Cold kisses

I pound my plush pillow until I feel cosy enough to lay my head.
'What are you doing back there?' my mum asks, turning to examine me again. 'You nestle like a kitty.'

I wonder if there is anything I can do without her comments. The air in the car is already stuffy and we just begun our journey. I'm trapped in the car and will be trapped for the whole night -we will arrive in Croatia in the morning. So I accept my fate and decide to get some sleep. I'm still small enough to outstretch my legs on the backseat of my father's car. He drives, mum sometimes releases coffee steam from the thermos. The smell nicely ousts the frowst for a few moments.

We are driving home. I am used to it; we drive home three times a year on school holidays. It's Christmas time, and they say we are driving home for Christmas. But for me it's not the same. My home is in Germany, their home is in Croatia. I don't need to drive all night to get home. I don't like the TV shows in Croatia. They're boring. The people on TV speak foreign languages and letters run fast at the bottom of the screen. And there are those odd ads where you have to stare at a frozen image for endless minutes saying a instant-soup-factory wishes Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. It's cold at Christmas and our house in Croatia is cold. Nobody lives there. Our house will be more like a fridge than a house when we arrive. It will take three days before the walls have stored some warmth. And I will have to sleep at my grandma's at least for one night, because she doesn't see me much. She doesn't heat the sleeping room. I will have to sleep in a frozen bed; my nose will be frozen. I'll hate it! In Croatia people have only one room where it is warm: the kitchen. They eat where they cook. They never put the Christmas tree where they sit and eat. They put it in another room where it is cold. That is because the Christmas tree looses its needles in the warmth. I would rather like to sit in a warm room and unpack my presents underneath the Christmas tree. My parents say that they didn't get Christmas presents when they were kids. They were poor. If they got an orange, that was it and they were happy with it. But it's not the same for me. What would my schoolmates say if I told them I got an orange for Christmas? I would like to sing Christmas carols with my family, standing beside the Christmas tree. I think that's the way my schoolmates do it in Germany. Why not me? I will have to kiss a cold crucifix instead. I will have to kiss Jesus made of metal, hanging nailed to the cross. They say it's to remind us of our sins and that Jesus saved us. Last year I refused to do it when the priest came to my grandma's house with the crucifix and the holy water. They urged me to do it, so I did it. I kissed the crucifix. I was disgusted at that cold metal thing in the shape of the crucified Jesus of which I knew many mouths have been before. I had herpes soon after. I hate herpes!
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Today it's the day after Christmas. This year Christmas Eve passes without me kissing the crucifix. I said that I had stomach ache when the priest came. No herpes this time! At Christmas the family has to stay together. But not today; I'm allowed to go out.

Snow scrunches beneath my feet. There is only me and the scrunching noise in the beat of my footsteps. Nobody crosses my path. My mouth makes the same smoke signals as the chimneys. Here they heat their houses with wood stoves. In Germany we have central heating. It's cold. I walk with the sleeves of my coat pulled under, so that my hands don't appear. It's good that mum isn't here; she hates it when I do that. I can still hear her shouting: 'Take your gloves!' as I tried to leave the house unnoticed. I wonder if I will ever be able to leave the house without her examining what I wear, what I don't wear and telling me what I should wear.

I'm on my way to the youth club. I have a blind date, but I'm only eleven years old and I don't know exactly what a blind date is. However, I'm positive that I know enough. My cousin Sanja has showed me the photographs of her form and pointed her finger at a blond boy. His name is Zoran, but he's called Zizi because he listens to the music of ZZ Top all the time. I don't know a band with such a name. I listen to Nena and that's good enough for me.

The youth club is closed, but Zizi has got a key. We don't talk much. It's too difficult because my Croatian is bad. Instead of words there is fog coming out of our mouths: hovering, visible, warm breath. Zizi makes kindling for a fire.

'Do you know ZZ Top?' he asks me and I'm well prepared.
'Yes, Sissy Top, but do you know Nena?'
'We also have German albums here' he says, pointing to the cabin where the DJ makes music on Saturdays.

Zizi puts the kindling into the oven, lights up a rumpled piece of newspaper and places the flame under the kindling. Then he closes the lid. It crackles in the oven. No words, only crackling. It's still cold in the room. My lips are colder than his. It's my first kiss. I'm not disgusted with it. I like it!
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'What's wrong with you?' my mum wants to know. I say nothing and she pegs away. 'Something's wrong with you. You keep silent all day.'

Quite unlike you, I think to myself, annoyed by her constant questioning. My father says nothing. He usually says nothing. But when he does, I know it's something serious. But my mum talks all the time. Just like now. I stop listening to her. I want to be on my own now. Unfortunately I can't go away. We are sitting in the car, driving back to Germany.

I turn my face to the window, but can't see the trees and houses passing by as we drive. All I see is the silhouette of my face. I look at the window as if looking in the mirror. As I see my eyes I realise that nothing will be as it used to be. I think of him. I remember every word he said when we said goodbye. He said that he will write. And I said that I will write back. I can write in Croatian! He asked me when I will be returning home. Easter, I said. Zizi had looked at the sheet almanac with The Holy Mother and the baby Christ depicted on it. He had counted the days from now until Easter. Ninety eight days. He said he will wait for me. Now I know, now I understand that home is where someone dear waits for you.