In Deutschland

Chapter I

            I don’t notice her sit down across from me. I notice it out of the corner of my eye, sure, but not enough to look up from my laptop. I write in the Englischer gartens after walking around downtown München sometimes.

            “Was sind du schreibst?” My head snaps up from the screen to look at her, my first good look. She has dirty blonde hair coming down just past her shoulders and eyes that were just the right shade of blue, not too pale and not too vibrant.

            “Das… um, nein… Ein Geschichte – nein, ein Roman.” I stutter out the broken German to the best of my ability. I’ve picked up a lot, especially since I moved here, but it’s still a little tough to put the sentences together sometimes.

            She smiles. “Amerikanier?”

            “Ja,” I said “Ja, ich bin ein Amerikaner.”

            She keeps the smile on her face. “What is it about?”

            “What? Oh, the book – das Roman?” She nods. “

            “Ja – Yes. It is a Roman, ja? Or is it a…” She trails off and mutters some words to herself, trying to translate them. “Is it a kleine geschichte- story.” She blushes and runs her hand along the back of her head, down to where her hair ends. “Entschuldigung… my English ist nicht so gut.”

            “Mein deutch ist nicht so gut.” I say, laughing along with her.

            “Lebst du hier?” She asks. “In Deutchland, ich meine.”

            “Ja, ich wohne hier im München.” I explain, closing my laptop and sliding it into my backpack. “Ah… Ich habe keine ahnung was das Deutch ist, aber… My apartment is just down the street.” I point behind me in the general direction of my apartment – a rather nice one for what I’m paying.

            “My… apartment is the word?” She asks, and I smile and nod. “My apartment ist on the other side of der Stadt.”

            “I haven’t seen much of the city – entschuldigung, der Stadt – yet, other than around here.”

            “Maybe I could show you around some time.” She says, her accent pulling on her words in all the right places. She pulls an old tissue or napkin or something out of her purse and writes a phone number on it. “Give me a call sometime, ja?”

            “Ja,” I say, putting the paper in my pocket. She turns to walk away, and I call out, “Why?”

            “Entschuldigung?” She says, turning back around.

            “Why – nein, warum did du come over und talk to mich today?” I ask, mixing English and German in a hope that she’ll understand better.

            She shrugs. “Du siehst sehr interresant aus.” I nod, and she walks away.

            I grab my bag and get up, walking out of the Gartens and towards my apartment. Who walks up to someone and starts a conversation just because they looked interesting? I shrug my head and put my hand into my pocket, running my thumb over the paper she wrote her number on. Should I call her later? She had an air about her, one of those vibes that relaxes everyone in the room and puts you at ease. And she wasn’t unattractive either, which definitely counts.

            I shake my head and walk into the shop a few doors down from my apartment.

            “Hallo,” Markus, says without looking up from his magazine.