Free Cake: A Love Story by J. Bengtsson Page A

my insolence and, as punishment; they destroyed my character on a daily basis.
    It was no wonder that, outside of my family, I only considered one person to be an actual friend…and he was a fifty-something-year old man! All my childhood buddies disappeared after the kidnapping, although I had to take the blame for that. I couldn’t stand the way they stared at me with a weird combination of both pity and embarrassment. And I hated the way they tried to pretend nothing had changed even though my whole world had been turned upside down and then crushed. Being around them reminded me of who I once was and who I would never be again. I shut them out of my life completely and never looked back.
    Several lonely years followed. Really I only had my miserable self to keep me company, as I’d pushed my family away as well. Back then I saw no future for myself. Living seemed pointless. It was rare for me to go more than a month or two without attempting suicide. After one such attempt, my frustrated mother steered me into the living room, where we kept all our musical instruments, and forced me to sit at the piano. I hadn’t touched it since the kidnapping. Music was just another reminder of all I’d lost. Before the kidnapping, music was my life. I could play just about any instrument I touched. I started writing songs when I was eight or nine. I joined a band at eleven. I loved being on stage performing and I truly believed that one day I would be a rockstar. But that was when I was still young and carefree…and still brave and fun and adventurous. That was when I still had tons of friends and went through life with a perpetual smile on my face. That was before Ray…before I lost my faith in humanity…before I lost my innocence.
    In the blink of an eye, it was all gone…my whole life…just completely destroyed. My childhood hopes and dreams seemed so foolish and far away. Life had stopped being worth living. But there was one person who refused to allow me to give up…and refused to give up on me. And that day when she sat me down at the piano, placing her fingers over mine and pressing down on the keys for the both of us because I didn’t have the strength or desire to do it on my own…she brought me back into the land of the living. I played the piano for hours that day letting the music flow through me and lift up my tattered soul. I could almost feel the open wounds start sealing themselves shut. Music became my savior…my only friend. I poured all my sadness and fear and anger into it. Hours, upon hours, upon hours. It’s all I did all day, every day. All the terrible thoughts in my head eventually made their way out onto paper and then into songs. My voice returned. Somehow singing the words that had been trapped inside my head for so long, gave me hope for my future. Maybe I would be all right. Maybe living wouldn’t be so pointless.
    And then, unexpectedly, everything I’d ever wanted as a young, innocent kid dreaming of rock stardom, came true. In the beginning, stepping out onto the stage was a terrifying experience. After hiding myself away for so long, just the thought of opening myself back up to a cruel, unforgiving world was incredibly daunting. But if I wanted to be a musician, I knew I needed to get comfortable on stage…and fast. Touring cured me of those fears. I spent so much time on stage that it became like second nature for me. Soon there were no more jitters and I found performing to be uplifting. There was something truly amazing about connecting with an audience who hadn’t come to my concert to gawk or pity me. They had come for the music…because a song I created made them feel something. It was a powerful connection. Standing up on the stage in front of thousands of strangers and feeling the roar of the crowd beneath my feet made me feel alive again. I became stronger and more confident. The unwavering support of my fans gave my self-esteem the boost it so desperately needed. Without