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It was the second time that I drove a car all by myself since I got my driving license, and the first time that I really felt like I had everything under control. When I was younger, I would never have thought that I'd be enjoying rides in my grandfather's old, froggy green Mercedes-Benz W123, listening to an opera on the classical radio channel because it's the only one functioning. For the first time in my life, I understood the popularity of cars as I enjoyed the thrill of action and the tingling of power and the rush of freedom.
I was on my way to accompany a friend, let's call her Rose, for the sake of this story, to the house of the boy I was trying to set her up with. Now, I'm indeed going to be calling the boy Jack in this story, but the reason is not that I'm a hopeless, cheesy romantic who always tears up at titanic. He will be Jack because of Captain Jack Sparrow. And because some people say that the Joker's real name was Jack. Before this story happend, I probably would have named him differently.
My expectations for the third meeting of my two friends couldn't have been higher after they had been texting endlessly throughout the last week and got along perfectly when we met just the day before. It was a nice afternoon overall, when Rose, Jack, my boyfriend and I sought shelter from the pouring rain under a bridge and spontaneously decided to play Monopoly right at that spot instead of running through what seemed like I waterfall back to my place. Rose, who, believe it or not, had never played Monopoly before, teamed up with Jack and with just a little bit of luck they had almost gotten into a leading position when we had to interrupt our game, settling for a tie.
Considering all of that, I had great expectations for the two of them when they first met in the privacy of his home... Until I was too interesting by accident. I can't tell when exactly it went wrong, but slowly, gradually, my role in the group shifted from the quiet observer in the back, asking questions from time to time to keep their conversation going but not intervening otherwise, to Jack's main conversation partner. It might have been Jack's condescending, arrogant attitude that made me comment on his every move, explaining the psychological processes and the characteristics that are displayed by his behavior to an invisible audience, but it might as well just have been boredom. I'm not a psychologist, so I was surprised at how often my analysis hit deeper than I had intended to.
"I don't feel superior to you", he confessed after a while, staring at me intently while trying to solve what seemed like a riddle to him. Only a day later I realized that, coming from him, that was an overwhelming compliment. This Jack, he is easily bored and he loves to be challenged. Probably I would have stopped my mind-games by then, had I realized just how much he loved what was happening. Maybe. But maybe I would have continued nonetheless, taking just too much delight out of trying to look through his schemes, while he modified his behavior on purpose just to mess with my analysis.
It took us a while, longer than I could admit without feeling ashamed, until we realized that Rose was no longer laughing alongside us and was instead lying on Jack's leathery brown couch in some kind of fetal position, her face twisted in an expression that made her look as if she was about to cry. "I feel like I don't have anything to contribute to this conversation", she said, her voice painfully thin, and the fact that her words were true made them hurt even more.
"Okay, you two go talk now", I said matter-of-factly, picking up a book from the table before me. That was the first time that they were left completely to themselves, and... the embarrassing silence following my announcement was deafening. When Rose started nervously bubbling something about pets and showed him pictures of all the rabbits she has ever had, he could only take it for less than an hour before he snuggled up to my side instead, put his disgusting single arm around my lovely taken shoulder and started talking about the book I was reading instead. He probably did that just to spite my boyfriend, knowing that he wasn't there to intervene and I was too afraid of seeming rude, touching me instead of Rose simply because he could.
"The streets of the living", a German collection of stories by Helge Timmerberg, was a good book though, with beautifully wrought sentences that ring in your mind with just a hint of some larger meaning than the words alone contain, and the kind of metaphors that make your eyes pause for a moment as you take them in more than just once. I just couldn't resist a good conversation about language, edging along at the borders of just what can be expressed while occasionally reaching out into the abyss of what cannot. So it was that our meeting ended with me in Jack's arms, passionately arguing about the freedom of prostitutes, the minds of psychopaths, the feelings of the naive and more. For just a moment, we both forgot that I had a boyfriend and that my best friend Rose was lying next to us fighting bitter tears, for just a moment there was nothing but us and the wide universe of thoughts.
It was only on our ride home that I realized what I had done to my best friend. I had stolen the first boy who has shown interest in her, taken him away although I have no need for him. But now I have shown him half of the universe, starting literally with neurons and moving all the way up to great metaphysical concepts, while she has shown him... pictures of rabbits. And I can never take that back.
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