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    22 Apr 2004

    I sat down in the kitchen, looking around at everything. I saw a lemon juicer.

    Lemonade I sighed

    Leeemonadie? my forign exchange student asked me.

    Yes, Jens, Leemonadie.

    when we got him i thought he would be a she. but obviously not since Jens was a six foot seven inch nordic god. He had palest skin and pale grey eyes under a curly curly shock of white blonde hair.

    Naturally, i was sadistic and sarcastic around Jens instead of being merry sunshine Marcia Brady. I think i scared him a little bit.

    You make Leemonadie?

    Yeah. Then I'm going to squeeze your heart to make blood juice

    You joke?

    Yes, Jens, I joke.

    I adored Jens, the way he charmed my parents like i was his beloved girl trying to make a good impression.

    I loved, more than anything, the fact that he could kick my ass. Id been in karate since i could remember, breaking my arm when i was six fighting and i was a definate black belt at the age of sixteen.

    Want help with the leemonadie?

    Sure, i say, cutting a few lemons in half, you juice these into the bowl.

    Ja, he says

    we work in silence for a while until i slip and cut my finger while cutting the lemons. the tart juice stings as it hits my cut. it was deep. i shreiked, the blood hitting my jeans.

    Honna, Honna! he yells, malpronouncing Hannah.

    it hurts, Jens!

    i am knowing it hurts Honna.

    he presses a rag to my hand and holds tight as i cry. He moves me to the couch in the livingroom as he calls my parents.

    Jens, tell them that i need stitches

    She is needing some of those stitchies.

    i laugh at yet another wrong pronunciation.

    Honna, they are coming home.

    good. i say

    he brushes my dark hair from my face as he kneels beside me.


    Jens (said like yenz)

    and he kisses my lips, a light brushing of his against mine, and suddenly my finger and my heart hurt

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