"Say, aren't you the cat who wrote that piece for violin that's so hot right now?" Ramona asks me after awhile.
"I composed a piece called 'She Waits'," I tell her.
"I've heard it. Sounds like a really groovy love song to me. I can sure dig that!"
"It's a song about my grandmother," I say.
"Your grandmother?" Ramona bursts out laughing.
"Yes. What's so funny about that?"
"She must have really been some cool chick."
"I never knew her. She died a long time before I was born."
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"That's all right, but I still don't understand why you laughed."
"It just kind of surprised me, that's all. Never in a million years would I have thought of something like that."
"It seems normal enough to me."
"You Europeans have a whole different way of thinking, I guess. By the way, I love your accent. You sound just like Victor Frankenstein."
"Thanks - I guess." I chuckle, wondering whether she meant it as a compliment.
"So psychedelic music must not be that big where you're from, huh?"
"Is that what we've been playing?"
"Yeah, man." Her eyes have a dreamy look. "It's the sound of our generation. Not that my brother Ronnie would agree." She snorts. "He's such a square. It's hard to believe he's the same age as me."
"You're twins?"
She nods. "Mom and Dad tried for eleven years to have kids, until finally Ronnie and me were born. They named him after their favorite actor, Ronald Reagan. Him and me, we couldn't be more different. Hey, why don't you come over for dinner Sunday? That way, you'll see for yourself."
"Sure, I'd love to." It isn't just that I'm all alone in a foreign country and crave human interaction. That's part of it, but not the whole reason. The truth is, Ramona both intrigues and fascinates me. The way she dresses, the way she talks, her mention of the gathering in Height-Ashbury, my introduction to psychedelic music - through her, it seems I've discovered a whole new world, one I'm very curious about.
When Sunday arrives, I dress in my nicest clothes, spend an extra long time on my hair, and take along my breath mints. It's of utmost importance that I make a good impression on the Nelson family. I arrive at their white and tan two-story home and ring the doorbell.
Mrs. Nelson opens the door a second or two later. She's short and a bit chubby, with bleached blonde hair, blue eyes, and prominent cheek bones. Thirty years ago, she must have been a real beauty.
"Why, hello there! You must be Christian. Ramona told me you'd be joining us today. Come on in." Her smile reminds me of Ramona's, which gives me a warm feeling inside.
"I'm Eunice," she continues as she leads me to the table, from which delicious smells waft. "This is my husband, William, and our son, Ronald."
"How do you do." William stands to shake my hand, and so does Ronald. Meeting him for the first time, I see exactly what Ramona meant, as he's wearing a white button-down shirt with dark blue slacks, and his hair is very short. As conventional as she is colorful.
As we are eating, Eunice asks about my family. Seeing no point in mentioning my biological father, I tell her about Otto, my mother, Wolfgang, and Sabine, and then she launches into her own life story.
"I'm an Okie," she tells me. "I was a school teacher in a little town called Strang during the Dust Bowl. As more and more families left for California, my students became fewer and fewer until at last there were only two of them. Still I was determined to stay in Oklahoma and wait it out, until I received news from my father that my mother had had a stroke.
I arrived in Central Valley to find my family living in extreme poverty. It broke my heart, but there was nothing I could do about it. My father and I became migrant workers, moving from place to place in search of better conditions but never finding them. I met William while harvesting cotton, and we were married in the little village church.
My mother's health improved some, but she never completely recovered. When the war began, William was sent to Germany and I moved to the city to take a job in a factory making weapons. When it ended, he came back home and went to work for the police department and I quit my factory job.
The twins were born, and life was good. We lived a typical middle-class life, but I never forgot what I'd been through, and more than anything else, I wanted to make sure my children were never deprived of anything. We've provided them with every material comfort available."
"Some things are more important than material comforts," Ramona remarks.
"Oh, just zip it!" Ronald snaps. "We're all sick and tired of listening to you go on and on about peace and love and everybody sharing everything. Mom and Dad worked hard to give us the life we have today, and you should show more appreciation for it instead of wanting to run around with your long-haired druggie friends, marching and waving banners and protesting the war."
"It's a stupid war!" Ramona explodes. "Sending Americans halfway around the world to get killed over some little bitty country nobody even heard of until now!"
"Communism must be kept at bay." Ronald pounds his fist on the table. "If we let he Reds take Vietnam, they'll just move on to another country. They won't stop until the whole world is under their control."
"Well, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Ramona mutters. As her parents and brother stare at her in shock, I realize how isolated from her family she must feel.
Just as isolated as I felt when I learned the truth about my father.