This Old Man
Talking and talking and talking. It seems as though all we do is talk. But not really. Not really saying anything that’s on either of our minds. Not until two nights ago when we stayed up past sun rise. Not until the car ride home from work Monday when he brought up the issue of moving. “So what are we going to do about moving because I’ll need to know soon if I have to get my own car?” And I knew what he meant. Things had cooled back to normal from the weekend so I knew this was his way of bringing up weighty issues cordially. I was thankful for it.
Every day is a different challenge. Each day bakes a fresh batch of needless animosity. And each day I’m further to jumping off the edge so I can catch my footing and run further and further away.
We spoke at great lengths without so much as one angry word getting in edgewise -that is for at least two hours.
It was a first actually. Because the household has reached a level of disharmony that addressing the issue is nearly compulsory.
Is it fair to have such hatred projected at me because I serve your rice with a spoon instead of a fork?
Is it right to witness a meltdown when I routinely go to the store after work on Wednesday nights? It isn’t as though I cook only for myself. “I don’t know why but every fucking thing you do irritates me. I need to get my shit together, buy a car and move far away from you. I can’t stand to look at you sometimes.”
And not to paint a perfect picture of myself, but no one should have to deal with this kind of irrational hostility. Not simply for the deliberate sake of antagonism when there’s no thread of malignity.
This weekend a spontaneous trip to Chattanooga forged at Buford Starbucks with Summer turned into a nightmare when I was not giving Adam his way. “I’m not a taxi. I’m not going to pick him up. He could drive here.” This threw Danny into a rage that lasted the duration of the night. Of course the anger was projected at me as Summer played the witness.
She corned both of us separately soon after explaining to him as he stood in the kitchen that he should “never say those kinds of things to anyone.”
Shortly after a conversation with me in the bathroom commenced where she offered her suggestion “you need to move away or he will never fully appreciate you. If not, this will end really badly.”
I understand that I do and say things and act more jealous than I should more times than not when these issues arise. And all of these things he holds proudly above my head like trophies. But it’s the unlikeliest of times that these strikes fall upon me.
Cards are dealt now because of what I said in an argument a month ago. Because he hates his job, hates his life, is bored and miserable, a tantrum is thrown at me because I should have known he despises spoons. “You do things just to piss me off.”
To the contrary, no. To the contrary, I did not think going to the store after work could incite such anger considering we’ve been doing it for the past three years. I had forgotten you thought spoons were “for babies”. I’m not good at straightening your hair. And I had forgotten that it’s my responsibility to cave into Adam’s demands simply because it would jeopardize our luck with Summer forging plans in spontaneity and therefore in the process rendering your life a bore.
But I can’t live treading on eggshells anymore. If ever there was a time I smelled a breaking point burning in the distance I may now see the smoke rings above the trees. I wrestle with the “should I leave him” or “should I stay” dilemma. And it’s no simple answer. When you can count the number of hours you’ve been apart from someone in nearly the last four years, this is not a small step. If it was, I would have strapped on my marching attire.
The opportunity of advancement presents itself thru both Heather and Summer’s desperation. Both want nothing more than to move away and may that wish be granted with or without Danny in the equation as far as they were concerned.
I just don’t know if this is the right time. There is the 90% of time that things seem to be okay that only serve to complicates things.
This weekend was odd. I didn’t cave to Adam and plans to Chattanooga imploded. He walked into our house with two cases of beer and obnoxiously said he was going to drink himself insane to spite Summer for what she did last weekend. By that he meant, getting obnoxiously drunk. “Well at least -she- wasn’t in her underwear,” I told him. He cornered me in the bathroom and asked if I hated him. I explained to him my taxi factor. I explained to him that I didn’t like the drugs in secrecy bit from two weekends ago.
At TGI Fridays he texted me beneath the table saying how he was “giving Summer a taste of his own medicine.” Heather showed up with her new girlfriend, Leanne, the Latvian, and Mike. And by the end of the meal and last round of drinks somehow an inebriated Adam convinced everyone to walk out without paying and forgot his phone in the process.
Danny pouted for most of the night. The rest of us played beer pong until the Mike left and the lesbians quartered up in my bed chambers. Summer and I had a conversation beneath the stars outside on the pavement of the cul-de-sac. “Maybe if we’re lucky a big mac will come and run us over.” I explained to her that this sort of thing doesn’t usually happen in residential areas. I took a couple of drafts from her Black & Mild and went inside to dip which is something Adam has been pestering me to try for a year now. Great nicotine high, but it made me really sick. I escaped to the bedroom while my iPod streamed a vibrantly somber blend to the kids playing Xbox and Summer who lounged around waiting for sleep to cloud her eyes.
I would have stayed there if Adam had not come to the room in efforts to get me up and ended up staying for damn near an hour talking about his addictions and demanding my advice of whether or not he and Summer should stay together.
The conversation ended with him offering coke as a truce as he pulled a small ziplock baggie from his back pocket. “Do you want some? It’s not particularly good but..” “Let’s just go downstairs Adam,” I told him with a peculiar look. He aims too much to please.
The next day Danny was back to normal. We took the lesbians & Summer home and had dinner at Taxco like normal. Back at home Adam didn’t stir until 11PM after we had come downstairs to watch movies after watching episodes of X-Men online for most of the afternoon. We watched the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie and Winter’s Bone which struck a chord with me seeing how truly trapped this girl was in her own sorry life. I thought it one of the best movies I’d seen all year.
* * *
And so Monday we talked. A good talk that ended badly when the last two hours were spent talking about the coke he had tried with Adam roughly ten times since July without me knowing. Somehow this bothered me.
And though no real conclusions were drawn the outcome was unspoken. That night, though I lay numb in bed wondering about everything and nothing, he was back to normal grasping at my torso pulling me closer in bed, wrapping his feet about my legs as though the gesture were his answer. “The problem is that you haven’t moved on. The problem is that you think if we’re not arguing that things are fine. The problem is that you get jealous with other guys when there is no obligation towards you on my part. The problem is I think you see more than there is.”
These thoughts resonated thru my head as I slept on my back with his arms tightly woven about me.
And the problem is that you have anchored yourself into my life to a point where I am drowning and the only way out is to give in.
* * *
But these thoughts were not about my head on the morning of Thursday, December 30th, 2010. For the incident the night before at London on Karl Johan was the beginning of the unraveling and evidence of my psychosis as explained by his ever-erratic behaviour.
And judge who you will, it was me that morning who felt numb to the world and barely felt the frost as it nipped at my cheek during the half hour walk to the hotel thru the ancient snowy streets of Oslo as my Hipstamatic hung close to my teeth.
It was like everyone in that quiet household simultaneously rose from their sleep. Checkout at the hotel was noon and we rolled out of bed sometime around 11am. Hakon was telling us instructions of how to walk to the Best Western and we were slipping on our boots and bundling our coats as he stood in the doorway with a dreamy look on his face.
We followed the rail line of the street car mostly in silence for several blocks. On this particular morning it was quite cold but there was no new snow flakes falling from the grey skies. At one point the roadway was blocked on one side forcing us to cross the street. Police tape had quartered off an area of the street. Upon inspection we noted the broken glass littering the sidewalk from what appeared to be an explosion from within some shoppe which lined the street. We found out later this evening for Marita's familiy that it was a robbery. A jewelry store perhaps? I stopped to snap photos like a tourist. My only regret is that the Hipstamatic doesn't have a Zoom lens so I was only able to get it from a distance.
Danny wanted to stop for a soda so we dashed quickly into a 7 Eleven where he paid 28 kroner for a Fanta which is roughly the equivalent of 5 US dollars. This is the typical price of things here. And the bottle was a bit smaller than our 20 ounce.
We walked mostly silently throughout the city streets of Oslo, my head was pounding worse with each step. The streets were mostly empty on this particular morning and I was thankful for I wanted to blend into the scenery.
After about fifteen minutes or so of walking aimlessly through the concrete jungle, we made it a park where tall leafless trees were scattered about a bleak, snowy landscape. It was beautiful and serene and evoked the same feeling that takes control while strolling thru Central Park. I find it comforting somehow that something so perfectly in tune with nature could exists past all of man's efforts to colonize the earth with their silly, meaningless structures.
We walked thru the park while I snapped photos to the east and west and we heard the sounds of music in the air. An accordion. It felt surreal like a movie set in Paris. That enveloping noise which turned my seething emotions to vapour. It was an old gentleman who sat beneath a tree lining one of the paved walkways. I fished into my pockets and found a few wandering kroner coins and tossed them into a tin cup that was placed about ten feet or so away from where he was playing. He smiled a genuine and lovely smile, nodded gently and continued playing. I smiled, snapped his photo and walked away.
It was that moment, this walk in the park, the sound of that beautiful accordion sonata, this old man that marked what I consider my favourite moment of the trip to Norway.
I caught up to Danny who was walking slowly a few paces ahead of me and took some photos of the royal palace. A large square building at the foot of Karl Johan. I remember Marita saying "for a castle, it certainly isn't all that pretty." And indeed it was a bit plain but large enough to find a bit of a marvel. The Hipstamatic drew photos of it as well as a large equestrian statue that rested in the courtyard at the head of the palace.
In the distance Oslofjorden loomed and I tried feverishly to capture it's beauty on film doing the best I could without a Zoom.
Finally at the hotel we packed and rested. Due to my ailing conditions, we extended the hotel stay for two more hours. This would allow time for resting.
I didn't really want to meet up with Thomas but we had made plans the evening before. Danny was trying his ultra sweet gig but I was too embarrassed about my argument at London the night before, too needlessly upset with him, and too maligned with a killing head aching to bother with him. In the end though, I succumbed to his encrypted advances and we had our way with one another across the bed thru the metronomic rhythm of the Flip and the noises from the street below the hotel window. We were able to get dressed just in time for Thomas' arrival.
"Best Western. hmm. Old building. You guys know this place is supposed to be haunted?" Guess we'd never know since we didn't spend the night here.
We checked out and headed back into the brightly lit streets sometime after 2pm. The plan was to go to one of the many H&Ms that dotted the street in order to buy a carry on bag for Danny so he could help relieve some of the stress my shoulder was feeling during the flight over here.
That plan failed. But we did spend about an hour in H&M. I bought a shirt, Danny picked up a sweater and Thomas walked around buying up random things in the store. Maybe this is the part where I should mention -I don't particularly like Thomas. Not that he's some horrible person or whatnot but he makes you feel really, really uncomfortable. As though his watchful eye is constantly upon you. He's very forward in his approach and there's a coldness about him I find a bit unnerving. I had made a fool of myself the night before when he interpreted an answer I had to one of his questions to mean: i bet you wish i was promiscuous so that you could sleep with me. Whatever the exact wording of the question or the answer I understood his interpretation only after he said "Well that's awfully conceited of you. To think that I'm into you."
I felt horrible and told him that couldn't have been further from what I meant. "Oh whatever," he said. But it make for one of the most awkward moments of my life. I think simply because I would never in a million years assume someone would find me that attractive but also because despite of the surface and subject matter of the conversation at hand, he does like me. This was common knowledge since the visit to Disney World when we met him. I grew silent after that.
Today was different, none of that awkwardness was residual, but still - there's something about him. Danny echoed my sentiment.
Thomas continued our brief "tour of the city" which was ending up like a shopping excursion we could have easily done without him.
We giggled our way thru a porn shoppe and then ended up in a souvenire shoppe where I bought Mother a plate, my grandmother a bell and a key chain for myself. I'm not much for typical souvenirs but I do try to at least pick up a collector's plate for mom wherever I go.
The shop keeper was a crazy old man who asked Thomas as we were perusing: "do you believe in god. If you don't then GOOD. religion is bullshit. Life is bullshit. None of this matters." He spouted on and on and out brashly about religion and politics and offering us his existential view on the world despite no one really fueling him on.
We had to dash to the train station to purchase our ticket and we nearly missed the train while standing around awkwardly in the station with Thomas waiting for the right moment to say goodbye. We dashed down a conveyor belt and entered the train about 30 seconds before they closed the doors.
To my surprise the train car was packed. We took a seat next to a black guy who kept smacking his gum and mumbling something on his cellular phone. If it hadn't hit quite so hard then that I wouldn't be able to film the ride back to Moss, when the train actually departed from the station and there was a jaw dropping view of Oslofjorden from where we sat in the train I could have cried. I wanted to make that stupid gum-smacking guy disappear. It's probably a ride he takes every day of his life but this was more than likely a one-time only ordeal for me. Nevertheless, somethings in life will simply remain regrettable and I never so much as snapped a photo. Breathtaking though. Of the fjord as it cut into the land. The rows of houses sitting atop the mountain. The sun was slowly setting.
The ride from Oslo to Moss was probably about 45 minutes. There was a sign in the rail car that displayed the temperature and the name of the next stop. We watched the temperature range from -8 to -10.
By the time we reached our stop the car was nearly completely empty. Everyone had disbanded at the various stops before ours. Marita said she would meet us at the station but that was pretty vague considering we didn't know quite where. We walked around in the snow and noticed cars parked alongside the roadway. There was a small corner shoppe - a convenient store that I wanted so badly to go in as shelter from the cold but Danny was afraid Marita would miss us.
We were definitely in her mercy and though we had sent her a message on Facebook earlier in Oslo, we had to just wait and hope that she hadn't forgotten about us. We knew that her mother wanted us for New Years dinner at 5 so it was improbable that she'd completely forgotten us.
About ten minutes later she surfaced in her little Opel with smiles for both of us. It's strange how it's starting to feel like home here. Being with Marita is comforting. It's like going on a trip but looking forward to the slipping back into the ease of existence back at home.
We went to a grocery store to pick up chocolate souvenirs for our people back in the States. Marita bought us some caviar spread which is apparently popular with the children and pointed to some salami slices that she was sure was "horse meat".
I bought six chocolate bars and Danny bought four. They were 2 for 5 (by US funds) and I figured everyone would like Freia - a huge brand of Norwegian chocolates. Danny always walks up to checkout counters as though he knows Norwegian. He just flubs his way thru the transaction. I establish right away by saying "hello" or "Thank you". Today at H&M the man that checked Danny out spoke something that I didn't understand. I asked him afterward "did that guy just speak to you in Norwegian?" to which he said 'yes'. "Why don't you just tell him that you don't understand?" And that's exactly what I had to do to the checkout girl at the grocer who recited the cost of my purchase in Norwegian.
New Years dinner at her Mother, Mona and Stepfather, Tom was a blast. Her family is so warm and open and funny. We were treated to the best turkey I have ever eaten. "We hope you like. We only have this for New Years." And there was vegetables and stuffing and of course, potatoes. Potatoes are always served boiled. Guests are expected to mash them and pour gravy over them and the meat. Her family plays host to great conversation. We spoke until late in the evening. Her handsome stepbrother, Jonas sat to my left, Marita and Tom sat across the table from us and Danny sat to my right followed by Tom and Mona. Christine and Thomas sat with baby Nickolai at the other side of the table beside Marita and Tom. Eventually Marita took Tom to work. Then Thomas dashed off.
The rest of us stayed and talked about American politics and the rich state of Norway. They spoke about how common holidays are here and their travels all about Europe. Turkey is beautiful. We love Greece. It was 20 bucks for a plane ticket to Ireland where we stayed the weekend. I just sat there with my mouth open in envy listening to all of their stories. Yes, it would appear that Europeans live a lot better than we do considering that a trip back home which is just about an hour plane ride will run me easily over $250 [if I'm lucky]. Egads.
Everything about Europe is better.
And once again we tried to make the understand the mindset of our tea partiers and the extreme right. We tried to shed some light on why Bush was elected for two terms in a row. And why for some reason that American tend to shed such a negative light on socialism. And really we came up empty. We couldn't justify our failing infrastructure to people who don't own the same mindset. To people who live so much better than we do. Healthier, happier. But that isn't to say that they were the least bit disrespectful. I never felt an anti-American sentiment. They just wonder how it was that such a beautiful country can get so many things wrong.
They do love to visit here. New York, of course, is revered by anyone who's had the pleasure of frequenting. And they loved Florida.
I never felt one air of haughty snobbery from any of the people we visited here. It was more like genuine naive fascination. And Danny and I had worked out the conclusion. America is a wonderful place to live if you're rich but for the poor, it's a hard, hard life.
Norwegians still feel a tinge of resentment toward the Germans who invaded Moss during the 2nd World War. But it's not the same resentment blacks and whites have with one another back at home. It's not the same stupid Rebel flag issue that we can't seem to get past in the South after over a hundred years. It made me resent the impending plane ride back at home even more. I didn't want to leave Norway. I wanted to stay here with Jonas and Marita and Mona and Christine and Tom who were all so kind to us that night.
Dessert was served and Danny and I fawned over how delicious it tasted despite how elementary the concept. It was simply fruit with cream. Apples, clementines, grapes, walnuts. When coming back home, I decided to try my hand at making it and we had eaten it after dinner for a solid week.
After Tom got us drunk on more potato vodka, Aquavit, and dark ale he headed for bed. But not before offering us a souvenir to take back home: a small bottle of Underberg which smelled awfully like Jager.
The rest of us took to more conversation around the kithen table while the fire place crackled in the living room and enjoyed one another's company for what it were realizing that soon the opportunity for palaver would be fleeting as we settled back into our mundane existence across the seas.
Eventually, things petered and we went home with Marita. But even a month later, a big part of me still wishes I was back in that household sitting by that fire and I long for words that say more than "hey let's drink tonight."