„Hush, you animal, will you stop licking me?“ I snap at him, laughing. It’s our daily ritual.
I get up to wash off his morning greeting from my face. I must put myself together; it’s been a week since I barricaded myself at home and I haven’t left the place except for the obligatory walks with my dog. I’ve begun to neglect myself. Instead of doing my hair and putting some make-up on, I put Tom’s old baseball-cap on and set off to walk my dog. My nails are cracked, but I don’t care. What is it all good for when I’ve lost Tom?
Fortunately, nobody annoys me outside; everybody respects my privacy because they know about the close relationship I had with my brother. We talked about it in like a hundred interviews so everybody knows it’s not easy for me to deal with my loss. It’s kind of strange that there isn’t a bunch of journalists and photographers asking me when I will pass away too. We’ve always claimed we’re going to die together and I haven’t kept my word. Maybe there is a possibility that they think the band has broken up, so they won’t write about me anymore. I don’t give a shit. The nine-year long popularity gave me enough of a hard time, a little bit of rest won’t hurt.
Today I’m in the mood to work on myself a little. It’s getting better. I talk a lot with Tom in my head; I feel it’s helping me. Now when I know he loved me too, it’s much easier. I tell him inwardly what I haven’t told him my entire life and I’m gaining peace of mind. I hope he can hear me, somewhere out there.Dear Mr Kaulitz,
First of all I would like to express my deepest condolences. My offer may seem a little bit strange at first sight, but believe me that it is a serious matter. I’m an old man, nearly eighty years old and I don’t have any need to make fun of you.
I offer you to see your brother in person again. If you are interested, call me. My phone number is 564 895 635.
Yours faithfully,
Michael Schultz
Fuck, another loon. Those people really don’t know when to stop. I want to give the number a call and yell the shit out of him, but the number is most likely fake and the poor john who would pick up the phone would have nothing to do with the letter.
I drop the letter down on the floor, almost stepping on it angrily. My good mood has changed and it’s because of the fucking popularity. If I were just an ordinary guy nobody would have the urge to write me such fucked up letters. What is it good for?
Screw this, I’m going to tidy up a little. There is a huge pile of laundry in the corner, so I stuff it into the washing-machine and set the program. Work is the best way to release anger. I turn music on super loud and I try not to think about the stupid letter. I hate vacuuming, but the old lady Bach, my housekeeper, sort of hasn’t contacted me and I’m starting to sneeze every time I close the door. I must call her to come over next week. There are heaps of dust in the apartment, so I clean it properly.
Fuck! That damn letter nearly plugged the pipe! I pick it up and throw it among the leaflets on the table. I’ll throw them away anyway, who cares if butter or rolls are one cent cheaper somewhere? I’ve got enough money not to give a shit. I eat what tastes good and I don’t care about the price. We’ve earned enough money with the boys for the last nine years in order not to have to do anything for the rest of our lives, but I wouldn’t enjoy doing nothing.
Unfortunately my brother’s earnings will probably go to my account, but I guess I’ll transfer them to a charity. He loved animals, so it’s a good idea to give the money away to few dog shelters to please my brother.
Finally the apartment looks neater so I can take a nap before having lunch; housecleaning has got me exhausted. Scotty woke me up way too early today. I’m a hell of a sleeper; I would sleep all day if I could. It’s not so long ago we used to do exactly the same thing with the rest of the band. We slept all day and boozed at night.
Yeah, but you can only do that for a few years. Then you get old and you suddenly realize you can’t handle all the partying. You grow lazy. I’m turning 25 in September and I can’t party like I could in the old times.
We’ve done some real bad-ass stuff and it juiced me out. Like people say, youth is over and retirement is far, far away. My bed is so comfy; it’s fantastic to doze off on it.
I could eat a horse, but the kitchen is empty. I have to go shopping and pick up the mail. When I went out with Scotty I noticed the mailbox was full and no more letters could jam inside. Ordinary life is beginning again and I must get used to it.
I peep out of the window. The sun is shining, a small grey cloud floating by from time to time, but it seems to be warm outside, so I don’t have to wear many layers. I put on a light jacket, whistling to Scotty, put a leash on him and we can set off to civilization. I will pick up the mail on my way home; it’s no use to carry it with me, is it?
I hurry across the street to a local bakery to buy some fresh baked goods, on the way back I buy some newspapers at the newsagent’s and then Scotty leads me to the park. Maybe he can smell that dog lady of his again, but too bad I’m holding him quite tight this time, not letting him to run off.. On my way home I clear the bursting mailbox, I have a handful of letters. I must watch out not to lose anything, there could be something important among these leaflets and my dog, slash calf, is getting into my way all the time.
I leave it all in the living room on the side table, heading to kitchen to prepare breakfast for me and Scotty. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh buns. I spread some butter and honey on them, make a bucket of coffee and go to the living room to sort out the damn mail. Leaflets to the right, condolences to the left, official documents have their own place in the middle.
I start with the latter to break the back of it. So, what do we have here? Some pay-slips, a letter from a notary about Tom’s heritage, I must give this one to my lawyer. There are about twenty condolences; I don’t even bother reading them. Full of courtesy phrases, how could they help me?
After a while there’s only one envelope left before I’m done. It only has my name and town Hamburg on it, the full address is missing. The post-office has known my address for years, so each letter is delivered. It’s sort of an advantage of popularity, one of few.
I tear the envelope open and take a handwritten letter out. A minority of people writes letters by hand nowadays, everybody’s typing away on the computer and printing it out, it’s much easier and that’s why the letter starts to interest me. First I have a look at the signature. I don´t know the name at all. Michael Schultz, it says nothing to me.
I’m walking along a stony path. I know the place but I can’t call to mind when I’ve been here…
There’s a high tower on the hill far beyond. I’m walking towards the tower, wheezing like a grandpa. I´ve never been into walking in nature.
Completely bushed, I finally crawl to the tower gate and knock on it loudly with a big metal knocker. Nothing, just silence and an echo. I bang again, harder this time; it makes my hand hurt a lot. There has to be someone inside, I haven’t scrambled on this hill just for fun.
I hear something, some kind of creaking. The gate is opening and I can see Tom standing in the middle. He looks like a ghost; he’s deathly pale. What is he doing here? He’s looking at me, I’m looking at him; I don’t understand why he’s remaining silent. I mutter a greeting and he only nods. He looks me in the eye and says: „Call that number, it’s important.“ Then the creaking gate closes.
I sit in my bed, eyes wide open. It’s getting dark; I must have slept all afternoon. I’ve got an unclear feeling that I had a dream but I don’t remember it. Somehow it slipped out of my head. Surely my brother was there, but that’s the only thing I can remember. Anyway, I’ll dismiss it; I guess it wasn’t that important.
I refresh to cheer myself up and then I look what’s on. I’ve got to cook something for dinner, but I’ve forgotten that there’s nothing in here because I’ve already eaten everything for breakfast. I slept away lunch and now my stomach is pretty pissed at me. Never mind, I’ll ring the local pizzeria – the pizza guy knows me better than his mother.
I order the usual stuff and set the table. I have to store the condolences and throw the leaflets away. Suddenly I pause. I catch sight of the stupid letter lying on the top of the leaflets and then I get it. I recall what my brother had told me in that dream. „Call the number, it’s important.“ Did he mean this number? I mean, I’m sure the whole thing about seeing Tom again is bullshit. But I read the letter once again anyway, I could hardly remember the crap after I had thrown it away furiously earlier.
To be honest, I can’t make heads nor tails of it, but the writer persuades me he has no reason to make fun of me. Well, normally I wouldn’t do it, but the dream has made me change my mind. As soon as I’ve finished eating, I’ll try and call the guy. What could possibly happen? Someone else could pick the phone up and tell me I’ve taken the bait at most.
The pizza was excellent as usual, I’ve shovelled it down in a jiffy, not a single crumb is left, but that never happens to me, because even if I left something, Scotty would eat it immediately. I feel really well, I hate being hungry, I get angry and sulky then. I make a cup of coffee and then I pull myself together and dial the bloody number, now that I remember how Tom forced me to do it in the dream. If it is a prank, I will never believe in my dreams again. Ever.
I take my cell phone and dial the number. I stare at the display, waiting who will appear.
„Schultz speaking,“ comes out of my cell and I can see a really old man. „Ah, good evening Mr Kaulitz, I almost thought you wouldn’t call me.“ The old man goes with trends; he also has a video-mobile.
„Good evening, Mr Schultz. As a matter of fact I’m calling you to make sure that this all is just a bad joke. Could you explain to me the reason why you wrote me?“
„You haven’t read my letter properly; have you, Mr Kaulitz? After all, the thing I wrote is not a joke. I can show you how seriously I take this matter. I’m really able to provide you with a meeting with your brother, but you must trust me more. We don’t have much time left, I’m old and I don’t know when I will pass away. It could happen any time, I’d like to finish my work and your help is essential.“
I’m staring at him, speechless. So he’s really being serious, it doesn’t look like he’s playing with me. „You need my help? How can I trust you after what you’ve written? I like fairy-tales and stuff, that’s true, but in reality I have never met any rescued princesses and I’m afraid I’d file your offer in the same category as a fairytale,“ I tell him sharply, but in fact I’m getting curious and that’s wrong. My curiosity has made me suffer several times so I hope it won’t happen this time too.
„Mr Kaulitz, I can’t tell you more on the phone, I believe it would be better for us to meet. I live in a small village a bit outside Hamburg, could you meet me tomorrow? I’ll show you and explain everything necessary.“
I hesitate for a while but then I agree. After all, the old bloke is likeable so I write down his address and promise that I’ll drop in tomorrow afternoon. Maybe it’ll be a useless trip, but I have nothing better to do so I don’t mind it. I’m going to make my brother’s wish come true and then I’ll rest in peace.
I switch the TV on, but I’m unable to focus. I keep thinking about what will happen tomorrow. I’ll take pepper-spray with me, because who knows what could happen out there.
„Scotty, let’s go out and catch some fresh air and jog a little,“ I tell my dog and we go out looking for the dog lady together.
