Chocolate spread and toast bread
Slowly I sat down on the gray stone. It was new, no moss had settled on it yet, the weather had not yet changed its color. I took a package of toast bread and a glass of chocolate spread from my backpack and placed them next to the newly planted flowers. The earth was still loose and reminded me of the first time I met Leon.
We were both four years old, I didn't understand every word he said because my parents had taught me little German because my mother had only been learning the language for a few months. But what I remembered was that when his mother asked him to come home, he turned to me and said, “You're the dirtiest boy I've ever played with, but you're still my friend. “I didn't know what he meant by the dirty boy at the time, I had washed - or my mother had made me take a bath the night before - and was, therefore, I was not dirtier than him. We were both sitting in the sandpit, we both had traces of the light brown earth on our pants and face, but that didn't mean I was dirty, did it? In principle, it didn't matter, because what was important was, what I understood without problems, that he was my friend. My first friend in this new country.
His friend, the dirty boy. It had taken me a while to understand that his comment was about my skin color and not about lack of washing. My mother was an Aboriginal, an Australian native, and little Leon hadn't known that there were also children with dark skin.
"Chocolate", Leon sometimes called me. Especially when we were shopping and standing in front of the candy shelf. If Leon called me that, he said it kindly and without hate. I didn't have to forgive him that expression because it was never meant to be offensive. Leon was a boy who stood at the door in the morning, a jar of Nutella in one hand and a package of toast bread in the other, and happily announced that he had brought me and himself for breakfast: chocolate spread and toast bread. With his white skin, light hair and blue eyes, he looked like toast bread. And like chocolate spread and toast, we were a great combination.
Leon was not only my best friend but also my only friend. I was able to divide my classmates into two groups: some ignored me, others made me the target of their ridicule. My sports gear was regularly missing, there was garbage on my seat or there were comments on the boards that were clearly related to me.
Leon continued to stand by me, he defended me, supported me and was there whenever I needed him. With Leon I was never different, with Leon I was Matt, his best friend Matt. Without him I would not have got through school, without him I would have doubted myself even more than I already did.
A leaf fell on the floor next to me. It was colorful, painted by nature. Everything was different in nature, nothing was the same. Why was being different was a problem when it came to people?
Like any teenager, I fell in love with girls who either didn't know I existed or were not interested in my existence. I mostly kept my feelings to myself, only shared them with Leon. Unthinkable if someone in the class found out about it. The boys had made it clear very clear, that "someone like me should stay away from their girls" or there would be trouble. So I was warned. But warnings do not prevent feelings and no matter how well you hide your feelings, they will eventually become visible. In my case, it was when Leonie came into my life.
At first, Leon and I had a lot of laughs because the similarity of the two names was funny for us and Leon was convinced that I only fell in love with her because of her names. I couldn't deny that the name evoked a positive association. But otherwise, Leon and Leonie were not alike. Leon and I were toast and chocolate cream, Leonie and I were hazelnut and chocolate cream. A very good combination, I thought, but my classmates saw it differently. They had been serious about their warning and one day, after the last lesson, I found myself surrounded by four boys and a little later on the hard stone floor in the park, where fists hit my face and feet kicked mercilessly at my body. I don't know how long their attack lasted, if and who ended it, my next memory was that I woke up in the hospital.
I wondered how she was doing now, what she was doing. Did she think of me? Did she know where I was? Why was I here? Could I have prevented everything from ending up here and so?
After the attack back then, my classmates had made it clear to me that I better keep my fingers off her. Or worse would happen. But I couldn't get her out of my head and she also seemed to have noticed me. Better she seemed to like me. Two weeks later, it was December, Leon, Leonie and I walked together towards downtown after school. We wanted to buy gifts, go for a coffee and meet Leon's girlfriend Annika, who worked in a bakery. It was the same park, almost the same place, only this time there weren't four masked men, this time there were two to three times as many. Two held Leonie covered her mouth so that she couldn't call for help, the others attacked Leon and me. We fought back to back until we were separated and we had to defend ourselves. This time it wasn't just fists and feet that attacked us, this time there were sticks, stones and even a knife. I had ignored the warning, now I had to pay. And my best friend, who didn't want to watch me get beaten up, was treated with the same brutality as I was. At least I had the feeling.
It took me four days to wake up from the coma. This time, several bones were broken, all of the ribs, I had a liver tear, a broken skull base, and other minor injuries that had only been gradually restored. After a week I was able to speak again and asked about Leon. How was my friend? Why hadn't he come to visit? Was he in that hospital too? Could I see him? We were so used to be together, couldn't we recover together?
To be with Leon. I looked at the chocolate spread and the toast bread. "Chocolate spread and toast bread go together," I murmured in a tear-choked voice. "Do you remember those words?" Swallowing hard and fighting the lump in my throat I looked at the wooden cross. The last and only place where I could still speak to my best friend. Or rather: the only place where I could tell him everything, he couldn't answer me anymore. No matter how many times I apologized, swore or cried. "You are and will always remain my best friend. Chocolate spread and toast bread go together. Forever."
Anders. Was ist anders? Anderssein. Was bedeutet das? Ist man anders, wenn man nicht
der Norm entspricht? Heißt das, man ist nicht normal, wenn man anders ist? Wer definiert überhaupt die Norm, wer legt fest, was normal ist und was nicht? Rund 50 Autoren gehen diesen Fragen hier
auf den Grund. Und werfen dabei weitere auf. Nachdenklich und melancholisch, aber auch heiter und humorvoll sind die Kurzgeschichten und Gedichte. Allen gemeinsam ist ihnen: Sie sind irgendwie
Die Geschichten, Gedichte und Märchen steigern die Vorfreude und verkürzen das Warten
auf Weihnachten. Lustige und besinnliche, kurzweilige und lehrreiche Erzählungen entführen in die abenteuerliche und nicht selten märchenhafte Zauberwelt des Wunder-Weihnachtslandes. Autoren
u.a.: Barbara Bellmann Stichworte zum Inhalt: Weihnachten; Advent; Weihnachtsmann; Christkind; Dezember; Schnee; Liebe; Freundschaft; Familie; Moral; Ethik; Rentier;
Eher heiter als wolkig
Unter diesem Motto stand die Ausschreibung zum 3. Buch aus der Reihe "Heiter bis wolkig".
Freuen Sie sich in diesem Buch auf witzige Begebenheiten mit einer gehörigen Portion Schadenfreude. Missglückter Mord? Witzige Tiergeschichte? Schabernack von Kindern? Alles
ist dabei, bringt Sie zum Schmunzeln und sorgt für einen geballten Angriff auf Ihre Lachmuskeln. Eindeutig nichts für Leute, die keinen Spaß verstehen!
Denn gleich 69 Autoren machen hier klar: wer zuletzt lacht, lacht am besten!