Anneke and Paul

Heb je 't niet door dat ik aan het schrijven ben?

Can't you see I'm busy writing?

Anneke yelled.

"I hate it when you speak Dutch to me," Paul yelled.  "You know I don't understand a word you're saying!"

"Well," Anneke hesitated, "I'm sorry."  She really was not, but decided it was the best response if she hoped to have peace, even for a mere moment.

Anneke and Paul had been dating for a year.  They met during freshman orientation.  She was from Holland, hoping to experience American college life.  Paul was a corn-fed guy from Iowa, who hoped to escape from his parents' fire and brimstone preaching. 

When he first met Anneke, they were in the same orientation group.  While taken by her intense blue eyes, he was most surprised at how well she spoke English.  She later told him that she spoke German and French as well.

Things had been going great between them.  He liked her openness to experiencing new things and especially like the fact that she was agnostic.  These days, however, she was impatient, short with him and cheap on the loving.

Paul sat on the twin bed.  "So when is the deadline?" he asked, really meaning when would they have sex again. 

Anneke loved to write and was a member of the Literary Society on campus.  They were holding their annual write-off and she was determined to win.

"Monday," Anneke replied, not even bothering to look up from the laptop in front of her.

It was Sunday – he could live.  Paul put his hands behind his head and stretched out on the bed.

Anneke saw the smile form on his lips.  She knew why he was so antsy and she smiled to herself.  She had turned in her story last Wednesday.

Paul never saw the smirk that formed on Anneke's lips.