After we have passed the Dutch border the frost turns to lashing rain and every filling station’s lit up Christmas tree into its own skewed persiflage. When Mum and Dad hugged us both for a farewell, I wished that the stories we told them were true for once. I wished for Neele to cancel Amsterdam last minute, or at least to tell me to stay at home and wait as usual, although I had been begging her to take me with her again for weeks. But only the gun has been left behind like a lover, she never crosses the border with it.
I keep skidding on Amsterdam’s rain mirrored cobblestones, try to protect my new coat with an umbrella that soon surrenders to the storm. I stumble after Neele from phone booths to coffee shops, pass windows with half naked girls and women, and we exchange knowing glances, like all of us should have better things to do and better places to be at this time of the year. I feel traces of homesickness rising, for the first time for a place that is commonly understood as such. I hope this will pass when I am back in Berlin. I do not like the sensation, it has a dirty feel to it, like something I need to wash off me, …show more content…
Neele tells me to stop, in an unusual serious tone, and contrary to my custom I obey. When my leather soles let me slip once more, I cling to her, drag her with me, and when we both almost fall, and fall against a wall instead, she finally laughs, loud and confident and Neele-like, and kisses the tip of my