Bittersweetness.

Coming to the Ballet Intensive, I did have high expectations. I dreamt of being a prima after the 4 weeks I was going to spend at the training in southern France. Then again, I just worried if everything would go okay. Unlikely for me, I did not much waste a thought to possible romance when we drove in the parking lot of the dorm circle on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Being near the mountains, the hotness was fairly more bearable than back in Munich, where the sweat-soaked days just didn’t seem to have an ending. I stepped out of our car and looked around. This was it. Here I’d be spending half of my summer. I sure was excited, but still, I wouldn’t be home for my 17th birthday, nor would I take part of the many summer parties and festivals back home. Then again, those friends I had weren’t so much for a lifetime, I figured later.
After my parents checked me in and I got a sneak peak on the list of participants, we went to grab my luggage. It was then when I saw you first. There, in the fleeting orange and pink twilight, there was you. Going with a group of boys towards the basketball field, your blue Vans cap backwards on your head, I only noticed the cheeky and rather curious glare you had towards me, along with that naughty smile. I later became to somewhat adore that smile.
God knows what your opinion is on what happened then, but as for me, it developed in a tiny, but perfect summer romance. Except for the ending, of course. But maybe it’s the abruption that makes this story seem so much like a tale.

So, I already was fairly enchanted, but there was so much going on, that I didn’t completely get to bookmark your face. Only the next day I saw you again, without knowing it was the same person smirking at me before. What I did notice during the first audition run to separate the students in two groups, though, was that a) ballet on boys really was hot, and b) you were simply crushing this ballet class. Just the outfit appeared kind of odd to me: You see, I expected black tights and a white shirt for men to wear during class, but instead, you just wore your warm up booties, some Adidas joggers and some random shirt with print. You even took off the Adidas after warm up and stood there in those red short men’s tights, and they had a hole on your butt. But in that moment I also realized that was a really nice butt of yours, so that’s a first, right?
You happened to sit next to me at lunch during the first days, and instead of ignoring me like some others did for a long time from the better group, you just turned around randomly and asked if I could do a special trick with my hands. “Like this”, you said and performed some weird hand dance at the edge of the table. It wasn’t like you had to talk to me since your best friend Lars was just sitting right across from you. Then, some days later, we landed one across the other at the breakfast table again, but Tim, who I normally really liked, just talked about some shit like getting me to sign a contract to have 100 kids with him. It was 8 a.m., after all, I didn’t really look refreshed and this kid contract was really embarrassing me, so I couldn’t bear to glance at you. Maybe once, when you just ate, but, you know, that’s not a very romantic view.
It then happened because of my tall size that I became your Pas De Deux partner, along with Ellie, my very skinny friend, and some other chick from Israel who was very pretty. So we three ladies got to share you and I think it began then that I started to notice that nice smell of yours. I later learned it was the Snus that you consumed and it had quite an herby smell which I really liked. I sometimes still imagine it, to be honest. And when I smell it on the streets, it reminds me of those steaming hot summer nights with you, and not steamy because of the weather. Okay, we’re talking about two nights here, but still. Memorable.
And Pas de Deux was when we really started talking, I guess. I knew exactly who you were, because, let’s face it, how could I not notice you. Besides, you were the best guy dancing, so practically everyone knew you after a couple of days. I forgot to introduce myself, though; I didn’t really think about it. That time, I had no clue you were actually a professional in Oslo, I just assumed you were very good. So at first I thought of it as kind of snobby that you corrected me when I did some mistakes in my technique. But who was I to shut somebody up about ballet? And after all, you had some good tips. You didn’t even get bitchy when I accidentally slapped you trying to do a pirouette while you were extra spinning me. I did enjoy the feeling of your hands around my waist. I also instantly liked the way you simply existed.
Later that week, we had another Pas de Deux Class, but the group got advised to split up, and so it happened that the part of the group I belonged to didn’t have enough girls for the boys instead the other way round. So I got to dance with you and Lars who I also liked since he was funny and in group 2 as well. It was a fun class. I had you for myself. At one moment, you two were talking together in Swedish, and suddenly you stopped talking, staring at me, smirking and shaking your head constantly yes like you tried to hypnotise someone or whatever. I went like “What? What?” but you just didn’t say. I’d find out later what you were talking about. After class, Tim came to me saying that he caught you secretly smiling whilst dancing with me. I was flattered.
That week, we met in the Common Room, and I asked Lars if I was allowed braiding his hair since he had shoulder length hair and I wanted to braid. He said yes, and all of a sudden you appeared from the other side of the room asking me if I also did massages. Of course I said yes, already grinning. Now, I’ve seen you and other girls massaging each other, and once I lay next to you while we both just got a massage. It was then when I noticed you had a nervous thing about your hair. I had asked to put on your cap, so you accidentally unleashed your “secret” to me by being pretty self-conscious without it. I did braids on Lars which, to be honest, looked pretty awful and then you came by, asking if I wanted to do the massage now. You sat between my legs on the ground, facing away from me, while I sat on some couch, starting to work your shoulders. You had your blue Vans cap again, along with a knit sweater which was relatively thick, still I could feel the muscles. My massage probably wasn’t the best, and conversation wasn’t possible either, since there were other people in that room making it kind of noisy. We then switched, and somebody tried to lecture you about how you had to massage me. I remember you saying: “I know, I know she has back muscles”. I don’t know why, but I instantly liked the idea of you knowing something about me, even if so unimportant. After that you asked for another round, this time lying on the floor. So I sat next to you and started massaging again, and I could tell people were beginning to stare; I just didn’t really care. There was this dude, Jonas, kid of a teacher, and you knew him for longer. I found out later that he was mocking us in Swedish. I just didn’t really notice we were actually being mocked cause your voice just always sounded so calm. We switched again, but instead you just sitting next to me, as I expected, you sat directly on my butt. I almost got the giggles, because it seemed so absurd! In a room full of people I lay on the ground and you on my butt. But hell, the massage was good. You became heavy after a while, though, but I didn’t want to say anything and eventually I almost fell asleep.
After that came the 2nd Friday. Now, the first one didn’t really go as I hoped. Then again, when does something go like I imagined? I asked you at the buffet what you guys were doing that night and you mumbled about just going out or something and inviting me to join. So I got pretty excited, but when I came to knock on your door with Christopher, that 13 year old bastard, Tim kind of kicked me out because of the minor. Unimportant that I am a minor as well. From my point of view today, I understand: you didn’t want to get drunk with Christopher. Me neither, actually, but still, I did it.
So, back to 2nd Friday, we had costume fitting. It was then that I jokingly announced to Ellie I’d make out with you that night. At lunch, I sarcastically asked in the same way as the previous week what you were gonna do. Your answer was the same. Drinking, this time in Pia’s room, and I was welcome to join. As long as I didn’t bring Christopher. Later that day, my pals and I went to the shopping mall across the street to buy some booze for later. So after having gotten our caramel frappuccinos from Starbucks, we strolled around on the way to a book shop to buy a birthday present for my roomie. I told a friend some story and I got really into it, so I didn’t quite realize when someone came towards us, talking loudly and laughing; I just turned straight right to that shop we were headed. It took me a few seconds to notice half of my group stopped on the way, so I looked back and recognized guys from group 1, including you. You had that sassy smirk again on your face. I had to smile; it just came over me. So I stood there with Christopher’s twin sister - who was as annoying as him, but you don’t always get to choose your company - trying to look confident, but still cute. The others slowly came after us, and before we entered the shop I looked back, only to catch you staring at me, still smirking. I felt that rush again, I don’t know. I couldn’t really believe you were actually noticing me. So some seconds went by whilst still talking to the twin, and I decided to go after my crowd, and when I checked one more time, you were still staring at me, being on the exact same spot as 10 seconds ago, with that promising glare. Did I mention that you looked quite handsome in your flannel button up?

When I look back, I sure see the signs. And of course this was just going to be a summer fling, what else could it be, with you living in Oslo and me in Munich? It’s just the ending that bothers me. The not knowing, not really having an answer. It gets me wondering when I scroll through your Instagram account: Was it really that I liked you so much? Or was it just the occasion, the flair of a summer romance, spending time with someone from a distant country? You being completely the opposite of those guys I’ve met before. I’m not sure if I’ll ever know. But what I for sure know is that all those feelings are going to come up again at the camp next year. I wonder what it will be like.
I also talk a lot like you are still around. Like you are a part of my everyday life, like it’s not already been 6 months. Like I’ve got an actual shot. What if I will never see you again? All those things I simply crave an answer for, will they never get responded? It is the same feeling like sand leaking trough my fingers.

Back to 2nd Friday. After doing the shops and the whole getting-ready process, the 2-litre Sangria bottle, Ellie and I made our way to Pia’s room where you guys all hung out playing ring of fire and having mixed some weird punch. At first, we sat a little bit off the circle, but when the Israeli chick stood up and left I found myself right next to you, casually checking out your “Russian Techno” playlist. You had a thing about those Slav clichés; sometimes you called yourself Dimitri, and Lars Sergei. Laughing, I said the music you put on was horrible, and you leaned in to see what music exactly I was looking at. You just naturally placed your arm on my upper thigh when you leaned in, and you left it there for quite the time. The next round, Ellie and I played, too. I got pretty shitfaced quickly as my body has some issues with Sangria. And just at once, you stopped in the middle of our conversation and said, dead serious: “By the way, I love your pimple, it’s beautiful”. The whole room started laughing so hard, and I became red as hell; I hadn’t even known I had a pimple, how could you have noticed it, also pretty boozed already? But my drunk mind was faster than I expected. Only in the next moment I fought back: “Aww, thanks. And I love your hair. Do you wash it once a month or once every two months?” It should be noticed that I was already pretty amazed by how my English went while boozed, but having said this, I was convinced I could master the whole world. How awesome is Boozed Me?
The room started howling even more. Never in a million years would they have expected this. “Is it that bad?” you said, looking so sad but laughing at the same time. I laughed back, denying. But, true story, it actually was that bad. The night went on, I drank the whole bottle on my own, and some of your punch. We were already there pretty close, only noticing each other. Ellie told me later that when she asked Maria the Spanish, she said that yeah, she thought you liked me and you had said I was pretty cute.
I could just go on and on about this evening. It simply seemed like everything was finally falling into place. Having repeated it hundreds of times in my head, all those coincidences just all whirl together to the very moment you dragged me down the staircase, behind the tree, and kissed me, like it was the only reasonable thing for you to do in the world. And hell, it felt good. We got so into each other, the make-out went on for hours, until 4 a.m. in the morning, when my overfilled sangria bladder stopped the magic. How beautiful it was in those short breaks we needed for some normal breathing; laying under the wide, dark blue sky, sprinkled with hundreds and thousands of stars, promising the greatest future one could imagine. Feeling your arms around my body, tight and warm, your fingers running through mine. My life had always felt like a hurricane, I could never know what was coming next, but in that moment everything was finally still. How often I had wished for this stillness, and then there was you, some random Swedish, who brought peace to me. Just to take it away again.
Obviously, the following two weeks went straight to awkward. Although we agreed not to talk about it, the whole camp knew by the next morning what had happened. So we just pretended not knowing each other, which was so ironical I couldn’t bear it. It made me feel bad, as if I had hurt you. It just went on all those days; I couldn’t stop thinking. The inner peace developed into a black hole. All my insecurities popped up; I completely failed behaving normal around you.
The situation going in such a wrong direction as I had imagined, I didn’t even think you would ever speak to me again, especially because we didn’t have Pas De Deux after that anymore. I once got some light food poisoning and I lay in bed for two straight days. Tim told me you had asked him where I was. So I daydreamed about you coming into my room, seeing me all cuddled up in the sheets, being even paler as usual. But sure thing, you didn’t do it. And why would you? I was just a fling, you were handsome, and I bet you are actually kind of a fuckboy.
When 3rd Friday came around, I was so desperate just to hear from you everything was okay, and I didn’t have to feel horrible. But that night had something else for me in mind: I ended up in your bed, on you, suspiciously few clothes on our bodies. Yes, we’d made out again for hours. You’d invited me to your room. It got so hot I couldn’t control myself anymore. But after some time you just fell asleep, no big words. You left me next to you, not knowing what to say, think or do. I still was drunk, so I figured I could just cuddle up and fall asleep as well, but I couldn’t; after some time I kissed you goodbye and left; I’m sure you didn’t even notice. And that was actually the last time we really talked. Or, you know, looked at each other at the same time.
So my insecurities just grew bigger and bigger.
The last Friday, I wanted to at least talk to you one last time. And ask you what this actually was. Sure, it was a summer fling, but I needed to hear it from you. I needed the closure. Again, we all met to play ring of fire, and at some point, I remember me thinking “Hey, this is going pretty well, maybe I will talk to you tonight in private for a sec”, until Tim all of a sudden started making jokes about me being a virgin. Now, I didn’t actually have a problem with that, it just meant that clearly you had talked to him about “us”, if there ever was such thing. I even remember that one time at rehearsal, I glanced at you talking to him, and I could tell from your mimic you were talking about it. But now I had the proof and I felt kind of betrayed. Later that night, you and Lars disappeared with the Australian chicks to go buy falafels. It was the last time I really saw you; probably snusing and way too drunk. Way too cute, too. I waited for you to come back, to talk to me, but you didn’t. Later, only Lars reappeared in the room we once all hanged and that suddenly got empty, just us four girls giggling and being drunk on ourselves. I couldn’t prevent me not being embarrassing, and I sure knew it, but I just needed my stupid answer. I figured: Who else would know what I wanted to know, if not your bro? So I simply explained my dilemma to him. Problem was, I was so shitfaced, I couldn’t remember half of the answer. I just recall that the other time at Pas De Deux, you were talking about me being quite pretty and that I should go talk to you tomorrow, with both of us being sober. I thought: If you didn’t like me, your bro would know and he wouldn’t try getting us to talk without any alcohol. So I had some hope again. Especially, because Maria the Spanish came around a couple of hours earlier telling me you constantly talked about me.
At some point, Ellie went to sleep and I went out to go see the sunrise, still hoping for you to come by. When I stepped in the still fresh mountain air and the fading rose tone of the once so sparkly sky, I couldn’t help but silently let those tear drops fall. And, God, it was refreshing.

The next morning, you didn’t bother waking up. Apparently, your night was even rougher than mine. At one point, I went there thinking you maybe had a threesome with the Australians, as they were both making a big secret out of where y’all had been. But after some coffee, and having talked to Lars, I figured you probably just had some weed. I had to leave campus by 1 p.m. When time came to say goodbye, I went by everyone’s room to see them off. But eventually, I had to say goodbye to you, too. I played with the idea giving you my number on some paper, but then I imagined you laughing at it and ripping it into thousands of pieces, so I didn’t do it. First, Ellie and I went to Tim, whose door was next to yours. He was surprisingly nice and when we said we were heading to your room next, he pushed to the front and sneaked into it before we could even reach it. It was still dark in there, you and Lars were rolled up in bed, probably with a massive hangover. I noticed him whisper “Bro, she’s leaving. She’s leaving right now”, but I couldn’t hear your reaction. We said goodbye by the door and left.
I’d snapchatted with Lars for a while, finding excuses for you why you didn’t see me off properly. That maybe you were still wasted. But you’ve made your point, I get it now. You just didn’t want to.

Unlike the fairy-tale-like beginning, the ending just seems chastening to me. Like waking up after a heavy night of drinking. The longer I think about it, the longer I see the parallels between those two. Left is only the bitter sweetness of mixed feelings and despair.

Coming to the Ballet Intensive, I did have high expectations. I dreamt of being a prima after the 4 weeks I was going to spend at the training in Salzburg. Then again, I just worried if everything would go okay. Unlikely for me, I did not much waste a thought to possible romance when we drove in the parking lot of the dorm circle on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Being near the mountains, the hotness was fairly more bearable than back in Munich, where the sweat-soaked days just didn’t seem to have an ending. I stepped out of our car and looked around. This was it. Here I’d be spending half of my summer. I sure was excited, but still, I wouldn’t be home for my 17th birthday, nor would I take part of the many summer parties and festivals back home. Then again, those friends I had weren’t so much for a lifetime, I figured later.
After my parents checked me in and I got a sneak peak on the list of participants, we went to grab my luggage. It was then when I saw you first. There, in the fleeting orange and pink twilight, there was you. Going with a group of boys towards the basketball field, your blue Vans cap backwards on your head, I only noticed the cheeky and rather curious glare you had towards me, along with that naughty smile. I later became to somewhat adore that smile.
God knows what your opinion is on what happened then, but as for me, it developed in a tiny, but perfect summer romance. Except for the ending, of course. But maybe it’s the abruption that makes this story seem so much like a tale.

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