It was April 1986. Springtime. The year that changed my life. I won a math competition, got accepted to the math program at a prestigious elite high school, and was even well-liked at school. By then, I’d had some fantastic concert experiences: I’d seen P. Mobil, Iron Maiden, and Depeche Mode live. My dad took me to the open-air filming of “Stephen the King” in City Park. Later that same year, I got to see Queen, and then the Scorpions came too.
But there was still one thing missing: I’d never had a girlfriend. The previous year it almost happened, but apart from one failed attempt, nothing came of it. We talked for weeks, spent nearly the whole summer together, until I finally gathered all my courage and wrote her a letter. I got no reply, just a rubber ball days later with the words “me too, a little” written in its dimples. As summer ended, so did this love that never even began.
At school, the girls could obviously see that I was extremely shy. They flirted and teased, and I naturally assumed they were just making fun of me. But that spring, somehow even this changed. One of my classmates sat down next to me during break as usual, snuggled up to me laughing, but I didn’t pull away. I looked at her. She fell silent, and we just stared at each other. Then she looked away, stood up, and ran out of the empty classroom.
That was the first time I felt like I’d won, like I had power over girls. I’d always thought I was ugly, but in that moment, I felt like I could get anyone. Without saying a word. It was true, but I couldn’t put into words why until much later. Years later, in fact, thanks to a sweet little affair of mine. It happened in a pizzeria. The girl came in, stood by the counter, looked into my eyes for a long time, and while we were staring at each other, she said: “when I walked in I just saw this huge, scary guy, but now that I’m looking into your eyes, I feel safe.” She was beautiful, and let’s face it, pretty daring. Few girls would have the guts to walk down the street in a mesh top with no bra. She did. Honestly, for the first two hours of our acquaintance, I was talking to her boobies. Then we walked around the city until dawn, and woke up together in her tiny Buda apartment.
That’s all that remains of it. It was a huge flare-up. I loved her, but we only met twice. Hmm… I forgot to mention, I already had a wife then. Sometimes we end up in the right place, but at the wrong time.
But let’s go back to April 1986. To the guy who was tough on the outside but insecure on the inside, who hung out with his buddies at the playground every day. Who tried beer, even brandy (pálinka), cigarettes, and of course bragged about his imaginary girlfriends. Until one day, two girls from school – two very beautiful and popular ones – asked him and his friend for help. I don’t remember how fixing a bike chain turned into a conversation, but the point is, they were there again the next day. The third day too. Every single day for two months. But it still didn’t dawn on us that maybe they wanted something from us, since one of them was the school beauty. Like a prom queen from American movies. The kind every boy dreams about but no one dares to ask out.
Eventually, they were the ones who invited us to the movies, and we planned everything in advance. We bought balcony seats so no one would disturb us, and since we both wanted the beauty queen, we decided we’d sit down first and let the girls “choose.” Mind you, the other girl looked way better than we did. At that time, I was deep into my second metal phase. My hair, which I’d cut short due to the Depeche Mode shock, had grown back out. But the highlight was the yellow and black striped stretch pants, copied straight from the cover of Scorpions’ World Wide Live album.
The point is, after months of fumbling around, the girl sat down next to me. The school’s most beautiful girl chose me. And I did nothing. I sat motionless watching the movie while the advice from “The Kiss” book swirled in my head. I signaled to my friend that I’d count down from 100 and then the “pincer movement” (it is funnier in Hungarian, because it literally means “arm-around-the-shoulder maneuver”) could begin. I must have been at fifty when I looked back – they were already making out. From then on, I didn’t see much of the movie. It was just one kiss. One endlessly long kiss that lasted until the lights came on.
“Who found me, was here for a few hours, a few nights,
and quickly moved on.
I still let the flood carry me, let the wind stir my life,
as long as it feels good to me.
But I think now is the moment to take both my hands,
that’s what I need!
Because when you’re here with me, my heart finds peace.”
The following weeks passed in total euphoria. Let’s say rather, in discovering each other’s bodies. And of course, all those things that feel very romantic when you’re fourteen. Treasure hunts on Margaret Island, long walks in the park, boating, ice cream, nighttime conversations sitting by the creek…
Why did it end? My friend didn’t want to continue with the other girl, who was just the “leftover” for him. And I naturally assumed that meant I shouldn’t continue either. I still wonder where I’d be now if I hadn’t decided that way then?
“Alone, in a house’s courtyard
I follow the sound of footsteps
Somewhere a door is closing on you now.
…
Loneliness stares back at me
On the cramped rack of my memories
A shop window mannequin holds me in its arms.
…
Love on a café bench
Love on the stage of my past
Yearning for the memory of a hopeless game.
…
Let me watch the moonlight’s dance once more
Through your eyes.”
Update: After graduation, I found out from the other girl that they had seen me counting down, too…