“everything that kills me makes me feel alive”—Counting Stars by OneRepublic
If I have learned one thing while being here in Germany… anything I thought I knew, everything I’ve thought of being amazing in America, Germany does it better.
Like the Christmas markets!
It looks so magical; I feel like I’m in one of the most popular Hollywood Christmas movies. Germans may not decorate their houses as crazy as we do in America, but holy fuck, their Christmas markets are everything.
There is not one stand that isn’t decorated. Not one inch of this place that doesn’t light up in Christmas lights, not even the outdoor ice rink is blank. Yes, you heard me right, an ice rink. I think you pay five euros to skate for an hour, but I haven’t seen one Christmas market in the U.S. have an ice rink present.
Sure, we have some around a couple of cities during the wintertime, yet nothing quite like this.
But there is also one thing I don’t understand about being here. Why are there so many teenagers sitting or standing by booths, drinking what Sofia has told me is called Glühwein—about the same as mulled wine? It’s still strange to me that they can buy certain alcohol at the age of sixteen here, and that it isn’t illegal to drink outside.
Seriously, they could walk around with any alcoholic drink in their hands, and they wouldn’t face consequences here.
However, there is one huge downside. I do not understand a single word these people utter.
Sofia is currently looking at some glittery decorations, leaving me standing all by myself, and this man is trying to—so I would assume—sell me some weekend in Hawaii.
Maybe not that, but he sure is trying to sell me something.
Well, or he is offering me his daughter’s hand. Either way, all I do is nod politely and smile at the man, praying I am not selling my soul to the devil right now.
“Aaron,” I hear Sofia say despite being zoned out. “My friends and I are going to skate for a while. I figured you might want to join us?”
“Fuck, yes.” I was praying she’d suggest that ever since I found out about the ice rink. If there is one thing I will never get enough of, it would be skating. I could spend a whole week on the ice and not get bored. A little freezing maybe, and catch myself a cold, but I’d find things to occupy myself with.
Okay, a week is exaggerated, but you get the point.
“Are they figure skaters?” I find myself asking as she pulls me away from the guy that now wears a huge question mark over his head. Yes, dude, I was just as confused when you started talking to me.
“No, but I suppose they know how to skate.”
“I’m not teaching anyone.” Except for Sofia, but she knows how to skate already.
What a bummer. Imagine the fun we could have on the ice.
Sofia constantly falling but getting excited when she made it a couple of inches without. Me holding her close to me as I guide her. Holding hands while skating, or her clinging on to my arm.
But her knowing how to skate also brings advantages… like, races. Yes. Who’s faster on the ice? Me. Who’s more comfortable on skates? Me. Who’s better at ice hockey? Me, obviously.
Also, women that know how to skate, in my eyes, are a million times more attractive.
Sofia laughs and leans her head against my shoulder at the same time as her arms wrap around mine to hold on to me. “You’d be the worst teacher to ever exist.”
I gasp for air, my heart feeling awfully betrayed by my girlfriend. Yes, girlfriend. Can you believe this? Because I certainly can’t.
Okay, okay, I did say we won’t put a label on our relationship until she feels comfortable enough with it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still refer to her as my girlfriend. She is mine after all.
“I’ll have you know, I am a great teacher, thank you very much.”
“In your dreams, perhaps.” Her head turns as she looks up at me, smiling like the little devil she is. Then her expression softens, her bottom lip sticking out as she pouts at me. “Did that hurt your feelings?”
I nod. It hasn’t but she doesn’t need to know that. “There’s only one thing that could make the pain in my heart go away now.” Sofia raises her eyebrows. I look away from her, up to the dark sky as I sigh heavily, a little dramatically. “You will have to kiss me.”
She snorts a laugh. “What are you, twelve?” Again, I nod because, no, but yes. “You’ll get a kiss when you earned it.”
How goddamn rude. I look back down at her, only to find her staring ahead to make sure we’re not bumping into some strangers. I would do that too, but I’m kind of busy admiring Sofia. At least now I’m no longer a creep when I stare at her, and I also don’t have to hide it anymore.
“My presence in your life earns me the right to get as many kisses as I want.” She doesn’t react, because Sofia knows as well as I do that we haven’t shared one single kiss since we’re in some kind of situationship slash actual relationship. To be fair, it hasn’t even been a whole day yet, but according to the guy I’ve been before Sofia was back in my life, it wouldn’t have taken me even one second to decide on a kiss. I wouldn’t have hesitated, nor would I have been afraid to mess anything up.
Eventually, Sofia lets go of my arm, bringing an instant feeling of loss to my soul. Only then do I look around myself and find us standing in line for the ice rink, or more like getting some skates. Sofia’s friends have already paid for our ice time.
“Why didn’t you tell me they had an ice rink here?” I ask as we’re about two people away from getting our skates. “I would have brought my own skates.” You know, the expensive, blazer-sharp ones. The good ones.
“Yeah? Because flying back to New City to get your skates and coming back here to skate would have been worth it.”
I shake my head. “They’re in my suitcase. You think I’d go anywhere without my precious skates?” Sofia is obsessed with the color wisteria. She wouldn’t go anywhere without having at least one thing on her in that color. I have skating as my obsession, and my skates that follow me wherever I go. “No, now I have to cheat on my babies.”
“You’ll live,” she laughs, then starts speaking to the ice rink employee. After a short while, Sofia turns to look at me. “What’s your size in skates,” she asks.
“Like a 9.” Honestly, it always depends on the brand. The ones I have are a 9, but they’re from CCM. My former skates were an 8.5 from Bauer.
“Black or white ones?”
“Either way. They’re skates.” Ones I only “own” for approximately an hour. It’s not like I’m up for a win against the Sun Devils or the Falcons and the game is televised. Fuck, even then they’d just be skates. As long as they’re not bright pink or blue, or any crazy color, I’m good with it.
Sofia nods, then tells the guy my size. He asks something in return, to which Sofia answers with, “Die in Hell.” I almost gasp in shock. Why the fuck would she just tell a random stranger to die in hell? What did that poor guy do to deserve this?
He disappears for a second, probably to get the skates.
“What the fuck, Sofia?” She looks at me, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Why would you tell him to die in hell?”
It takes her a second to realize, but when my words finally settle in, she… laughs. A full-on, every-single-head-around-us-turns-to-look-who’s-being-so-noisy kind of laughter.
I don’t get it. What’s so funny about me asking… “You didn’t tell him to die in hell, did you?”
She shakes her head, thinning her lips to stop herself from laughing. “I told him we wanted the brighter ones.”
“So, hell means bright?” Sofia nods. “Well… I guess hell is bright? With all the fire and… the fire only. Other than that, I’d say it’s pretty dark down there.”
“And I thought people who major in architecture are smart. Guess I was wrong.”
I bring a hand up to her face, tipping her head up with my index finger, being seconds away from kissing that attitude out of her, when the register guy comes back. With that guy back and him handing our skates over to Sofia, I let out an internal groan of frustration.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss my girlfriend.
“Danke,” Sofia says and gives register guy a warm smile. I’m just going to assume she thanked him. Honestly, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time when I hear someone speak in German, I am just making up my own stories. Every now and then I understand a word or two, but I certainly can’t be sure they mean the same thing as they do in English.
Great example, me two minutes prior.
Sofia hands me my skates, then takes my hand in hers to pull me toward the benches. “Come on, my friends are waiting.”
