1. Black Damask
I woke up drenched in sweat. My hair was stuck to my face and my t-shirt was soaked through. I searched for my cell phone in the dark. It was 3:24 a.m. I had only managed to get two hours of sleep. And even those two hours were riddled with one and the same nightmare. I have had recurring nightmares since my father died three years ago. Sometimes worse, sometimes less bad. I kept seeing him lying in front of me in his coffin in the morgue, surrounded by flowers. I still remember he looked incredibly peaceful. And I almost expected him to wake up any minute. But of course it wasn’t. A few months after my father died, my mother moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania. I stayed in my dorm at Pennsylvania State University. But like every year on the anniversary of Father’s death, I went to see Mom. Actually, I wanted to leave early this morning. But when the usual sleep disturbances made themselves felt again last night, I quickly realized that nothing would come of it. My mother was worried about the dark shadows under my eyes anyway. And if I turned up at her place completely exhausted, a discussion would be inevitable. I swung my legs out of bed and massaged my neck. Maybe it would help if I went into the kitchen of my little apartment and made some teaI fished my cell phone off the bedside table and shuffled towards the kitchen. Well, my apartment was actually more of a living room toilet, but at least the bathroom had a bathtub. When I got to the kitchen, I grabbed the kettle and ran enough water into it for a cup. While waiting for the water to boil, I unlocked my phone and looked for my best friend, Damon, among the contacts. Before I could tap his contact, an incoming message appeared on the display. “Go back to bed!” I had to grin. Sometimes I believed Damon was connected to me telepathically. In reality, however, he could see into my kitchen from his living room window. I wrote back: “Wretched stalker!” Then I looked over at his window and could see how demonstratively he shrugged his shoulders. The kettle clicked. I poured the steaming water into a cup and dipped a bag of mint tea into it. Then I went to the window and looked at the cloudy night sky. I looked for a very special star among the countless stars. My father showed it to me once when I was a little girl. We’d been lying together on the lawn behind our house and looking at the stars. Dad had explained every single constellation to me. And why the little bear was called what his name was. Once a month, when the moon was full, we used to follow the migration of the great bright disk. Until morning broke on the horizon. The connection I had with my father was very special. Because he only became my father when I was five years old. It was then that my mother separated from her husband, my birth father, and met Dad. I remember like it was just yesterday: when mom introduced me to this huge, long-haired man, a switch flipped in my five-year-old self. And without thinking what I was doing, I slipped out the first “Dady” on the first evening. And from that moment on he was the father of my heart. Many years passed. I had a happy childhood with lots of freedom. And when I was finally old enough to go to concerts and festivals, Dad and I moved across the country to various festivals in the summer. It became clear very early on that my taste in music was definitely harder in nature. I started listening to bands like Metallica, Blind Guardian and Iron Maiden. For my fifteenth birthday, my parents gave me my first drum kit. And from then on it was clear to me that I would study music later. After high school, I applied to Pennsylvania State and what can I say I got accepted. Everything seemed perfect. Until the darkest day of my life The day the dean burst into the middle of a lecture and summoned me to his office. And when I was sitting on the chair in front of his desk, my whole world collapsed within a few minutes. The dean informed me that my mother had just called and immediately called me home. My father was involved in a fatal traffic accident that happened on the highway a few hours ago. Attempts had been made to fly him to the nearest clinic with the help of a helicopter, but he had died on the way there. Damon drove me home that evening. I can’t remember the funeral to this day. Only the way he lay in his coffin and seemed to be asleep. And that’s where the nightmares started. I had started countless therapies and stopped each one. I had even neglected making music more and more until I finally stopped doing it altogether. Instead, I buried myself more and more in the university, taking extra lectures and courses. There were nights when I just studied. Just so as not to fall asleep and have nightmares again. I didn’t let anyone get near me. Not even Damon. And now here I was, staring up at the sky again. When a cloud lifted, the star came out that I had been looking for all along. He was the brightest of them all, and I imagined it was Dad’s star. The sight of it was comforting every time. I sipped my tea. It was dark over at Damon’s by now. He’d probably gone to sleep. I checked my watch again. 3:49 am. If I didn’t get to sleep that gradually, tomorrow’s drive would be tough. Sighing, I took my cup to the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. When I raised my head and looked in the mirror on the wall opposite, an exhausted, alienated image of myself looked at me. Long, emerald-colored hair hung from my head in a mess. And because I hadn’t bothered to remove my makeup the night before, the black eyeshadow had completely spread around my eyes. I wiped my eyes, but the result was just the back of my hand.When I averted my eyes and let myself fall back on the pillows, I stared at the ceiling for a long time. At some point I must have fell asleep. Because I fell into a restless sleep ..
