Sweden!!!

Part One...
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard flight one seven three, non-stop service to Atlanta, with continuing service to Seattle…” the flight attendant’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I look down at the words that make up sentences and paragraphs on the pages of the book I’m reading and watch them blur with tears. “Why am I crying?” I think to myself, looking up and blinking profusely. “I’m supposed to want to go home right?”
I inhale sharply and get back to reading. The plane pushes back, heads for the runway and takes off. We aren’t in the air long before the tears return and I’m walking to the bathroom. Once inside I go ahead and cry, and cry, and cry. We haven’t been in the air fifteen minutes and I’m already mourning the end of this amazing week. In nine hours and fifteen minutes I’ll be back on the ground, and back to settling into work, traffic, bills, life. I’m just not ready yet.
In the meantime, what had happened was…
I landed in Stockholm on Monday morning, silently screaming and doing a happy dance in my head while clapping profusely. On the outside though, I looked glazed, and beaten down. I had no idea where I was going from here and already felt like a fish out of water.
After getting off the plane we all filed through Customs. I exchanged my green dollar bills for bills that looked like play money and found a machine to buy train tickets from. “I am too tired for this.” I think to myself, feeding the machine money and hoping to God I was buying the right ticket. After that, I was hoping I was going in the right direction to the train.
Sure enough, there it was and here I am on it, heading to the underground station to continue my journey into the city.
The train stops at the central underground station. I somehow manage to exit without buying a visitor’s pass thinking I’ll just come back later. Right now though, I wanted to simply walk.
And walk I did, taking in the crisp, clean air, the beautiful architecture and all these blonde heads. Walking didn’t last too long though. My crazy ass is sporting three inch heels, a messenger bag and a backpack that weighs almost as much as I do. I eventually turned around and headed back to the central underground station.
Trying to figure out where to get a visitor’s pass was ridiculous. I finally stopped to ask someone and he pointed me into a store where I finally bought the pass.
On the underground I pull out the directions to my host, Olov’s place. I’m supposed to meet him later this afternoon but I want to make sure I know where I’m going. I realize I just have the address and the metro stop, so I assume I’ll be able to see the street from the station. Oh no. There is none of that. (I do realize later that you can in fact, see the street from the station.) I proceed to walk in a huge circle around the street before finding it, stopping for coffee first to get off my feet.
Once I figured out where I had to go, I noticed a park across the street and sat there writing until I was interrupted by a homeless man speaking Swedish to me. I looked up, said I spoke English. He nodded and told me in very broken English that the bench I was sitting on was his bed, then walked away.
I met Olov at his place at five. I was sitting in his courtyard when he walked through the door.
“Hey there!” I smiled upon seeing his bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.
“Hi! Enjoying my courtyard?”
“I am!” I stood and hugged him hello. “How was your day?”
“It was ok. You want me to take a bag?” he asked.
I handed him my messenger bag and followed him inside, up some stairs and into his apartment.
“You can put your shoes there.” he nodded toward the row of shoes that were already lined against the wall.
Gladly. I kicked those beasts off and began surveying around.
“That’s the bathroom.” he pointed to the door next to the front door. “Kitchen is there.”
I nodded.
“This is your room.” he said, walking through a door to reveal a bright blue room with two big windows. He put my bag down and I slid my backpack off. “And that’s my room, through there.” he pointed through another door.
“Fabulous!”
“Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?” he asked.
“Hmm. Coffee.” I smile, knowing that drinking more right now will have me up all night but I’d really like my eyes to open up a little more and maybe carry on an intelligent conversation.
“Ok.”
We walk into the kitchen and chat briefly while he makes the coffee. He tells me he’s going to watch a soccer game at a pub down the street. “You can come if you want.”
“Ok.” I nod, pouring the coffee.
“Milk?” he asks.
“Nope.”
He walks into his room and I stare at the map of Stockholm he has posted on the wall. “I’m here.“ I think to myself. “Really here.”
I hear Olov’s voice and walk into his room.
“Huh?”
“Do you need the computer?”
“Just for a minute please.”
He hops up from his desk and turns the TV on while I sit down, quickly typing out a message home and to work.
“I read your blog.” he tells me when I’m done.
“Yeah?”
“Well. Not all of it. They’re really long.”
I laugh. “I know, but thanks for reading it anyway.”
“You’re a good writer.”
“Thank you.”
He tells me about some things that have been going on in his life then returns back to the contents of my blog and Rob.
“I don’t know if you want to talk about it. If you don’t that’s ok, but if you do I’ll listen.”
“Thank you.” I nod. “I’m ok with talking about it.” I reply, but I don’t know what to say right now.
An hour later we’re sitting at a bar, watching the soccer game. I still can’t quite believe I’m here and can’t believe I’m actually awake and able to somehow string together sentences that resemble coherent thoughts.
The game ends and we walk back to his place. The city is lit up and the water is sparkling under the bridges we cross.
“You live here!” I exclaim.
“Uh huh.” he looks at me as if to say “and?”
“It’s just beautiful!”
“I guess…”
I notice later this is a common response among the Swedes I met. Maybe if you’ve spent your whole life there you’re unable to see the city like a new person sees it. I am completely enthralled.
It doesn’t take long to fall into bed and close my eyes, although I don’t sleep. Damn caffeine. My head won’t stop swimming…
The next morning I wake up to hear Olov moving about in the kitchen. It’s still dark outside. I roll out of bed and join him.
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey.”
I sit down and watch him make oatmeal, neither of us saying much.
“Are you going back to sleep?” he asks, already dressed for work.
“Nope. Once I’m awake, I’m awake.”
“What are you going to do today?”
“No idea.”
He leaves shortly for work. It’s maybe 6 am. I stare out the window of the kitchen before peeling my ass off the chair and going to find the oatmeal I brought with me. So far, thoughts of food have not entered my mind. I brought my oatmeal to keep my routine as normal as possible. I quickly make it, eat it then decide to run. I notice the sky is lightening up a little as I put on my running clothes and head out.
It’s damn cold outside! I crank up my iPOD, knowing I’ll be deaf by the age of 55 but right now it feels so good. My feet pound the street, running faster than I normally do. I don’t know where I’m going or when I’m going to turn around but right now, flying down this somewhat empty street, breathing hard, and letting my mind wander is the best feeling.
I turn around when the street ends. Coming back, I get distracted by various shops and cafes. I make mental notes to stop into these places at some point this week. It takes me twice as long to get back to Olov’s.
I quickly shower and try to appear human. I walk down the street to a café I saw earlier called “Creem.” I ordered a small coffee and sat down on a bench that lined a huge window. I sat there, allowing myself to be still and write, stopping occasionally to look out the window at bunches of platinum haired children crossing the street to go to school. There is a song by Suzanne Vega called “Tom’s Diner.” I downloaded a couple of years ago and when I would listen to it I would think “One day, I’ll be in Stockholm, listening to this song.” Here I am, finally, with my iPOD, listening to her beautiful voice and trying to hide the smile on my face so as not to appear insane. It’s just I’m so unbelievably happy to be here I can’t find the words to explain it.
I leave a couple of hours later and go to an area that I guess can be described as similar to the Virginia Highland area of Atlanta…kind of. I get off the underground and start walking. My eyes are about to explode out of my head when I see the water that is residing at the end of the hill I’m on. I start walking towards it, trying to watch where I’m going but take in all the shops and people around me. Once at the bottom of the hill and at the edge of the water I stare at the buildings that line the water’s edge, the boats, the people walking around. The air is cleanest air I’ve ever inhaled and by the water it has the slightest hint of a salty scent. It’s so slight it makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. I stare out as far as my eyes will let me for a little while longer before headed back up the hill, popping into various shops, and aimlessly wandering…
Back on the train I go to what looks like a much older part of Stockholm. The way the cobblestone streets wind around each other reminds me of Barcelona. I go further and further into this maze of streets, people and shops and realize an hour later I am completely lost. I told Olov I’d meet him at his apartment at 4pm and go with him to watch him play soccer. How am I going to get back? Hmm… In Spain the plan was to head towards the Cathedrals. Here, I guess it’s head for the water. So I do and sure enough, I find the underground, completely proud of myself for thinking it through and not freaking out.
I get to Olov’s place a little before 4. I haven’t touched my book since leaving Atlanta and decide to read for a few minutes. I’m maybe a paragraph in before I notice the corner of a picture sticking out of the front of the book. I pull it out and stare at Rob’s smiling image. Somehow a flash of a memory sparks in my head. It’s of me, opening my front door to his smiling face, him stepping inside, wrapping me up in a huge hug, my face pressed against his chest. After kissing him I look up at him, at his beautiful eyes and smile a huge smile that says “I can’t believe I have you. You’re real and I’m so happy I can hardly stand it.”
The memory disappears faster than the speed of light and in it’s place, this unbelievable sense of wanting creeps in. This feeling comes to visit from time to time. It’s intense and induces this temper tantrum in my head, complete with screaming and violent rage. Never again will I see him and it makes me insane.
A fresh wave of tears follow. I can’t tell him about this experience, can’t share my thoughts with him, nothing. I’m just not ok with that right now. Hell, if he were still here, I’d be in Chicago. That’s a whole ‘nother topic though. I’m hoping to have some clarity this week on that.
I stare out the window at the overcast sky, wipe my face then get back to my book. A minute later, I hear the key in the door and Olov appears.
“Hi!” I exclaim.
“Hey! You haven’t been here long have you?”
“Nope! How’s your day?”
“Ok. What did you do?”
I told him about the café, wandering, and getting lost.”
“Yeah, if you get lost, just follow the water.”
“I did!” I laughed.
He made some meat balls and pasta and after dinner we headed for the underground and to the soccer fields. The temperature dropped along with the sun. I stood on a sideline and watched them run back and forth for forty minutes. It made me miss playing. Afterwards I’m surrounded by deep voices all speaking Swedish feeling completely lost. All of us get on to the underground and start heading back to the city. One of Olov’s teammates, Philip, introduces himself to me and asks where I’m from.
“The States.” I smile.
“Which part?”
“Southeast. Atlanta.”
“Oh! Your economy isn’t doing too well right now huh?”
“Nope.” I shook my head, feeling a little embarrassed.
“How has that affected you?”
I explain that I’m a hairdresser and I’ve noticed my clients stretching out their appointments more and of course gas is high but other than that, I’m ok.
“We pay more for gas than you do.” Philip tells me.
“I know but we drive more.”
“Yeah, you and all your Chevy trucks…”
I laugh at this. It’s both true and sad. No one in Sweden drives anything bigger than a Toyota Corolla.
Olov and I say goodbye to everyone and get off at the next stop. Once inside we talk a good while about our lives and things that have happened recently. I am uncensored and it feels so good to be open and be accepted. He hears my words and lets me talk. I listen to him, grateful he feels comfortable enough to tell me details of his life.
I have no idea what time it is when I finally retreat to bed, once again closing my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come quickly…