which granted him ample freedom to do whatever he pleased. Like dropping out of high school.

Which sounds more dramatic than it actually was, since it simply meant that he had had to switch to a professional school. In his case for photography. (This was way before photoshop. At that time, you had to get a picture just right by really knowing your camera, as there was no or very limited possibility of changing anything after you had snapped the photo.)

He did, however, regret his choice later on in life, as he no longer had the opportunity to go to university and therefore felt like a second-class citizen in comparison to us high schoolers.

But on that afternoon, we were not talking about school, we were having a heated discussion about music groups. Hardrock and heavy-metal groups, to be precise.

Somehow, no matter what we all were talking about, everybody always did so with a lot of passion. Which led to quite a few intense exchanges of opinions. . .

"How can you say that Slayer is a bad band?" Luk glared at me. He agitatedly moved forward in the leather-sofa he had been reclining on leisurely only moments ago. Now closer to the short-legged wooden table in front of him and to my left, he used the opportunity to tip some ash from his cigarette into the ashtray.

Sitting cross-legged on the soft, longhair, cream-colored carpet which covered the whole floor, I had to look up to stare at the infuriating boy.

"I said I don't think they have to be accomplished musicians in order to play the way they do. Their melodies basically consist of a few notes – if that many – and the singer screams so much, you can neither understand him nor discover an actual tune!" The discussion had been going on for some time, which was the reason for the exasperated tone in my voice.

"That's your opinion!" Basti interjected, deciding to join our exchange. As always, his voice and facial expression held a slightly condescending quality, which I found rather irritating at that moment. Mimicking Luk's posture, he hunched forward in his seat and put his arms on his knees in order to be able to lock his eyes with mine. . . and to snuff his finished cigarette in the ashtray.

"Yes, it is!" I shot back, annoyed. Why could the boys never simply accept that I my opinion sometimes differed from theirs?

"You know, the musicians of Deep Purple actually went through a classical education. Which you can tell! Just think of 'Child in Time'," I argued, looking back and forth between my two opponents. I had to blink furiously, as my eyes were watering from the thick cigarette smoke, which hung heavily in the room.

"They play in a different style! Slayer is much faster," Luk argued, looking at me like I was a bit retarded.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, they do and they completely lose the capacity to fine-tune their playing or singing in the process. Which is exactly my point!" Annoyed, I was talking with my hands and feet now, so to speak. Anything, to help me get my point across.