Clarity...

I hear the key in the door and wake up but my eyes feel swollen shut. I think I was dreaming or something. I hear Olov in the kitchen then in his room. I know it’s after 8am without looking at the clock and I feel lazy for not being awake with breakfast as I said I would.
I will my eyes to open and get out of bed.
“Mornin’! I smile, standing in his doorway.
“Oh hey!”
“How was work?”
“Quiet, with two calls like I said.” he smiled and walked passed me into the kitchen.
“There are pancakes left!” he exclaimed and pulled them out of the ‘fridge.
“I thought you wanted me to make something. I was going to make French Toast.”
“I’ll eat both.” he said.
I pull everything I bought out of the ‘fridge and get started. He investigates the Nutella and says doesn’t like the idea of chocolate peanut butter.
“I don’t think it’s necessarily peanut butter…” I trail off but he’s already pulled out the jam.
He finishes eating before me and retreats to the computer in his room. I stare out the window, the sky lighting up is fabulous. I wonder if we’re going to see the sun today.
I hear the television come on and think he’s got an awful lot of energy this morning for being at work all night. I clear my dishes and go change clothes.
By the time I get everything together, the sun is out and I’m desperate to be outside. I didn’t know I could miss it so much. It Atlanta, sometimes a cloudy day is a nice relief from having my retinas burned out on a daily basis by the blazing sun.
I say goodbye to Olov and head out to Creem first. I feel an extra spark of energy in my step as I look over at the sun splashed buildings.
“Hey!” I exclaim to Benny.
“Hey.” he smiled. If I could have just a piece of his laid back attitude, that would be amazing. He looks and acts as if he’s never had a care in the world. “The usual?”
“Yes sir!” I grinned. “How are ya?”
“I’m good.” he shrugged. “How are you?”
“Ecstatic to see the sun!” I squeal.
“Yeah, that doesn’t happen too often here.” he smiled and handed me the large glass of coffee.
“Apparently.” I smiled, handed him some “fake” money, (I’m still not used to it) and sat down in the window.
I can barely sit still. I don’t even know how to describe how I feel except that it’s sheer joy at it’s absolute best. I’m trying not to laugh out loud at my giddiness as I try to focus on writing. I’ve been here four days now and I haven’t been too dreadfully lonely. When those feelings come, they pass fairly quickly, I’ve managed to navigate around ok despite my bouts of getting lost, I’ve still managed to figure it out without having to stop and ask. Hmm. I’m ok. Really ok. I really do have everything I need right now at this moment and really, this is the only moment that I need to focus on. I have a horrible tendency to get wrapped up in the “what-ifs?” and looking too far in the future. I haven’t done that at all this week. Even when Olov asks what I’ll be doing later I don’t always have an answer because for once, I haven’t been thinking even that far ahead.
I pull out my map and look at Gamla Stan again. For real. I’m going to find this damn chocolate café if it kills me. I write the directions down from studying the map and happily bounce out the door and towards the underground.
Once on the train I survey around at all the people with their artfully undone hair and layered clothing with bright splashes of neon thrown in every now and then. I do love the train. I’ve grown to enjoy the automated sounding female voice that comes over the loudspeaker announcing the next stop. In a few days I’ll be back in my car, sitting in traffic, hoping there is gas somewhere, and wondering when I’ll have time to take care of maintenance issues. Or maybe not. Maybe I don’t have to. The idea I once entertained but put aside returns and I think to myself, “I can so do that… just as soon as I clear US Customs upon landing…”
I didn’t even know my giddiness could be amplified but it was and I took off out of the underground station once it stopped in Gamla Stan. Finally I felt filled with a sense of purpose and had received the clarity I had been craving and hoping for once I got to Stockholm.
Following my directions from the map, I finally made it to the chocolate café! I’d tell you the name of it, but I can’t spell or even pronounce it. I just knew it looked like the word I saw in the book!
It was packed outside, people huddled together at small tables with huge ceramic mugs filled with deliciousness. I squeezed through the door and saw that it was just as crowded inside. This usually turns me off and I’ll leave only to return at a less busy time but I had finally found this place and was determined to stay.
“Sit anywhere you like!” A skinny gay man with black hair and eyes called out to me. He looked more Italian than Swedish.
“Thank you.” I smiled and headed for a tiny table in the middle of the room.
“I’ll be right back to take care of you.” he said quickly, handing me a menu that was printed in both Swedish and English.
“Thanks.” I reply to the menu. Once I figure out that I want hot chocolate (what the café is famous for) and a cinnamon roll, I start looking around. Pictures of half naked men line the walls as this is a predominately gay café. The floor is hard wood and a small group of men who all look similar to the man that handed me the menu are bustling about, carrying huge trays of food and desserts in and out of the small door leading to the outdoor patio. Loud but fun dance music is playing and people are everywhere. I pull out my journal as the man returns.
“You know what you like?” he asks?
I ordered and he took the menu and later returned with a bowl of hot chocolate I could swim in, and a cinnamon roll the size of my face. The book was right! It was the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had!
I stay a little longer, people watching and writing until I’m dying to be outside again. The whole city is practically sparkling. I also think I’m a little jacked on caffeine, mixed with a sugar high.
I wind around through the streets until I get to the edge of the water again. Tears find their way into my eyes again but hurry away before they have time to fall. I snap pictures, and breathe in the amazing air. People are out walking everywhere or sitting alone on benches looking as if they’re contemplating something.
Once I’m finished at the water’s edge I walk back through the shops again. A small dimly lit one filled with dark colored dresses catches my eye. When I walk in I’m overwhelmed at all the pretty things. Where to start…? Corsets hang on one wall, long dresses on an opposing wall, and short party dresses line another one. I go for those first. A pretty girl in what looks like her early twenties comes up to me.
“Can I help you find anything?”
“Just looking.” I smile.
“Ok. Just to let you know all the corsets are made my me and my business partner makes all the dresses.”
“Are you serious?!” I exclaim.
She smiles and nods. I spend the next twenty minutes with her as she pulls things out that she’s been working on. I’m absolutely amazed at her talent and a little jealous of her fabulous creativity. As I leave, she hands me her business card.
Once outside again I start my meandering again. I see a café that I came across last night. “Hmm. A latte wouldn’t be so bad…” I think to myself and head down the staircase to this little underground spot. My eyes open wide when I see all the antique looking couches and chairs scattered about with little tables and dimly lit chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. People fill some of the chairs and couches, either talking quietly, or writing something. I order a latte and sink into a plush green chair that is between a pink and white one and a large blue one. I pull out my journal and begin to write. I’m maybe a paragraph in when I remember I told Olov I’d meet him back at his house at 5. I turn my phone on. It’s 10:00am in Atlanta, plus six so it’s 4 now. Back to writing.
“Is that a journal you’re writing in?” a voice pulls me out of my head and I look up to see a tall man with a shaved head and blue-gray eyes standing in front of me.
“It is.” I nod.
“It reminds me of one I had that I used for poetry.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, where did you find that one?” he sits with me.
“Just a random bookstore at home.”
“You’re American?” he asks.
What gave that away?
“I am.” I smile.
“Which region?”
“Southeast.”
“Hmm.” he nods.
“And you?”
“I’m from Sweden.” he smiles.
His name is Ulf (pronounced as if you’re saying “wolf”, I think, but it was kinda loud in the café at this point.) We talk about writing, (his poetry, my journals and short stories) our jobs and the general differences between Americans and Swedes.
“We Swedes are rather shy. I think it’s because we spend a lot of time indoors.”
“I’ve noticed that a little. Generally, I feel as a whole, Swedes are standoffish until a conversation is struck and then it’s like having a long lost friend come back into your life.” I laugh.
“It’s true! We do look to the Americans a lot though, for style and things.”
I’m laughing again remembering Jhoni asking me to try and take pictures of what people were wearing out of curiosity about Swedish style. I tell him this and he thinks it’s odd of course when they’re looking at us for the same thing.
“I feel like, with Americans, you guys make it hard to get under your surfaces.” he says.
I nod.
“You are all very commercialized and it’s as if everyone is trying to live up to this image or ideal instead of just being individual.” he shrugs.
“Exactly!” Isn’t that human nature though?
“Are you inspired by people when you travel?” he asks.
“Absolutely!” I exclaim. “I like watching mannerisms, how people have arranged their clothing, language, the list goes on.”
We bounce around to random topics about our lives before I glance at my phone. It’s time for me to get going.
“I have to run but thanks for the chat!” I smile.
“It was a pleasure Melissa. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Stockholm.” he shakes my hand and I’m on my way again.
Once back at Olov’s, he wakes up long enough to say hello then returns to sleep. I decided to continue my writing in the kitchen. I’m jittery and full of nervous energy. (surely it’s not because of that latte…hehe.) My mind reels back and forth between enjoying my time here and having to return home at some point. I don’t want to go home but can’t hide out here in Stockholm forever. I try to figure out why I’m not ready to go back. Not that I’m leaving tomorrow, but the thought of returning is sparking my anxiety. I want to tell Olov about my decision but at the same time, I don’t want to talk to anyone about it. I just want to sit with it and keep it with me, for now.
I can no longer sit still. I’ve been writing for an hour. I change clothes and whisper to Olov that I’m going for a run.
“You are?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ok.” he closes his eyes again.
I’m on the street in no time, flying passed all the stores and things that are now familiar, dodging people, ignoring my screaming shins and going until the road turns to the right. I turn and head back.
Once back at Olov’s, I see he’s still asleep. I quietly shower and get dressed. I walk into the kitchen for some water, suddenly feeling hungry.
“Melissa?”
“Yeah?” I turn and walk into his room.
“Hi.” he smiles.
“Hey. Sleep good?”
“I did. Where’ve you been?”
“I went running. You don’t remember me telling you that?”
“Nope.” he turns on the TV then walks into the kitchen. “How long have you been gone?”
“I don’t know.” I follow him.
“I have to ref a soccer game tomorrow out in the country. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure.” I nod.
“There is a book sale I want to check out then I was thinking we could head over to where the Royals live before that then go from there.”
“That would be fabulous.” I smile.
“Good. So when I come home in the morning, I’m going to sleep for a couple of hours then we’ll go.”
“Ok! I’ll probably be at Creem while you’re asleep then.” I smile. “I was thinking about sushi for dinner. You want to come with me?”
“Sushi huh? I don’t think so. I’m still a bit tired. Were you going out to sit down or bringing it back?”
“I was thinking about going out if you were going to come with me.”
“Not tonight. There is a place across the street that has take-away though.”
I nod. “Alright. I’ll be back.”
I leave and head to the small restaurant across the street. I really just wanted his company. I’m ok with eating alone, or even taking something to go, it’s just I feel I’m bursting with all this stuff I want to share with him and I’m having a hard time finding the words. I thought that maybe by being out, there would be no distractions and maybe I could attach words to my thoughts. “Would it have killed me to say this to him?” I think to myself. No. I just don’t want to appear needy.
I open the door and am greeted in Swedish by a cute little Asian woman. I apologize for not speaking Swedish. Turns out, she doesn’t speak English. I look up at the menu. Swedish, of course. Oh boy. I’m about to order raw fish in Swedish. I should just close my eyes and point to something cause that’s as close as I’m gonna get to ordering something I can understand. I do just that, except my eyes are open. I simply point, pay and take the food out a few minutes later.
Everything turned out fine. I could identify almost everything and it was all delicious. Olov sat with me but neither of us said much until I piped up.
“I feel like I have all this stuff to tell you but I don’t have your attention.” The words came out all at once.
“Of course you do!” his eyes widened.
I shake my head. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just extra sensitive and I’m having trouble volunteering things I guess.”
“I’m sorry.” he replied. “You have my attention.”
A weight leaves my chest. Saying that one thought out loud took off weight I didn’t even know I was carrying. He wasn’t angry with me or anything and I was able to let go of whatever was there. I should probably try this more often…
He leaves a little while later to go to work. Another night shift.
“I’ll call you later, to check on you, ok?” he smiles.
“Deal!” I call after him as he leaves.
I’m sitting at his computer, writing my sponsor. The Nutella is still residing in the ‘fridge. “Stop it.” I tell myself and keep typing. I write her about it and say that when I send this email I’m going to toss it and go for a walk. I click ‘send’ and head to the fridge.
“Hmm. Maybe just one bite.” I tell myself, fully knowing better. I take the lid off and have a bite. “Just one more…” another bite and then another follow. My mind slowly sinks into it’s lovely, familiar numbness as I push the spoon into the jar and into my mouth. Jar, mouth, jar, mouth. I don’t hear anything, see anything or feel anything. I barely remember tasting the stuff. Before I know it, the spoon has hit plastic, the sound snapping me out of my numbness.
Shit.
I look down at the jar. It’s all gone. Gone and in my belly. I toss the jar into the trash and head back for the computer confessing to my sponsor that I didn’t make it to the trash can before consuming it. She writes back almost immediately reminding me that it’s only one slip and to get back with my food plan in the morning.
I fall into bed after washing my face. Olov calls to say hello and that he made it to work. We chat another few minutes before he lets me go and I fall asleep with little trouble.