I had a German boyfriend when I was fresh out of college. I mean really German – straight off the jet with a handful of English in his back pocket and a tendency to treat the roads of Michigan like the Autobahn. I remember riding with him, everyone in the car shouting, “Slow down Ralf! Slow down!” Rolling the “R” and pleading to no avail.
He was quite gorgeous, in a huge, too-fast, Arian sort of way and whenever his passengers would beg him to slow down, he’d dazzle with a smile, press the pedal to the metal and say, “Vertrau mir…”
He was like the snake in The Jungle Book, beautiful and dangerous and nothing at all to be trusted… As a recovering alcoholic, I have learned (perhaps late in life) that you’ve got to find a way to trust someone. I am not talking about the blind trust of your pet dog, or a toddler in a department store. I’m not talking about sitting blithely, while Ralf attempts to commit vehicular homicide.
I’m talking about finding a handful of folks who have your back and never second guessing their motives. It’s unnatural to me and scary, but it has been key to my recovery. I like the second definition of “trust” best: a
Who do you trust?