To describe it as lame would be an understatement, sure. Yet the audacity of it all was how you had to give lip service to the whole exercise. Everywhere in public meeting places, pubs and shops, they would be playing some farcical affectation to the benefits of socialism spreading far and yon. You would watch as everyone began tapping their fingers, or humming along. Participation meant agreement, and agreement meant the Stasi would leave you alone. But in safe havens like this rooftop, no one tapped or hummed along unless they liked what they heard.
“How was the show, dumbass?” Herr fired in her direction.
“It was amazing!” Lena brightened, “We had so many…”
“That’s great,” Herr interrupted, “So, does anyone…”
“Oh Herr, be nice!” Mrs. Schroeder berated before turning to Lena and saying, “Please, Lena. Tell us about your concert. We would all love to hear about it.”
“You wouldn’t like her music, Mrs. Schroeder,” Jonathan cut in, “it’s all about doing drugs and eating children, and stuff like that. Best not to encourage her.”
“Well I like it!” Mr. Müller and his mustache chimed in, “It’s angry. It sounds like Led Zeppelin.”
Lena took this opportunity to tell the group about her band’s latest escapade. She told them everything including the bit about the rafters from the last show. Mrs. Schroeder let fly an, “Oh my” at the mention of her band accidentally “desecrating the Lord’s House”, but she was still proud of Lena’s performance.
With the inescapable advent of foreign rock music and proliferation in the GDR (by way of their little pirate radios), the Politburo had hatched what they felt to be an utterly brilliant plan: send GDR rock bands to play shows in the West. On the surface, this wasn’t the world’s worst idea; however, when the Politburo decided to buy the artists’ loyalty by giving them “Freedom Medals” which they were forced to wear while playing shows, well, the SED was none the wiser about why the Western youth were laughing so loudly. After all, in the West you didn’t need to hide your laughter for fear of the Stasi.
This was where punk rock came in—the punks just didn’t care. They said what they wanted, often and loudly, much to the glee of the GDR youth who craved the realness of ‘their own’. Comparatively, this was where the little pirate radio on top of Lena’s building came in as well. To the rest of the punk world, mainstream music was kitsch at best and utterly blasphemous at worst. But in the GDR, this was her other punk rock—her slice of the world’s reality away from the purported reality of the SED. These people said what was actually on their minds, no matter how vitriolic or perverted. It may not have been to the degrees of The Sex Pistols, but it was decades ahead of anything ever mentioned in public on this side of the Wall.
Now Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” was playing, and Mrs. Schroeder was tapping her fingers on her thighs, humming tunelessly along. “So, what else did you do today, besides destroy another church?” she asked.
“Well…” Lena hemmed and hawed. She wanted to tell them all about Hans, she really did; but somehow, she felt letting the group in on that tidbit of her life would invite the boys to make fun of her, or just be embarrassing. Then again, she was seventeen and seventeen-year-old girls did occasionally like boys, right?
“I, uh, met a boy.” she said gingerly.
“Oh, did you now?!” Mrs. Schroeder gushed.
“Congratulations!” Jonathan cheered.
“Is he cute?” Janet asked.
“I didn’t think lesbians liked boys.” Mick jeered at no one in particular.
“Oh, shut up, Mick!” Lorenzo yelled, “Lena isn’t a damn lesbian. She just hates men.”
“She is too a lesbian… aren’t you Lena?” Mick asked honestly.
“Well why would I be excited about meeting a boy if I was?!” Lena yelled back, irritated.
“So, you don’t have to go to hell.” Herr cut-in.
“What did you say?!” Mrs. Schroeder exclaimed, as she stood up and kicked at Herr, “You apologize this instant, or I’m throwing you off of this roof!”
Mrs. Schroeder chased Herr for some time as Lena contemplated how to continue the conversation. Herr and Mick were jerks, but she loved them. Still, she didn’t really know how to broach the conversation. Soon, “Jessie’s Girl” was through, and a new song began to play. It was the latest offering from the British punk band, The Dead Weights, entitled “Capitalism Down”. This had become one of Lena’s favorite songs as of late, as it had for most of the punks in the GDR. Sure, it took a stance that was opposite to what Lena would prefer, but it was anti-establishment, and that was what mattered.
“Lena, tell us about your boyfriend,” Mrs. Schroeder said, after hitting both Herr and Mick several times. Both of the boys were unharmed, obviously; but now they looked to feel as stupid as they were, and this made Lena grin.
“Well,” she began, “His name is Hans. He’s tall, has long brown hair, and is really good at sports. He’s a top athlete in our school. He’s also very smart, kind, and is really into our music.”
“Oh that’s wonderful, dear.” Mrs. Schroeder said.
“Is he into your music,” Herr cut in, “or is he just into you?”
“He’s probably into both.” Jonathan said, matter-of-factly.
“But how into you is he?” Lorenzo cut in, making an obscene gesture.
“Lorenzo!” Janet said, acidly, “that’s none of your business!”
“Well, Lena’s like our little Sister, right?” Lorenzo responded, “So if she’s fucking someone, we should all know so we can kick his ass.”
“She’s not my little sister!” Mick cut in.
“That’s because I’m older than you, moron!” Lena retorted.
“Well, yeah. But…” Mick stuttered before finding himself profusely ignored by Lena.
She went on to regale the group with the tale of her romantic serendipity. She told them of how Hans always brought her coat during her after-show cigarette. She told them of how he draped it around her and playfully touched her. She told them all about the kiss, making sure to accentuate the inherent ‘grossness’ of it for the benefit of Herr and Mick who were making ‘grossed out’-noises. Everyone seemed perfectly enthralled with her story. That is, except for Mr. Müller, who sat back and listened intently. After a few moments more of Lena gushing, he finally broke in.
“Lena, where did you say you met this boy, Hans?”
“Oh, I’ve known him forever from school, but we’ve only recently become good friends since he started coming to my band’s shows.”
“And how many of your shows has he gone too?”
“All of them!”
“How many athletes at your school go to these shows?” Mr. Müller asked, with a hint of concern in his voice.
“Not many, I suppose. Maybe a few. Why?”
“Well, it might be nothing.” he replied somberly, “I just… I get concerned for you young kids with your music scenes.”
“What do you mean?” Lena responded, honestly.
“Because Hans is probably a fucking spitzel, right Mr. Müller?” Herr cut in.
“Language, Herr!” Mrs. Schroeder snapped.
“He is not, idiot!” Lena yelled.
“How do you know, stupid?” Herr called back, “He might be reporting to the Stasi right now!”
“He wouldn’t do that!”
“Hold on a second.” Mr. Müller said, interrupting the two. “Lena, all of us are proud of you for meeting a boy, and he sounds wonderful. We just… it’s important to be careful. Anyone could be an informant these days. Heck, even one of us could be. You never know these days. You have to have friends, and you need to be able to date. That said, you of all people need to be careful. The Stasi have their eyes everywhere—and they don’t like punks one bit.”