Member-only story
8 Minutes
3 for you, 3 for me
I was sunbathing at the lake, enjoying the late summer sun — gentle, warm, not too strong. From afar came the laughter of children playing in the shallow water, when suddenly a face appeared above me.
“Hello, how are you?”
I sat up.
“Oh, Brigitte — long time no see. How are you?”
“Sorry, I don’t have much time! Only eight minutes. Three for you, three for me!”
I felt pressed against a wall.
Although I had lived in Germany for more than half my life, I still hadn’t adjusted to the rational way of thinking so common here. What could I possibly tell her in three bare minutes? I was not used to such encounters. I like conversations that unfold, listening to others’ opinions, hearing the experiences behind their words.
Still, I chose to be polite.
“Where are you rushing to?”
“I have to catch the Circle of Mourning — I’m already late!”
I knew she had lost her husband three years ago, suddenly, but I hadn’t thought she was still so deeply engaged with that loss.
“You have to turn the page and start anew,” I said — though she hadn’t asked for advice.
