“So you would like two copies of this one and one of each of these?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ok, well this last one, I am afraid, is a pricey one.”
“How much would it be?”
“Twenty bucks…”
“That’s ok, I still need it anyways.”
“Ok, I will have them ready for you in a bit.”
“Thank you.”
As he walked out of the front of the store area with my keys, I started looking around at all the merchandise that was advertised around me. Obviously a men’s store, I guess women don’t often have a copy of their keys made. To the left of me was a large supporting post, covered with advertisements for a security system. It even had a little video-screen playing an add with a horribly annoying song, as I would come to realize after hearing it about fifteen times. Behind the, not so conveniently placed post, was the rest of the store area. Not much to show for really. And behind that was the, what I presume to be, office area. Two other people were in there. At least, that is what I guessed because I saw only one, but clearly he was talking to someone else.
I got out my cell and texted my dad:
“Damn key is twenty bucks to copy!”
The key-guy had walked into an area behind the store and after a minute or two I could hear a machine starting to work on my new key. It sounded like a big robotic arm was moving around lots of sharp and spinning parts as I could hear a series of high pitched noises that sounded like scraping metal at a high speed. I waited patiently for my key to be ready.
After a few minutes another guy came from the office area. “Good afternoon.” He said, in a businesslike manner. “I am just going to fix your other keys.” He told me, just in case I was wondering why he had the nerve to step into the store area and talk to me. I nodded and went on my business of looking around the store. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and when I pulled it out it showed a text from my dad:
“Why make a copy if it? I already have one. I need a copy of your balcony-key.”
I texted back saying:
“Left that one at home. Am copying my door-key and my car-key as well.”
After that, I put my cell back into my pocket. It was warm in here, but I couldn’t very well take my coat off. I looked around a little more.
I noticed there were small signs to put on doors such as toilet-indicators, hung from little hooks beneath the counter. “What an odd place to display merchandise.” I thought.
In the meantime I could still hear the noises coming from the back, now going on for at least five minutes and in my head I pictured a huge machine, with just a tiny vertical door in the front. Upon opening the door, a little light would go on and you would see a fiberglass shelf, where the key should go. After closing the door, the machine would then turn on a laser to measure out every corner of the key to a fraction of a millimeter. Then, the key would be transported into the machine and a new key would be processed. This kept me busy for at least another three minutes after which the key-guy returned from the back, with my brand new key. Carefully he placed it in a vice and started sawing a small piece off. You would think with a sophisticated machine, like the one I pictured in my head, the key would come out done, but nothing was further from the truth. After the sawing, the key came out of the vice and now it was time for sandpapering and polishing. He compared the both keys and then looked at me.
“I am sorry, it’s not exact, I need to make a new one. It will be faster though, because this time the key is already in the computer.”
I really had nothing left to say but: “Ok.” I was going to need the key, so I had no other choice then to wait. I pulled out my cell and texted:
“First copy failed, they are making a new one. I now understand why it costs twenty bucks.”
Within a very short time my dad texted back:
“I’ll pay for the new key. Good luck waiting.”
The key-guy had returned from the back now, was looking up something in a cabinet, turning to face me to give me a ‘please-be-patient-smile’ and then returned to the back area again. I texted my dad:
“At least he key guy is hot. I might give him an extra set too.”
After I hit send a thought came to mind: “Am I really texting this to my dad?” It made me smile as I was thinking. My dad texted back:
“Then let him pay for his own copy!”
I chuckled. My other two keys were done by now and the other key-guy returned them and my own keys to me. In the back, the key-machine was purring and chafing and sawing away. I could just see those lasers cutting out the exact measurements.
By now I was getting pretty sweaty in my warm winter-coat. The store was very warm and I had been in it for at least twenty minutes now, waiting for my key.
I saw some advertisement mags sprawled out on the counter and picked one up to kill some time. It was all about home-security systems and the new 2011 standards for securing your home. I put one in my purse for my dad. I knew he was a security-freak.
At long last, the cute key-guy returned from the back with my new key and now, more meticulously then the last time, he was making the final adjustments. This time the key was copied to his satisfaction and he started ringing up the counter for me.
“Sorry it took so long, but the other one was too short.”
“That’s ok.” I cleverly answered, meanwhile giving him a sweet forgiving smile.
“Together it will be thirtyeight dollars and fourty cents please.”
I paid with my debitcard and the cute key-guy gave me all three of my copies. “Oh, can I take one of these?”, I asked, pointing at the mag in my purse, when he handed me my receipt.
“Ofcourse you can!” He said with a smile. “For future reference, usually you do have to ask before you put things in your purse.” He gave me a wide smile and I could feel my face turn red as a lobster. Time to leave the key-store. When I closed the door behind me I remembered I still have to make a copy of my balcony-key. It made me smile all the way to my car.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The day I got my bicycle broken...
Groceries:
- Eggs
- Bread
- Milk
- Veggies
- Fruit
- Juice
- Pasta
- Tea
- Coffee
- Rice
- Snacks
- Crackers
- Yoghurt
I check my list one more time to make sure I have everything I need. “Shampoo!” I yell out loud to myself in my empty studio apartment. I knew I forgot something. I scribble it quickly at the bottom, grab some grocery bags, my purse and my keys and head out the door.
When I arrive at the supermarket I see that the parking lot is fairly empty. Good, that means it’s probably not too busy. I hate it when it’s busy in supermarkets and people just bump their carts into you. I’m silly like that. Besides I always wonder how people seem to be able to just hit me. Is it because I am just such a freaking big target to hit? Usually when it happens to me I am good for a nice sarcastic remark such as: “Sorry, I thought I could just stand here.” Or “Excuse me for existing.”
Last month a lady bumped into me twice in a row and as I saw her nearing me again over by the deli department, I asked the lady fixing a plate for customers to taste, if she could make crackers with arsenic for all those customers who kept bumping into others. Apparently the bumper-cart-lady over heard me and gave me a glare that could kill. Couldn’t help myself; I had to giggle a little.
Today is different, as the parking lot tells me. Not that I need a space on the parking lot, with my bike, which fits neatly into the rack outside, but it’s still a good indicator. I walk into the store to find my assumptions to be right. Hardly anyone in here. Good, I can make a speedy trip through the isles and be outside within 45 minutes. Sadly, once I get to the bread section some old lady still seems to have overlooked my size 16 and her carts bumps into my royal ass and bounces off slightly. As I am about to turn around and give a snide remark I hear a “I am so sorry.” Even before I manage to turn my head and so I decide to forgive the culprit on the spot.
After just over half an hour I arrive at the cashregister, with my cart loaded with a lot more in than was on my presumptuous list. Well, as long as I can stuff it all into two bags, I should be good. Even before my watch tells me forty minutes have passed, I am walking out of the store, being absolutely balanced by my two heavy bags. When I get home I really need to re-ponder the sudden need I thought I had for two bottles of wine and a gallon of orange juice instead of the usual quart. With great craftsmanship I manage to balance the two immensely heavy bags on the handle of my bicycle. With a little bit of magic and some muscle work, I manage to get myself on the saddle in between and before I know it, I am on the road.
With every stroke my toes alternating my knees gently hit the grocery bags, which makes my struggle to balance it all quite a lot harder, but I manage to move forward, slowly. Then some guy passing in a car apparently thinks it must look very funny and decides to honk at me. Never even for a moment considering the odd chance that his honk my actually startle me and I might fall off my bike. Well, I do. Just as I was going to cross the street, I fall sideways off my bike, and it, still heavy with bags, comes down on me like a brick.”There go the eggs.” A voice echo’s through my head. The driver must have realized his mistake because as I am struggling to get back up form under my bicycle and two heavy bags, I see that he has parked his car on the side of the road and is making his way over to me. His face looks worried and guilty. I really do try to refrain from any sarcasm but still a slight remark just pops out before I can stop it. “Well aren’t you just prince charming on a metal horse!” I try not to look at him and just hope he didn’t hear me, but as he’s pulling the bike off me his face looks fraught with guilt. He can’t even manage to speak properly anymore.
“So sorry…. Had no idea…. Didn’t mean to…”I heard him mumble. When I get up from under my bike I stupidly start gathering a bunch of cherry tomatoes that rolled onto the road out of my bag but the ongoing traffic has no care for my groceries and honks me off the pavement. And so I turn around to see the driver standing in the grass with my bike. Shaking his head over it. Shaking the head is not good. Really. Not. Good. I make my way over to him shouting: “That’s my only means of transportation damnit!” He looks up from the bike and at me, running towards him.
“ I am so sorry for all of this, let me give you a ride home. We can put your bike and bags in the back and then we can get the insurance papers started.” Insurance, on my bike, right! I let him hoist everything into the car and get in the passenger seat myself. On the way to my place I am still too angry to talk, although he does some meager attempts. “I am George by the way.” He says in his friendliest, most apologetic tone. “Angie.” I grunt back at him. I am still wondering what on earth possessed him to honk at someone who’s already almost falling of her bike. But I cannot become calm enough to actually ask him.
By the time we get to my place most of the anger has been replaced with disappointment about my broken bike. George pulls everything out of the back of his truck and helps me drag it all inside.
“So, let me give you my information so we can let insurance take care of this.” He proposes, as we are making our way to the second floor with torn grocery bags and a broken bike. “My bike wasn’t ensured, George, it’s not like a car.” My voice is still not friendly. “Well, let me pay for the costs to get it repaired then.” He offers. His tone of voice is still very apologetic and I can hear he’s putting in a effort, so I decide to get over myself and I ask him in for a cup of tea while he writes down his info.
When we get inside I put the kettle on and start unpacking the groceries, while George has seated himself at my kitchen table and is writing down his phone number and address. “You know, this isn’t normally how I give my number to a pretty woman.” I turn as he starts speaking and see a grin forming on his face. “Whatever.” Is the only thing going through my mind in response to his remark. The water is ready so I put a big mug of tea in front of him and sit down at the other end of the table.
“When you get it fixed, just let me know how much it costs ok?” He says before he hands me the piece of paper. When he stretches his arm out to reach me, a large, metal watch becomes visible on his wrist. I guess we both noticed because suddenly he says: “Oh my, look at the time, I have to be somewhere about 15 minutes ago. Sorry to rush out. Call me ok?” And he storms out of the apartment.
This all happens in such a quick movement that it takes me a few more seconds to process. I walk towards the window, tea in one hand, his note in the other, and open it to watch him get into his car. While pulling the window open as wide as I can, the wind grabs hold of the piece of paper in my hand and draws it outside. I watch it blow up high in the sky, while beneath me a car just turns the corner of the street, seemingly in quite a rush.
- Eggs
- Bread
- Milk
- Veggies
- Fruit
- Juice
- Pasta
- Tea
- Coffee
- Rice
- Snacks
- Crackers
- Yoghurt
I check my list one more time to make sure I have everything I need. “Shampoo!” I yell out loud to myself in my empty studio apartment. I knew I forgot something. I scribble it quickly at the bottom, grab some grocery bags, my purse and my keys and head out the door.
When I arrive at the supermarket I see that the parking lot is fairly empty. Good, that means it’s probably not too busy. I hate it when it’s busy in supermarkets and people just bump their carts into you. I’m silly like that. Besides I always wonder how people seem to be able to just hit me. Is it because I am just such a freaking big target to hit? Usually when it happens to me I am good for a nice sarcastic remark such as: “Sorry, I thought I could just stand here.” Or “Excuse me for existing.”
Last month a lady bumped into me twice in a row and as I saw her nearing me again over by the deli department, I asked the lady fixing a plate for customers to taste, if she could make crackers with arsenic for all those customers who kept bumping into others. Apparently the bumper-cart-lady over heard me and gave me a glare that could kill. Couldn’t help myself; I had to giggle a little.
Today is different, as the parking lot tells me. Not that I need a space on the parking lot, with my bike, which fits neatly into the rack outside, but it’s still a good indicator. I walk into the store to find my assumptions to be right. Hardly anyone in here. Good, I can make a speedy trip through the isles and be outside within 45 minutes. Sadly, once I get to the bread section some old lady still seems to have overlooked my size 16 and her carts bumps into my royal ass and bounces off slightly. As I am about to turn around and give a snide remark I hear a “I am so sorry.” Even before I manage to turn my head and so I decide to forgive the culprit on the spot.
After just over half an hour I arrive at the cashregister, with my cart loaded with a lot more in than was on my presumptuous list. Well, as long as I can stuff it all into two bags, I should be good. Even before my watch tells me forty minutes have passed, I am walking out of the store, being absolutely balanced by my two heavy bags. When I get home I really need to re-ponder the sudden need I thought I had for two bottles of wine and a gallon of orange juice instead of the usual quart. With great craftsmanship I manage to balance the two immensely heavy bags on the handle of my bicycle. With a little bit of magic and some muscle work, I manage to get myself on the saddle in between and before I know it, I am on the road.
With every stroke my toes alternating my knees gently hit the grocery bags, which makes my struggle to balance it all quite a lot harder, but I manage to move forward, slowly. Then some guy passing in a car apparently thinks it must look very funny and decides to honk at me. Never even for a moment considering the odd chance that his honk my actually startle me and I might fall off my bike. Well, I do. Just as I was going to cross the street, I fall sideways off my bike, and it, still heavy with bags, comes down on me like a brick.”There go the eggs.” A voice echo’s through my head. The driver must have realized his mistake because as I am struggling to get back up form under my bicycle and two heavy bags, I see that he has parked his car on the side of the road and is making his way over to me. His face looks worried and guilty. I really do try to refrain from any sarcasm but still a slight remark just pops out before I can stop it. “Well aren’t you just prince charming on a metal horse!” I try not to look at him and just hope he didn’t hear me, but as he’s pulling the bike off me his face looks fraught with guilt. He can’t even manage to speak properly anymore.
“So sorry…. Had no idea…. Didn’t mean to…”I heard him mumble. When I get up from under my bike I stupidly start gathering a bunch of cherry tomatoes that rolled onto the road out of my bag but the ongoing traffic has no care for my groceries and honks me off the pavement. And so I turn around to see the driver standing in the grass with my bike. Shaking his head over it. Shaking the head is not good. Really. Not. Good. I make my way over to him shouting: “That’s my only means of transportation damnit!” He looks up from the bike and at me, running towards him.
“ I am so sorry for all of this, let me give you a ride home. We can put your bike and bags in the back and then we can get the insurance papers started.” Insurance, on my bike, right! I let him hoist everything into the car and get in the passenger seat myself. On the way to my place I am still too angry to talk, although he does some meager attempts. “I am George by the way.” He says in his friendliest, most apologetic tone. “Angie.” I grunt back at him. I am still wondering what on earth possessed him to honk at someone who’s already almost falling of her bike. But I cannot become calm enough to actually ask him.
By the time we get to my place most of the anger has been replaced with disappointment about my broken bike. George pulls everything out of the back of his truck and helps me drag it all inside.
“So, let me give you my information so we can let insurance take care of this.” He proposes, as we are making our way to the second floor with torn grocery bags and a broken bike. “My bike wasn’t ensured, George, it’s not like a car.” My voice is still not friendly. “Well, let me pay for the costs to get it repaired then.” He offers. His tone of voice is still very apologetic and I can hear he’s putting in a effort, so I decide to get over myself and I ask him in for a cup of tea while he writes down his info.
When we get inside I put the kettle on and start unpacking the groceries, while George has seated himself at my kitchen table and is writing down his phone number and address. “You know, this isn’t normally how I give my number to a pretty woman.” I turn as he starts speaking and see a grin forming on his face. “Whatever.” Is the only thing going through my mind in response to his remark. The water is ready so I put a big mug of tea in front of him and sit down at the other end of the table.
“When you get it fixed, just let me know how much it costs ok?” He says before he hands me the piece of paper. When he stretches his arm out to reach me, a large, metal watch becomes visible on his wrist. I guess we both noticed because suddenly he says: “Oh my, look at the time, I have to be somewhere about 15 minutes ago. Sorry to rush out. Call me ok?” And he storms out of the apartment.
This all happens in such a quick movement that it takes me a few more seconds to process. I walk towards the window, tea in one hand, his note in the other, and open it to watch him get into his car. While pulling the window open as wide as I can, the wind grabs hold of the piece of paper in my hand and draws it outside. I watch it blow up high in the sky, while beneath me a car just turns the corner of the street, seemingly in quite a rush.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
When I went to get my bycicle fixed...
`WHAT?!” I yell out, a little too loud, in indignancy of the repairman’s courage to ask me to pay a hundred dollars for a new front wheel on my bicycle, as he smiles at me friendly, knowing he is about to cash-in. I asked him to replace it with a used wheel, and he said he would. Apparently this still has to cost a hundred dollars. I start digging in my purse to find my wallet. Must have tucked it away very well last time, because I am having trouble retrieving it from the bottom. Sometimes it feels like I have a purse like Hermione in Harry Potter, who manages to pull complete tents out of her tiny purse. Finally, I find my wallet.
The repairman has replaced his friendly look with an impatient look as I try to rip out my debitcard. As I am doing this a little bit too roughly, I pull open the coin compartment and unwillingly start torpedoing the now angry-looking repairman with quarters and dimes. A brave dollar finds his way all the way to the door and seems to want to get out of the store as desperately as I do by this time. As I bend down to pick it up, more luck strikes me. On the other side, someone opens the door and with a smack it stops against my head. Great, just what I needed today, is the last thought that slips through my head before the world turns black for just a few moments.
I open my eyes to see the repairman, now bearing a look that is a mixture of fury and scared shitless, hanging over me. His greasy right hand is holding my left arm, probably to check my pulse. I sit up as fast as I can yelling: “I am not dead, you fool!” Bad idea. The blackness tries to find a way back into my head and the bicycle store starts spinning around me. With my hands and arms almost flailing I manage to settle a balance and again look at the repairman who’s face is now formed in an annoyed grin. So many emotions passing by today. I look to the other side and see the well-formed legs of the culprit, fancy dressed in a pair of so-called worn jeans. He’s holding a wet rag that looks like it has just been used to wipe the inside of twelve motorbikes and he is clearly looking for a way to hand it to me without smearing me with grease.
“No thanks…”I wave at him and as I raise my hand to make a gesture to enforce my words, he grabs my hand and with a swift motion he pulls me back to my feet. His and my face are now apart by about 2 inches and I am looking, for the first time today, at a warm, welcoming and slightly apologizing smile. “I really do apologize. I wasn’t trying to kill you really.” He says with a smile while holding out his hand to me. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
By now I have found my way back to consciousness and I am starting to feel the consequences of his little accident trying not to kill me. I feel a huge bruise forming on my forehead and as I rub my hand over it, I notice it has already started to form a bump. Great, just what I needed, a huge bump on my forehead like a five-year old.
“Well, if you know any secrets to get rid of bumps on ones forehead, that would be nice.” I hear my voice is still not what it’s supposed to be.
The repairman has found his way back behind the counter and seems to be tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface. I look at him, for the first time seriously pissed today and my sudden turn-of-the head startles him. He stops and the impatient look on his face changes. In the meantime, my attacker is still standing about 2 inches away from me, still looking at me in an apologetic way so I decide to turn my attention back to him.
“How about a cup of coffee on me?” he finally replies. His answer startles me. I must be a little mixed up from the collision. Did he just ask me out?
“I must say, being abused and asked for coffee in the same afternoon by the same guy I a first. Or it is in that order anyways.” I give him my sweetest smile and he’s giving his back. “I’m Alex by the way.” He says as he, again, sticks his hand out to me. We’re about to walk out of the store as I hear someone clear his throat.
“Oh shit!” I yell out. The stupid repairman. The whole reason I was here. So one more time I draw my wallet and this time I manage to pay successfully. Alex has taken my bicycle outside for me and is waiting there for me with a broad smile on his face. “Sadly my mean s of transportation don’t leave any room for yours.” He says as he points as his little city car. “Why don’t we share mine?” I offer him. I hop onto the back as he starts riding it onto the road. Just about fifteen yards on our way we hit a speedbump and luck will it be, the front wheel breaks off….
The repairman has replaced his friendly look with an impatient look as I try to rip out my debitcard. As I am doing this a little bit too roughly, I pull open the coin compartment and unwillingly start torpedoing the now angry-looking repairman with quarters and dimes. A brave dollar finds his way all the way to the door and seems to want to get out of the store as desperately as I do by this time. As I bend down to pick it up, more luck strikes me. On the other side, someone opens the door and with a smack it stops against my head. Great, just what I needed today, is the last thought that slips through my head before the world turns black for just a few moments.
I open my eyes to see the repairman, now bearing a look that is a mixture of fury and scared shitless, hanging over me. His greasy right hand is holding my left arm, probably to check my pulse. I sit up as fast as I can yelling: “I am not dead, you fool!” Bad idea. The blackness tries to find a way back into my head and the bicycle store starts spinning around me. With my hands and arms almost flailing I manage to settle a balance and again look at the repairman who’s face is now formed in an annoyed grin. So many emotions passing by today. I look to the other side and see the well-formed legs of the culprit, fancy dressed in a pair of so-called worn jeans. He’s holding a wet rag that looks like it has just been used to wipe the inside of twelve motorbikes and he is clearly looking for a way to hand it to me without smearing me with grease.
“No thanks…”I wave at him and as I raise my hand to make a gesture to enforce my words, he grabs my hand and with a swift motion he pulls me back to my feet. His and my face are now apart by about 2 inches and I am looking, for the first time today, at a warm, welcoming and slightly apologizing smile. “I really do apologize. I wasn’t trying to kill you really.” He says with a smile while holding out his hand to me. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
By now I have found my way back to consciousness and I am starting to feel the consequences of his little accident trying not to kill me. I feel a huge bruise forming on my forehead and as I rub my hand over it, I notice it has already started to form a bump. Great, just what I needed, a huge bump on my forehead like a five-year old.
“Well, if you know any secrets to get rid of bumps on ones forehead, that would be nice.” I hear my voice is still not what it’s supposed to be.
The repairman has found his way back behind the counter and seems to be tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface. I look at him, for the first time seriously pissed today and my sudden turn-of-the head startles him. He stops and the impatient look on his face changes. In the meantime, my attacker is still standing about 2 inches away from me, still looking at me in an apologetic way so I decide to turn my attention back to him.
“How about a cup of coffee on me?” he finally replies. His answer startles me. I must be a little mixed up from the collision. Did he just ask me out?
“I must say, being abused and asked for coffee in the same afternoon by the same guy I a first. Or it is in that order anyways.” I give him my sweetest smile and he’s giving his back. “I’m Alex by the way.” He says as he, again, sticks his hand out to me. We’re about to walk out of the store as I hear someone clear his throat.
“Oh shit!” I yell out. The stupid repairman. The whole reason I was here. So one more time I draw my wallet and this time I manage to pay successfully. Alex has taken my bicycle outside for me and is waiting there for me with a broad smile on his face. “Sadly my mean s of transportation don’t leave any room for yours.” He says as he points as his little city car. “Why don’t we share mine?” I offer him. I hop onto the back as he starts riding it onto the road. Just about fifteen yards on our way we hit a speedbump and luck will it be, the front wheel breaks off….
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Diary of a hopeless romantic - chapter one
Friday, February 21st
It’s been ten days since he’s called or texted me. It’ll probably be another week before he will. Of course I know what’s going on by now. I just don’t know whether I should be mad, hurt or upset. It’s no surprise anymore. When will this ever stop?
Friday, February 28th
Still nothing. I feel like going over to his bar tonight. Making sure he knows I’m still alive. Who knows, maybe even catch him red-handed. Still not sure what to feel yet, although anger seems to be a returning emotion. What do I even still want from him? I talked to Sasha about it today. She, as always, told me to quit it, let it just be over with. I agreed with her. But I just don’t seem to find the courage inside myself to actually do it and besides, I wouldn’t know how. Even when I give myself time to let go, eventually he will contact me again and I will fall for his little white lies and let myself get dragged back. It’s how it happens every time and I just don’t know how to break the pattern. God, I wish I didn’t love him so much.
Thursday, March 5th
Well, he’s gone and done it again. I knew it. He met someone else, and as usual, it lasted for about two whole weeks before she dumped him and he came running back to me. Something wants to make me say: “I told you so.” But I wouldn’t know who to say it to but myself. I am the fool who picks up the phone again. And I know I shouldn’t. I know so well! But somehow, I still feel those butterflies when he talks to me again. I keep telling myself: “See, he does love you, because he does come back.” But why? Why do I keep going through this ritual over and over again, where he cheats, then comes back to me, I shout and yell, cry and eventually forgive him and try again. How long will he stay this time? Three months? Less? I never know, but I keep hanging on anyways. Can someone please shoot this hopeless romantic inside me?
Saturday, March 7th
How crazy am I? Jack came online around 1 am last night. We started talking casually. But after just a while it came down to the same old thing. He wanted to see me. And yes, I wanted to see him too. God, how I’d missed him. So stupid as I am, I got dressed, jumped into the car and drove to his house. When I got there the lights were all turned off, except in the attic. I could see the lights in his room on. I texted him and heard the sound of his phone echoing through the window. No response. “He must be in the bathroom.” I thought. So I called. I heard the phone ring. Still nothing. Maybe he was already in bed and he was sleeping in his parents’ room, because his mom was in Africa again. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. Still nothing. I tried the landline. I could hear it ringing inside. He didn’t pick up. I started to get annoyed now. I checked the shed to see if his bicycle was there. It was, he had to be home. So I started looking under plants and doormats for a key. I knew his mom was the type to keep spare keys outside. All I found were some spare keys to a bicycle. I tried the shed. No keys there either. But I did find a jar of marbles. So I started throwing marbles at his window. Most of them didn’t make it, one or two flew in through the open window. Still no Jack. When I ran out of marbles I started looking for pebbles. In the dark, in the backyard. By this time I had woken up the neighbors, because I saw a light flick on in the house. I ducked away and waited for the light to turn off again. I felt like a burglar. In the mean time I had been digging in my bag, searching for something to throw at the window. I found my mascara. I threw it at the window. It made a loud bang and ended up in the roof gutter. Still no response. By now at least 45 minutes had gone by and I was steaming mad. I gave up. I got back into my car and cried all the way back home. I am never, ever driving to a guy’s house in the middle of the night. Ever again. Especially this guy’s
Wednesday March 11th,
Jack called me today, out of the blue. It was during the day and he was actually sober. I was so surprised it made him laugh. He said he missed me and wanted to see me as soon as possible. He’s never said that to me before. I was still mad about Friday night, but I decided I could spit that in his face when we spoke face to face. I don’t know what to make of this. We’re meeting for dinner tomorrow night. He’s taking me somewhere. Of course I have to be the one to pick him up, but that’s just because he doesn’t have a car yet. I wonder where we’re going. It will be nice going somewhere together. He never takes me places. In fact, we’ve never even been on a real actual date. I should dress up and do my hair. I wonder if he notices…
Thursday, March 12th
Midnight, here I am, all dressed up. No Jack. He didn’t call or text. I tried calling him three times but he’s not picking up. That Ass! I am so over this!
Monday, March 16th
Jack called me at 3 am last night. He was all distraught and obviously drunk. I didn’t pick up the first three times he rang and then he texted:
“Are you mad?”
My only response was:
“Duh”
I couldn’t help but respond. I was awake anyways. I was after the first ring. Wide awake and my heart was pounding like crazy. Why does he get me all worked up? Even when I am so mad at him. So when he called a fourth time I finally picked up. To hell with a good night’s sleep, who has to work anyways? At first he just kept quiet after I had answered with a simple: “WHAT?”. After a minute of silence I sighed and I was about to hang up when he started to talk. As usual he sounded scarily clear yet I knew he was drunk. His sentences weren’t making any sense. But he mostly kept apologizing and he wanted to make it up to me. He couldn’t answer me why he had stood me up though. He just said he ‘forgot’. His standard answer. He has such a bad memory, no wonder with all the substances he keeps abusing. But as always, I caved and asked him what he was going to do to make it up to me. Apparently there is this huge party at the club close to his house this weekend. They’re sold out, but he said he could get us in. So, hesitantly, I said yes. What else was I supposed to do?
Friday, March 20th
This weekend is going to be a surprise. I spoke to Jack on Monday and he said he could get us tickets to this party tonight. He would celebrate his birthday there as well. He’d call me if he had them. I haven’t heard anything since. I’d love to go though. I know his friends will definitely be there, maybe this time things will be different. I’ve picked out my outfit and my hair is done. But I am not putting anything on until he calls or texts. I am not going to sit all made up and waiting like I did last week.
Sunday, March 22nd
I am beside myself with anger. I should have known. I sat around all Friday night, waiting in vain. But I decided I wasn’t going to let it get to me this time. I can cope with disappointment, I have so many times before and especially these last weeks. So last night I went out with the girls. Just a fun night, to forget about Jack and the fact that tomorrow is his birthday. It really helped. I had a great time with the girls and got home quite drunk. And then today, I turn on my laptop, go to facebook and there they are. The pictures of Jack’s birthday party, at the club, with the girl he had cheated me with just a month ago. And the pictures were clear enough to show that whatever they had going on, it wasn’t over yet. The same feeling hit me that I had when I discovered about the last girl in November. But this time I am not going to let it just pass like that. I found their email addresses (of both girls) and I sent them an email telling the whole story. How he’s been cheating on me for almost 2,5 years now. How he told me it was over with them, but seeing from the pictures it clearly isn’t. I cannot believe I fell for his excuses again! I almost lost friends over this. How blind can love make a person? It’s ridiculous! I wonder if he’s even going to respond. I am sure he’ll find out soon enough.
Tuesday, March 24th
Jack’s birthday was yesterday. I didn’t text or call him. Apparently it didn’t bother him at all, since he didn’t text or call me either. I had some interesting emails though. From both the other girls. The one from November instantly believed me, she had had a feeling back then something was wrong and she was sorry it had lasted so long for me. The other one didn’t believe me at first, but then she read the email of the first girl and she had to cave in. The first girl works with him, so I am sure by now he’s heard about it all. I am curious to see what will happen next.
Friday, March 27th
Jack came online tonight on IM. He was furious. We talked for about half an hour. It turns out that girl who works with him has spread the word over there and he’s been getting a lot of shit dumped on him by everyone. He blames it all on me. I never even occurred to him how much it might have hurt me to find out he was still seeing that girl, that he lied to me over and over again. No, to him, what I did, sending that email was the worst thing anyone has ever done to him. And people have done some nasty things to him, I should know. So he said, he wanted to break all contact with me. I think for the first time in two years I touched his heart. Maybe it was by hurting him, but I think it’s really the first time anything I said or did hit home. Anyways, he blocked me on IM and removed me from facebook. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or sad now. I think it’s a combination of both. Maybe I can finally close this chapter of my life…
copyrighted by author
It’s been ten days since he’s called or texted me. It’ll probably be another week before he will. Of course I know what’s going on by now. I just don’t know whether I should be mad, hurt or upset. It’s no surprise anymore. When will this ever stop?
Friday, February 28th
Still nothing. I feel like going over to his bar tonight. Making sure he knows I’m still alive. Who knows, maybe even catch him red-handed. Still not sure what to feel yet, although anger seems to be a returning emotion. What do I even still want from him? I talked to Sasha about it today. She, as always, told me to quit it, let it just be over with. I agreed with her. But I just don’t seem to find the courage inside myself to actually do it and besides, I wouldn’t know how. Even when I give myself time to let go, eventually he will contact me again and I will fall for his little white lies and let myself get dragged back. It’s how it happens every time and I just don’t know how to break the pattern. God, I wish I didn’t love him so much.
Thursday, March 5th
Well, he’s gone and done it again. I knew it. He met someone else, and as usual, it lasted for about two whole weeks before she dumped him and he came running back to me. Something wants to make me say: “I told you so.” But I wouldn’t know who to say it to but myself. I am the fool who picks up the phone again. And I know I shouldn’t. I know so well! But somehow, I still feel those butterflies when he talks to me again. I keep telling myself: “See, he does love you, because he does come back.” But why? Why do I keep going through this ritual over and over again, where he cheats, then comes back to me, I shout and yell, cry and eventually forgive him and try again. How long will he stay this time? Three months? Less? I never know, but I keep hanging on anyways. Can someone please shoot this hopeless romantic inside me?
Saturday, March 7th
How crazy am I? Jack came online around 1 am last night. We started talking casually. But after just a while it came down to the same old thing. He wanted to see me. And yes, I wanted to see him too. God, how I’d missed him. So stupid as I am, I got dressed, jumped into the car and drove to his house. When I got there the lights were all turned off, except in the attic. I could see the lights in his room on. I texted him and heard the sound of his phone echoing through the window. No response. “He must be in the bathroom.” I thought. So I called. I heard the phone ring. Still nothing. Maybe he was already in bed and he was sleeping in his parents’ room, because his mom was in Africa again. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. Still nothing. I tried the landline. I could hear it ringing inside. He didn’t pick up. I started to get annoyed now. I checked the shed to see if his bicycle was there. It was, he had to be home. So I started looking under plants and doormats for a key. I knew his mom was the type to keep spare keys outside. All I found were some spare keys to a bicycle. I tried the shed. No keys there either. But I did find a jar of marbles. So I started throwing marbles at his window. Most of them didn’t make it, one or two flew in through the open window. Still no Jack. When I ran out of marbles I started looking for pebbles. In the dark, in the backyard. By this time I had woken up the neighbors, because I saw a light flick on in the house. I ducked away and waited for the light to turn off again. I felt like a burglar. In the mean time I had been digging in my bag, searching for something to throw at the window. I found my mascara. I threw it at the window. It made a loud bang and ended up in the roof gutter. Still no response. By now at least 45 minutes had gone by and I was steaming mad. I gave up. I got back into my car and cried all the way back home. I am never, ever driving to a guy’s house in the middle of the night. Ever again. Especially this guy’s
Wednesday March 11th,
Jack called me today, out of the blue. It was during the day and he was actually sober. I was so surprised it made him laugh. He said he missed me and wanted to see me as soon as possible. He’s never said that to me before. I was still mad about Friday night, but I decided I could spit that in his face when we spoke face to face. I don’t know what to make of this. We’re meeting for dinner tomorrow night. He’s taking me somewhere. Of course I have to be the one to pick him up, but that’s just because he doesn’t have a car yet. I wonder where we’re going. It will be nice going somewhere together. He never takes me places. In fact, we’ve never even been on a real actual date. I should dress up and do my hair. I wonder if he notices…
Thursday, March 12th
Midnight, here I am, all dressed up. No Jack. He didn’t call or text. I tried calling him three times but he’s not picking up. That Ass! I am so over this!
Monday, March 16th
Jack called me at 3 am last night. He was all distraught and obviously drunk. I didn’t pick up the first three times he rang and then he texted:
“Are you mad?”
My only response was:
“Duh”
I couldn’t help but respond. I was awake anyways. I was after the first ring. Wide awake and my heart was pounding like crazy. Why does he get me all worked up? Even when I am so mad at him. So when he called a fourth time I finally picked up. To hell with a good night’s sleep, who has to work anyways? At first he just kept quiet after I had answered with a simple: “WHAT?”. After a minute of silence I sighed and I was about to hang up when he started to talk. As usual he sounded scarily clear yet I knew he was drunk. His sentences weren’t making any sense. But he mostly kept apologizing and he wanted to make it up to me. He couldn’t answer me why he had stood me up though. He just said he ‘forgot’. His standard answer. He has such a bad memory, no wonder with all the substances he keeps abusing. But as always, I caved and asked him what he was going to do to make it up to me. Apparently there is this huge party at the club close to his house this weekend. They’re sold out, but he said he could get us in. So, hesitantly, I said yes. What else was I supposed to do?
Friday, March 20th
This weekend is going to be a surprise. I spoke to Jack on Monday and he said he could get us tickets to this party tonight. He would celebrate his birthday there as well. He’d call me if he had them. I haven’t heard anything since. I’d love to go though. I know his friends will definitely be there, maybe this time things will be different. I’ve picked out my outfit and my hair is done. But I am not putting anything on until he calls or texts. I am not going to sit all made up and waiting like I did last week.
Sunday, March 22nd
I am beside myself with anger. I should have known. I sat around all Friday night, waiting in vain. But I decided I wasn’t going to let it get to me this time. I can cope with disappointment, I have so many times before and especially these last weeks. So last night I went out with the girls. Just a fun night, to forget about Jack and the fact that tomorrow is his birthday. It really helped. I had a great time with the girls and got home quite drunk. And then today, I turn on my laptop, go to facebook and there they are. The pictures of Jack’s birthday party, at the club, with the girl he had cheated me with just a month ago. And the pictures were clear enough to show that whatever they had going on, it wasn’t over yet. The same feeling hit me that I had when I discovered about the last girl in November. But this time I am not going to let it just pass like that. I found their email addresses (of both girls) and I sent them an email telling the whole story. How he’s been cheating on me for almost 2,5 years now. How he told me it was over with them, but seeing from the pictures it clearly isn’t. I cannot believe I fell for his excuses again! I almost lost friends over this. How blind can love make a person? It’s ridiculous! I wonder if he’s even going to respond. I am sure he’ll find out soon enough.
Tuesday, March 24th
Jack’s birthday was yesterday. I didn’t text or call him. Apparently it didn’t bother him at all, since he didn’t text or call me either. I had some interesting emails though. From both the other girls. The one from November instantly believed me, she had had a feeling back then something was wrong and she was sorry it had lasted so long for me. The other one didn’t believe me at first, but then she read the email of the first girl and she had to cave in. The first girl works with him, so I am sure by now he’s heard about it all. I am curious to see what will happen next.
Friday, March 27th
Jack came online tonight on IM. He was furious. We talked for about half an hour. It turns out that girl who works with him has spread the word over there and he’s been getting a lot of shit dumped on him by everyone. He blames it all on me. I never even occurred to him how much it might have hurt me to find out he was still seeing that girl, that he lied to me over and over again. No, to him, what I did, sending that email was the worst thing anyone has ever done to him. And people have done some nasty things to him, I should know. So he said, he wanted to break all contact with me. I think for the first time in two years I touched his heart. Maybe it was by hurting him, but I think it’s really the first time anything I said or did hit home. Anyways, he blocked me on IM and removed me from facebook. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or sad now. I think it’s a combination of both. Maybe I can finally close this chapter of my life…
copyrighted by author
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The North Sea as his bride
Synopsis:
Johannes van den Ijssel is, at age 16, very young to be accepted as a shipmate on the ‘Prins Willem’; a large freight ship owned by the Dutch East India Company. He is very proud that he gets to sail on a gold transport, although the gold is not the most valuable thing on board to Johannes.
***
It was a cold, hard winter. The kind of cold that when you stand outside, you feel the tip of your nose get stiff and the tears in your eyes almost freeze up. There was no ice on the water, so the ship just sailed on along its’ course. Johannes didn’t mind the cold, he loved being on deck. This was his first job on board of a ship this big, with such an important load and he felt like he was on top of the world.
Two days before they had set sail, his dad had taken him to a bar and had toasted to his new job: “My son is becoming a man today! Next week he will be a shipmate on the ‘Prins Willem’ of the Dutch East India Company. Let’s drink to that!” Everyone had toasted and celebrated with them. He hadn’t told his dad what kind of freight they were shipping. He had been sworn to secrecy and even if he hadn’t he knew his dad would never agree to let him go along on a gold fleet.
But Johannes wasn’t afraid. Not even half of the gold fleets were actually attacked and even if they were, part of the crew always survived. If they were ever attacked, he just had to be the cleverest one. After all, he had spent so many good hours inside studying, while he could have been playing with the other boys. His dad had always found this strange. But Johannes had a goal. One day, he wanted to be a merchant for the DEIC, instead of a mere shipmate. And when he was, he would be able to ask Greetje to marry him.
***
“Johannes! Why aren’t you mopping?” The bosun was yelling at him from the upper deck. Johannes woke up from his daydream and got to work. There was nothing to look at around here anyways. They were sailing out on the North Sea and about 5 hours after they had left all he had ever seen was water.
Working hard got him warm and by lunchtime he was already sweating in his clothes. They sat down for a hot lunch in the cabin and Johannes was so warm he took his vest off.
“Hold on to your clothes there young man!” one of the older sailors warned him. “Someone else might be needing that with this cold and once it’s gone, it’s gone. It’s finders keepers on board, kid.” The man was smiling at him from across the table and then stuck out his hand. “Hermanus is the name, but you can say Herman.” The man winked as he said it and showed some of his black and rotten teeth. It wasn’t a pretty smile. Johannes took his dirty hand and shook it firmly. “Johannes Van den Ijssel sir.” He said, a little insecure. The smile disappeared from Hermanus’ face. “Now, what did I tell ya?” he looked straight at Johannes with a serious look on his face. “H..Herman…” Johannes corrected himself.
“And how old might you be, young boy? Cannot be eighteen yet, can it?
“No sir…Herman, I am 16 years old now.”
“Now that’s a good age to be starting to learn the trade. I am sure you’ll be a bosun by the time you’re thirty! You will with my help! Stick with me boy, and I’ll show you the ropes.” Johannes was glad to have found a friend.
His dad might have thought he had finally become a man, Johannes still felt like a little boy. Except when he had a chance to go into the captain’s quarters. Not only did he feel important when he got a chance to go into the only decorated space on the ship, it also gave him a chance to sneak a peek at the painting of the captain’s daughter Geertruida. Secretly, Johannes had been in love with Geertruida (Geertje) for a while. But he knew her father would never let her marry a simple shipmate. He wasn’t even a sailor yet. But it didn’t hurt to dream.
Geertruida had long blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was as Dutch as they come and because her dad was a captain, she was always dressed pretty. But unlike the other rich girls, Geertruida was actually nice and friendly. Johannes could think about her all day.
***
As the days went by Johannes got more and more comfortable on the ship. He started to get to know the routines and the other sailors and since he worked hard and never complained, they let him be in peace. Herman told him as much as he could when they had a chance and he was learning fast.
“Johannes, I need you to bring the captain lunch in his quarters.” The bosun told him one day. “Yes sir!” Johannes jumped up and ran to the cabin to get lunch for the captain. The cook wasn’t done yet, so he had to wait in the cabin for a while. He didn’t mind, it had been raining all day and his clothes were wet and cold. The cabin was nice and warm, so he had a chance to dry his clothes. “You got you a good strong pair of sealegs yet boy?” the cook asked him after a while.
“Sealegs?” Johannes forgot all modesty and blatantly answered the cook. He didn’t seem bothered by his remark and just went ahead and continued. “Look, I work hard to make good food here, don’t want some chickenleg shipmate to trip at the first wave that hits this ship and spill my food. You got that boy?”
“Yes, sir!” Johannes had by now learned to respond to orders with ‘yes sir’ no matter who they came from. He picked up the platter, which indeed, was heavy, and started walking towards the door slowly. He never saw the cook standing behind the stove shaking his head in distrust.
***
It took a while but Johannes got to the Captain’s quarters without spilling anything. The big platter took up both his hands so a new problem arose. How to knock on the door?
“You waiting for the door to open itself kid?” It was Hermanus behind him. Johannes had been standing there indecisive for about a minute now, and he had a feeling Hermanus had been standing there the same amount of time, just watching him and enjoying his clumsiness. “Well…” he started with an unsteady voice. “Here you go boy, I’ll knock and then I’ll get out of your way.” And so he did.
The captain let Johannes in and asked him to set it up on the table. He was still working on something in the other room. Johannes felt like he’d just won the lottery, because this meant he could look at the picture of Geertruida. However, while doing that, he forgot about setting the table.
“Boy, whatever do you think you are looking at?” it was the captain’s voice and it wasn’t friendly. Johannes figured he had nothing to lose anyways, so he said: “I was looking at this marvelous painting of your daughter, sir. The artist has done a good job capturing her, all though nothing compares to her real beauty.”
By now the captain had moved in front of him, watching the painting as well, his back turned towards him. Johannes’ words made him turn around on the spot. “WHAT, did you say? I do hope a poor shipmate like yourself doesn’t cherish any..”
“BANBANGBANG” someone knocked on the door hard and rapidly. “ENTER” the captain said, as he turned his face towards the door.
“Captain, we have spotted the Carvallo Spanish Pirating ship. They are about an hour away from us if we keep sailing full speed. What shall we do?” It was the bosun and his look was serious. The captain told him to get all the Officers into his quarters now, so they could have a small council.
Johannes didn’t get any orders so he started cleaning off the table. This enabled him to listen to many ideas and watch the panic getting bigger as people yelled things like:
“Their ship is more powerful.”
“We need to protect the freight.”
“Let’s ram them.”
“I say: open fire.”
None of these ideas seemed to please the captain and for a while it became utterly silent in the room.
Johannes even surprised himself when at last he said: “Captain, I have an idea.” All this time he had been staring at the painting of Geertruida on the wall. If he saved this ship, he would surely be a hero.
Everyone was quiet in an instance and 24 heads turned towards the young boy. The captain had seen what he had been looking at and was curious to know what silly idea this boy would come up with.
“Captain, what would you give the man who has the winning solution?” His bravery amazed himself.
The captain played along and said: “I would give him silver.” He looked at Johannes and saw he wouldn’t convince him with just silver. Before he made another offer, he said: “First I would like to hear that ‘winning’ solution.” And so Johannes spoke:
“I shall get into the water and drill holes into the side and bottom of their ship, surely they will sink.”
The Officers all started yabbing at the same time and there was a deafening chaos going on in the room.
“SILENCE!” the captain yelled. He had thought about it for a second and he realized he would have to offer the hand of his daughter, before Johannes would actually jump.
“I shall give you silver, gold, a sword and a gun, if you do so make the Spanish Galleon sink.” The captain said in an official way.
“Captain, would you give the hand of your daughter if I swam and sunk the Carvallo?” The captain had been prepared for this question and to everyone’s surprise said: “Yes, I would give the hand of my daughter to whoever sinks that ship right now.”
***
Johannes didn’t think twice, this was the chance of a lifetime. He would instantly be a hero, be rich and he would get to marry Greetje. He quickly said a prayer before they helped him off the ship and soon he took off swimming. The water was icy cold, but the thought of marrying Geertruida kept Johannes going at full speed. All the officers, the sailors and the captain anxiously watched him from deck, trying not to be too suspicious as Johannes swam closer and closer to the Spanish ship.
***
Soon Johannes reached the ship and started drilling and as much holes and as fast as he could. After a while the captain saw the Spanish ship slightly tip to the side. Johannes had noticed too and knew he might be dragged under if he stayed too long. Besides, he was getting cold and stiff. So with all his courage and strength he started swimming back to the ship. As he came closer, the captain told all his men to get into the cabins and await orders. No one knew how long it would take Johannes to reach the ship and no one would see him coming. The captain patiently waited in his quarters with the bosun.
“Captain?” The bosun asked after quite some time had passed.
“Yes, Adrianus?” the captain answered calmly.
“Shouldn’t we go and see if we can get Johannes out of the water?” The bosun kind of liked the boy and knew he had taken an enormous risk. He had to be taken out of the cold water, otherwise he would either drown or die of pneumonia soon.
But the captain said: “The boy was so eminent on finding his bride, I believe he has found her.” He had never intended on taking him back on the ship. The boy had been so cocky as to expect the hand of his daughter, how dare he ask! No, this boy had sealed his own fate. The captain had decided.
***
The bosun felt differently and had quickly made his excuse to the captain. He rounded up a few men and as they got on deck, they could hear poor Johannes calling out.
“Please, please! Get me up! Get me out of the water! Please!” his voice lacked any spirit or force, he was close to exhaustion.
The men threw out a rope but Johannes had been in the cold water so long, his muscles weren’t functioning anymore. One of the men bravely lowered himself into the water and helped Johannes onto the deck.
They laid him down on deck and started pulling off his wet clothes. ”Let’s get the poor boy inside!” The bosun called.
Inside, they covered him in blankets and the men took turns lying close to him to give him some body heat. Young Johannes was so cold he couldn’t stop shaking. Only the thought of his dear Greetje could keep him going. One day soon, Greetje would be his. Johannes closed his eyes as the men were helping him. He saw her right there, just an inch out of his reach. He knew she would be his soon. “Greetje…. Greetje….” He called out weakly in his sub consciousness.
“Oooh, boy, he’s delirious now.” The bosun said.
Johannes didn’t hear him. Whether the captain really truly kept his word or not; Johannes was on his way to Greetje. A smile appeared upon his face and he slowly stopped breathing.
***
The next morning the bosun and the men gave Johannes a proper sea burial. The bosun said a prayer and a few nice words about this poor young boy. All of the other men said their goodbyes, except for the captain who never came out of his quarters. They dropped him into the cold North sea, to slowly float away into vast and unending happiness, where he could be with his bride forever.
***
And the Spanish Galleon? It was never seen again by anyone sailing the North Sea….
Johannes van den Ijssel is, at age 16, very young to be accepted as a shipmate on the ‘Prins Willem’; a large freight ship owned by the Dutch East India Company. He is very proud that he gets to sail on a gold transport, although the gold is not the most valuable thing on board to Johannes.
***
It was a cold, hard winter. The kind of cold that when you stand outside, you feel the tip of your nose get stiff and the tears in your eyes almost freeze up. There was no ice on the water, so the ship just sailed on along its’ course. Johannes didn’t mind the cold, he loved being on deck. This was his first job on board of a ship this big, with such an important load and he felt like he was on top of the world.
Two days before they had set sail, his dad had taken him to a bar and had toasted to his new job: “My son is becoming a man today! Next week he will be a shipmate on the ‘Prins Willem’ of the Dutch East India Company. Let’s drink to that!” Everyone had toasted and celebrated with them. He hadn’t told his dad what kind of freight they were shipping. He had been sworn to secrecy and even if he hadn’t he knew his dad would never agree to let him go along on a gold fleet.
But Johannes wasn’t afraid. Not even half of the gold fleets were actually attacked and even if they were, part of the crew always survived. If they were ever attacked, he just had to be the cleverest one. After all, he had spent so many good hours inside studying, while he could have been playing with the other boys. His dad had always found this strange. But Johannes had a goal. One day, he wanted to be a merchant for the DEIC, instead of a mere shipmate. And when he was, he would be able to ask Greetje to marry him.
***
“Johannes! Why aren’t you mopping?” The bosun was yelling at him from the upper deck. Johannes woke up from his daydream and got to work. There was nothing to look at around here anyways. They were sailing out on the North Sea and about 5 hours after they had left all he had ever seen was water.
Working hard got him warm and by lunchtime he was already sweating in his clothes. They sat down for a hot lunch in the cabin and Johannes was so warm he took his vest off.
“Hold on to your clothes there young man!” one of the older sailors warned him. “Someone else might be needing that with this cold and once it’s gone, it’s gone. It’s finders keepers on board, kid.” The man was smiling at him from across the table and then stuck out his hand. “Hermanus is the name, but you can say Herman.” The man winked as he said it and showed some of his black and rotten teeth. It wasn’t a pretty smile. Johannes took his dirty hand and shook it firmly. “Johannes Van den Ijssel sir.” He said, a little insecure. The smile disappeared from Hermanus’ face. “Now, what did I tell ya?” he looked straight at Johannes with a serious look on his face. “H..Herman…” Johannes corrected himself.
“And how old might you be, young boy? Cannot be eighteen yet, can it?
“No sir…Herman, I am 16 years old now.”
“Now that’s a good age to be starting to learn the trade. I am sure you’ll be a bosun by the time you’re thirty! You will with my help! Stick with me boy, and I’ll show you the ropes.” Johannes was glad to have found a friend.
His dad might have thought he had finally become a man, Johannes still felt like a little boy. Except when he had a chance to go into the captain’s quarters. Not only did he feel important when he got a chance to go into the only decorated space on the ship, it also gave him a chance to sneak a peek at the painting of the captain’s daughter Geertruida. Secretly, Johannes had been in love with Geertruida (Geertje) for a while. But he knew her father would never let her marry a simple shipmate. He wasn’t even a sailor yet. But it didn’t hurt to dream.
Geertruida had long blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was as Dutch as they come and because her dad was a captain, she was always dressed pretty. But unlike the other rich girls, Geertruida was actually nice and friendly. Johannes could think about her all day.
***
As the days went by Johannes got more and more comfortable on the ship. He started to get to know the routines and the other sailors and since he worked hard and never complained, they let him be in peace. Herman told him as much as he could when they had a chance and he was learning fast.
“Johannes, I need you to bring the captain lunch in his quarters.” The bosun told him one day. “Yes sir!” Johannes jumped up and ran to the cabin to get lunch for the captain. The cook wasn’t done yet, so he had to wait in the cabin for a while. He didn’t mind, it had been raining all day and his clothes were wet and cold. The cabin was nice and warm, so he had a chance to dry his clothes. “You got you a good strong pair of sealegs yet boy?” the cook asked him after a while.
“Sealegs?” Johannes forgot all modesty and blatantly answered the cook. He didn’t seem bothered by his remark and just went ahead and continued. “Look, I work hard to make good food here, don’t want some chickenleg shipmate to trip at the first wave that hits this ship and spill my food. You got that boy?”
“Yes, sir!” Johannes had by now learned to respond to orders with ‘yes sir’ no matter who they came from. He picked up the platter, which indeed, was heavy, and started walking towards the door slowly. He never saw the cook standing behind the stove shaking his head in distrust.
***
It took a while but Johannes got to the Captain’s quarters without spilling anything. The big platter took up both his hands so a new problem arose. How to knock on the door?
“You waiting for the door to open itself kid?” It was Hermanus behind him. Johannes had been standing there indecisive for about a minute now, and he had a feeling Hermanus had been standing there the same amount of time, just watching him and enjoying his clumsiness. “Well…” he started with an unsteady voice. “Here you go boy, I’ll knock and then I’ll get out of your way.” And so he did.
The captain let Johannes in and asked him to set it up on the table. He was still working on something in the other room. Johannes felt like he’d just won the lottery, because this meant he could look at the picture of Geertruida. However, while doing that, he forgot about setting the table.
“Boy, whatever do you think you are looking at?” it was the captain’s voice and it wasn’t friendly. Johannes figured he had nothing to lose anyways, so he said: “I was looking at this marvelous painting of your daughter, sir. The artist has done a good job capturing her, all though nothing compares to her real beauty.”
By now the captain had moved in front of him, watching the painting as well, his back turned towards him. Johannes’ words made him turn around on the spot. “WHAT, did you say? I do hope a poor shipmate like yourself doesn’t cherish any..”
“BANBANGBANG” someone knocked on the door hard and rapidly. “ENTER” the captain said, as he turned his face towards the door.
“Captain, we have spotted the Carvallo Spanish Pirating ship. They are about an hour away from us if we keep sailing full speed. What shall we do?” It was the bosun and his look was serious. The captain told him to get all the Officers into his quarters now, so they could have a small council.
Johannes didn’t get any orders so he started cleaning off the table. This enabled him to listen to many ideas and watch the panic getting bigger as people yelled things like:
“Their ship is more powerful.”
“We need to protect the freight.”
“Let’s ram them.”
“I say: open fire.”
None of these ideas seemed to please the captain and for a while it became utterly silent in the room.
Johannes even surprised himself when at last he said: “Captain, I have an idea.” All this time he had been staring at the painting of Geertruida on the wall. If he saved this ship, he would surely be a hero.
Everyone was quiet in an instance and 24 heads turned towards the young boy. The captain had seen what he had been looking at and was curious to know what silly idea this boy would come up with.
“Captain, what would you give the man who has the winning solution?” His bravery amazed himself.
The captain played along and said: “I would give him silver.” He looked at Johannes and saw he wouldn’t convince him with just silver. Before he made another offer, he said: “First I would like to hear that ‘winning’ solution.” And so Johannes spoke:
“I shall get into the water and drill holes into the side and bottom of their ship, surely they will sink.”
The Officers all started yabbing at the same time and there was a deafening chaos going on in the room.
“SILENCE!” the captain yelled. He had thought about it for a second and he realized he would have to offer the hand of his daughter, before Johannes would actually jump.
“I shall give you silver, gold, a sword and a gun, if you do so make the Spanish Galleon sink.” The captain said in an official way.
“Captain, would you give the hand of your daughter if I swam and sunk the Carvallo?” The captain had been prepared for this question and to everyone’s surprise said: “Yes, I would give the hand of my daughter to whoever sinks that ship right now.”
***
Johannes didn’t think twice, this was the chance of a lifetime. He would instantly be a hero, be rich and he would get to marry Greetje. He quickly said a prayer before they helped him off the ship and soon he took off swimming. The water was icy cold, but the thought of marrying Geertruida kept Johannes going at full speed. All the officers, the sailors and the captain anxiously watched him from deck, trying not to be too suspicious as Johannes swam closer and closer to the Spanish ship.
***
Soon Johannes reached the ship and started drilling and as much holes and as fast as he could. After a while the captain saw the Spanish ship slightly tip to the side. Johannes had noticed too and knew he might be dragged under if he stayed too long. Besides, he was getting cold and stiff. So with all his courage and strength he started swimming back to the ship. As he came closer, the captain told all his men to get into the cabins and await orders. No one knew how long it would take Johannes to reach the ship and no one would see him coming. The captain patiently waited in his quarters with the bosun.
“Captain?” The bosun asked after quite some time had passed.
“Yes, Adrianus?” the captain answered calmly.
“Shouldn’t we go and see if we can get Johannes out of the water?” The bosun kind of liked the boy and knew he had taken an enormous risk. He had to be taken out of the cold water, otherwise he would either drown or die of pneumonia soon.
But the captain said: “The boy was so eminent on finding his bride, I believe he has found her.” He had never intended on taking him back on the ship. The boy had been so cocky as to expect the hand of his daughter, how dare he ask! No, this boy had sealed his own fate. The captain had decided.
***
The bosun felt differently and had quickly made his excuse to the captain. He rounded up a few men and as they got on deck, they could hear poor Johannes calling out.
“Please, please! Get me up! Get me out of the water! Please!” his voice lacked any spirit or force, he was close to exhaustion.
The men threw out a rope but Johannes had been in the cold water so long, his muscles weren’t functioning anymore. One of the men bravely lowered himself into the water and helped Johannes onto the deck.
They laid him down on deck and started pulling off his wet clothes. ”Let’s get the poor boy inside!” The bosun called.
Inside, they covered him in blankets and the men took turns lying close to him to give him some body heat. Young Johannes was so cold he couldn’t stop shaking. Only the thought of his dear Greetje could keep him going. One day soon, Greetje would be his. Johannes closed his eyes as the men were helping him. He saw her right there, just an inch out of his reach. He knew she would be his soon. “Greetje…. Greetje….” He called out weakly in his sub consciousness.
“Oooh, boy, he’s delirious now.” The bosun said.
Johannes didn’t hear him. Whether the captain really truly kept his word or not; Johannes was on his way to Greetje. A smile appeared upon his face and he slowly stopped breathing.
***
The next morning the bosun and the men gave Johannes a proper sea burial. The bosun said a prayer and a few nice words about this poor young boy. All of the other men said their goodbyes, except for the captain who never came out of his quarters. They dropped him into the cold North sea, to slowly float away into vast and unending happiness, where he could be with his bride forever.
***
And the Spanish Galleon? It was never seen again by anyone sailing the North Sea….
Thursday, May 28, 2009
'Tweet me a story' contest
Yah, I got myslef enrolled in another one of NYCMMM's contests. This time a cute challenge, write a story in 140 characters with only one restriction: use your assigned word. My word was 'lost' and these are the 3 stories I submitted (from the 16 I wrote ;) )
1.
LMFAO! he CBB TBH 2 her & TILII! He = a SOB! she LOST her BFF & he took off FTASB. IJWTS he's n @SS IMO! BTW, IHA, WDYT?G2G TTYL, CU TOM XOXO
(message me if your 'lost' in translation)
2.
I think I lost interest when he tried to tell me about his memories of his past life as a French Monk. Thanks for the great blind date, mom!
3.
Her tears were the best reward ever. I lost my cynicism when I saw them running down her dirty, worn, old face. It was just a ham sandwich.
Let me know what y'all think!
1.
LMFAO! he CBB TBH 2 her & TILII! He = a SOB! she LOST her BFF & he took off FTASB. IJWTS he's n @SS IMO! BTW, IHA, WDYT?G2G TTYL, CU TOM XOXO
(message me if your 'lost' in translation)
2.
I think I lost interest when he tried to tell me about his memories of his past life as a French Monk. Thanks for the great blind date, mom!
3.
Her tears were the best reward ever. I lost my cynicism when I saw them running down her dirty, worn, old face. It was just a ham sandwich.
Let me know what y'all think!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The 'Au pair Diaries'
A little over a year ago now, I was not in a happy place, finished college, couldn’t find that ‘amazing’ job and had taken on whatever I could get. When that also turned out not to work for me, I decided it was time for a change of scenery. I was time for me to pack my bags and move away from the city I had grown to love and hate at the same time. I had always had a desire to travel but never had the funds to do it. I still didn’t have those funds so I looked for a way to travel cheap and hopefully make some money out of it. Somehow I discovered an agency that asked for au pairs in America. Looking over the options and the financial picture I decided this was what I wanted to do. Without questioning myself for too long, I signed up and the process began. In July 2008 it was finally time for me to get on a plane for the first time and fly to the United States of America, the promised land. My hopes were set high and I really thought this would be the perfect way to step out of my downward circle back at home.
Soon I arrived at my new family’s home and I was welcomed warmly. We had a good connection and communication was open. For about a week. Actually, I should have seen the signs when they had forgotten about my birthday, which in advance they had promised to celebrate with a big party. But within the first week, the mother had to travel for business and it was just the dad and me. And he made me work. If you have ever read the Nanny diary’s, I can confirm right here and now, that many thing mentioned in the book are not exaggerated. Some people really think they own a personal slave. Their house was immaculate and I was expected to keep it that way. Good luck, with a two year old toddler, who has an attention span of 3 miliseconds. I was constantly picking up after him and putting toys away.
But that was not by far the worst, these people, ambitious as they were, expected me to have their 2 year old ‘gifted’ son reading and writing within a few months. Now sure, I saw a possibility in getting him started on some activities, but the main factor in a two year old is motivation, something he lacked tremendously when it came to reading and writing games or creativity. He wanted to play with cars, and planes, and boats or the piano, nothing more. Besides these impossible demands there was another issue. How could I, being 25 years old, ever have thought that I was more than their house slave? How could I have ever thought that I had a right to some free time, my own friends, my own thoughts and my own room? No, I was put in my place pretty quickly. My bedroom was checked for neatness about everyday, I was to treat their property with respect and I could not leave my dirty laundry in the hamper for 3 days. I felt like a 2 year old myself. Everything I did had to be checked. I had to always tell them where I was going, with whom and what time I would be back, just like when I was 17 and living with my parents. Except these people weren’t my parents, they were my employers, who not just acted as my parents but as my slavedrivers.
On top of it all, the dad was seriously mentally ill and gladly took this out on me. Many times he would just burst out into yelling, out of nowhere and he was always trying to indoctrinate me with his crazy Ideas. He was anal retentive and extremely controlling. He would make me get up at 6.30 am to start work at 7.00 am, because he had to go to work early and then I would sit in the living room and wait for him to show up until usually 9.00 am. He would call me and say he would be home by 6.00 pm, and he would show up around 7.30 pm, and even then leaving me to take care of the child, even though my workday was long over. He would sneak into my room when I was gone and snoop around and when he had a chance he would read my text messages on my phone. And worse, when I confronted him with all of this, he lied about it, straight to my face. Needless to say I kept this up for 2 months after which I completely broke down. I had told them I wanted a new family and was supposed to stay with them for two more weeks. In this time he still tried to indoctrinate me and dominate me and manipulate me by telling me I would never find another family, because I was so impossible to live with etc. Two days after my decision I couldn’t take it anymore, and while the 2 year old was napping, I quickly packed my suitcases and called my counselor to pick me up around 5, when they would come home. When the dad came home and saw my suitcases by the door he exploded. I was sure he was going to physically attack me and I had heard rumors about a gun in the house. My counselor couldn’t have arrived at a better time, she literally saved my life that day.
Pretty soon she thought she had found me another family, but luck was not on my side as they did not have the finances to pay for an au pair. Darling as they were they did let me stay at their house until I found a new family and they were very supportive and sweet. I will always be grateful to them for being there for me when I needed some friends.
Matching did not go as well as I had hoped but just as I was about to give up, I met my current family. For the interview the mom and I went out for breakfast and we had a great time. We talked for ever and I had a great feeling about it. The first weekend of October, 3 months after my arrival, I moved in. The first months were great. The kids were fun, the parents were nice but yes, after a while this painting also started showing some cracks. An au pair is supposed to be taken in to the family as part of the family. She is supposed to be fed by the family and if that means she eats different things, these things should be bought by the family. None of this happened in this family. When they planned family dinners or events, they would not invite me until the last minute, by that time I would have plans of course. On Friday nights they all went out to dinner and yes, I joined them a few times, but they never asked me until they already had one foot out the door. When I wanted different food from what they usually bought, I had to pay for it myself, mind you off a salary of $176 dollars a week.
After Christmas things really started to change. The oldest child, an 11 year old girl, suddenly hit puberty and the hormones were flying around the house. She could be very rude, never listened to me and did things her own way. And there was no way for me to discipline her, because the parents never backed me up. I was lost in a horrible world of hormones and now even the kids were treating me as their own personal slaves. After about 2,5 months I broke and I told the mom, crying my eyes out, that I was losing control and couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of comforting me and being there for me, she blamed it on me. I was not involved enough with the children (look who’s talking), I was always relaxing when I should take care of them and so on and so on. This was quite a slap in the face to me and once again completely upset I called my counselor. What to do now? She came through for me again and kept me sane and gave me enough motivation to keep holding on and pushing through. I changed the way I worked with the kids and gave up on raising them. My new goal was to make it through the day without any fights and amazingly, this worked. For about 5 weeks everything seemed to be perfect. The mom was nice to me all the time, the kids kind of listened to me and I had started counting down the weeks until my leave back home.
Until one day the mom came home from a weekend in Denver on business. The dad had gotten the kids up in the morning for two days in a row and I had to go through the house cleaning up his tracks. On Tuesday I also had an assignment for school and because it ran a little late, I had no more time to run out for groceries so I planned to do those that evening. The laundry was halfway done and I was planning on finishing it while one kid was at school for a recital and the other was at tennis. However the mom came home earlier than normal and found my chores not done. She found it perfectly legitimate to start yelling and screaming at me in front of her youngest child, a 9 year old boy. She screamed at me that I didn’t do my work properly and I was irresponsible, especially for someone my age. I didn’t take good care of the kids, I never asked if it was ok to go places and I slacked off on the housework. I slept too long in my free time and she had never had an au pair who had disrespected her so much. And then she stormed out of the room. You can understand that I have just given you the short version, because the screaming went on for about 10-15 minutes without giving me a chance to say anything back. She forbade me to use the car for anything else than work things (I have classes on Saturday that I paid for myself). Then she stormed out it was up to me to comfort her 9 year old son because he was about to burst into tears. I told him it was ok, not to cry and went on with my work as I would have if she hadn’t exploded on me. About twenty minutes later she came down and apologized for screaming at me. She had had some long days and was not happy about what she found when she came home. She said she needed me to work differently and I said that I never had any idea that she was so dissatisfied. I told her that if she didn’t tell me what she wanted me to do differently, how was I supposed to know? And she said she understood. It as a busy time and she had to leave to a recital with the oldest and I was left with the youngest finishing up homework.
Later that night she apologized again and told me I could still take my classes and that she just needed more help with the household things. I wonder if she ever realized how much she broke inside me. I wonder if these people ever realize what it is like, living under someone else’s roof, after being on your own for 6 years, trying to adjust to a new culture, being on call 24/7, never feeling accepted in their house and feeling more alone anyone can ever feel while surrounded by people. Perhaps one day, years from now, I will be able to really tell her the truth, how much she disrespected me by the things she said and did, how uncomfortable I have always felt in their house, how badly I think she was raising her kids, maybe. But for now, I just decide to shut up, work even harder, and take the pain on the way. Because if this year has taught me one thing, it is that I am strong. I am a strong young woman, and although I have a lot to learn when it comes to speaking up for myself, no one will ever be able to say I gave up. Through all of the misery these people have given me (because this was just a glimpse, trust me), I have remained strong and hopeful for the future.
In August this year I am moving to another Family, in San Fransisco. My friend has been with this family for 9 months and she has never experienced anything like what has happened to me during the past year. Whether it is karma or just plain bad luck I don’t know. But I am hopeful that my six months with this family will prove all my newly developed ideas about American families completely wrong. I am just praying for the strength to make it through these last 9 weeks. Please pray with me…..
Soon I arrived at my new family’s home and I was welcomed warmly. We had a good connection and communication was open. For about a week. Actually, I should have seen the signs when they had forgotten about my birthday, which in advance they had promised to celebrate with a big party. But within the first week, the mother had to travel for business and it was just the dad and me. And he made me work. If you have ever read the Nanny diary’s, I can confirm right here and now, that many thing mentioned in the book are not exaggerated. Some people really think they own a personal slave. Their house was immaculate and I was expected to keep it that way. Good luck, with a two year old toddler, who has an attention span of 3 miliseconds. I was constantly picking up after him and putting toys away.
But that was not by far the worst, these people, ambitious as they were, expected me to have their 2 year old ‘gifted’ son reading and writing within a few months. Now sure, I saw a possibility in getting him started on some activities, but the main factor in a two year old is motivation, something he lacked tremendously when it came to reading and writing games or creativity. He wanted to play with cars, and planes, and boats or the piano, nothing more. Besides these impossible demands there was another issue. How could I, being 25 years old, ever have thought that I was more than their house slave? How could I have ever thought that I had a right to some free time, my own friends, my own thoughts and my own room? No, I was put in my place pretty quickly. My bedroom was checked for neatness about everyday, I was to treat their property with respect and I could not leave my dirty laundry in the hamper for 3 days. I felt like a 2 year old myself. Everything I did had to be checked. I had to always tell them where I was going, with whom and what time I would be back, just like when I was 17 and living with my parents. Except these people weren’t my parents, they were my employers, who not just acted as my parents but as my slavedrivers.
On top of it all, the dad was seriously mentally ill and gladly took this out on me. Many times he would just burst out into yelling, out of nowhere and he was always trying to indoctrinate me with his crazy Ideas. He was anal retentive and extremely controlling. He would make me get up at 6.30 am to start work at 7.00 am, because he had to go to work early and then I would sit in the living room and wait for him to show up until usually 9.00 am. He would call me and say he would be home by 6.00 pm, and he would show up around 7.30 pm, and even then leaving me to take care of the child, even though my workday was long over. He would sneak into my room when I was gone and snoop around and when he had a chance he would read my text messages on my phone. And worse, when I confronted him with all of this, he lied about it, straight to my face. Needless to say I kept this up for 2 months after which I completely broke down. I had told them I wanted a new family and was supposed to stay with them for two more weeks. In this time he still tried to indoctrinate me and dominate me and manipulate me by telling me I would never find another family, because I was so impossible to live with etc. Two days after my decision I couldn’t take it anymore, and while the 2 year old was napping, I quickly packed my suitcases and called my counselor to pick me up around 5, when they would come home. When the dad came home and saw my suitcases by the door he exploded. I was sure he was going to physically attack me and I had heard rumors about a gun in the house. My counselor couldn’t have arrived at a better time, she literally saved my life that day.
Pretty soon she thought she had found me another family, but luck was not on my side as they did not have the finances to pay for an au pair. Darling as they were they did let me stay at their house until I found a new family and they were very supportive and sweet. I will always be grateful to them for being there for me when I needed some friends.
Matching did not go as well as I had hoped but just as I was about to give up, I met my current family. For the interview the mom and I went out for breakfast and we had a great time. We talked for ever and I had a great feeling about it. The first weekend of October, 3 months after my arrival, I moved in. The first months were great. The kids were fun, the parents were nice but yes, after a while this painting also started showing some cracks. An au pair is supposed to be taken in to the family as part of the family. She is supposed to be fed by the family and if that means she eats different things, these things should be bought by the family. None of this happened in this family. When they planned family dinners or events, they would not invite me until the last minute, by that time I would have plans of course. On Friday nights they all went out to dinner and yes, I joined them a few times, but they never asked me until they already had one foot out the door. When I wanted different food from what they usually bought, I had to pay for it myself, mind you off a salary of $176 dollars a week.
After Christmas things really started to change. The oldest child, an 11 year old girl, suddenly hit puberty and the hormones were flying around the house. She could be very rude, never listened to me and did things her own way. And there was no way for me to discipline her, because the parents never backed me up. I was lost in a horrible world of hormones and now even the kids were treating me as their own personal slaves. After about 2,5 months I broke and I told the mom, crying my eyes out, that I was losing control and couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of comforting me and being there for me, she blamed it on me. I was not involved enough with the children (look who’s talking), I was always relaxing when I should take care of them and so on and so on. This was quite a slap in the face to me and once again completely upset I called my counselor. What to do now? She came through for me again and kept me sane and gave me enough motivation to keep holding on and pushing through. I changed the way I worked with the kids and gave up on raising them. My new goal was to make it through the day without any fights and amazingly, this worked. For about 5 weeks everything seemed to be perfect. The mom was nice to me all the time, the kids kind of listened to me and I had started counting down the weeks until my leave back home.
Until one day the mom came home from a weekend in Denver on business. The dad had gotten the kids up in the morning for two days in a row and I had to go through the house cleaning up his tracks. On Tuesday I also had an assignment for school and because it ran a little late, I had no more time to run out for groceries so I planned to do those that evening. The laundry was halfway done and I was planning on finishing it while one kid was at school for a recital and the other was at tennis. However the mom came home earlier than normal and found my chores not done. She found it perfectly legitimate to start yelling and screaming at me in front of her youngest child, a 9 year old boy. She screamed at me that I didn’t do my work properly and I was irresponsible, especially for someone my age. I didn’t take good care of the kids, I never asked if it was ok to go places and I slacked off on the housework. I slept too long in my free time and she had never had an au pair who had disrespected her so much. And then she stormed out of the room. You can understand that I have just given you the short version, because the screaming went on for about 10-15 minutes without giving me a chance to say anything back. She forbade me to use the car for anything else than work things (I have classes on Saturday that I paid for myself). Then she stormed out it was up to me to comfort her 9 year old son because he was about to burst into tears. I told him it was ok, not to cry and went on with my work as I would have if she hadn’t exploded on me. About twenty minutes later she came down and apologized for screaming at me. She had had some long days and was not happy about what she found when she came home. She said she needed me to work differently and I said that I never had any idea that she was so dissatisfied. I told her that if she didn’t tell me what she wanted me to do differently, how was I supposed to know? And she said she understood. It as a busy time and she had to leave to a recital with the oldest and I was left with the youngest finishing up homework.
Later that night she apologized again and told me I could still take my classes and that she just needed more help with the household things. I wonder if she ever realized how much she broke inside me. I wonder if these people ever realize what it is like, living under someone else’s roof, after being on your own for 6 years, trying to adjust to a new culture, being on call 24/7, never feeling accepted in their house and feeling more alone anyone can ever feel while surrounded by people. Perhaps one day, years from now, I will be able to really tell her the truth, how much she disrespected me by the things she said and did, how uncomfortable I have always felt in their house, how badly I think she was raising her kids, maybe. But for now, I just decide to shut up, work even harder, and take the pain on the way. Because if this year has taught me one thing, it is that I am strong. I am a strong young woman, and although I have a lot to learn when it comes to speaking up for myself, no one will ever be able to say I gave up. Through all of the misery these people have given me (because this was just a glimpse, trust me), I have remained strong and hopeful for the future.
In August this year I am moving to another Family, in San Fransisco. My friend has been with this family for 9 months and she has never experienced anything like what has happened to me during the past year. Whether it is karma or just plain bad luck I don’t know. But I am hopeful that my six months with this family will prove all my newly developed ideas about American families completely wrong. I am just praying for the strength to make it through these last 9 weeks. Please pray with me…..
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