The world with different eyes E-Book

Angelina Jarc

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 151

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Only on the darkest nights do the brightest stars shine. Ophelia Hilton can confirm this. She is in Oklahoma City to study, but feels all alone and struggles with panic attacks. "1...2...3...breathe. 4...5...6...keep going." Even in her most difficult hours, this sentence helps Ophelia. With every week that passes, she realizes more and more that she doesn't know the meaning of life. Until Micah, a boy from her childhood dreams, catches her. The two learn to make each other happy and embark on a journey to find the meaning of life again. However, Ophelia constantly lives in fear that she will lose him as she did back then. That he will leave without her and never return. An exciting romance novel, from both perspectives.

Leseprobe

Dedication

For Mrs. H. Leithner

Thank you for always believing in me!

Chapter 1

Ophelia

"1... 2... 3... breathe. 4... 5... 6... continue."

Not even a minute ago, all of Oklahoma was looking to cool off. Ice cream or going to the outdoor pool seems appropriate on such hot summer days. But now all those without umbrellas are seeking shelter. The drops of water have cooled the entire city in a matter of seconds. They fall down on us without a care in the world. Pattering on the roofs, seeping into the ground.

I'm the only one walking along the sidewalk at a normal pace, oblivious to my clothes, which are soaking up more and more moisture. Only my headache seems to be relevant. Never before had such an unexpected change in the weather spared me pain, yet each time it seems worse than before. In a daze, I follow the course of the road, which ends right in front of my small apartment. It's nothing special. But for a student without a flat share or much money, it's more than just a good catch. After four attempts, I manage to insert the key into the keyhole with my shaky hands. Carelessly, I throw my shoulder bag into the first corner to get to my medication.Quickly. Aspirin, some kind of painkiller, please, are the only words buzzing around in my head. Having found it, I push the tablet through the aluminum foil and swallow it with a little water. Now it's time to wait. Everything is still spinning. But the individual contours of my apartment become recognizable again. The one large room consisting of the kitchen and living room, which is more of a bedroom. The door to the adjoining bathroom. All very, very small, but a very, very nice view. A huge window pane extends directly behind the sofa. And behind the glass is beautiful Oklahoma. Several high-rise buildings, lots of colorful lights that are the complete opposite of the place where I grew up. My real home is in the country. When the lights at night were just the moon and stars. Me alone in the darkness with the universe. And now it's me alone: Me alone against the rest of the world. At least that's how it feels. As if no one was there for me. As if I was destined to remain alone. People see me, but they see through me. Me alone against this city. The whole city together against me. The only place meant for me is this apartment. It's my home now. It's a shame that it's in a city that will never be my home. It's also a shame that this city can never become my home because it exists in a life that no longer has any meaning. We talk about home without knowing what home is. Is it the surroundings? The homely feeling? Because I haven't had that feeling for ages. The hope that keeps me here is the hope of finding meaning. Maybe I need the right people for that. People who understand me and give me warmth. People I haven't found in a year. But maybe my views are complete nonsense or naive. Maybe naivety is also good if it keeps me alive.

What is the difference between hope and naivety? Similar words would be confidence and optimism. I would put both words in the naive column. In my mind, hope is explained by signs. There will be signs if hope exists. And that in turn makes me see it as naive. I don't know what to think, feel, believe or do. Finish my studies? Sure. I'm just afraid I won't be able to finish it when I run out of energy.

It's still late summer. Because who knows how quickly it will be before winter has settled over this city. Until the colorful fields in the countryside become a uniform white with the rest of the landscape, putting us all in a gloomy mood. Not just once had winter overtaken fall. More cold and less warmth. Whereby warmth is the only thing that can give me strength.

Back then, I had this voice in my head. It whispered encouraging stories in my ear and made my whole life easier. If I ever ran out of breath, all he had to do was say "1... 2... 3... breathe. 4... 5... 6... carry on" and I could carry on. A mysterious voice that appeared to be an illusion and with that raspy tone managed to make me let myself fall with the confidence that it would always catch me again. Trust in a voice without a face. Trust in an illusion. Then I grew up and an eternal shiver of sadness settled over my world. Surely there are also beautiful moments that make me smile. Positive thoughts that give me courage that I have made it this far. But these are just isolated sparks that never generate enough warmth.

***

I find myself on my couch wrapped up in a cozy blanket. I place my thumb and forefinger on the bridge of my nose to massage it. The rain is still pattering on the roof. With my eyes closed, I perceive all the sounds around me even more clearly than usual. The rain above me, the cars below me. Even the damaged washing machine from the basement reaches the sixth floor in almost imperceptible tones. The laughter of my neighbor's visit. The crying of the child below me. The loud conversations of the elderly couple right next to the child. All the sounds blend into one and make way for the thunder that silences everyone. Apart from the splashing sound of cars driving through the puddles, everything is quiet for a moment. Immediately afterwards, the people in the building turn their attention back to each other. I concentrate on the humming of the washing machine, the couple's argument, saying goodbye to the visitor, the child's now only irregular sobs and also on counting the intervals between lightning and thunder. The thunderstorm is still quite far away. In all likelihood, it will only graze Oklahoma. If at all. That's how it's always been. No more tornadoes have raged in this city for some time.

The street outside my apartment is unusually quiet. Only one person in a black rain-soaked jacket is loitering on the sidewalk as if it were bright sunshine. He looks up at the sky as if he's looking for something. He stands there for a quarter of an hour, looking at the surroundings and then back at the clouds.

"Who are you?", it flits across my lips. As if he had heard it, he looks straight up at me. He probably sees nothing but black from this angle, but I fall back onto the couch, startled, and land on the edge, knocking me to the floor. I groan and rub the bruised spot on my shoulder, getting up again in a hurry. I would have loved to see his face. But from a distance, I can just make out the rough outline of his jacket, head and legs. Small details are just unrecognizable specks. Even if I had had the courage to talk to him, all I would have gotten out was an unintelligible stutter. I look at the same spot where he was standing until the next thunder. And again I ask myself:Who are you?No one who has grown up here in this city takes the time to look up at the sky. No one here is so thoughtful that he or she stops on the street in the rain.Who are you? What is your story?

Chapter 2

Ophelia

6:00 a.m.

Drowsy, I wander through the city with a mug of tea in my hand to warm my fingers. The rain has now officially ended the heatwave. Welcome unofficial fall. When the leaves change color and harvest time is here. When the days shorten and the cold returns. Yawning, I enter the small coffee shop two corners away from my apartment where I've been working for 6 months. I usually get my morning hot chocolate here. But today I'm in the mood for a fruit and herbal tea blend and we don't sell it, so I have to make it myself. The aroma of cocoa beans and fresh cappuccino wafts towards me as soon as the little bell above the front door alerts me to my arrival. There are only a few people here at this time of day to pick up a coffee before work. There aren't too many early risers in this town. I take the last sip of the warm tea and disappear behind the counter to serve the early risers.

"Good morning, Jerry. A latte macchiato with lactose-free milk?" I ask while he's preparing it. I only notice his nod of approval when the latte is already ready.

"Thank you, Ophelia!" he smiles at me, as he does every day, as he leaves me a few bills too many. I usually serve regular customers, tourists, workers and gourmets who try every coffee in town until 8:00 am. After that, I just have to take orders and collect money. At lunchtime, it tends to be less busy, so I can quickly grab something to eat before I have to go to university. It's only in the evening that the cosy coffee shop with its warm lighting and warm wood colors turns into a disco. The upper part is closed off, but the stage and bar in the basement are opened up. There are comfortable armchairs, bar stools and a dance floor. Billiard tables and other items are also piled up in the basement. Not forgetting the huge loudspeakers that I have to put up with once a week.

"See you in the evening, Cherry! I'm off to university now," I say goodbye to my boss.

"Thanks for the help!"

I hang my apron on the hook, grab my bag and the now cold tea and make my way to the streetcar.

As always, before I enter the lecture hall, I have to take a deep breath so as not to turn back. Every time I stand in front of this door, I see myself walking in and all eyes are on me. My feet seem to be an obstacle with every step I take, but when I actually go in, none of that is the case. The lecturer is still preparing, while the rest of us are staring intently at our cell phones. The lecture hall doesn't seem very full. I carefully sit down in the 7th row from the bottom. It's only in the last few minutes that the crowds start to arrive. Most of the rows are full, others are completely empty. I'm still sitting alone in one row. In the meantime, the others have formed individual groups. There's still no end to this nonsense with the groups! The popular group, the childish group and the loner. Or the outsider. In this case, that would be me. I'm so taken aback by this fact that I don't even notice the start of the lesson. I only wake up from my trance when everyone rises from their seats and exits through the large door in a rush. The lecturer and most of the students have already disappeared. Only one girl is sitting on one of the chairs, typing her last notes on her laptop before she overtakes me and hurries off to her friends. I look into the room one last time before closing the door. Four bare walls, blinding in this bright light. I leave it at that description.

I take the streetcar back to the stop in front of the café to go home and take my first break. A packet of instant noodles should be enough for lunch. The hot aroma of a tomato and mozzarella sauce wafts towards me. Together with the food, I make myself comfortable on the couch. A blanket around my shoulders and the warm pasta wrapper in my hands keep me warm for now. However, I have to be back at the coffee shop in half an hour. The café closes at exactly 17:00. Instead, the chairs are removed from the tables in the basement and the bar is set up. If it were up to me, I would only stay until 8 p.m., but this is exactly where Cherry needs me. When the first drunks have lost their minds. At the point when the bass from the speakers turns my brain 180 degrees. Over and over again until it hurts. I put on my work uniform, which is nothing more than a short black dress with a transparent black fabric sewn onto it. For my taste, it is more than overdone as a work uniform. I put my long puffer jacket on over the dress. By default, I have to wear my black high heels with it. I've always been one of those girls who only walked around in boots and a closed vest. Heels are a no-no for me. Yet here I am, standing in a bar wearing high heels and a tight dress.

Before I go downstairs, I slip a blister pack of painkillers into one of my jacket pockets. My cell phone and keys follow in the other. All the way down, I rub my fingertip nervously against the edge of the blister pack. The other hand jingles in the pocket with the keys.

The first guests arrive at around 18:00. At first it's even fun to mix drinks and serve them with little umbrellas. It's all relaxed. Just a few groups who want to have a drink in the evening. Quite cozy. But then that annoying bass starts. The atmosphere changes from "I'm going to end my evening comfortably" to "I'm going to party until I drop dead". Apparently, that's exactly what people want. As time goes by, more and more people gather down here. People shout, dance and laugh in the colorful light. They take their drinks to the dance floor to spill them and then go straight back for more. It is always frightening to see how alcohol can turn people into uncivilized monsters. But it seems as if alcohol is merely drawing out our true identity. Because there's a little monster in all of us somehow. Although in this scenario it seems to me that I am being defeated by these beasts rather than being part of their species. They don't even need to look at me. Their presence alone, and a "watch out" when I'm in the way, is enough to make me feel oppressed on the one hand. At the same time, it's as if I can't find a place and am just standing in their way. I only notice how everything is slowly blurring together, the conversations are getting louder and louder and yet my breathing drowns everything out. My hand pushes the glass down the bar to the guest. All I hear is "Is everything all right?". Strangely enough, I'm in the best frame of mind to answer. "Yes, but of course. I'm fine." Still, I struggle with the tears, the breathing, the surroundings. With myself. After this order, I decide to apologize to Cherry and ask for a moment of respite. Fortunately, my request is granted. The only passage through the lights and the whole tangle of men and young students leads to the toilets. We don't have a break room. So I feel my way through despite having a clear view. As I said, my vision was clear, but when I open the door to the toilets, all I notice is this horrible smell and all I can see is black. As if a curtain had been drawn over my eyes. And at some point (I can't say how long I was unconscious) I wake up without any sense of time. Everything was the same as before. Rapid breathing and trembling hands. Without the power to end the suffering. But this one voice had it.

"1... 2... 3... breathe. 4... 5... 6... continue". It appears as quickly and unexpectedly as it left me. I recognize the voice (the rough, yet somehow gentle tone) and yet my head is still in my hands. I want to see his face. I want to know who he is. And it's only when I raise my head that I realize my panic attack has come to an end. A hand gently strokes my hair. I look next to me. First what appear to be new sneakers. Then a pair of blue loose jeans. Finally, those bright eyes with a gleam of concern. The blonde hair, almost as light as if it were platinum, with blue tips. The soft-looking lips that slowly form into a mischievous smile. I use my legs to push my body a little away from him. I know his voice. But I don't know him. "Who are you?". He looked confused. "Oh, sorry, Ophelia ... Micah ... um ... Glad to finally see you again." You could tell he didn't even begin to have a clue how to express himself.

"How do you know my name?"

He laughs. "Oh Ophelia, we both know you know who I am."

"I can't believe it. I'm hallucinating. Again. You're nothing but a made-up voice from my former child's imagination," I say and try to stand up.

"If I may correct you. I am an appearance. Somehow real but ... well ... different. Unlike ghosts, I'm human. I'm like you, only the others can't see me in their dreams. I think."

"Does that mean you're like my guardian angel?" I ask indignantly.

"No, not that either. I am an appearance. E-R-S-C-H-E-I-N-U-N-G-S-B-I-L-D.«

I look at his face in confusion. None of this makes any sense.

"Okay, I'm sorry. That was meant to be a joke. I think I'll go again then."