“What are you up to?” I asked my friend Bella.
“I’m on my way to Reinhard’s birthday party,” she replies. Reinhard is a renowned actor who shaped the German media landscape with his iconic personality.
“Too cool!” I say joyfully. Without asking if I was invited, I tell her I’m coming. Our ticket to the birthday party was Bella’s then lover, an eccentric actor-turned-director. I was happy that, recently, he had started to invite us to some movie premieres. For the times he wasn’t invited himself, he introduced us to the art of gate crashing. Thanks to him, Bella and I learned essential tricks to sneak into gala events.
Reinhard’s birthday party took place at a bar in Mitte. A segment of the bar was open for public while the back was reserved for the party guests, a dapper throng of movie professionals and journalists. In search for a drink to start the promising evening, I spotted a delicious-looking punch bowl at the bar’s counter. After giving my well-wishes to Reinhard, I sauntered towards the punch. I waited a moment to be served by the bar’s staff, but figured that the party guests were asked to serve themselves. After plopping a strawberry into my glass, a young guy with gelled hair and a button-up Lacoste shirt approached me. “Beware of the punch, sweetheart,” he twinkled. “There’s LSD in it.” I gave him a dirty look as punishment for what I mistakenly identified as a lousy advance.
But still, I hesitated and let my eyes wander the party. I had seen people on LSD in the past and the sophisticated crowd surrounding me seemed completely normal. “Yeah, sure!” I snapped sarcastically as I grabbed my glass and turned around. The punch was so bad that I only drank half a glass.
After some small talk I decided to go home. In the car, I switched on the radio. As the first notes of Beyoncé’s “Halo” filled the air, I felt my heart opening. When I started to sing along, teardrops started to run down my cheeks and by the end my shirt was soaking wet from a waterfall of emotions. Normally, I am not the overly emotional type, but maybe I was about to get my period or something. I stayed in the car for three more pop songs, wondering why I had discovered the profoundness and genius of Ariana Grande’s work only now. When I finally entered the house, I felt a burst of excitement when I spotted my husband still awake. “I love you soooo much,” I jumped at him and hugged him a bit too tight. “Seems you had a great evening,’ he laughed while trying to break free from my chokehold.
“It was great!’ I almost screamed about the unspectacular party.
As my husband brushed his teeth, I found myself sitting at his feet on the bathroom floor. “What a lucky girl I am—so happy to have you,” I told him while hanging on his left leg. “Just tell me whatever you wish for—tonight all your dreams might actually come true.”
Ryan couldn’t believe his luck.
“Let me jump under the shower, babe, I am going to be with you in a moment,” he promised. When I reached our bed it seemed to absorb me like a tender cotton cloud. When my freshly soaped husband finally joined me, I was knocked out and not able to be woken until the next morning.
I felt awful when I opened my eyes. Life didn’t seem to make sense and, trying to drag my heavy bones into the kitchen to make myself breakfast, I wondered why life was so unfair. When my phone rang, I stared at it for some time before I finally found the strength to pick up. “How are you?” sounded Bella’s fresh voice.
“I…” – I was about to cry – “… feel kind of awful,” I sobbed.
“That’s why I am calling, actually. I just found out that the bowl yesterday was spiked with MDMA.”