The Lonely Hearts Club

Dor

NATHAN

Dor

(n.) a deep and nostalgic feeling of sadness, agony and emptiness

experienced upon intensely missing, longing and yearning

for something or someone

Sunday, 8 January, 2017

I thought a long time about how to start this and I still have no idea how to begin. Someone once told me that the beginning of a story is the most important thing ever: After reading the first sentence the reader decide if they want to waste their money on another book or if they should spend it on other things like food. Do not get me wrong: Food is important. I love food! But there are more things than just or physical needs. But back to my problem, the first sentence: I still have no ideas. If I had friends here, I would text them to ask about their opinion, but I am really bad at communication and finding new friends. When we sat in the plane from the UK to Germany my aunt said everything would be easier as soon as I found new friends. I am not saying she is not right, maybe she is. But I will never know. I have always been the freak no one wanted to be friends with and there is not even a real chance it will change.

You may not know it, but the first impression is like the first sentence: the people who see you decide if they like you or not. It is all about the first impression. And I am the worst when it comes to making a good impression.

Monday, 9 January, 2017

I wish I could say that when the teacher introduced me to my new class I stood there with a cool smile on my face. The truth is I tried to make myself as invisible as possible what isn't that easy if you are as tall as I am.

"This is Nathan Barnes, who is going to go to this school from now on. He is from England and may have some troubles with our language and I expect you to help him whenever you can." The teacher pointed to an empty chair in the last but one row between the passage and a tanned, athletic boy. He looks like one of those guys who punch smaller ones just for fun and who rather have a good grade in PE than in maths. But in Germany you don't say PE, it's called Sports. As I sit down I notice a strong scent of men's perfume. The teacher starts to talk about literature in the antique and how you can compare it to today. I am honestly not really into literature to be honest. Music is my way to escape reality.

While break the students split up in cliques. My seat neighbor chills with three other athletic looking boys and two blonde, strongly painted girls.

I am glad I brought my own food from home. Otherwise I would have to wait about ten minutes in front of the baker's stand.

"Tell me about your day! Nathan, how was your first day at school?" Sarah smiles struggling, while she serves the food. "Did you make some friends?"

"Yes, of course. The whole school loves me."

Markus gives me a punishing look. "Show your aunt some respect! Sarah gives her best to treat you and your sister, like you were our own children and you don't even try to appreciate it!"

I clear my throat and drink some water. "Sorry. Didn't mean it. Won't happen again" I murmur and take another slice of bread. "Mama, Nathan doesn't eat any of your cooked food", Lisa, my little cousin, sneaks. Sarah puckers her mouth. An awkward silence arises.

I still haven't unpacked my cartons. It's not much stuff, but I couldn't bear to see it. I burnt the photos of me and my family and I would have done the same with the clothes if the police didn't stop me. Sarah flipped out when an officer called her. Not that I would have cared. The only reason I agreed to move to Germany was my sister. Miri is the only person in the world who loves me for who I am. Markus thinks she was stupid because she stopped talking, but actually she is the smartest person I know. Not that I know many people. But even though she is only seven years old, she seems to know a lot more than Sarah and Markus together.

This is the end of my first day at school. It is the end of my old life. But I don't feel happy about the "fresh start", like Sarah called it. I just feel empty and tired. So endless tired.

***

The days are passing by. I somehow manage to go to school every day. I lay in my bed the rest of the day, listening to some random music playlists. Spotify suggests me the playlist "Life Sucks". If I wasn't too tired to move my mouth, I'd smile bitterly.

On one point Srag stopped trying to motivate me. I can't even remember when it happened. Markus came into my room a few times and tried to talk to me. He calls it "Männergespräche". Not necessary to mention that it didn't work.

I loved driving with my dad. He wasn't as worried as my mom and when the streets were empty he would drive zig zag. Miri sat in the back of the care, shouting for joy. And when we came home Mom would give Dad this look which says "I know what you have done but I'm not mad at you". Dad would kiss Mom on her nose and Miri would try to jump on my back to force me to carry her to the kitchen, where dinner was waiting for us. She loves pie. Or loved.

Christmas was the best time in the year: Mom and Miri decorated our house, Miri and I baked cookies and Dad, Miri and I bought a big tree. On the day before Christmas we put a light chain on the tree and when we woke up on the next morning there were a lot of presents underneath the Christmas tree.

Christmas was terrible this year. Sarah and Mark forced me to celebrate with them. I barely ate anything. The worst thing was seeing how sad Miri was and not being able to change something. I wish I could bring back my parents. I wish I could bring back my sister's ability to walk. I wish I could erase all my failures. But that's not possible. My parents are dead. My sister has to sit in a wheelchair. And I'm the "lucky one". The one, who didn't got hurt at all. They call it a miracle of God. I call it a curse.

I'll never forget my mother's last smile. Her laughing pigeons around her eyes, her dimples. Dad once said: "When your mother smiles the whole world brightens up." He was right. Miri inherited Mom's smile, but she didn't smile since it happened.

I don't believe in God. What kind of god lets such a thing happen? Sarah often tried to convince me that I should have faith. Faith in who? Faith in what?

The doctor who told me about my parents was a woman, about forty I guess. She didn't have any tears in her eyes and I asked myself how often she has to deliver bad news.

I wish I could cry but it feels like I lost my tears.

I lost my happiness.

I lost my parents.

I lost my sister.

I lost my family.

I lost myself.