Blue Glass

In the Woods

I hadn't heard from Manfred since I fled his house a few days ago. Then again, I wasn't surprised I hadn't heard from Manfred since then. He didn't have my phone number or any way to contact me other than if I showed up at his house.
I chuckled a little at how I had stood beneath his window, staring up at him. It smacked of Romeo and Juliet—only with the roles reversed.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Parting was such sorrow, I thought wistfully. I missed Manfred terribly, and I had no idea when I would see him next. He was the only positive thing in my life now, and I wanted to see him again, be able to embrace him again, kiss him again and feel the characteristic rush of dizzying happiness that seemed to sweep me off my feet whenever our lips touched.
I couldn't seem to chalk up what the haze or euphoria I felt whenever I kissed Manfred stemmed from. Was it really happiness? No, happiness was nothing compared to it. Lust? Desire? Maybe, but he had done nothing to prompt me to feel that way, so I could write the two of those off.
Satisfaction? Contentment?
Those two would probably make sense. I couldn't believe my luck at this point, in all honesty. All throughout Germany, countless girls would disgrace themselves daily writing amorous letters to Manfred; I got to do with him what they could only dream of doing. The rush of pride that gave me was incomparable to any other emotion I had ever felt.
But surpassing that emotion was an overwhelming overload of love, the likes of which I had never felt before, that nearly bowled me over whenever I was around Manfred. It was different than the love I was accustomed to showing people, if anyone. This love made me weightless, made me feel like I could rise into the air and fly.
I didn't love him because he was a fighter pilot. We barely talked about his career, and if we did, it was for the purpose of starting small talk; no more. I loved him for who he was, for being the only person who had even bothered to understand me, to accept me for who I was.
I had told him mostly everything there was to know about me. Now I wanted to know everything about him. Although he seemed like a tough nut to crack, and would likely balk at the idea of talking, I was determined to get to know him as well as he knew me.
The phone began to squawk, snapping me out of my lovesick reverie. I stood up and made a beeline for it, scooping it off the receiver so swiftly I nearly knocked it off the table.
"Hello?"
"Lea, it's me, Svetlana." Svetlana's voice immediately conveyed that something was wrong. "I hope you're enjoying your work tenure."
I furrowed my brow. " To an extent, yes. Is something the matter?"
Svetlana's voice was high in all the wrong places when she said, "Your mother is in the hospital."
I froze. "Why?! Isn't my father back with her?"
"That's exactly it." She took a deep breath. "Your father is gone."

Hours later, I was shoving things into my suitcase haphazardly, my face flushed from exertion.
Apparently, my father's out of the blue stint with my mother was simply because him and his mistress had gotten into a tiff over something and he had nowhere to go after she threw him out of the house—nowhere to go except the two story brown house in Vienna.
And now they had evidently reconciled, and my father had left once again, taking my mother's heart with him.
I didn't know what to feel. Depressed that my mother was now in the hospital for a cocaine overdose? Jubilant because my father was finally out of my hair? Disgusted with his shameless, heartless philandering?
In any event, I now knew that I could no longer afford to take breaks from work anymore. This hospital stay would surely rack up bills that if I didn't work to pay off would become insurmountable.
I cinched my suitcase shut and straightened my hat in the mirror. I would go to Manfred today and tell him in person if I could. If not, I would just write to him saying so.
It was slightly cold outside. I was shivering by the time I got to Striegauer Strasse because I was wearing such a light dress. I conspicuously paced back and forth on the sidewalk, my eyes trained on the small window where I had seen Manfred the first time. It was empty.
I heaved a sigh of disappointment. So much for in person goodbyes.
I was about to turn around and leave when there was a tap on my shoulder.
"My parents are home." Manfred's voice was strangely hoarse. "Walk with me?"