Not Sleeping

Prologue: The House on the Other Side of the Tracks

The biggest debate in the village below Rachel Ente's home was whether the house or the train track was built first. Almost everyone agreed the house was very unpractically located, squeezed between the decently busy track and a steep, mossy mountainside. But the house had been in the family for three generations. Being the eldest child of her mother, Rachel would be the fourth generation to inherit it.

"I can never sleep when we have sleepovers at your house," Rachel's high school friend would always say. She woke up resembling a raccoon after having spent the night. Eventually she convinced Rachel that all their sleepovers needed to take place elsewhere. But the trains never bothered Rachel.

One morning as the 7:38 train zoomed by, a framed picture leapt from the hearth. The glass shattered and the wood split as it collided with the tile. Despite their efforts to nail, screw, tape and glue every photo and breakable decoration to the surfaces on which they hung or stood, things somehow managed to fall and break. As Rachel bent over to pick it up, her mother, Anneliese, turned from the kitchen counter where she stood smearing butter on a bread roll. Rachel turned the picture so that her mother could see it.

"Not that one," Anneliese sighed. Her dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she still wore her jogging outfit from her morning jog in the woods. She never used to be interested in jogging or exercise in general, but when the vet said that Horst, the family's overweight Saint Bernard, would likely die without it, Rachel's mother took on the challenge. "Is the picture scratched?" she asked?

Rachel inspected the picture closely. It was the last one that had been taken of their entire family. It wasn't a formal photo—just one they had taken on their last vacation to Mallorca. It wasn't very good quality to begin with, taken with a basic smartphone, but then Anneliese insisted on blowing it up to have it printed and framed. It was a good thing she did. No more than a week later, Rachel's father lost the phone with which he took the picture. The printed copy Rachel delicately held was the only one that existed.

Rachel found no scratches. She looked at her mother and shook her head.

"I thought I asked your father to glue it down?" Anneliese grumbled. "Heinrich!" She turned to finish preparing her breakfast. Rachel's father entered the room, tightening the knot of the red tie he had just finished putting on.

"Yes, Schatz?"

Rachel no longer followed their conversation. She continued staring at the picture. Nothing seemed wrong in it. In the picture, everything looked perfect. Only bliss and paradise were trapped there, no sadness and definitely no imperfections. Her blond hair was a tangled mess because of the seaside wind; she could almost smell the Mediterranean as she looked at the picture.

Heinrich placed his warm hand on Rachel's shoulder. Rachel looked up at him. "I love that picture," he said. He held the broom in his other hand. It was old and deserved to be retired, but Rachel's mother refused to get rid of it. Rachel supposed they would be using it until every single plastic needle had been worn down to nothing. Her mother always got sentimental about things like that. "The first time you wrapped your sticky fingers around that broom handle to help mommy, you were only this tall," she would say.

Rachel stepped aside, allowing her father to sweep away the splinters and shards of glass. She laid the picture down on the small dining table at the spot which had been vacant for two years. Anneliese touched Rachel's wrist with her cold hand. "It's time to find somebody to rent the basement again," she said. There was almost always someone renting out the basement apartment. None of them ever stayed long. One young Italian family endured living there for three years once, but they moved to Frankfurt to be closer to their relatives. The other renters seemed to only stay for an average of three months. Once Rachel's younger brothers became teenagers, they commandeered the basement for a time. It had been empty for the past two years.

"Focus more on advertising it to the students this time. There's sure to be a student or two looking for some cheap housing," Rachel's mom continued. "Oh, and be sure to mention that the house is only 250 meters from the station and has direct connections down into Freiburg. And don't forget to write that there's a pizzeria in the nearby village."

Rachel nodded. It was always her job to write and post the ads because she was the most efficient at using the internet. The pizzeria in the village was overpriced and not that good, but being the only dining option within twenty kilometers, it thrived. Rachel's father touched her shoulder. She turned to him.

"Tell them there's a pretty girl living upstairs, and she's single. That will definitely bring in the renters," Heinrich said, chuckling. Rachel smiled. Heinrich's expression turned solemn. "But warn them that her papa has a gun."

Annelise slapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Oh, you wish!" she said.

"That's why we should move to America," Heinrich laughed. "Okay, my loves, I need to go, or I'll be late." He hugged Rachel and gave his wife a kiss before rushing out the door. Heinrich was a bus driver in the city. If he was late for work, the bus was late, and Germans don't know how to handle that. He took the 7:58 train into the city every morning he worked. When Rachel was younger, her mother would gather her and her two younger brothers at the window in the living room. They would watch as the train passed by, their eyes searching each blurring window for their father's face. He always waved, and they waved back. Those moments was the only time the living room curtains were open. They had been left closed a long time.

Anneliese looked down at the picture with sadness in her eyes. Carefully, she stroked her oldest son's face with her fingertips. She looked at Rachel. "I'll buy a new frame for it on Saturday," she said. "I'm going to take a shower now. Can you find yourself some breakfast?"

Rachel nodded. People always meant well, but she hated it when they acted as if she was incapable of taking care of herself. Her mother knew that better than anyone else in the world, however, she continued to baby Rachel. Rachel had moved back into the house only two weeks before, but already she was doubting her decision.

Rachel left the kitchen and went into her old bedroom. She sat at her desk beneath the window that overlooked the tracks. Her curtains were almost always open. The trains didn't bother her. She watched the oncoming train. It almost looked as if it would crash right through her house. The walls and floors trembled. It was a familiar feeling. Her dad was on that train, but they didn't see each other.

She opened her old laptop and began setting up the ad for the basement.

5/#