Greta Again! Read online

  Greta turned, grabbed Mona’s arm, and the girls marched away. Mona was completely flabbergasted by Greta’s sassy retort. She hadn’t seen her friend like this before, so spontaneous and quick on the trigger.

  “Hey, Greta, that was really good. I myself couldn’t have said the part with the chopsticks and the skinny chick any better. You are a real New Yorker! Such a response has to be put online. Carrie and Co. couldn’t have done better.”

  “Mona, I am completely finished and down and out. Please, let’s head home to Mr. Popcorn and Curly Bob as quickly as possible. Those are the only men that I can stand at the moment.”

  They turned the next corner and flagged down a taxi. Barely five minutes later they had arrived at Mona’s apartment. And, on the way, Greta had turned off her cell-phone.

  Chapter 6

  Finally back in the apartment, Mona poured Greta and herself a generous whiskey, without ice. Greta took a healthy gulp and found a place to fall into a heap on the couch. Mr. Popcorn and Curly Bob were at her side in a flash, and rubbed up against her as if they knew how she felt. Greta gratefully accepted their affection, and stroked the purring tom-cats, while Mona went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  “Do you want to shower first? Or should I?”

  Greta didn’t answer. She sat there, petting the cats, and stared into the distance.

  “You should really shower before you go to bed – if only to wash off – symbolically – all the filth that’s stuck to you. You’ll see – it’ll do you good! Then we’ll turn on the tube, lie down in bed, watch a couple of sit-coms and tomorrow the world will look different again. It won’t necessarily be better, but we’ll talk, and then you’ll feel better. We’ve said and done enough for today. Okay? Actually, this isn’t a question that you can answer. It’s a comment by me and a direct challenge to you. The only thing you have to decide on right now is whether you want to shower before or after me?”

  Greta couldn’t do anything but give Mona a tortured smile in return.

  “Okay, then I’ll go first. Otherwise, with this whiskey, I won’t be able to move. Stinking fart, Chickenpoop, smelly cheese, SHIT—what did I get myself into? How could this happen to me? What should I do now? Do I have some kind of a built-in magnet that attracts these catastrophic men?”

  Mona decided against commenting on Greta’s questions. She helped her get undressed , poured her a last swallow of whiskey and nudged her toward the bathroom. Afterwards, she towed Greta, now wrapped in towels around head and body, into bed, and pressed the television-control into her hand.

  The alcohol quickly took effect, and Greta quickly fell asleep in Mona’s bed. When she woke up in the morning, Mona had already left for work. A good-morning greeting lay on the pillow.

  Have already left for work, but there’s a super breakfast to be had at Marlene’s, around the corner. I’ve fed the cats; if you want, send me a message and we can meet during my lunch-break. I’m leaving you a hug. Be good to yourself and begin with a smile when you look in the mirror! My Notebook is on the couch – use it if you like. See ya later! Another hug, M.

  Greta couldn’t help but smile, although she wasn’t exactly in the mood. She would have liked nothing better than to bury herself in her pillow, pull the covers over her head, put a sleep-mask over her eyes, and call it a day.

  It’s worth a try; then at least I don’t have to wash and look at myself in the mirror.

  The message from Mona, however, wouldn’t leave her alone, even after she had already hunkered down under the covers again. Besides, Greta was hungry for a bagel or a delicious cinnamon-raisin-bun – and a strong cup of coffee. Staying in bed was no solution, she decided. But it was tempting. And just at that moment, thoughts of Mike and his model-broad popped into her mind.

  That faker, that comedian, that idiot, that terrible person! How can he play with my feelings like that? People shouldn’t do that to one another. Lying, deceiving, betraying my trust, treating me unfairly. I can’t stand that. I don’t want to think about him anymore. Every thought pulls me down further emotionally.Time to get up!

  In the bathroom Greta found another message from Mona – a big lipstick kiss on the mirror and in large print: SMILE! Be good to yourself. Who can do it better than you? NOW!

  Mona had managed to make Greta smile again.

  “Go on,” Greta thought to herself. The world isn’t bad. It’s Mike who’s bad for me. Relationships aren’t difficult. It’s people who make them difficult.

  After Greta got dressed, she headed to Marlene’s, to pamper herself with a really good breakfast. Yes, she thought, I’ve earned it; I should be good to myself. Despite all of her confidence and determination to leave Mike behind, not to let herself be pulled under emotionally, she found it unbelievably difficult. As she stepped out into the street the day was already bright and the warmth of the sun comforted her but also brought her to tears. She had succeeded in getting dressed and pulling herself together to get going. But now, hardly out the door, she was falling apart. The sun, the warmth, the morning-in-New York feeling, the busy people around her – everything bugged her. Her feelings were suddenly playing ping-pong, and her inner chaos was playing along perfectly. She could do nothing about it – the tears streamed down her face. Sobbing, she continued on her way, pulling her jacket tight around her and her sunglasses down into her face.

  I’m going to walk around the block first.

  After a half an hour, she had circled the block three times and walked by Marlene’s each time. Finally she felt that she could swallow something nourishing. She went into the little restaurant and the fragrance of freshly ground coffee, fresh waffles, baked goods, bacon and eggs was momentarily wonderful. But the thought of having to consume any of it drove Greta almost out the door, backwards. Marlene’s was a little neighborhood coffee shop run by two grandmotherly ladies, who were both behind the counter today. The place was furnished as it should be – small tables, chairs, a counter—but because of the lighting and the flowers and books everywhere, the coffee shop was very inviting. Greta felt that she really should stay, at least to have a cup of coffee.

  One of the grandmothers then asked her, “Well, honey, what would you like? To go or to stay?”

  “I’d like to stay and have a cup of coffee with milk, please.”

  “Okay. Can I bring you something else? You look like you’d enjoy eating something warm. What would you say to some warm rice pudding , with cinnamon sugar and home-made applesauce? That’s our soul food today and it feels like someone ‘s giving you a hug from the inside out. Later we’ll have ginger-pumpkin soup. But it’s not ready yet. Whatever you’d like, hon!”

  Her warm-hearted manner touched Greta. She took off her sunglasses and ordered the rice pudding. She took the coffee with her to a table near a window where the sunshine was especially bright. She had brought Mona’s Notebook and wanted to surf a little, to check her mail, and to send a sign of life to her friends on Facebook. The rice pudding came and the grandmother spoke to her again: “Honey,” she said, “life is too short to drink bad wine. If you don’t feel good today, be sure that you find the rotten eggs that made you feel bad.”

  Greta couldn’t help but smile. I’m surrounded by so many nice people, she thought. It’s not possible that I’m wrong here. It’s the guy who’s wrong.

  There was nothing particularly noteworthy in her e-mails. Marcel, Greta’s gay friend, was writing about a sale: jewelry that he was selling at a special price – always tempting. And a message from Nathalie: “Everything here’s okay, what’s up with Mr. Right? Let me hear from you—miss you!”

  This message managed to bring tears to Greta’s eyes again. Should she check her cell-phone to see if Mike had called? No, better not, otherwise I’ll just sit here and blubber, she decided.

  She also received a message from Klaus, a colleague from work, whom Greta liked a lot. Particularly on board, Klaus was a jewel. It was always good to have a straight man as part of the
crew. Otherwise, the chitchat among the flight attendants was really pre-programmed. Just by his presence and his gender he could keep the atmosphere completely normal. Conversations among the crew that revolved around lipstick, shoes, and who-was-seen-with-whom, seemed to have no place to go with him around. This was a blessing, in Greta’s view. Klaus and Greta only saw each other at work; outside their jobs they were in contact via e-mail and Facebook. His message today was a forwarded link to a second text message: a farewell letter from a twenty-four year old man named David Rose, who was deaf and suffered from spinal paralysis. He had caught a cold that turned into pneumonia, and he knew that it would cost him his life. In the meantime, he had attracted a community of fans on Twitter that was ten thousand followers strong – all individuals with whom he stayed in contact. David also had his own homepage, which told his life story and above all, his outlook on life. He was a great human being, grateful for every day that God gave him, thankful for everything good that had come his way. And all this against a background of severe handicaps, his pain, his youth, and the knowledge that his life would soon be over.

  “If God needs me – he’ll call me. I have to go now, I love you all.” That was the content of his last message to his followers.

  Tears welled up in Greta’s eyes. She was deeply moved; the lines of the farewell letter were blurred through her tears. If a person has to suffer so much sorrow and pain at such a young age and can nonetheless feel the grace of God, then what am I doing? I’m blubbering because of a relationship with a man. That really can’t be so overwhelming. Everything always happens for the best.

  She immersed herself in David Rose’s story once again. There were sentences like: “You are all special, you are all unique. Be good to one another, give the gift of love. Give one another laughter. A good joke is good medicine. Make sure that everyone around you has reason to laugh.”

  Despite his serious illness and his very limited ability to communicate and to deal with the demands of a normal day—David had a sense of humor that reached many people. He was optimistic ‘til the last. Even on his deathbed, he shared his thoughts on the Internet. He spoke of angels who would surely show him how it was to be able to hear, because angels are very smart, he wrote.

  Greta couldn’t help herself – the tears ran down her cheeks. She sobbed softly. Her weeping about Mike seemed completely irrelevant and small. She was healthy, she was here in New York, her favorite city – what a blessing. She cried about David, but was also caught up by his optimism. She felt as if she heard his laughter in heaven. She was deeply grateful within herself. The sadness that she experienced was not all that different from a feeling of luck. It was faith and trust in what was yet to come. To accept with gratitude what life gives us. It’s not about futility, about outward appearances. Whether Mike had told the truth or not: he had to cope with his life just as everyone else did. Whether he could look at himself in the mirror every morning shouldn’t be her problem. Greta shouldn’t have to bother about that now. It was about fulfilling God’s expectations. David had accomplished that.

  Greta sat at the table, wrapped in thought. The tears didn’t want to stop. She let them come. After a few minutes a feeling of inner peace enveloped her with warmth and security. Now there was nothing else to do; nothing more to think. She was able to give herself up to the peace she felt within. Perhaps David had felt her deep dismay and had sent her a warm hug. That’s how it felt to her. She wanted to safeguard this feeling deep within her and protect it into the future. She felt rewarded, loved, and suddenly also very strong. How could this be? she asked herself. She had often gone to one or another of the occult fairs with Nathalie, and had her aura or her palm read now and again. These were experiences that caused her to smile rather than to think. Nathalie was far more open to these kinds of encounters. It was often Nathalie, with her inner hunches, who had convinced Greta to do something. And most of the time Nathalie was right. But what Greta had just experienced was something entirely different. It came from the inside out and it felt so infinitely good.

  Greta’s stomach growled – loud. Thank heavens that she had ordered the rice pudding. She dove into the home-made meal with a healthy appetite and again felt a deep gratitude for that which the day brought her. She actually began to feel really well. Although physically she felt a little wilted and weak, she felt strength and confidence within herself. Two nuns passed by the window. The sun on their robes reflected a silvery light. Greta decided to look up the nearest church after her rice pudding so that she could light a candle, as she did from time to time when she was a child. Although her parents weren’t regular church-goers, a visit to a church and lighting a candle was a ritual that she remembered. It was always something special, something to contemplate. It was a symbol of gratitude, of love, of observance, and of prayer.

  Completely centered within herself, Greta paid for her soul food. Outside in the sun, she allowed herself to become caught up in the bustling activity of the streets and sauntered on. Very quietly she heard her inner voice whisper: See, Greta, everything happens for the best!

  Chapter 7

  She must have been walking for quite a while when she unexpectedly found herself in front of a small church built of old red bricks, with a heavy wooden entry door. Unmistakably a church – with a few steps to the entry door. Greta climbed up the stairs and was welcomed inside by the quiet atmosphere of the little chapel-like building. Everything within could be taken in at a glance: about twenty rows of wooden pews stretched all the way to the altar. Two worshippers sat alone on the benches. An old lady who held a rosary in her hands and a man further up front. There were small niches on the sides with small altars inside. Just to the right there was one dedicated to Mother Mary with many candles in front. Here Greta also wanted to light her candle. The light of the candles brightened the statue of Mary and caused her face to glow.

  Something mystical always seems to radiate from churches, Greta thought. On the whole, the church was very simply furnished. She looked at the windows: narrow and multi- colored. The light in the nave shone brightly and one could see the dust floating in the air. The whole scene felt somewhat removed and almost as if from another world. Greta knelt down at the side altar of Mary, and as she finally chose a candle and deposited her fifty cents into the receptacle, it seemed as if her own mother was very near and images streamed into her head. It must have been sometime in the eighties: her mother with shoulder pads and she herself with a ruffled blouse. A smile flitted across her face: outfits like that looked like Mardi Gras costumes now. She could also see another church in her mind’s eye but couldn’t quite make out where it was. Maybe Italy? They often went on vacation there. Possibly Venice? The memories of Venice were closely tied to the sea and the many pigeons on St. Mark’s Square. It was trendy then to have oneself photographed with the pigeons. In one hand, one had bird food and the pigeons flocked to it; they sat on one’s arm, on one’s shoulder, on one’s head – it didn’t matter where, just so it was close to the food. Oh my, that was an awful experience for Greta. The photo that was taken at the time had a place in her parents’ photo gallery for a long time, although Greta didn’t look very happy in the snapshot. She wondered if the pigeons still played the role of “extras” on St. Mark’s Square.

  The relationship with her mother had changed in the last few years. She “grew up.” As in every mother-daughter relationship, there was friction and the stress of loosening the ties was easier some days than others. As a teenager Greta frequently had such serious fights with her mother that making up seemed impossible. Exchanges such as: “You’re going to land in the gutter!” or “You’re totally hemming me in!” “You control every step I take,” echoed in Greta’s head.

  A real turning point between Greta and her mother was when Greta decided to apply to become a flight attendant. On the one hand, her mother thought the job was totally chic. Jetting all over the world, staying in well-known hotels and meeting great guys would be pretty easy. An
d then the chic uniform that the pretty women wore – very nice. On the other hand, it would be better if Greta became a doctor or a judge. Since Greta had her diploma, she could go on to study at the university without a problem. Besides, it would be far more becoming to her, according to her mother. Yes, Greta thought. Then my mother could show off her daughter’s status even more. Status was always important to her mother. She was always very interested in what others thought and how they could be manipulated. And that was so not Greta’s world. When Greta saw the film Titanic with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio it was as if her own mother were playing the part of Kate Winslet’s mother. It was always about keeping up appearances, following the rules, in short: position. Today Greta and her mother are more relaxed and accept one another’s routine. In the final analysis, each had her own life. They also managed to see eye to eye and to respect one another’s individuality as adults. At least most of the time. And when the two had trouble communicating, they opted for distance. And that was good for both of them.

  Greta lit her candle with the flame of another. Now she was really herself again. She wanted to pack David, the young man in the article, her deep gratitude and love of life -- everything into a prayer. But she was overcome by her feelings and she couldn’t find the words. She was completely sure, however, that this Mary, at whose feet she placed the candle, knew exactly what was important to her now. Again a feeling of warmth enveloped her. She felt safe and protected. Nothing would be able to knock her down and she didn’t want the beautiful in life to be taken away only because a man went out with a chopstick-hussy and stood her up. Wrapped up in her thoughts about herself, and in her feelings of warmth, security, protection and safety, she didn’t notice the man from the front of the church moving toward the Mary altar. Greta was still kneeling in front of her candle, deep in her own thoughts, as he spoke to her: