The Exchange Student. The Story of My Thirteen-Year Crush
“Uh oh!” the sound of the ICQ message arriving on my screen blared out of the speakers.
He replied.
I was 17, sitting at the desk at home, heart racing, because I just messaged the guy I have been crushing on at school. He was new to my school this year, in the 12th grade like me. He was a German exchange student with brown eyes and dirty blond hair, often wearing army pants and a burgundy hoodie. He was cute.
I didn’t know how to approach him in school. It seemed like an impossibility to just go up and talk to him. Instead, I decided to reach out the way that seemed most comfortable to me: I looked him up on ICQ and I messaged him. He replied almost immediately.It made me even more curious about him. Does he have friends? Where does he live? What does he think of it here? I introduced myself and explained how he may have recognized me from school. He did. We started chatting. Very quickly, he asked what I was up to and if I wanted to go to the movies with him. We made plans to meet at the bus terminal in a few hours.
I remember stepping off the bus onto the curb to see him standing right there waiting for me. We exchanged hellos and walked down the block to the movie theatre. I don’t remember what movie we watched that evening and we didn’t talk much before or after the movie. It was probably the first time I went to a movie alone with a boy.
The next day I invited the exchange student to join my table at lunchtime. I had 4 best friends who I did everything with: Adam, Ashley, Patti and Theresa. We have all known each other since elementary school. We were a very close-knit group of friends.
The exchange student fit in immediately and eventually started joining us on our adventures. We learned he was a year older than us, having turned 18 in the fall. And he had a girlfriend, Sofia.
Sofia was another exchange student who went to a different high school. The exchange student never introduced Sofia to Ashley, Patti, Theresa or me, but we had seen photos. She was beautiful and I was jealous. Despite the girlfriend, my crush was strong.
Our group of five had become a temporary group of six. The exchange student joined us on a camping trip, where 8 of us fit into a 6-person tent, eating McDonald’s hamburgers and nuggets stolen from the restaurant Adam and Theresa worked at. We drank Kokanee beer and made Patti siphon gasoline from Adam’s minivan to get the fire started.
One weekend we took a road trip to shop for graduation dresses. We rented a hotel room and my friends made sure that the exchange student and I shared a bed.
After a night of drinking that left Patti and I alone in the hotel room while everyone else went to the bar, the exchange student and I got under the covers together. Suddenly I felt hands touch me. I moved closer. As I nuzzled my face into the exchange student’s neck, he started lifting his hands up my torso under my shirt and grazing the bottom of my breasts. Our lips were millimetres apart when he suddenly whispered, “No, I can’t. Sofia.” My heart was crushed. I rolled over and went to sleep.
The next day we woke up with a secret neither one of us mentioned.
We graduated and the exchange student returned home. He and I kept in contact via email. Quick catch ups here and there, never losing touch for too long. These emails brought us through our college years, his mandatory military training and into becoming young adults with real jobs.
In 2013, Ashley and I were planning a trip to Europe together and thought Berlin would make a great destination. I was in year 10 of an 11 year relationship with a man who hated to travel. Since I loved to travel, my friends were my companions. I told the exchange student when we would be in Germany and he made plans for the three of us to stay with a friend of his.
He got off work on Friday, immediately hopped on the train and met us in Berlin. When we saw him approach us in the Mitte neighbourhood of Berlin, in front of the Reichstag building, he was still in the suit he wore to work. He looked amazing. I hoped I looked okay too. I was wearing my moto jacket, my favourite Coach leather boots, dark skinny jeans and a white and blue striped sweater. Ashley and I took turns giving him a hug then started walking through the centre of Berlin.
As we got familiar with each other again we learned he was single. I swear I saw disappointment in his eyes when he learned I was not.
We decided to go to his favourite neighbourhood, Friedrichshain, and party. There the exchange student brought us into a corner store where we each grabbed a beer. The teller took his cash, popped the caps for us and we walked out of the store drinking our beer. I liked Berlin. A lot. As we made our way through the historic neighbourhood known for its punk and metal scene, we sat on a staircase in an alley to drink our beers while people watching.
After we finished our first beer, we moved to a bar where the three of us would spend the rest of the night drinking, telling tales of the last decade, and reminiscing about our time together as teens.
The exchange student was across from me all night, constantly holding eye contact just a little too long. When we emerged from the bar, the sun was rising. We made our way to a döner shop where I discovered my wallet and passport were missing. I started to cry while eating the döner I couldn’t pay for. When I told my friends that I should call my boyfriend and let him know what happened, the exchange student sat beside me, put his arm around me and let me know he would figure it out.
After a quick sleep, we made our way to the first of two German police stations. The exchange student became my translator. As we navigated the German bureaucracy of making the police report, declaring my passport stolen and replacing my missing travel documents, the exchange student didn’t leave my side, doing things like grabbing me coffee, putting his arm around me and reassuring me it would be okay.
At the end of the weekend, Ashley and I needed to depart Berlin for Paris. The exchange student was able to arrange for me to get a temporary German ID card that allowed me to get on the airplane. He brought us to the airport and we parted ways.
The following year, my sister and I were planning a trip to Europe. Despite the passport problem, I loved Berlin and really wanted to share it with my sister. This trip had me leaving to Europe before my sister to visit some friends in Oslo, followed by a stop in Hamburg before meeting her in Berlin.
I let the exchange student know I was coming back to Germany and gave him the dates I would be in Berlin and Hamburg and asked if he wanted to meet up. He immediately agreed to spend the weekend with me in Hamburg.
Again, we made arrangements to meet, this time only him and I. I was five months out of my 11-year relationship, and very much looking forward to spending the weekend with my friend.
The exchange student and I didn’t discuss relationships beforehand, so it was a shock to me to learn that he had met someone recently and he was really into her. His girlfriend Katy enjoyed the same mountaineering hobby as him. He spoke of her with such confidence in their future it seemed like our cards were dealt from the start.
We spent the weekend touring Hamburg together, often sitting on a bench and talking for hours at a time. We ate döners, drank beers, and went on a river cruise. He paid for everything. I had a great time with my old friend that weekend.
On our last day, after we checked out of the hostel, the exchange student grabbed my backpack and put it on. As he escorted me to the train station, with my 30-pound bag on his back, I stepped behind him and took a photo to capture the moment.
Once we arrived to the train platform, he put my bag down and gave me a hug. We held onto each other for a few moments, before I sighed and pulled away. I looked into his eyes and smiled. We said goodbye.
For the last time.
For the Luv of Mike. The story of how I catfished a Taylor Hanson catfish
I was scrolling through my TikTok FYP when I saw a clip from Dancing with the Stars and one of this season’s contestants, Taylor Hanson.
I liked it, of course. I used to love Hanson.
“Mmmbop ba duba dop ba doo bop.” When I first heard those non-words being sung on the MuchMusic Countdown, I was frozen, stunned, absolutely enamoured. I was almost 14 years old in May of 1997 when Hanson released their first single, “mmmbop.” I lived in northern Alberta, Canada in a city of 35,000. Hundreds of kilometres from the next biggest city. Our home sat on the edge of the boreal forest with bears often making their way to the large patio door in our living room.
I lived with my mother, father and three younger siblings. The house was loud, angry and sometimes very lonely for a teenage girl. My mom was usually yelling at someone and most of the time it felt like it was me. My brothers were constantly fighting, chaos around every corner. In our living room sat a desk my father made, with a wooden chair. On that desk was our family computer. A boxy beige computer and monitor that was loud when it ran. The classic dial-up sound winding in my ear at every internet connection.
As a teen in 1997, with brand new access to a computer and extreme curiosity, I got to work.
I was a shy girl, so the internet was exactly what I needed. A way to socialize in my comfort zone, while remaining in my home where my mom often controlled my movement. It is no surprise to me now that I ended up in a Yahoo chat room almost nightly dedicated to the pop band Hanson.
The online Hanson world was a wild environment with people in the chat using handles mixed with lyrics and band member names. I was Sarah_1983. I quickly made friends with another Sarah. Through Sarah, I was introduced to her new friends, three brothers sharing the handle bmms3. I don’t remember how it came to be known or discussed, but a few people from Yahoo Hanson chat room became friends in a little group with the understanding that bmms3 was the Hanson brothers themselves. It was our secret. I added bmms3 to my Yahoo Messenger and the request was returned. We chatted often. It was my understanding that most of the time I was talking to the middle brother, Taylor. Or rather, the person on the other end was pretending to be Taylor Hanson most of the time. Our conversations were teenage chats, sharing stories and common interests. We were online friends.
I was embarrassed to be a Hanson fan in real life. I was worried I would be made fun of at school by my friends. In the evenings when I logged into Yahoo Messenger, I was escaping into a community where I could be myself.
It was exciting to think I could be talking to the real members of Hanson. It gave me butterflies. I hoped it was real but the mystery made me feel gullible. I knew catfishing was possible, although the term catfish didn’t emerge until over a decade later. We called it “posing”.
One day, months into our online friendship, I had a wildly intrusive thought. In search of answers, I wondered if I could guess their password and get into their Yahoo email. The truth was, I was dying for certainty. I needed to know who was on the other end of bmms3. Someone from our friend group? The other Sarah? It killed me to not know for sure.
So there I went typing away.
Screen name: bmms3
Password? hanson
Password incorrect. I tried again.
Screen name: bmms3
Password? itzhanson
I was in.
Breaking into someone’s email is an exceptionally invasive thing to do. Despite that, the thrill is immediate when the page starts loading and you know you’re in. What I was doing was wrong but this was someone claiming to be a celebrity, someone I was convinced was lying to me. I told myself, this is justified. You want answers, don’t you?
When I browsed through the sent and received folders of their email, I found nothing unusual. Normal email exchanges between “Isaac, Taylor and Zac Hanson” and their friends. I couldn’t believe someone would make up such an elaborate hoax to go as far as curating an email inbox with an extremely obvious password. I don’t remember everything I saw but I do remember an exchange between Taylor and a girl with whom he was discussing how a quick clip of her ended up in their “Tulsa Tokyo and the Middle of Nowhere” tour documentary. It seemed real.
I logged out without clarity.
Surely this isn’t the real band. Surely this is all an elaborate game someone is playing on naive fans, myself included.
Shortly after this event, a message flashed on Yahoo Messenger from bmms3.
“Did you break into our email?”
My heart dropped while simultaneously speeding up.
I did. I did something bad. And they knew.
“No, of course not”
Suddenly, bmms3 logged off.
For good.
I was filled with regret, half because it was a terrible thing to do and half because I’d never know the truth. On top of that, my online friend group was gone. My virtual existence as I knew it ended as fast as a door slamming in my face.
Just before bmms3 discovered my antics, I was given Taylor’s new private Yahoo handle: jordy_tater. Jordan is the first name of Taylor Hanson.
Weeks or even months later, I thought of a plan. I logged out of Sarah_1983 and logged into a new Yahoo handle I created: for_the_luv_of_mike.
I mentally adjusted my details ever so slightly to create a persona that was true to me but distant enough from Sarah_1983.
I was going to catfish my catfish and try to get my answers.
I sat at the homemade desk my dad made, and sent jordy_tater an email. I pretended my little brother’s name was Jordan and I was confused thinking that this was his new email address.
When the reply arrived in my inbox, the person on the other side introduced themself as Jordan. I gave a name that didn’t belong to me and apologized for my “error”.
The conversation began.
Quickly, our emails turned to frequent chats and the ruse began to fade away. I was always fighting with my mom. Jordan was willing to listen. He often encouraged me to talk to my mom and try to resolve our issues.
Jordan and I didn’t talked about the band Hanson. Our friendship had nothing to do with my being a fan of Hanson. He always showed care and compassion toward me and people in general. Jordan was a friend whose advice I valued.
I remember laughing at Jordan as he questioned my handle one night, having never heard the expression “for the love of Mike” before. I remember my joy weeks later when he messaged me to say he was nosily reading his sister’s book over her shoulder when he saw it right there in the text: for the love of Mike. He told me he burst out laughing, instantly thinking about me.
It no longer mattered who was on the other end of that grey chat screen in the blue glow of the boxy beige computer late at night, in the living room of my family home in northern Alberta, Canada. I created this whole scheme to get answers and it turned out I never really needed them.
Our online friendship was brief. We naturally faded from each other’s lives within a year or so. The communication waned and the email chains became more and more distant. Eventually jordy_tater never logged in again and Yahoo closed for_the_luv_of_mike due to inactivity. By the time I was 19, the internet had removed all proof from my fingertips that the friendship ever existed.
It vanished. We vanished.
