Underneath A Clear Night Sky
- Detmer Yens Kremer (Netherlands)
While the pedals of my old bike rattled, while the generator of my light buzzed loudly, I cycled over an asphalt river towards my home. The soft glow of my headlight only illuminated a small circle right in front of me, one that was interrupted by the bright white markings on the road. I only looked up. The road cut through spacious meadows and created numerous rectangles, as if I cycled on the black lines of a Mondrian painting. My light was the only one for as far as I could see. I was still looking up, in awe of the spectacle drawn on the night sky, right above me. I saw millions of stars forming mythical heroes and exotic animals. A blur, our Milky Way, stretching out far beyond the horizon. Each time I looked up and saw this near magical scenery, I felt part of something larger than life. I knew, even though I was so different, I was one of those bright spots. I knew that I was part of something beautiful and mesmerizing, even if all I could see was imperfection. It was reassuring.
While I was making my way through the Frisian country side, home came closer and closer. The dark silhouettes of trees appeared in my sight. I took a right turn. The cycling road, lined with tall trees, was accompanied by the only slightly larger road of my village, named after a communist who promised us freedom and equality. The oddly shaped figures of the trees blocked my sight of the night sky. Suddenly my generator stopped working, but it continued to make a buzzing sound. The darkness was piercing, but I was born here. I knew my way home better than the lines on the palms of my hands. The squeaking and creaking of my bike shattered the silence, I felt the weight of my backpack pressing on my shoulders.
I thought I recognized the silhouettes of humans in the distance, unrecognizable bodies and faces between the black trees. My heart started to beat faster while the most farfetched scenario’s unfolded in my mind. I leaned over the steering wheel and squinted my eyes, but it did not help. I did not know if they were real or just figments of my imagination. One hard sound. One word, and everything was clear. It rang through the cold autumn air. My hands squeezed the rubber handles. I was not able to breath. That one word resonated between my ears and was deafening. Faggot.
I was almost unable to grasp it. I had kept everything a well-hidden secret. No one could have known back home. It was simply impossible. All my traces had been concealed, swept away, I was sure of it. The squeaking and creaking stopped, my bike stood still. Footsteps came closer. I did not notice they continued to shout things. That single word was enough to stop everything, while my world was falling apart around me. I realized several people surrounded me now, people I have seen my entire life. At the fair, by the swimming pool, in my class. Two pale hands enclosed the middle of my steering wheel, determined to ensure I was not going anywhere. I slowly looked up and two bright blue eyes stared back. Cold. Emotionless. A shiver ran down my spine. The others were still shouting, he just kept staring. I clamped on to my bike, the only thing I could still trust in this now unfamiliar place.
I could not bear his stare and looked down. I stared at my shoes. A wet and cold clot of spit landed on my forehead. The roar of laughter was thunderous. I felt like I was baptized, this was the beginning of what my life was going to be like. He laughed so hard he let go of the steering wheel. With my sleeve I wiped my forehead clean. They were still shouting and laughing. They were mocking me. With a force I did not know I possessed I pushed myself of the ground. With my feet on the pedals, I started to cycle. The squeaking and creaking became louder and for a brief moment I knew it would drown out everything else. I disappeared into the dark night. They called me. Like demons, they started to chase me. My legs raced up and down, my muscles were tight and the wind grew stronger. My breathing became heavy, but I only could go faster. Their footsteps on the asphalt fell quiet. They had given up. I could not give up. I cycled faster than I ever imagined to be possible. Away from everything. My house, as a safe haven, loomed from the dark. Before I turned on to the driveway, I looked up one last time. The stars were still shining, just like before. I, still, was part of something larger than life. I felt both defeated and invincible.
While the pedals of my old bike rattled, while the generator of my light buzzed loudly, I cycled over an asphalt river towards my home. The soft glow of my headlight only illuminated a small circle right in front of me, one that was interrupted by the bright white markings on the road. I only looked up. The road cut through spacious meadows and created numerous rectangles, as if I cycled on the black lines of a Mondrian painting. My light was the only one for as far as I could see. I was still looking up, in awe of the spectacle drawn on the night sky, right above me. I saw millions of stars forming mythical heroes and exotic animals. A blur, our Milky Way, stretching out far beyond the horizon. Each time I looked up and saw this near magical scenery, I felt part of something larger than life. I knew, even though I was so different, I was one of those bright spots. I knew that I was part of something beautiful and mesmerizing, even if all I could see was imperfection. It was reassuring.
While I was making my way through the Frisian country side, home came closer and closer. The dark silhouettes of trees appeared in my sight. I took a right turn. The cycling road, lined with tall trees, was accompanied by the only slightly larger road of my village, named after a communist who promised us freedom and equality. The oddly shaped figures of the trees blocked my sight of the night sky. Suddenly my generator stopped working, but it continued to make a buzzing sound. The darkness was piercing, but I was born here. I knew my way home better than the lines on the palms of my hands. The squeaking and creaking of my bike shattered the silence, I felt the weight of my backpack pressing on my shoulders.
I thought I recognized the silhouettes of humans in the distance, unrecognizable bodies and faces between the black trees. My heart started to beat faster while the most farfetched scenario’s unfolded in my mind. I leaned over the steering wheel and squinted my eyes, but it did not help. I did not know if they were real or just figments of my imagination. One hard sound. One word, and everything was clear. It rang through the cold autumn air. My hands squeezed the rubber handles. I was not able to breath. That one word resonated between my ears and was deafening. Faggot.
I was almost unable to grasp it. I had kept everything a well-hidden secret. No one could have known back home. It was simply impossible. All my traces had been concealed, swept away, I was sure of it. The squeaking and creaking stopped, my bike stood still. Footsteps came closer. I did not notice they continued to shout things. That single word was enough to stop everything, while my world was falling apart around me. I realized several people surrounded me now, people I have seen my entire life. At the fair, by the swimming pool, in my class. Two pale hands enclosed the middle of my steering wheel, determined to ensure I was not going anywhere. I slowly looked up and two bright blue eyes stared back. Cold. Emotionless. A shiver ran down my spine. The others were still shouting, he just kept staring. I clamped on to my bike, the only thing I could still trust in this now unfamiliar place.
I could not bear his stare and looked down. I stared at my shoes. A wet and cold clot of spit landed on my forehead. The roar of laughter was thunderous. I felt like I was baptized, this was the beginning of what my life was going to be like. He laughed so hard he let go of the steering wheel. With my sleeve I wiped my forehead clean. They were still shouting and laughing. They were mocking me. With a force I did not know I possessed I pushed myself of the ground. With my feet on the pedals, I started to cycle. The squeaking and creaking became louder and for a brief moment I knew it would drown out everything else. I disappeared into the dark night. They called me. Like demons, they started to chase me. My legs raced up and down, my muscles were tight and the wind grew stronger. My breathing became heavy, but I only could go faster. Their footsteps on the asphalt fell quiet. They had given up. I could not give up. I cycled faster than I ever imagined to be possible. Away from everything. My house, as a safe haven, loomed from the dark. Before I turned on to the driveway, I looked up one last time. The stars were still shining, just like before. I, still, was part of something larger than life. I felt both defeated and invincible.