STANDING on the balustrade with my arms outstretched, I wonder if it will feel just like dancing. Then I take off – to leap into freedom. I tumble, I free-fall towards the concrete. The closer I get, the bigger the puddle of oil becomes. I disappear in it, headlong, and I dive into an endless ocean. A voice says, “It’s 6:15 a.m.” It’s the radio on my bedside table, and now they’re playing a country song.
I hit the alarm clock until it’s quiet, and then I get up reluctantly and stumble downstairs. My stepfather is sitting at the kitchen table in his suit, reading the newspaper.
“Good morning,” I say. He looks up from his newspaper.
“Good morning. You should show up for breakfast dressed, not in your pajamas.”
“I’m not hungry. I just want a coffee.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s not good manners.”
I roll my eyes, pour myself a cup of coffee, and go back to my room. I put on my summer dress, the green one with the gold embroidery, my favorite. I slip my petite, bare feet into my black leather boots, just like every day.
As I leave the house, I say, “Goodbye Mom” and “Goodbye Richard,” as good manners dictate. I close the heavy door behind me and step into the street. I feel my boot soles strike the ground with every step. Tuck. Tuck. Tuck. With every step, I feel lighter. The boots walk by themselves, away from Richard's house. When my mother decided we’d move into his place, I made a big fuss – or, as she would say, “a grande casino.” She gave all kinds of pragmatic reasons: “What are we going to live of, sweetheart?” and “You know how difficult it is for me to find a job.” and “Should we sleep underneath a bridge?” and – my favorite – “Put up with it, Schmidt.”
​
From The Chapter “The Darkness Of The Rain”, pages 15 & 16
​
​​
​​​​​
Now I’m standing next to Tom, my friend in the dance class, and waiting for “Asraï,” a piano piece by Henry Torgue and Serge Houppin. My heart beats fast. “Asraï” is soft, intense, and melancholic. “Asraï” feels like spring, like Paris, like wanting to savor each moment, like a severe desire for something that suddenly takes possession of you. It’s accompanied by an inexplicable sadness and the impulse to do everything that you haven’t done before – because who knows how much time is left. “Asraï” feels like faraway countries, like adventure, like take-off, like now is the right moment to just start living. It makes you want to be a little crazy, give a stranger a bunch of wild flowers or a kiss, or jump on the next train and ride away.
I look at myself in the mirror in front of me. I’m wearing gray dance tights and a long red T-shirt that goes down to my knees. Some single red curls have found their way out of the hairband that is supposed to keep my curly mane together, and they’re falling on my face.
The room is suffused with light from the last rays of sun; the light is reflecting off the mirrored walls, throwing little spots of light on the linoleum floor and my pale arms.
I look at my petite body in the mirror and my face with its cheerful freckles. I suddenly wonder who that girl is looking back at me. My name is Lena Schmidt. I am almost seventeen years old. I live in Basel and go to high school.
I belong to the groups of people who are only children, half-orphans, and teenagers. To the female half of humankind, redheads, Swiss, introverts, apprentices, those with blood type – wait, I don’t know my blood type. Anyway, I also belong to the groups of people who are single, right-handed, and so on. But that doesn’t answer the question of who I am.
I wonder what I am – aside from this body, which feels like someone else’s – and what is hiding behind those eyes that are looking at me out of a pale face: peering, changing their color depending on the light and how I’m feeling. There is green in them, blue, brown, gray, even a little yellow. If I am in a good mood, my eyes are rather blue; the darker my mind, the darker my eyes.
Right now my eyes are light blue, because “Asraï” is being played.
The soft melody spreads all over the room, as if a soft hand is running over my cheek, my soul, caressing me like the wind. Light and sound mingle in a rush of the senses. I take a deep breath and begin to dance. Like a thousand birds, I rise up high. I stretch my arms to the side, spin in a circle, fall softly to the floor, immediately stand up again, and continue.
Tom and I dance together for 2 minutes and 27 seconds. Then the music changes – and so does our dancing. It is the moment in “Asraï” when the piano melodies start to playfully disengage from one another. Similarly, our bodies disengage from each other. We dance past each other, around each other, and finally I jump into his arms. He catches me, turns me around in the air, and then puts me softly onto the ground. I dance and dance and dance, until there’s just the music and my beating heart …
From the chapter “The Darkness Of The Rain”, pages 24 & 25
​​
​​​​​
6:55 A.M. I walk down the stairs to the platform. Kenneth is already waiting, smiling. He’s looking at me with that look: as if I was the most precious thing in the world, as if he wanted to protect me and have me just for himself. I want to coil myself up in those blue and unfathomable eyes and fall asleep, incessantly.
“I knew you’d be here,” he says.
As soon as we board the train, it sets off. For a moment, I think about the fact that I’m sitting next to a stranger in a train that’s going to Berlin and that my parents will have a shock when they wake up.
Kenneth looks at me and seems to know, again, what I’m thinking. “Don’t worry. Take a deep breath. It’s going to be great! You’ll love Grünenberg – just wait and see.”
​
From the chapter “Farewell To This Town”, page 50
​
​​​
​
The following day, we went to the horse ranch next to Grünenberg to ride the harsis Willy had talked about. We saddled up Charlie and Fira and galloped on the beach towards Swinemünde.
Kenneth had told me before that there was a bay he called “the magic place.” It was hidden behind a row of trees and bushes, and a narrow path led us through the trees to the lonesome bay.
“No one ever comes here because tourists don’t know about it. And even if they did, it would be too far for them,” Kenneth explained.
“I know what you mean … there’s something about it. I also feel like something good is going to happen here. I can’t explain it. It is a peculiar feeling. Something magical …” I replied.
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” Kenneth asked, looking surprised. He shook his head disapprovingly.
I burst out laughing. “Come on. A magical place? Is a unicorn going to come out of the water and music start playing and then the sky’s going to open up and—”
“Lena, stop making fun of me!” Kenneth exclaimed with a smile.
“So is that your thing? Your trick? You take girls here and talk to them about magic? Now really, has that ever worked?”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever shown this place.”
“Really?”
“Believe me – or don’t.”
“OK. Maybe there is something magical going on here. Maybe that good thing you always expected here is just not here yet.”
“I know it sounds silly, Lena. I mean, it’s really just an ordinary beach in an ordinary bay.”
“Don’t say that. Maybe you just haven’t found it yet, the good thing. Maybe you have to look closer.” I took off my shoes and ran on the sand towards the water. I felt very light and carefree and happy. As I stood in front of the water, I stretched my arms towards the gray sky and started shouting: “Hey! Good thing! We’re looking for you! Where are you?!”
Kenneth remained standing still on the path to the bay and looked over at me as I jumped around on the beach like an idiot.
“Come on, we have to find it! We have to find the magic!”
Kenneth watched me jumping around and mumbled something.
“What did you mumble? Was that a spell?”
He took off his shoes and walked towards me. “Well, maybe it is in the water – you want to look there?” he asked. As he stood in front of me, he lifted me up in his arms and walked into the water. I screamed and told him to let go of me, so that’s what he did, and I fell into the cold Baltic Sea.
​
From The Chapter “Farewell To This Town, pages 80 – 82
​
​​​
After we kissed again, we remained with our faces close to each other. It was a moment of complete silence. All I could hear was the happiness in my chest. It throbbed so loud I could hardly breathe. Then it turned into fear. I thought I’d choke.
“I have to go home. I’m going back to my room to pack my things and leave.” I stood up, walked out the door and past the fire into the dark.
From the Chapter “Farewell To This Town”, pages 94 & 95
​
​​​
“Now, I want to tell you something: I know there are no words to describe what you’ve been through. But I also know that you are strong and you have courage. I can see that. You will make it. You won’t let it destroy you. You will look at it and understand it. It will be tough. A struggle. And painful. It will cost a lot of time, nerves, and strength. But you will find this strength. There will be people around you who will remind you to believe in yourself.”
The she lays her hand on her heart. “It’s here you speak. And that’s exactly what you have to do: speak. Speak about it.”
The woman inside the stone draws a line from the left side of her mouth to the right side. It looks like she’s taking something away that was on her mouth, like a patch. She takes a deep breath, and as she exhales, white birds fly from her chest into the garden.
Lena opens her eyes. They are the lightest blue. She takes a deep breath, and as she exhales, she sees little white birds flying from her chest into the night that is lit by the golden sparkles. She has a soft smile on her face as she whispers, “Right, important, serious.”
From the chapter “Lena’s Song Of Happiness”, pages 181 & 182