rich girls can go to a party with so little make-up and such unshaved armpits and such dirty canvas bags without being ashamed. The only
room we stopped for a little bit extra in was at the far end of the building. Someone had made a work of art with a glowing warm furnace.
“I like this,” I said.
“Me too,” said Samuel.
We stayed in the room, the warmth warmed us, the fire crackled. Suddenly Samuel put out his hand and rested it on the furnace. He held it there until I swatted it away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“Just wanted to check how hot it was.”
I looked at him and wondered if there was something seriously wrong with him. Then I looked at the fire and thought that if good art was
this
good I could definitely learn to like
art.
*
Panther sighs and throws up her hands. But at the same time it’s really hard to know what you could have done differently. I don’t think it’s possible to save
someone who doesn’t want to be saved. There’s something self-centered about the whole idea that it’s up to you to take care of everyone around you. People live their own lives and
when they don’t want to do that anymore there’s not much you can do. I’m convinced that this would have happened even if I hadn’t moved to Berlin. Even if I had been a
little better at keeping in touch. What about you—do you feel guilty? Do you wish you had done something different?
*
We were interrupted by two students from the school. Samuel nodded their way and asked who had made this awesome piece of art. The students laughed.
“This furnace belongs to the glassmaking workshop.”
I swallowed and braced myself. But there was no attack. No scornful smiles. No sense of standing there naked. Samuel didn’t deflect the blame, he didn’t say that I was the one
who’d come up with such an idiotic thought. He just blew on his hand, laughed, and asked if there was an after-party. When the students moved on, Samuel and I stayed in the room, the fire
crackled, it smelled faintly of something I thought might be burned hair or sulfur.
“This is still the best thing here,” Samuel said, and I nodded.
He had my back. He didn’t let me fall. I thought, I will always do the same for him.
*
Panther looks surprised and maybe a little disgusted. Are you joking? What do you mean, “relieved”? I was totally crushed. Part of me died along with Samuel. There
is nothing, not the tiniest atom in my body, that felt “relieved” when I heard what had happened. No offense, but anyone who comes up with an idea like that must be pretty
disturbed.
*
After the art party we went into town. There was a line to get into East, but Ibbe from the gym was manning the door and I mimicked Hamza, I tried putting two fingers up in the
air, and Ibbe waved us in.
“Wow,” Samuel said after we found a table in the corner. “Did I just see two blackheads get into East at one thirty in the morning on the Saturday after payday?”
“Should we call the Guinness Book of World Records?”
We had a toast, we drank, we ordered more, we moved toward the dance floor.
“Baller culo.”
“Check out her booty.”
“Look at that sweet ass.”
“Damn, baby’s got back!”
“Nice humps.”
But we said it more to ourselves than to the girls. When a song Samuel liked came on, he vanished onto the dance floor. He was dancing in that way that made people point and shake their heads.
He transformed his arms into a sunset and roared along with the chorus. He crouched down and whispered secrets to the broken glass on the floor. He shook his ribcage side to side like maracas. When
he came back to have a drink I could smell his hardworking deodorant.
*
Panther shook her head. I don’t know. I don’t have a good answer for that. Maybe he forgot to take it off? It’s not impossible. Or he could have been driving
so fast that he knew the speed would be enough and that no seatbelt in the world could save him.
*
We had
room we stopped for a little bit extra in was at the far end of the building. Someone had made a work of art with a glowing warm furnace.
“I like this,” I said.
“Me too,” said Samuel.
We stayed in the room, the warmth warmed us, the fire crackled. Suddenly Samuel put out his hand and rested it on the furnace. He held it there until I swatted it away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“Just wanted to check how hot it was.”
I looked at him and wondered if there was something seriously wrong with him. Then I looked at the fire and thought that if good art was
this
good I could definitely learn to like
art.
*
Panther sighs and throws up her hands. But at the same time it’s really hard to know what you could have done differently. I don’t think it’s possible to save
someone who doesn’t want to be saved. There’s something self-centered about the whole idea that it’s up to you to take care of everyone around you. People live their own lives and
when they don’t want to do that anymore there’s not much you can do. I’m convinced that this would have happened even if I hadn’t moved to Berlin. Even if I had been a
little better at keeping in touch. What about you—do you feel guilty? Do you wish you had done something different?
*
We were interrupted by two students from the school. Samuel nodded their way and asked who had made this awesome piece of art. The students laughed.
“This furnace belongs to the glassmaking workshop.”
I swallowed and braced myself. But there was no attack. No scornful smiles. No sense of standing there naked. Samuel didn’t deflect the blame, he didn’t say that I was the one
who’d come up with such an idiotic thought. He just blew on his hand, laughed, and asked if there was an after-party. When the students moved on, Samuel and I stayed in the room, the fire
crackled, it smelled faintly of something I thought might be burned hair or sulfur.
“This is still the best thing here,” Samuel said, and I nodded.
He had my back. He didn’t let me fall. I thought, I will always do the same for him.
*
Panther looks surprised and maybe a little disgusted. Are you joking? What do you mean, “relieved”? I was totally crushed. Part of me died along with Samuel. There
is nothing, not the tiniest atom in my body, that felt “relieved” when I heard what had happened. No offense, but anyone who comes up with an idea like that must be pretty
disturbed.
*
After the art party we went into town. There was a line to get into East, but Ibbe from the gym was manning the door and I mimicked Hamza, I tried putting two fingers up in the
air, and Ibbe waved us in.
“Wow,” Samuel said after we found a table in the corner. “Did I just see two blackheads get into East at one thirty in the morning on the Saturday after payday?”
“Should we call the Guinness Book of World Records?”
We had a toast, we drank, we ordered more, we moved toward the dance floor.
“Baller culo.”
“Check out her booty.”
“Look at that sweet ass.”
“Damn, baby’s got back!”
“Nice humps.”
But we said it more to ourselves than to the girls. When a song Samuel liked came on, he vanished onto the dance floor. He was dancing in that way that made people point and shake their heads.
He transformed his arms into a sunset and roared along with the chorus. He crouched down and whispered secrets to the broken glass on the floor. He shook his ribcage side to side like maracas. When
he came back to have a drink I could smell his hardworking deodorant.
*
Panther shook her head. I don’t know. I don’t have a good answer for that. Maybe he forgot to take it off? It’s not impossible. Or he could have been driving
so fast that he knew the speed would be enough and that no seatbelt in the world could save him.
*
We had
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