Schlagwort: Jule Heyen

an early chapter from the same novel project by Jule Heyen

‘Days in summer are apt to linger.’ I remember that line. Oscar Wilde, as I learned much later. There were quite a few days that fit that description. Me and my sister as children playing, unbothered by the changing times around us; not knowing or caring about any problems more pressing than what we’d have for dinner. Laughing with my parents, in one of the rare moments they weren’t fighting. Back then, before my father started working more and more, until we barely saw him anymore. And Lucy, again and again. Swimming in the lake, sneaking out at night to watch the stars, riding our bikes through the forest. Lying on the grass in the garden, just talking and talking for hours, without a care in the world. Most of my happy memories were moments with Lucy. It made looking back quite painful after she left. It seemed as if she’d taken a big part of my childhood and teenage years with her. There was now a gaping hole where she and her smiles and her secrets used to live.

One particular day always came back to me. Although the season had turned to autumn, the memories of warmer days were still close enough that we missed it every day. For me, it didn’t really matter that much. Summer or winter, sunny or rainy, warm and pleasant or cold and harsh. What I missed was how vibrant Lucy seemed in the sun, how she seemed to come alive when the wind was warm and the fields green. Lucy was never as happy as on endless summer days, the sun competing with her smile for who could shine brighter. Something always seemed to pull her outside, to run around as if we were still children, laughing under the endless blue sky. Once the days turned shorter, you could almost see her withering, like a flower without water. She always took longer than most to let summer go and prepare for autumn.

‘Let’s go outside.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go outside. To the lake.’ I smiled up at Lucy sitting on my bed from where I was sitting on the floor. ‘It’s much too nice a day to sit inside and stitch.’

‘What are you talking about? It’s raining cats and dogs.’ She cast a miserable glance at the window, where it was, indeed, raining.

‘Exactly. Just lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Sometimes you confuse me.’

‘We can be confused outside,’ I responded. She smiled at me at that, and although we didn’t go outside, I felt like I had reached my goal. It was a mad idea, I suppose. Even though autumn had barely begun, the air was already colder and the wind freezing. But my mother had gone to one of her friend’s houses for tea, and my father never came home from work before it was dark. Even the maid had left to go to the market. Lucy and I were all alone, and that always brought out a kind of restlessness in me. A recklessness, almost, though it was hard to tell the difference in the moment. And yet, we silently continued with our embroidery until Lucy interrupted the silence.

‘Why do you always insist we go out in the rain?’

‘Always?’

‘Yes, every time. Summer is over and it’s all dark and grey and cold and ugly…’ She stopped herself. ‘And you want to go out in the rain.’ She sounded almost accusing.

‘I guess I…’ I didn’t really have a response to that. ‘I guess I just don’t want summer to end.’

‘You don’t even like summer all that much. Not more than any other season at least.’ But you do, I wanted to respond.

‘No particular reason,’ I quickly said instead and broke eye contact. I desperately tried to focus on my stitches. Lucy, being Lucy, didn’t relent and kept looking at me. After a while she laid down on her belly and took my embroidery hoop, ripping the needle right out of my hand.

‘Hey!’

‘You can have it back after answering my question.’

‘Lucy!’ I climbed onto the bed and tried to get my materials back. Lucy just turned onto her stomach, hiding them under her body.

‘You’ll stab yourself with the needle if you aren’t careful!’

‘Then you better tell me, before I do and bleed out.’ She started weeping dramatically. ‘It’d be your fault, yours alone.’

I couldn’t stay serious with the sound of her over-exaggerated crying in my ears and fell on top of her, laughing. In just that moment, she turned onto her back to look at me. We both froze at the same time, suddenly realising how close we were. Just looking at each other, as if time had stopped for a moment.

‘Sophie…’ I could feel her breath on my face as she said my name, our noses almost touching. I didn’t dare move, afraid of what exactly I would do if I did. Many seconds passed like that, Lucy, too, seemingly trapped in the same trance that had overcome me.

‘Do you…’ Lucy finally broke the silence. She didn’t finish her sentence. If I moved, just a little, I could… As if waking up from a dream I abruptly moved back and off the bed, retreating to a safe distance on the carpet. Lucy sat up, too, my embroidery still in her hand. For once, she seemed to be out of words to say.

‘If you don’t give it back, we’ll just have to go to the lake.’ I tried to change the subject, make her laugh, anything. It sounded forced even to my own ears. Nevertheless, she handed me my hoop, looking to catch my eye. I desperately tried to avoid hers, instead focusing on detangling the tablecloth that got wrapped around itself in our scuffle.

‘Maybe if it stops raining,’ she responded finally, ‘if it’s meant to happen, it will.’ She looked out the window, where the raindrops were still racing down the glass. The atmosphere felt charged. Something had changed, and we could both tell, even though I, at least, couldn’t quite put into words what exactly it was.

We kept up with our embroidery after that – or at least I did; Lucy kept looking out of the window, unusually quiet – and I soon finished my second flower. Lucy was still on her first, so I started up another one. I had almost convinced myself that it was just because that would mean an earlier lunch for both of us and not because I’d do anything to help Lucy.

‘It’s okay, you know. Whatever you want to tell me.’ Lucy was still staring out of the window. She bit her lip as if deeply lost in thought. My breath suddenly came irregularly, my thoughts swirling in my head so quickly I felt dizzy. But before I could think of something to say, she continued.

‘I mean, I also don’t tell you everything, even if I want to. I think we might…’ She shook her head, breaking out of the strange mood that had overcome her and quickly turned towards me with a laugh.

‘Oh, never mind. It’s also okay if you don’t. Tell me, that is.’

I wanted to say something, anything, but at the same time, I was glad she seemed to move on. Putting this – putting everything – into words felt almost dangerous. Like standing on a cliff, knowing that the ground under my feet would fall away at any second. Expecting the drop, not knowing if something would catch me or whether I would keep falling forever. I let out a deep breath. After a while, Lucy went back to her embroidery, but she barely got two stitches in before her thread ripped. She groaned and threw her hoop away.

‘I don’t know how you stand this.’

Relieved everything seemed to be back to normal, I looked up at her.

‘It’s calming.’

‘Infuriating, that’s what it is. I wish your mother would finally arrive in the twentieth century…’ She glanced at the window again, before quickly turning towards me with a smile.

‘Well, would you look at that? Maybe it’ll be a lovely day after all.’ In a stroke of luck – or fate, Lucy always believed in fate – it had stopped raining. We packed the remaining biscuits and our stitching – no matter how unlikely it was that we’d actually finish it today – into a picnic basket, packed a blanket, and snuck out of the backdoor. We didn’t really need to sneak – no one was home after all – but at this point, it was second nature for us to watch our every step. The sky was still grey and we spent the way to the lake in almost complete silence. Lucy seemed once again lost in her thoughts.

‘What’s up with the sombre mood?’ I asked her, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.

Lucy just rolled her eyes at me. ‘Just thinking.’

‘About what?’

 She turned to me, the usual glint returning to her eyes. ‘How I could convince you to go for a swim with me.’

‘Oh dear, you’ve completely lost it now.’ She laughed and I wanted to drown in the sound. ‘Completely gone. Fallen to her madness, may she rest in peace.’ As she glared at me again, I couldn’t keep serious anymore and started giggling.

‘Hey!’ She bumped her shoulder into mine in mock offence. ‘You were the one who wanted to go out in the rain! Are you suddenly afraid of water?’

She bumped into me again and again, still laughing, until I fell off the path and had to cling to her to avoid slipping down into the muddy trench. Like that – pushing each other, clinging together, giggling – we finally arrived at the lake. We spread out our blanket on the still wet grass, taking off our shoes to avoid getting mud all over it. Despite how grey the sky had been all day, a few rays of sun had broken through the clouds. I sat and took out the tablecloth to continue embroidering it, but before I could even start, Lucy once again stole my needle.

‘Hey!’

She just laughed.

‘Come on, my mother will be angry if we don’t get it done.’

‘That’s not true. Your mother has never been angry at anyone except your father.’

I tilted my head to the side, admitting she had a point. She grinned.

‘She’ll be disappointed,’ I said, ‘which is worse.’

‘Lighten up a little, would you? She’s not going to kill us for enjoying a nice afternoon outside. Going for a swim…’ She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, a wicked smile on her lips.

‘Have you met her? She absolutely will. It’s not proper.’ I rolled my eyes at the last word.

We did finish the flowers we started after that, albeit, at least on my side, quite a bit less orderly than I would have usually done it. We had our picnic after that, just talking and laughing, the weird mood of the morning long forgotten. I always lost track of time with Lucy, but this afternoon especially I couldn’t tell whether it had been minutes or hours. I was so lost in the conversation that my heart almost jumped out of my chest when the first drop of rain hit me. Then Lucy stripped off her dress and my heart stopped beating entirely instead.

‘What are you doing?’ My voice sounded unnatural even to my own ears, higher than usual, breathless.

‘What does it look like? I’m going for a swim, obviously. Join me if you want.’

Then, with that same wicked smile from earlier on her lips and only wearing her underwear, she turned around and ran off towards the pier. And without a second thought, I, too, stripped and ran after her. When I caught up to her, she was already standing on the edge of the pier, looking out at the gently rippling water of the lake. She turned around with a dazzling smile so bright it took my breath away for a moment. I stood there, shivering when I felt it again. Something I couldn’t – or didn’t dare – put into words. The same charged feeling from this morning returned and I found myself back on that same cliff, looking out into the endless drop below me.

‘What’s stopping you? We’re already wet, might as well go for a swim.’

There was no choice there, of course, and she knew it. If she jumped, I would follow.

As she took my hand and pulled me over the edge, I thought to myself that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Jumping into the cold water, I felt at peace for the first time in months. We stayed in the water for what felt like hours, even though it could only have been minutes until the sound of thunder scared us out. We just about managed to collect our clothes before they were completely muddy and ran for shelter among the nearby trees.

‘See, we shouldn’t have bothered to do it after all’, Lucy said, holding up the soaked table cloth, ‘it’s ruined anyway.’ We looked at each other for a few long seconds and burst out laughing. When we finally fell quiet, my stomach hurt from all the laughter, but my heart was beating more than it had in a long time. I grinned at her. We spread out the blanket again, sitting on half of it and pulling the other half over our heads to protect us from the rain. Lucy had opened her braid and her long curls, now hanging over her shoulders, dripped water onto her skin. I stared, transfixed by the way the raindrops drew patterns on her dark skin. She pulled the blanket further over us. The brown plaid pattern turned the dark grey light into something softer, warmer.

‘We will probably have a cold tomorrow.’

‘I think that’s worth it.’ She grinned at me. ‘And it was your idea, anyway.’

Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black at first glance. I knew I was still staring, but I couldn’t find the strength to look away. Days in summer are apt to linger… I breathed in, and out. She did, too. I felt it on my skin. There, under the protection of the blanket, hidden from the world, I somehow found the courage to move closer. Her breath hitched.

‘What did you mean this morning? What might we both…?’ I asked her.

‘I think you know.’

‘Do I?’

She kept looking at me. I moved even closer.

I said her name, my voice barely more than a whisper, my eyes closing. Lucy moved and finally closed the gap between our lips. When she kissed me, I forgot how to breathe. The last coherent thought I had was that her lips tasted like the lemon filling of the biscuits we had eaten earlier. After one impossibly long, impossibly short second she pulled back. When I came back to myself, she was already looking at me with a strange look in her eyes. I glanced at her lips. She took my cheek in her hand and all I had been holding back came out at once, a tidal wave of suppressed feelings and late-night thoughts, and we were kissing again. I was no longer standing on that cliff. Instead, I was flying.

If this were a movie, I think, it would be raining.

In the movies Lucy and I had watched together the weather always matched the proceedings of the moment: sunshine for seemingly never-ending happy days, storms coincidentally breaking just as the big fight is resolved, and rain for every funeral. Not here, however, and thus I make my way along the lonely path over the graveyard with the bright sun shining and no rain to wash away my tears.

I twist my shoulders self-consciously, aware of how constrained they are in my dress, resisting the urge to swash away my veil. There are other groups of mourners here, too close for me to forget about them, but not so close that I could take comfort in being part of their group. If I stumble now, I think, would they run over and catch me, or would they simply watch me fall from afar?

‘Long black dress, veil… Don’t you think that’s all a bit… over the top?’ I had asked Lucy once. ‘What’s next, mascara tears?’

‘Come on, you only get to go to my funeral once, at least try to look appropriately dramatic!’ She paused for a moment. ‘Mascara tears aren’t a bad idea actually.’

Flower petals fall as I continue my progression. I make my way from the gate to the very back of the graveyard to the lonely coffin waiting for me, waiting to be buried, waiting. I grip the single peony in my hand tighter, like it’s the lifeline that could pull me out of this moment.

‘It’s going to stand right here and you will walk down the path slowly with music playing… Do you know how to play the violin?’

‘Uhm, no.’

‘Are you willing to learn?’

‘What? Absolutely not!’

‘We’ll have to hire someone or get a recording. I know just the right guy…’

We had picked the flowers together too. Before. Not Lucy’s favourite – she’d always preferred sunflowers, marigolds, lilies… everything yellow and bright and happy. Too happy for her funeral, Lucy had said. She wanted something more dramatic, a flower that would lose its petals so that they’d swirl around the mourners like in a movie. We’d picked the rosy white colour to match the dress Lucy was going to wear.

I don’t know if she is wearing that dress now, with the coffin closed already. I hold my breath, quietly thanking the gods Lucy didn’t believe in that it was.

‘I want to invite the whole city and have a gigantic funeral progression! I can see it before me, just filling up the entire graveyard!’

‘Do you even know that many people here?’

‘Well, not really, but we’ll just post it in the newspaper saying there’ll be free food, someone is bound to show up. They don’t need to actually know me.’ She paused with a giggle. ‘Actually, I think I prefer it if they don’t. Let them make their theories. They couldn’t guess the truth even if they tried.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘Oh, you love me, really.’

No one came, of course. I’d never posted the ad. I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else here with me today, particularly strangers. Even the other mourners here, far away as they may be, seem to trap me. I can almost feel their breath on the back of my neck and their staring eyes on me, judging me silently.

For a few long moments, the only sound I can hear is that of the wind and the birds. I want to scream at them to keep quiet, to understand the gravitas of the moment, to behave like in the movies. But they have no concept of my pain, no incentive to pause their singing on such a pretty day, and I am left to quietly envy them instead.

Okay then, I think, just as Lucy told me. I raise my head and throw back the veil. We’d practised that when we finished sewing it. It dramatically catches in the wind, almost being pulled off my head completely. I feel the mascara tears I had so carefully painted on like lines of ice on my face. With one last heavy breath, I start with Lucy’s eulogy, written for no one’s ears but my own:

‘Lately, many people have expressed their sympathies about my loss and I never quite know what to say to them. Everyone is sorry, everyone feels my pain, everyone is there for me, should I need them. But no one ever finds the right words.’

‘You’ll need to memorise the speech, obviously. You can’t just stand there with a piece of paper in your hand.’

‘You just like giving me extra work.’

‘It’s my funeral, the least you can do is put in some effort!’

I smiled at the offended look Lucy gave me. ‘Okay then. Let’s write you the prettiest eulogy ever. You’ll have to help me, though, I’ve never actually been to a funeral before.’

‘Well, neither have I, but it can’t be that hard. Just say something like “I brightened up every room” and call me your sunshine or something.’

‘Of course, you would say that I say that about you!’

‘Just because I know it’s true, darling,’ Lucy said with a wink. At that, I just rolled my eyes.

‘That’s exactly my point.’

‘Lucy and I met only three years ago, through good friends of ours. I would love to tell you long stories about a will they / won’t they romance, but truth be told, it was pretty much love at first sight, at least on my part. When I, against all odds – and in some friendly competition – managed to win her favour and her love, it made me the happiest person on earth.’

‘What are you talking about? Not one word of that is true.’

‘Well, no one needs to know that, do they?’

‘Anytime someone you love passes away, there is a strong temptation to remember them perhaps a little too well. Misdeeds are forgotten, offences forgiven. Only the most shining characteristics make it into the version of them that we keep with us when they’re gone. But despite knowing how memory embellishes character, I just can’t seem to…’

‘That’s when the practised bit stops and you start saying what your heart tells you to.’ Lucy placed her hands over her heart.

‘But we are still writing that down, right?’

‘Of course we are, but that’s the story you have to convey. It’s like… directions on how to act. It’ll really move people if they think you prepared a speech but then went off script, so overcome with emotions you just couldn’t keep up the façade…’ At that, Lucy had flopped down onto my bed, dramatically closing her eyes and placing the back of her hand on her forehead.

‘You really are serious about this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am!’ She sat up quickly to look at me. ‘Frankly, you should be taking this a lot more seriously. I’ll only get one funeral. It needs to be perfect.’ Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

My voice breaks – I had practised that sound for weeks to perfect it – and I pause to reach my hand towards my eyes; facing the coffin, facing Lucy. If anyone were here with me, if anyone were watching… they would only be able to see my hands, hear my voice, and assume I’m crying, gathering my thoughts, finding the will to keep going. They wouldn’t assume I practised. Who would?

‘Do you think we should put in a moment where I say “is” and then stop and switch to “was”’?

‘Aww, I knew you care.’

‘Oh, stop it, I’m just trying to brainstorm!’

‘She brightened up every room she walked into. Where there was chaos and uncertainty, she brought order. She made every house a home and always made everyone feel welcome, wherever and whoever they were. She could make the whole room laugh with just a look or gesture and told the most amazing stories. She is… was what my heart always needed, my sunshine on a gloomy day.’

More mascara flows down my cheeks. We’d bought the least waterproof one we could find. I couldn’t quite tell if those were the tears we’d practised or the ones belonging to me, sneaking out when they should stay hidden. I pause to look around the graveyard, beyond her grave, beyond her.

‘I guess it just hasn’t really sunk in that she isn’t here… isn’t with us anymore.’ It has, I think. After all, I have been preparing for it for months now.

‘Isn’t all of this very… impersonal? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty, for sure, but it isn’t really about you, is it?’

‘It doesn’t need to be. That’s easier, don’t you think? For you? To just say all these phrases without any meaning? Then I’ll have my pretty funeral and you can keep your composure. I’ll know what you actually mean, anyway.’

‘It doesn’t have to be easy on me, it’s your funeral!’ At that, I pause for a second, caught up on my own words, before continuing more slowly. ‘I don’t think it could be, really, no matter how well we plan.’

There’s the sound of birds, still singing, of children screaming joyfully, of the wind gently rustling the leaves. There’s that wind moving my veil and hair and the sun shining down on me. There are people on the other side of the street, beyond the graveyard’s fence, just going about their lives as if nothing happened at all, as if it is a day like any other because to them it is. There are other people in the graveyard, not actually watching me at all, too consumed by their own grief to pay attention to me. For a brief second, I can almost feel Lucy, still by my side. But the moment passes and I am all alone again.

‘I am grateful for every moment I was able to spend in her company —and although it was many less than I had selfishly hoped for, I still treasure every memory. This is how I want to remember her. Lucy… may you rest peacefully. You’ll always have a place in my heart.’

I place the peony on the coffin and step back.

‘And then everyone else will place their flowers, it’ll be a gigantic pile on top of my coffin!’

‘Why not just bury you in flowers, then?’

‘Do you think we can do that?!’

No one else is there to step forward to place their peonies on top of the coffin, of course. No one else is there. We’ve taken so much effort in planning exactly how this would go, that I’m almost surprised to see things diverting from our plan. We’d even gone to the market to ask the woman selling flowers which ones lose their petals easily so that they’d all get blown away by the wind. Lucy did always love a bit of drama. Now, there is only one flower, and it isn’t losing its petals, no matter the wind. We timed everything, right down to the music – pre-recorded – so I just stand there, waiting, until the music tells me I can leave.

I can’t help but remember the day Lucy showed up at my door, crying, and just fell into my arms. We sat there on the doorstep for what felt like hours, no one saying a single word. What was there to say? She would die, nothing to be done, no stopping it.

‘If there’s no stopping it, there’s no point in being sad.’

‘I don’t think that’s how feelings work, Lucy.’

‘We just have to keep busy, then it’ll be over in no time.’

‘Over for you. And what about me? What am I supposed to do without you? I need you!’ I had screamed the last words, immediately feeling regret. But suddenly, as if some gate had broken, there was no stopping the tears I’d been holding back for days.

We had made dinner in silence that night and never spoke of it until the day Lucy showed up at my door again, this time with a bright yellow folder titled “My Funeral”.

I listen, quietly, to the song Lucy picked. It’s one I’ve always hated.

‘It’s easy, we’ll just plan it all now. I know I’m dying, so there’s really no point in waiting and leaving all the work to you alone. I’ve already chosen dresses for us. We can plan your speech, the invitations, the flowers… All you’ll need to do is show up.’

‘Why… what? What are you talking about?’

‘My funeral, silly. We’ll have it all ready by the time I die. I got a heads up on dying, so I might as well have some say in how my funeral goes!’

The wind is picking up even more now, finally ripping the petals from the flower as we had planned. Lucy would’ve liked that. She wouldn’t be watching though. She’d been adamant about that after I had mentioned that she could at least watch from heaven.

Slowly, the music starts to fade out. I missed my cue to leave, and it’s too late to leave now. There’s the sound of birds, still singing, of children, still screaming, of the wind still blowing through the trees, all seemingly from far away. The world is moving on, I think. And yet, here I stand, a single lonely figure, surrounded by flower petals falling.

Author’s note

This is the prologue of a romance novel I am currently writing. It’s the story of Lucy and Sophie, childhood friends who fall in love in 1920s Germany. Lucy dies, of course – you just read about her funeral. But a lot happens before and after. The two girls find and lose each other over and over again while trying to realise who they are and how they fit into the world they live in. Much later, in contemporary times, a group of university students finds Sophie’s diary. With only the diary to guide them, they begin to dive deeper into the story of Sophie and Lucy.