1 - Morning Ritual

“We got a call to dispatch to an accident. A motorbike and a truck were involved. It was a dark, cold November evening and, with these wet roads, I was expecting the worst. It's always the best to expect the worst. Guts lying on the street. Smashed head. Something along those lines.

Raika startled. It felt like she woke up from a dream. A shrill, high pitched cut through her thoughts. She focused her gaze on her displays right in front of her. All the lights blinked bright red and the sound was unbearable, piercing her brain like a thousand little needles. Her confusion only lasted half a second and her palms became sweaty. On her screen, big and bold, the message “You are late for your meeting with Tom \[boss]” followed by her delay, updated by seconds: 10: 13 minutes, 10:14, 10:15. Raika’s thoughts raced circles: Could she lie that she was on the loo? No, the computer recorded her activity. She could say she was checking the last code push, she had the right site open to make the lie believable. But that was contrary to who she was: First, she didn’t lie. Secondly, she never second-guessed her work after it was available for others to check. At that point, it’s up to others to give her feedback. 

Chapter 1

Sarah sat still on the edge of the Shannon river. The grass was rough, pricking her bare skin. The air was heavy and humid. She loved this sensation as if walking through the air, and the resistance it offers on these days. She knew that soon it would all be over.

Covid took hold of the world in early Spring 2020. Lock downs were followed by violent protests. The main message on the news channels and social media was fear. A spirit/ghost/vibe of distrust started to settle in. While the virus stayed invisible, people began to disappear. Ambulances were driving through deserted streets and men and women covered head to toe in protective gear stormed houses to carry out the unfortunates. This story plays in Ireland, a couple of years after the global pandemic was declared.

“I’m not gonna have kids. I want to have a life and a career. I’ll be speaking at the TED conference in five years. Not at TedX, but at the real conference.”  Alexa told me. It was Alexa’s first day in my team. She’s the type of young person full of energy, dreams, and utopian ideas. I’ll give her six months before she’ll be hit by reality. She continued telling me about her goals and dreams, while I looked outside the window. I loved looking at the buildings, wondering who lives there. Who would have a BBQ on their porch? What type of person owns a pink bike with feathers attached to its handlebar? “I have to go,” Alexa said, the train stopped and stepped outside.

“Ja“ sage ich, doch denke nein. Wie im Schlaf gehe ich zur Küche und mache das Brott. Warum den nur denke ich? Groß genug ist sie. Es selber machen kann sie auch. Müde bin ich. So entsetzlich müde. Und keine Nacht Schlaf kann mir helfen. Tausend Nächte Schlaf können mir auch nicht helfen, selbst nach unendlich Nächten Schlaf bin ich noch genauso müde wie jetzt. Aber Krank bin ich nicht. Ich bin Mutter, Alleinerziehende. Alleine Trage ich die Sorgen. Alleine muss ich nach Lösungen suchen. Alleine muss ich aufpassen, kochen, putzen, zu Elterntreffen und Schulaufführung gehen. Diese Woche zwei verpasst. Meetings zur gleichen Zeit. Im Geheimen gehofft, dass auch andere Kinder so unglücklich sind wie meine. Mama fehlt. Schon wieder.