Love is never something you should keep to yourself

It was crowded, it was smoky, and it was dark. But none of that bothered me. I was 20 years old and drinking legally.

When you’re an American student majoring in German and on a study abroad program in Munich, drinking beer is practically part of the curriculum. And this bar in particular could qualify as a study hall, since it was a student bar on the campus of Studentenstadt, a sort of student city of dorms serving the University of Munich. Next to me sat another American, Karl Miller (names have been changed to protect the unrequited), a student from Michigan.

With his lanky build, blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses and penchant for dressing all in black, Karl looked more German than most Germans. Or more specifically, maybe I should say he looked like a Berlin transplant. Americans tend to find each other when studying abroad, and I’ve always had nearly as many male friends as female. When Karl wanted to go out for a beer, he’d come and toss rocks at the window of my room on the second floor of the dorm and when I’d come to look out, he’d say “Hey, let’s go.”

English-language music dominated the radio, and so it happened that the song by Elton John with the line “I simply love you more than I love life itself” came on as we were sipping our beer. I laughed and said, “I’ve never loved anyone more than life itself.” Karl said, “I have,” and proceeded to tell me about Monika.

Monika was a German exchange student back at his home college, Michigan State. She was pretty, of course, and charming, and he had loved her. More than life itself, in fact, but he never told her so. He took another drink of his beer.

I returned to complete my degree in Salem, Ore. Karl, presumably, went back to Michigan. We didn’t stay in touch, probably because he couldn’t throw rocks that far. After finishing my degree I moved to Sacramento and went to work for a German-based company, so I had a chance to use my foreign language skills on the job (and that was about the only time, as it turned out).

On my first day, I was introduced to my co-worker, Monika. From her accent, I could tell that she was a native German. Suddenly my mind jumped back to that night at the student bar in Munich.

“Where did you go to school?” I asked. “Michigan State.” She answered. Could it be?

“Did you know someone named Karl Miller?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, he was funny ... he used to throw rocks at my window.”

She wore a ring on her left hand, and her last name wasn’t Miller. I told her that I had known him when we were both students in Munich. That was all that I said.

For some reason I was chosen to bear witness to a love that never was. On Valentine’s Day, I sometimes think of Karl and Monika. It’s OK to wear all black and throw rocks at windows, as long as you don’t throw them too hard. But if you love someone more than life itself, I think you should tell them.

Catherine Forte is one of of six reader columnists whose work appears on this page. She teaches psychology online for Tacoma Community College and lives in Lakewood with her husband and 11-year-old son. Email her at csforte@comcast.net.