Longing

The Boxster turns 25. And it looks better than ever. We reminisced about last summer and a road trip in the latest generation of the overtly sporty convertible. And let ourselves be gripped by longing. A story about a woman, a fast car and a few hundred kilometers.
Text Peter Praschl
Photo Markus Henttonen

Get in, she said, I want to leave while the light is still good. What does that have to do with me? asked Kippen. But then he got in anyway. She made him curious.

Where are we going? he wanted to know. Just for a drive, said the girl. We’ll talk along the way. Let’s see if you can do that. In case you want to know why you: because you just happened to be there. It could have been someone else. You were standing there looking like you had nothing to do. And now just tell me who you are.

I’m Kippen, said Kippen. I paint. Unfortunately, painting doesn’t give me as much pleasure as it used to. My paintings are just something for the galleries and the art critics and the people who want to buy something from me. They hang it up and are proud of their taste. I try to be as rude as possible when I talk to them, but they don’t mind. I don’t believe in painting anymore, but I can’t think of anything else. And what am I supposed to do with you?

Get in, she said, I want to leave while the light is still good. What does that have to do with me? asked Kippen. But then he got in anyway. She made him curious.

You’re already doing it, she said. She drove faster.
I lie awake at night, said Kippen, and I can’t fall asleep because I no longer know what to do to make the restlessness come. I wish that things were restless for me again, but maybe I wouldn’t even notice it anymore.

They were sitting by the sea now, looking at the waves. The girl was sipping a cola. She asked: What does the perfect picture look like? If there ever was a perfect picture, there would be no more painting, said Kippen, because after that nobody would have to paint anymore. We would see it and know that was it. We would no longer be hungry. But everything always goes on.

Bullshit, she said. When chocolate is good, I want more. If a picture is good, I want to look at others. If love is good, let it go on. I think you’re a coward. You’re afraid to go on, so you want everything that is good to stop so fast that you don’t have time to think it will lose its power.

It’s nice with you, he said. Thank you, she said, with you too. I could have this forever, he said. Me too, she said, but you have to earn eternity.

Could you love me? asked Kippen, who didn’t want to stand for being called a coward. You can love anyone, she said, it’s just that sometimes you love the wrong person. But now it’s time to move on. She got into her car and was very impatient. Come on, let’s go.
It was nice driving with her. She was fast, and she looked really good driving fast.

Who are you? he asked.

That’s not important, she said. We’re going to drive a few hundred kilometers, every now and then we’ll stop and look around. If you get hungry, I’ll buy us something to eat and we’ll talk. I’d like to know if we can do that. And at some point, I’ll drop you off at a train station, buy you a ticket and send you back.

And that’s it?

Yeah, she said, that’s it. We all go back to our lives. You paint your pictures, I paint mine. We move on, and everything’s good.
You paint too? he asked.

In my own way. Not with colors, but with myself. My pictures are perfect. You can’t get enough of me. And you want it to go on.
I’ve just got to accept that, don’t I? said Kippen.
That’s right, she said. She drove faster and looked very good driving faster. You’ve just got to accept that.

It was nice driving with her. She was fast, and she looked really good driving fast.

Later they were sitting in a small bodega having a bite to eat. It’s nice with you, he said. Thank you, she said, with you too. I could have this forever, he said. Me too, she said, but you have to earn eternity. Come now, you’ve got to go to the station, your train leaves in half an hour.
I don’t think I want to go home yet, he said, I would rather earn eternity.
Not with me, she said, I already have someone I want to be with.

Then why are you driving around with me? he asked.
You were standing there looking like you could use a little road trip. It was good, wasn’t it? she said. And then she was gone.
On the train, he was looking forward to painting for the first time in years.


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