Lovelights - Benjamin and Jane (english edition)

The train rattles slowly along the rails. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but it feels like hours. And because it’s still so early, it’s still pitch black outside.

How I hate that. I don’t like the dark. At least not anymore. And certainly not early in the morning.

shitty work, honestly.

I’ve been on sick leave for the past four weeks. Officially because of a torn ligament. I didn’t even know that you can even fake it at the doctor’s, but he actually believed me. Of course he sent me to the x-ray station, but I never went there. The doc wrote me a sick note and I sent it to the company.

Good. Yesterday was the last day of my sick leave, so today I have to go back. The same thing again, irritable mood as always, grumbling group leaders and employees, thousands of complaints about the high sick leave rate in the company.

Bored, I get off the train and walk along the field path, here in the industrial area of Solingen, past the wide fields. It takes about 15 minutes to walk from the train station to the company. Who the heck would ever think of building a new building for our workshop for mentally ill people that is so far off the beaten path that even mere mortals have difficulty reaching it? Early in the morning on a cold January day.

But good. We moved last fall and have been working here ever since. Well, yeah, I haven’t actually been here that often. I’ve been absent for half a year, I’m sick more often and I’m generally quite demotivated.

I dodge silently through the corridor to the smoking corner.

“Hey dude,” a familiar male voice greets me as I sit down on the bench without a word. I turn and see a man in his mid 20′s who is looking at me with a big grin.

“Hey, Jack,” I say as he takes a seat next to me.

“Long time no see,” says Jack then. “Where have you been? I sent you a few messages but I guess you didn’t get them.”

I breathe out annoyed, but I don’t want it to sound annoyed.

“I’m fed up,” I then exclaim. “I just don’t like it anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Jack looks at me seriously. “You could have at least gotten in touch, Benny.”

At the same time, a burly young man with dark hair enters the outdoor area where we always retreat to smoke. He’s maybe 30 or a little older, and I notice that despite the cold, he’s only wearing a sweater. I haven’t seen him for a long time, but I still remember who he is.

“Look,” he says thoughtfully. “The long-lost Benjamin Foster is back.”

“Lex, leave him,” Jack admonishes the man. “He must have had his reason.”

The young man finally sits down with us and lights a cigarette.

“Benjamin,” he says seriously. “It can not go on like this. They’re talking about the technical committee. People should be fired who are absent too often. What if they fire you?”

I get up excited. “Lex,” I say. “You’ve never been upset. What are you doing so stupidly at me now?”

Lex looks me in the eyes, perplexed. But he says nothing.

Lex and Jack are like my best friends. I’ve known her for years - first Lex, and later Jack. We’re a real clique. Often, mostly on Fridays after work, we do something: eat a doner kebab, go to the cinema, things like that. Our gang even has a name: The Alliance. That’s what we are, a real alliance.

Lex has never been mad at me no matter what I screwed up, and there’s been a lot of that lately. Being late or not at work, missing appointments, transferring them for no apparent reason. I really didn’t notice that this has increased so much in the last few months. But he’s never been mad about it.

Apparently now.

I don’t know what’s going on myself. You know me. I’m just the way I am. Even though they’re my best friends, I still need time to withdraw from time to time so I can be by myself. But lately, Lex often feels like this is happening too often.

You know almost everything about me. You actually know almost everything that I have experienced and had to go through. You know I’ve written about it and even published this story in a smaller scale book.

Final destination.

Benjamin Foster’s story. Ex-alcoholic with a long drinking career. The man who only found a way out of his addiction when he was given a big task. The one who adopted a girl named Crystal, who later became his very best friend and longtime confidante. Years of existence and growing friendship with her, years of fighting for her and her life. Left home at the age of 16, she shared a flat and later lived with him. Eventually, as a young adult, she moved in with her boyfriend.

Crystal.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. I’m always happy when she writes or asks if I can come and see her. She’s grown up now and lives with her boyfriend in a place that’s not that far away.

But we rarely see each other anymore.

Crystal is doing an apprenticeship and is heavily involved in her work. She is now 20 and does what young people do. Life.

She is still my goddaughter and always will be. I’m her only family left and she means mine. Oh yes, we’ve been through a lot together. We lost everything and then regained it. Her life has never been easy. Mine does not. But I don’t want to think about my old shitty life, not now.

I checked it. After the severe alcohol relapse in the summer of 2016, six months ago, I finally put an end to my entire previous life, wrote everything down and told it.

And Crystal is the one who was there then. The one who gave me courage to say it. And she’s the first in our long friendship to find out why I’ve been drinking for years.

I know Crystal realizes how grateful I am to her for surviving this devastating relapse and for not leaving me alone in this.

I’m safe again Satisfied, strengthened and sure that I don’t have to think about it anymore and don’t have to drink anymore.

I haven’t heard from her in almost two months. What is she doing? Is she okay?

I trust her. If you don’t hear from the kids, they’re fine, they always say. I’m sure she’s fine, why am I worrying?

My gaze wanders into space and I feel like I’m floating. I feel free of all the negativity that has passed. I remember the beautiful things that made me change that past life and make me who I am now. I want that. That’s how I want it.

“Benny,” Lex says. “How old are you now?”

I look questioningly at Lex.

“38,” I reply. “Why?”

“Man, Benny,” says Lex. “You’re hiding yourself. Come out.”

come out

He said it often. But I always find that he doesn’t really think I’m shutting myself off. Sure, I’m often at home and don’t go to many meetings, I’ve noticed that.

But now he seems deadly serious.

I’m an ex-alcoholic. I’m also probably kind of a schizo or a psycho. We are all a bit like that here, some more, others less. It is, and I can deal with it. Those close to me know how I am and who I am. Especially Crystal, because nobody is closer to me than her, who is my only family.

Why don’t I understand Lex’s comment and take it as an attack? Why doesn’t he seem to understand me either?

At the same time, an elderly man who works here at the facility as a group leader steps out. He comes straight at me.

“So, Herr Foster,” he says. “As announced, we now have a conversation with social services.”

Clear. So clear.

I sent a sick note, what do they want?

As we sit upstairs in the office, I hardly notice what they are telling me. I understood something about warning. Because I miss too much and because I supposedly stole gummy bears from an order recently.

I’ve lost my nerve. Not really. I’m fine, why don’t they check that?

Also on the way to the train station - just left, at 9 o’clock in the morning - I know that it could have been the workshop. This is too much. I collect warnings and now I’m even leaving. Now they have to fire me.

I do not care. I don’t care. I don’t know whether this is suddenly the case or whether this indifference towards my life was announced beforehand.

At noon at twelve o’clock I’m sitting on my sofa at home and have a completely empty head. No thoughts, no brooding, no feelings.

I see the half-full can of strong beer on my living room table. Someone must have emptied it halfway because there is still something in it.

I don’t know if I’m the one drinking from it or if it’s someone else somehow.

Me, Benjamin Foster, sober for almost a decade, interrupted by a severe relapse six months ago.

Start at one, I think to myself. Actually, I’ve only been sober for half a year. But not anymore.

Job gone, Crystal doesn’t call, and my friends are mad at me. I can think of many reasons why I’m drinking a beer again today. The habit of the alcoholic comes up in me, which makes me shift the responsibility onto other things again.

Yes, I know the real reason for my long-term drinking. And after I’ve completely processed and finished with that, there’s no longer any need to drink. I’m not allowed to either. I have responsibilities - not only for my life, but also for Crystal’s and for my friends. I have a responsibility as godfather, friend and human being.

Holy shit. Why?

I look at the beer.

Then I throw it away. I want to dump it down the sink, but I’ll probably dump it down myself instead. Somehow I try to convince myself that I don’t notice and that it’s not me at all, but someone else who is sitting here drinking again. I really want to believe it.

I do not know where I am. It’s dark outside. I hear the monotonous sound of people bawling, but it seems so faint that it doesn’t bother me at all.

I look out of the window. The headlight of a car shines in and I suddenly realize thousands of small patterns that are distributed symmetrically in the light on the window.

Where am I? It’s so quiet here.

“Benny,” someone calls out. “Back there?”

“Want to have one?”

They put something on the table I’m sitting at. I’m sitting there alone.

They don’t sit next to me, but I’m given something to drink. I don’t know what it is, but I drink it, and the more I drink, the more floating I feel about it.

Some fucking January evening in 2017. I’m sitting in my then favorite pub and drinking again. That’s how it is now.

And no one is with me. That’s the way it should be.

No, no, no, I call to myself. What am I doing here? Just why?

I look up I think I sensed a rope there.

“Benjamin, come on, have another drink. It’s been a while.”

I try to stretch my hands up and try to get to the rope somehow.

I don’t even notice the sound of the voices singing and shouting. It’s like a foreign language to me.

Time seems to stand still and turn faster at the same time. I just don’t notice certain moments, others seem like they last forever.

Suddenly I’m sitting in the subway. I can’t tell if it’s clear in my head. I don’t notice the alcohol, I’m not drunk either. I just can’t feel anything anymore. Only one wish: I want out. Just get out of it all.

The S-Bahn stops, and still not knowing where I am, I trudge down the stairs from the station in the rain. There is a bench on the forecourt that I sit on. Here I sit now, in the middle of the night and in the cold. I’m freezing and holding my jacket.

“Cold,” I hear someone say.

I turned around briefly...

She stands there and looks at me with her big eyes. Her gaze is serious and anxious. She breathes in and out regularly, and her breaths make little clouds that dance around in front of her impossibly pretty face.

I have no idea who this young woman is. I do not know you. How am I supposed to? I’ve probably never been to this corner before.

The strange woman, maybe in her late twenties, is shaking just like me. Her hands clutch her white anorak. And her shoulder-length, light brown hair, tied in a ponytail, blows back and forth in the light night breeze. But she stands very still.

I just look at her, but I probably don’t register it at all. I dont know.

It’s only five, maybe ten seconds, but when her eyes meet me, I can feel it. It’s something I’ve never felt in my life before and I absolutely can’t explain it.

I close my eyes briefly and when I look in her direction again for a second look, she’s gone.

I sit back and suddenly feel clearer than usual in my head. I have no idea what just happened, but I must have seen a ghost.

Who is this woman? I’ve only seen her for a few seconds, but I realize she’s not just anyone. In the few seconds she was looking at me, she triggered something in me that I can’t explain. Something that won’t make me forget her.

It’s only five or ten seconds - but from that look of hers I know now more than before and it’s stronger in me than I ever thought possible. I know I have only one choice and there would only be one choice - and that was: live.

I walk slowly to the platform as the next train pulls in. Then I’ll drive off.

After several stops, still not knowing where I am, I get off. Mechanically, I walk along a street to the nearest neighboring town, to a quieter settlement made up of several two-family houses.

When I get to Crystal’s door, I stand there for a few minutes. Finally, I take my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and text her.

“Crystal, are you home?”

There is no answer in the next few minutes. Even after half an hour nothing happens.

Suddenly the light goes on in the stairwell, as I can see through the large glass front door.

I hear footsteps of someone running down a flight of stairs.

The door then opens and Crystal gives me a deep, questioning look.

“Crystal,” I say desperately.

“You’ve been drinking, Benny...” she states.

Tears run down my cheeks. It’s a wonder they don’t turn to ice in the cold.

“All gone,” I stammer. “Nothing left. No job, no people...”

Crystal strokes my shoulder. There stands the young woman, my best friend, my goddaughter, and looks deep into my eyes.

“Benny, it can happen once, but twice? That’s not good.” Her look is understanding, almost pitying, but also a bit reproachful. I know that, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Marlon isn’t here,” she finally says. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Are you and your boyfriend having a fight?” I want to know.

Crystal doesn’t say anything, just shakes her head.

“Benny, come upstairs,” she finally asks me. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

We walk up the stairs to her apartment on the first floor.

When I sit down on the sofa, I only perceive everything very vaguely. I get dizzy and heavy. My head is spinning, even as I take the first sip of coffee that Crystal puts in front of me.

And she just sits there and looks at me.

What have I done? why did i do it What happened?

She ties her uncombed black hair in a ponytail. I don’t know if she knows the answers because I don’t know them myself. But she seems to know more about and about me than anyone else. That’s true. She’s just Crystal. And she is here now.

I notice that my eyes are getting darker. Did Crystal dim the lights? There’s a light dimmer in her living room, I know that. But did she dim the light? Why?

“Crystal, do you believe in angels?” I want to know. “Or special beings not like us?”

She seems to be looking at me questioningly, but I don’t really notice.

“Why are you asking that?” I hear her voice from afar.

“I think I saw such a being,” I stammer.

At that moment my vision goes black.