My friend Fritz, Opus 4

When last met with my friend Fritz it was a somber occasion.  I recall thinking that it would be some time before I might see him again.  I do not know what instinct had told me this.  Perhaps it was only some dark intuition, the sort often associated with his comings and goings. As it happens this was incorrect. I was awakened in the dark of pre-dawn by that familiar voice.

Thomas?

Yes?

Your sleep is uneasy tonight.

Is it?

You prefer to listen to your music rendered on vinyl. Why is it that you do not prefer to write on paper?

Fritz and I have established a familiarity between us.  His oblique puzzles, though I may struggle to answer, do make sense to me.

I have not considered this Fritz. I actually do prefer to write upon paper.

I see. Is that because you are unable to communicate on vinyl?

HA! He left me an opening!

That is but one of many reasons Fritz.

You wish to speak of this no more?

I wish to speak of it no more today.

Very well.

He then remained silent for some time, though I knew our conversation was far from finished. We both enjoy the silence that we may better hear our inner voices. This is the space where Fritz and I commune.

This tropic choler of your nights do not suit my central European constitution Thomas.

I should have thought you would have grown used to it by now.

Perhaps I shall in time.  You carry a sadness Thomas. Something new, not your ordinary melancholy.

Indeed I do Fritz. It was not my wish to trouble you with it.

Na, was gibt’s?

Girl trouble.

He laughed.

At your age? Ach… it is that curse of masculinity. We are forever in some part that ever eager adolescent.

True enough, but this is not like that.

For an instant Fritz appeared genuinely surprised. That marks a rare occasion. He said nothing more, merely entreating me with his glowing, dark eyes to go on.

I have grown numb Fritz. I am the victim of an innocent, girlish infatuation. A child’s hero worship. This is the type of trusting love that should bring joy to the heart, if one is human. I am able to smile and play the part, yet I only feel fear and dread.

Dread of what Thomas?

He knew the answer, or would not have asked.

It is the dread of receiving this trust, knowing that ultimately I can only disappoint.

As is the burden of Man to receive God’s love. I wrestled with this all my mortal life Thomas.

Indeed you did. And what say you now Fritz?

You were a stranger to yourself for most of your life Thomas. What say you now?

He had me. The bastard had me! He would leave, with that question weighing in the air. I have been awake since.