Neat Plans

Every night when he came home from work Jim would walk up to the edge of their bed, sit down softly, and watch his wife Linda sleep. That was his favourite part of the day, what he always looked forward to, the only thing he looked forward to. She looked different asleep, less like how she was and more like how she used to be. She’d stretch her arms out, let out a slight moan and rub her legs together. One hand would fall gently on her face and it would look like she was posing for a photo shoot. He’s just sit there and watch, never touching her, never letting her know he was back home.

Since he started his new job as a night porter at Holiday Inn the relationship had taken a strange turn. They didn’t argue before, but after he got the job that was all they did. They had both agreed that taking that job would work out best for both of them. They could save up money to buy a house and once they had that house they could go ahead and try to have a baby. It was all neatly planned out and had been moulded over by the two of them for a long time, over discussions and in their separate minds. When they talked about their plans to get a house and baby before the job there was always excitement in her voice. She looked like she had to concentrate real hard not to let all the happy feelings burst out of her in a parade of balloons, rainbows, sparkle and laughter. Seeing her excited and happy had always made him excited and happy, so no matter if it was a house, dog, baby or new car he would agree as long as he knew it was what she really wanted.

On the rare occasions they talked about it these days there would be no emotion. None at all. It felt more like a business plan. They were perfect for each other, that was the thing they always fell back on. They had the same interests, the same taste in music and films, and the same sense of humour. They shared all their friends. Everything they did they did together. When they made plans about the future, about holidays or what to have for dinner on the weekends it was always ‘we’. What do we want, what is best for us, what do we like. Maybe that had been the thing that finally messed things up, flipped things over. They were too perfect for each other; they fit so neatly it was dull to look at, and dull to be a part of. Yeah, that could have been it he thought, but it was just a guess.

The first few months of working as a night porter had been great. He got along superbly with the others at work. Not much happened so some nights he spent several hours reading. He’d gone through several novels at work. Wuthering Heights, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, It, Oliver Twist, he read all kinds of books as long as someone recommended them to him. It wasn’t always that quiet but it never got so busy he had to stress. When he came home those days he wouldn’t sit on the bed and stare at his wife, he’d crawl straight in after a shower and cuddle up close to her. They didn’t get to talk as much, but they made the best of what they had. Then after a while it got too much and the arguments started. They were never about anything important, just steam being let out, but it slowly broke down what they used to have.

Jim got up from the bed carefully made his way into the bathroom where he took a long hot shower. Afterwards he wrapped a dry towel around himself, made a tuna sandwich in the small kitchen and heated up a cup of coffee. Quietly he walked over to the comfy chair by the window and sat down, looking out of the apartment window. They had a small flat on the 13th floor in a not so shabby neighbourhood with a view over the whole city. The city was alive with lights. Cars drove up and down streets, neon signs blinked on endlessly, neighbours read crime novels by their night lamps. He couldn’t hear anything but the buzz of the heater, and he liked it that way.

After all the arguments they had lately he’d decided to change his routine. Instead of going to bed when he got home he stayed up until the morning instead, and only went to bed an hour or so before his wife had to wake up and go to work. He knew it wasn’t going to solve anything, avoiding his wife like that, but he’d had it with the arguments. He just couldn’t take it anymore, so he ran away from the problem like he had all his life. Now they only had little more than an hour in the day when both of them were at home and awake at the same time. Right after Linda got home from work, when Jim got ready to leave. They would have a quiet dinner together and then he would leave. Not talking to her didn’t make him feel happy, but at least he didn’t think about arguments all day at work. Linda hadn’t said anything about his change of routine. Before they argued over breakfast, after breakfast, and in the evening when she got home, now they just sat there, staring at their plates, exchanging small talk that they didn’t pay any real attention too.

He didn’t know how long they could stretch it out. He had thought about quitting his job and finding work another way, but didn’t want to take that step without talking to his wife and he didn’t talk to his wife these days. Deep down he hoped that the situation would solve itself somehow. He didn’t care how. It could be lottery money, a promotion to work the daytime shift, a treasure chest in the elevator, or a divorce. He didn’t care; he just wanted the damned arguing to stop.

Sunghost

By my desk in night-time
I saw a sunghost in the lamplight
Flying in circles
Looking for the sunshine

It spun a web in my mind
Saying there there it's alright
Get a good long rest tonight

It's been hell out in the sunshine
Blisters and itches
Long days and wishes
Longing for future good-times
I fast forward life

Nervous laughter fills my insides
Thinking about you
Makes it alright

There's nothing I can say
There's nothing I can do
Just sit and dream of your sunsmile
Longing for future good-times
Somehow, that makes it alright

My empty bed in the lamplight
Only half-ful at night-times
Saying there there it's alright
Get a good long rest tonight

Walkabout

I did something today I should have done a long time ago. I finally took a walk through town, visiting all the spots from my past. Quite some time ago I made a plan of action, a map in my head of where I should walk, then I left it behind me stepping outside. I don’t know why I abandoned my route, it just kind of happened. I thought of a place and there I went. The plan was just there to help me remember not to forget, I guess.

Chewing a sweet mint gum frantically I put on my shades and walked with determined steps towards my first stop. I chose the old neighbourhood and the flat my family first moved to when we left the sprawling metropolis of Gothenburg. The walk there was quite dull. No anticipation, no monsoon of memories crashing around me like I had imagined. I just walked with the iPod turned on, sending sweet tunes through my brain. I started daydreaming like I always do when I’m walking along to music. The daydreams didn’t contain anything of interest, just your average I wish I was there, I wish I could do that, I wish I could play this.

I walked up the hot pavement alongside a road, the same route I used to walk when I was a kid heading for school at the ass-crack of dawn. Maybe that’s why it didn’t spark any beautiful magic in me. All I connect with that route is I’m-so-tired-I-don’t-wanna-go-to-school-kill-me-now. Even a nostalgic like me can’t find any joy in that. The road leads all the way from the flat I’m living in now to my old neighbourhood. You don’t see much on the way. There’s houses, more houses, an intersection, the church tower in the distance, more houses, more houses, more houses, houses and another intersection. When I came to intersection number two I realized this trip was long overdue. I was at the edge of my old neighbourhood, looking out over a field of memories.

My pace slowed down unintentionally to the point where it felt like time was slowly sucking me back to then. I passed the grape red apartment house where my grandparents used to live and walked up behind the yellow apartment house I used to call home. A three room flat with one kitchen and the pinkest bathroom in the history of bathrooms. In the miniature backyard is a rock sticking out of the ground like a small whale breaking the surface. Seeing that rock made me smile. I didn’t connect it to any important flashes from the past, but I remembered I used to play out there alongside my brother for hours, armed with plastic toys and cool shaped stones. It fit the tiny little action figures perfectly. The rock could be a ship, a giant mountain with a cliff, a battle field, it didn’t matter. Thinking about it I’m amazed at how much fun a rock can be, but there you have it. That was years before my Super Nintendo.

Having found myself grinning like the Grinch with a fixed stare at a rock in someone else’s backyard, I decided it was time to head to the next place. Only a moment’s walk from that place was my dad’s old apartment, where he lived when my parents got a divorce. My brother and I spent our time half and half between his and moms place. I walked and before I could even try to remember it I saw the old familiar wooden building in the distance, covered in the same damn yellow as the place before. For some reason I checked if his name was still on the mailbox. I knew it wasn’t going to be but I had to make sure. If I didn’t check I would have still been thinking about it. I strolled up to the door, tried to peek inside but all I got was my own reflection. It was hard to comprehend that another family lived there now. Other people called it home. It made me feel a bit strange. I wanted to kick down the door, run up the stairs to the kitchen and scream ‘get out of my dad’s apartment you damned squatters’, but I restrained myself. I wouldn’t have done anyone any good. Instead I walked away slowly, glad that I finally got to say goodbye to that place. As I began to walk away I noticed that a large raincloud hovered not far behind me. In fact, the whole sky was covered in them but the sun was still beating down on me. I don’t know how I managed, but I didn’t get a single drop of rain on me the entire walk. It’s not such an amazing thing, I know, though it still added to the surreal feeling rushing through me. I was back where I grew up, visiting places that used to be my entire world, and the sun kept shining on me even though a storm was coming from all directions.

I decided then that I wanted to explore the woods where I used to play. Back in the 90’s and early 2000 when I was a miniature version of myself I hung around a lot in the woods. It was the perfect place for a boy that age. You could build tree houses, have stick-fights, play hide and seek or pretend that you were a dinosaur in a prehistoric world. I miss those days. Now it seems I’m much harder to please. Back then all I needed was a stick, a forest and a couple of friends and I had the adventure of a lifetime.

I entered the woods that divided my dad’s old area from the larger neighbourhood and quickly found an old path, a shortcut I used to take on my way to and from school. It led me past the clearing where I once stood face to face with a moose, through some plants where I had the distinct feeling hundreds of snakes were lurking, ready to strike if I stepped too close, and then into the troll-home. The troll-home is a part of the woods that’s strangely spacious. Tall pine trees cover out the sun like a ceiling and act as walls that keep the wind away and block out any sound from the surrounding area. The reason it’s called the troll-home escapes me now. It could be because the whole area looks like a huge room with wooden pillars, or it could also be related to the fact that me and my friends found oversized clothes lying around in there. Once we dug up a knitted sweater size XXXXXL from underneath a pile of twigs, another time we found a scarf the length of a large car, and there have been several occasions where we uncovered socks that could fit our heads like hats. I still have no idea how all those clothes got in there, or why they were so huge. Maybe trolls used to really live there before me and my friends took over the forest. I left on quick legs, hoping a troll wouldn’t run out after me, ready to smite me with a huge stick.

I was back in my old neighbourhood, at the opposite end of my first stop. After a moment of consideration I decided to cross straight over and head towards another forest that kept a sweet secret: the best climbing tree in the entire world. I passed the garages and two more apartment houses then crossed the road.

The other forest is a much larger one, stretching way out into the countryside. It used to be the ultimate place for stick-wars. One team would hold up the hill with the climbing tree, whilst another would attack from down below, armed with bucket loads of pinecones. We’d clash on the slope, throwing pinecones like grenades whilst taking cover behind trees. I walked slowly through the former battlefield and up towards the hill with the tree on top. The air felt cool and smelled clean, like air should smell. The soft ground put a spring in my step which made me feel like I was floating to my destination. However, when I got closer to the hill I saw something in the distance that I didn’t like the look of. Something gray and blue, right next to my old climbing tree. I slowed down and approached the site quietly. When the tree was within my field of vision I saw what it was, a fucking tent. Someone had the guts to camp right next to my tree. I couldn’t believe it. I thought about taking up a habit of my past and bombard the tent with pinecones, but the adult in me decided against it. Instead I just crept as close as I could, took a long good look at the tree, then told myself I could come back some other time and climb it. You can’t have it all, unfortunately.

Back on the paved path again I took site of the church tower once more and decided to head towards it. I didn’t really spend any time up there as a kid, mainly because churches are boring, but also because the graveyard was rumoured to be haunted.

My dad told me a story once, or maybe it was my mom, that either me or my brother Robin once saw a ghost up there. One of us, probably Robin come to think of it, was sitting in a baby carriage with dad pushing it. When they passed a path that led up towards the church my baby brother pointed and said something like ‘look at that man up there’, but when my father looked there wasn’t anyone there, not a single soul, just trees and the wind blowing up leaves from the ground. I imagine it was just an imaginary friend of his, but my dad was convinced Robin had seen a ghost. His heart jumped up in his throat and grabbed hold of his adams apple so hard he had to leave right away.

That very path was the one I walked up towards the church, but unfortunately I didn’t run into any ghosts, just a hedgehog wishing I would leave him or her alone. I walked through a black iron gate and up to the old white church. It wasn’t much to look at so I decided to just take a quick walk around it and then head down the other side. When I reached the opposite side I heard an old familiar sound: the sound of the apocalypse. Two fighter jets flew by faster than a bullet and they made the most horrifying sound. It’s hard to describe it if you’ve never experienced it first hand, fighter jets flying that low, but it sounded like I imagine a comet would that’s heading straight towards your house. That’s what I thought it was every time I heard it as a kid. I must have watched Armageddon a few times too many, but I was seriously convinced the end of the world was coming along with that sound. This time when I heard it I imagined North Korean nukes heading towards my quaint little town. Same story, different ending.

Leaving the church grounds I couldn’t think of anywhere else do go, so in a desperate attempt of finding something else of interest I started following an old lady a few steps in front of me. This probably sounds creepier than it was. I just had a feeling that she would lead me somewhere good, and she did. She walked down the road, took a right and led me straight up to an old familiar building. I let her walk alone from there and took a closer look at the back of the place. I went right up to a door I walked through many times in my childhood. The old scout meeting place, located in the cellar floor of a day-care centre. A sign in the window let me know that there would be no more scout meetings this summer, but that they were still going strong and would start meeting up again after the summer holidays. I wondered if any of my old scout leaders were still at it. Strong minded as they were I wouldn’t be surprised to see them if I ever went back.

Once I finished trying to look into the windows of my past I decided to call it a day. I sat down in the couch at home, flipped the switch for the TV and took a large chug out of a juice box. I sense a lot more walks around town this summer.

Yesterday

“What do you remember from yesterday?” asks the woman in the white coat. I tell her I remember playing in the hay with my brother. I remember the smell of the farm animals and heat of the summer sun. Mom made lemonade and we drank it out in the back the whole family. Me, Al, mom, dad and grandma, but mom and dad didn’t have lemonade, they had tea and grandma had something that smells really strong and makes her cheeks red. I have tea sometimes but only when I’m tired and I don’t like it as much as lemonade. The homemade lemonade is the best, which is the kind we had yesterday. I remember it was a Sunday, because mom listened to that preacher on the radio, but if it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t have known since its summer, which means no school, which means that most days are like the one that came before. Only the weather changes and the food we eat. We had roast beef with potatoes for dinner. Then I watched TV with my brother all evening until we had to go to bed because it was getting late.

“What is your brother’s name?”

“Alan”, I say, “but people call him Al”.

My voice sound strange, like grandpas voice before he passed and went to heaven. I try to clear my throat but it makes no difference.

“And how old is your brother?”

“He’s six in three months,” I tell her. She gives me a look like I did something wrong like look up her skirt or smack one of the other kids at school.

“Can you tell me what your name is?”

“I’m Luke, Luke Rubens. Hey miss, why does my voice sound all old?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” she says, so I put it out of my mind. I’m good at doing that, putting things out of my mind.

She scribbles for a while in her pad. I look around the room and see nothing but the bed I’m in and the woman in her chair. White walls, white ceiling with very bright lights and a brown door leading to a different universe for all I know.

“Where am I, miss...?”

“I’m Mrs Brooks, but its Dr Brooks now that I’m working.”

“Ok. Where am I Dr Brooks?”

“You’re in a hospital Mr Rubens, but no more questions now. It’s really important that I get to ask my questions first and then maybe I can give you some answers.”

Mr Rubens? No one has ever called me mister before. I try to sit up in bed but my hands and legs are stuck somehow. I can’t see why because the white blanket is covering them.

“But, what am I doing in a hospital?”

“Please, just lie still and answer my questions so we can get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Ok.” I figured I should just do what she says and then maybe I’ll get my answers. She seems even more stubborn than dad, I can tell just looking at her face.

“Now, Luke, can you tell me how old you are?”

She clicks the top of her pen impatiently when I tried to remember. I remember Al is almost six, and I’m twice his age but my birthday is earlier, so that must make me twelve. I can’t believe how hard it was to remember that, but I guess it was one of those brainfarts mom keep blaming her memory on.

“I’m twelve. Why are you asking all these questions? Can’t my parents tell you my name and how old I am?”

She repositions herself in the chair and sighs.

“That’s just how we do things here alright, I didn’t make the rules.”

I guess I can’t blame her for following the rules. When I switched schools because I moved up a grade last year I got told off so bad for not raising my hands when I had a question or knew the answer to something. I had a hard time learning that I was supposed to raise my hand because we didn’t do that at all at my old school so it took a few tries for me to remember. The teacher, Mr Burke, got so angry after a while he slapped me on my wrist with a ruler. That’s against the rules these days though, and I told my parents who told the principal who then fired Mr Burke. I can understand if she has to follow the rules, maybe someone will slap her on her wrist if she doesn’t. She finished scribbling on her pad and then looked at me for just a few seconds too long.

“Luke, do you know what year it is?”

“It’s 1986.”

That one was way easy, if she keeps on asking questions like this I’ll get out of here in no time I bet. She turns her head down and starts writing again, and this time she wrote for a very long time, like five minutes maybe more. I stayed quiet all the time but I know she was writing more stuff than my answer. It doesn’t take five minutes to write four numbers.

“What are your parent’s names?”

“Mom and dad? Mom’s name is Alice and dad’s name is Robert but most people call him Bob, except for mom who calls him honey, but I don’t think it’s because he likes honey, he’s definitely not a bear.”

Dr Brooks smiled and scribbled some more. It was nice to see her smile; she looked a lot nicer when she smiled.

“Can you remember your grandma’s name?”

“I just call her grandma, I don’t really know what her real name is. Everyone calls her grandma, even mom and dad, so maybe that is her real name, I dunno.”

Dr Brooks repositions herself and scribbles some more. She’s a very pretty woman come to think of it, but the stern expression and doctors clothes made you not think of it as much. As I was admiring her long legs a knock came from the door and she got up, told me she’d be just a moment, and stepped outside. I could hear muffled voices from outside, Dr Brooks and someone else, a man. The door opened after a short while and Dr Brooks stepped inside again followed by a young man in his late twenties wearing a black suite with his hair in a ponytail. I figured he was maybe a police detective or a secret agent or something, they dress like that.

“Is it alright if James here joins us for a while, Luke?” asks Dr Brooks.

“Sure. Hello James.”

“Hello granp... Luke.” He looks like he wanted to speak some more but didn’t so I looked back over at Dr Brooks. She was smiling an uneasy smile at James and I had no idea what was going on.

“Mr Rubens, Luke I mean, has been very good, haven’t you Luke?”

“You told me to answer your questions so that’s what I’m doing is all. I don’t want you to get your wrist slapped too.” She smiles again and looks at her pad.

“Now Luke, I wanted to try something different today so I called James here and asked him to come in earlier today. I thought I’d ask you a few questions about him and see if you can get any right, OK?”

“Alright,” I say. I have no idea why I would know anything about Alan but maybe she’s testing to see if I’m clairvoyant or something.

“I want you to look straight at James’ face, can you do that for me, and see if he reminds you of anything.” See if he reminds me of anything, what did she mean by that? I looked straight at James’ face just like she told me, for a long time, but noting special sprung to mind. He had the same hair colour as dad, really dark black hair, but that was it, maybe the same kind of chin too, but I knew he wasn’t family so I didn’t mention that. All the time I was looking at him he looked like he was trying really hard not to cry, something I found a bit creepy to be honest.

“He looks like a secret agent or police detective to me, that’s what he reminds me off.”

“No, that’s not what I meant Luke. I meant does he stir up any memories maybe, memories that the two of you share?”

“Never seen him before.” It was true, I hadn’t until he walked through the door today.

“James,” Dr Brook said in a very calm voice, “could you show Luke the picture you have in your wallet?”

James nodded and started going through his pockets for his wallet. He pulled a small photograph out of one of the compartments and held it up in front of me. I tried to move closer to see it better because my eyesight wasn’t working properly I just noticed but my hands and feet were still stuck somehow under the blanket.

“Dr Brooks, I’m stuck somehow. I can’t move my hands or feet. I can’t move up to get closer to the picture so I can see. I can’t see it from here because something strange has happened to my eyes, it’s all blurry.”

“I know Luke. We’ve restrained you to the bed so that you won’t hurt yourself, alright?”

“Why would I hurt myself?”

“You’ve tried to before”, she said and sighed. “James, can you please move the picture closer to Luke’s face?”

I have no memories of ever trying to hurt myself. Dr Brooks had obviously got the wrong guy tied up in bed, she’d made some huge mistake, but I thought I’d better just do as she said until my parents got here and can cleared up this whole misunderstanding.
James moved the picture closer and it came into focus. In the picture stood an old man, maybe sixty or seventy, with his arm around a boy that looked a lot like James with the ponytail. The two of them were standing in a field in front of a farm. I looked closer and noticed that the farm in the background was mom and dad’s farm, my house, where I lived.

“Hey, I live there, that’s my home in the background!”

“Very good Luke, yes it is. Now, can you tell me anything else about the picture?”

“Well,” I said “that boy looks like James here, buy younger.”

“Great! You’re right again, that is James almost ten years ago, isn’t that right James?”

“Yepp, that’s me alright,” he said with a big smile on his face and still tears hiding in his eyes.

“Now,” Dr Brooks started again, “can you tell me who the old man in the picture is Luke?”

“Never seen him before. Hey Alan, how come you took a picture in front of my home? That’s a bit weird. I know you don’t live there because that farm has been in my family for generations.”

“Can’t you see who it is?” James said. Now he wasn’t holding back tears anymore, they were flowing down his face. I wondered what could possibly have made him so upset. He was the one who had crept onto my parent’s property with an old man and taken a picture in front of our house. Dr Brooks walked over to James and put her hand on his shoulder and asked him if he wanted to leave but he shook his head and answered no in-between sobs.

“Maybe we should call it a day,” said Dr Brooks after a few moments of silence.

“Does that mean I get to go home now?”

“No, I’m afraid you can’t go home just yet Luke. You just try to get some rest, alright?”

Get some rest? She can’t do this to me; she can’t keep me away from home and from my parents. I started struggling, trying to get out of the restraints. I didn’t want to be here anymore, I didn’t want to answer any more questions and I didn’t want to rest, I wasn’t even tired.

“Let me out so I can go home to my parents!” I screamed and I squirmed around in my bed. James stood up and leaned in over me and started hugging me real close, and then he cried even louder. I didn’t know what was happening but I didn’t like it.

“Get the fuck off of me! Why are you hugging me you weirdo, leave me alone! I want to go home to my parents.”

“You can’t go to your parents,” he cried, “you can’t go because they’ve been dead for years, alright? I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me grandpa. It’s me, James, your grandson. Oh god, what has happened...”

James cried and cried and I couldn’t shake him off of me. He was obviously crazy, thinking I’m his grandpa.

“I’m younger than you for chrissake you fucking mental case! Get away from me, get me my parents.”

No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get out of the restraints. My arms and legs were aching, but I wasn’t going to stop. I had had it with this place. Dr Brooks had run into the hallway and came back inside now with two large men in white robes. They pushed James to the side, thank God, but then they pinned me down and Dr Brooks put a needle in my arm and pushed whatever was inside of it in me. I instantly felt my whole world get fuzzy. My blurred eyes got even more blurred until I couldn’t see anymore. I heard James crying still, and Dr Brook telling him to “calm down, come tomorrow he won’t remember a thing again. That’s how this works, it goes in cycles.“

My body went limp and soon after all the sounds slowly went away.

Going Back in Time

Going back to live where you grew up is like going back in time. Every street I walk down, every familiar tree, path and house shoots old memories right into my skull. It’s almost overwhelming sometimes. It scares me to remember how much I forgot and it amazes me how much comes back.

Even thought I was born and lived for a few years in Gothenburg, the earliest memories I have that I know are real are from this place; a small village that used to be my whole world. This is where my younger brother grew up from his baby stage. This is where I rode my first two-wheeled bike, a blue BMX that was close to the coolest thing I had ever laid eyes on. I went through kindergarten, and all levels of grade school here. I made friends that I still have today. My first and only experience of shoplifting happened just down the street from where I am now. I stole a chocolate bar and then made myself feel guilty for weeks. I don’t even think I ate it. I could keep on like this for hours. New things fly at me daily, almost by the hour.

Thinking about the eight months I spent in England it feels like it could all have been pretend. It’s hard to imagine living there now that I’m back in Sweden. I do know a few things now that I didn’t know before. I know I never want to live in England again. I know London is just a nice place if you visit it for a while and I know for sure I want to be a writer, though the trip didn’t help me realize that. When I came to London and moved into the student flat the excitement was pumping through my veins so thick I worried about exploding. I had my Creative Writing course to look forward too. I had my girlfriend in the room next door. I had all of London to explore and I was hoping to make a lot of friends. Needless to say things didn’t work out the way I wanted them too. In fact, the only two things that kept me from going insane were my girlfriend and the thought of going back home. Now she’s back in America and I’m here, wishing I could have the cake and eat it too.

I’ve always said that if I got the choice to go back in time I wouldn’t do it. It just wouldn’t be the same thing. Going back to live where you grew up isn’t really the same thing as going back in time, but it’s as close as it gets. I still wouldn’t go back in time if I had the choice. Seeing this place again, all the hundreds of things that’s stayed the same and the few things that’s changed I think travelling back in time, like going back here, could be a tad bit bittersweet. There’s on one hand all the nostalgia, which is a great feeling, but there’s also a feeling of loss that comes with it. You remember a time when you were young, carefree and in a sense happier because of it. Those memories are great, but the thing about memories is that that’s all they are. You can never get them back, no matter how much you’d like too. Living in the past is just not healthy.

I don’t feel like I’m living in the past by going back here. I’m living my current life in the setting of my past. It’s a strange feeling, and I’m guessing it’ll keep on being strange for as long as I stay here. Then again, I’ve always liked it when things are strange. It boosts my creativity and need to write like any trip back in time would.

The Tower

It's summertime, hot like the livingroom during winter, but brighter than any winters day. There's not a single cloud as far as you can see. You're 11 years old, one third of your dad's age, but not nearly as old as your ancient grandpa. Grandpa could be anywhere between 80 and 120, but you're not entirely sure, and he never tells you when you ask. He's lying in a deckchair next to you wearing blue shorts that cover his bellybutton, soaking up the sun that turns him a strange brown-orange shade. You're also wearing blue shorts but your waist is below the bellybutton. You wonder if yours will be higher up when you become a grandpa too.

You sit up and look over towards the public pools. There is one small pool that only reach to your knees. Your mother is standing in it trying to keep your baby sister from drowning. Then there is the long pool where dad and other parents swim back and forth for no particular reason. How he can find that amusing is beyond you. Finally there's the tower, where all the old kids, the cool kids, including your older sister, dive and play with their lives. You know you're not allowed to even think about jumping from that tower, which is unfair since your older sister can and she's just 4 years older than you. Your sister never jumps though; she doesn't dare. She just stands up there talking to boys. You want to sneak over to the tower and jump, but making your way past grandpa, mom, dad, and then your sister is a near impossibility.

You lie back down again and pretend that you're up there at the top of the tower. Your sister has never even jumped, but you will. Everyone is watching as you prepare for glory. You count down from three. Three, two, one, and then you jump. The fall is slow and you manage to do five somersaults, two corkscrews and then dive head first straight into the pool like a seagull coming in for the kill. You emerge from the water the coolest 11 year old in the world and everyone saw it. Applause, applause and free ice-cream for the awsomest of the awesome.

Grandpa rolls over next to you, exposing his crack which brings you back to reality, but you can't shake the fantasy. You want to beat your sister to jumping from the tower. You want to be the first for once, the best of the best. Slowly you sit up and look around. Everyone's still where they were before but now grandpa is asleep, snoring. Your baby sister just managed to smack another baby in the face with a green rubber ring and mom has to take her out of the pool. She picks her up and starts walking towards the changing rooms. Poop, you think, she's made a poop. This could be your chance for glory. Two down, two to go. You stand up slowly, tighten the lace on your shorts and then run as fast as you can over to the baby pool. When you reach it you throw yourself into the water and splash the baby your sister just smacked, but there is no time for apologies. You have to lie down to hide from your dads’ field of vision. Here he comes, swimming in your direction again. As soon as he turns around you arise and slowly sneak behind him towards the tower, ninja style. He doesn't notice, he's too busy keeping his head above water whilst swimming in a straight line.

You've reached the tower, but it isn't over yet. As you stand at the bottom of the ladder you start to doubt yourself. Is this really such a good idea? There must be a reason for mom and dad to not let me go up there. Whatever reason they have you let it slide when visions of your five somersaults, two corkscrews and perfect dive comes back into your head. You grab hold of the handlebar and place your foot on the first step. It's warm, sticky and hurts the bottom of your foot but each step you take towards the top of the tower is easier than the one before. You pass the fist diving board where a kid from your class is contemplating jumping or not. He sees you and move out of the way, thinking you'll want to jump before him, but you carry on upwards. You reach the second diving board, the highest one your older sister dares to jump from. You keep on climbing all the way to the top. There stands your sister, leaning against the metal bars with her freckly fat friend, talking to some blonde boy from the 8th grade. She spots you and her jaw drops.

“You're not allowed up here,” she says, "you're just a kid.

You hear the words, but they don't register. Her mouth keeps moving, spitting insults and warnings, but you can't hear a thing. All you can hear is the call of the water, the applause, the glory, oh the glory.

The blonde boy takes a step back and smiles one of those you're-going-to-die smiles. You walk over to the edge and look down. The water glistens in the sunshine, just like grandpa's bald head. You can't really tell how far up you are. Looking down the water seems to be coming closer, than sinking further away, then coming closer again, like an optical illusion. You're not afraid, not in the slightest.

“Grandpa!” you scream from the top of your lungs, “wake up, I'm going to jump!”

Grandpa hears you and sits up with a twitch. He looks over at your deckchair, then towards your mother, who is now emerging from the changing room with your baby sister. Then he stands up and walks over to the pool where your dad is and asks him something you can't hear.

“I'm up here!” you shout, and now all of them can hear and see you.

Grandpa staggers backwards at the sight of you on top of the tower. Your mom almost drops your baby sister and has to sit down on a bench. Your dad flies up from the water like a seal, point at you and scream something that sounds like mom's a bear!

“What?!” you scream back and then you hear it more clearly.

“DON'T YOU DARE!”

But it's too late, you've counted to three and you're in the air, slowly rising at first and then sinking faster and faster towards the surface. You're Robin from Batman, no you're Batman, no you're Superman, no, WOLVERINE! Splash! The water smacks hard against your back. The pain is a thousand times worse than anything you've ever felt before. You can't move and you sink further and further down. There's no glory down here, no applause, no air, just pain. Incredible, unimaginable pain. Dad suddenly appears in front of you and brings you up to the surface. You cough, choke and can feel tears well up in your eyes. Your sister has climbed down from the tower and is now standing next to you, quiet, waiting. Grandpa takes a look at your back and tells you it's as red as blood.

“Awesome,” your sister exclaims, "that was fucking awesome”

“No it wasn't," your mom says, but you know it was.

You're not just some kid anymore, you're cool now. You jumped from the top of the tower. The rumour will spread and kids from all over school will know about this. You know this will happen because you know what a mouth your sister has. You'll be worshipped by everyone. There will be statues of you all over the world. Films will be made, songs sung, books written, all in your glory.

Oh the glory...

Just Another Day in London

She leaves England today. In an hour and a half we'll be on our way to Heathrow. I'll see her off, and then make my way back to the flat on my own and spend three days without her here before it's my turn to leave. The first and last days I'll ever spend living in London on my own. She goes back home to the US, I go back home to Sweden, and after a week time folds into itself and it'll all be some strange dream. Memories are tricky, the more you go over them the more they change. Minor details at first, then all the minor details change a large detail and after a few years the whole memory could be a fantasy and no one is the wiser.

This morning was the last time we woke up next to each other here. The night was the last night we shared a bed in this place. It all sounds so monumental when I mention it. It should be monumental since we've been here for eight months now, but it doesn't feel special. No matter how hard I try, it's just another day in London. I can't remember what I dreamt, breakfast was bland, like the day before the day before the day before.

She packs, she vacuums, she tidies up. I wait. Just when we are ready to leave she finds out her flight has been cancelled. We can put you on a flight tomorrow, they say. Now follows another day filled with last-times. Will this one feel different from today?

The Haunted Island

* Written by Dad in 1992, 1993 or 1994. I found another short story by my father lying around. This one is actually in English so I've copied it to here word by word without changing a thing. Enjoy.

When I awoke, everything was silent. Only a gentle breeze was blowing. I was lying on the shore where the stormy sea had taken me. My throat was dry and I had a terrible headache. And I knew I was the only one who had survived the journey. The journey away from him. The sea had taken all my friends. Here I was all alone on this beautiful island. Or was I? A thought crossed my mind. What if he...? I began to shiver.

I felt hungry and my throat was burning. But what could I eat? I began to walk up towards the jungle-like vegetation in front of me, when suddenly someone started to sing. Oh God, no! It was him... he had found me. It was... THE TAXMAN. I heard him sing these terrible words.

Let me tell you how it will be.
It's one for you nineteen for me.
'Cause I'm the ... Oh no! I cried out.
If you move your feet I'll tax the street.
If you lie in the sun I'll tax the heat.
I'm the TAXMAN... shit.

I turned around and ran down the beach. There was no time to look for food. I jumped into the water. I was going to join my friends. As I started to sink I thought I saw John Lennon ride by in his Yellow Submarine.

Untitled #9

From here to there is never near
When you walk is when you grow
In our heads words no one can hear
Telling us where to go

Be careful where you put your feet
You could step straight in some bullshit
Wipe it off and walk away
Whatever it is, it's not worth it

Voyeur

I watched myself wake up this morning from the eyes of an African mask hanging on my wall. At first I thought I was still dreaming, but I soon realized that I was very much awake. Awake, but not where I was supposed to be. My body sat up straight in the bed, rubbed its eyes and looked straight at me. Did it see me? I hoped so, I hoped that whatever was going on inside my body it would realize that something was wrong and somehow fix this problem, but it did nothing. It looked at me and it looked straight through me, it saw nothing. My body stepped into the bathroom.

Now suddenly I was inside of the mirror staring back at myself. I was stuck in the mirror world and my body was on the other side, walking around in reality. I started getting scared, terrified, that I'd be stuck here forever. I felt like voyeur peeking through from this reality into my old reality. I wondered what was going on inside my body's head. Was there another me in there oblivious to all of this? My body seemed to be acting normal. It brushed its teeth, swirled its mouth out with Listerine, took a leak, washed its hands and then it stared straight at me, straight into my eyes and again, nothing. I wanted to jump up and down, I wanted to scream “Look at me, I'm right here, can't you see that something is wrong?” But I couldn't do anything. I was just a pair of eyes, jumping from place to place. I was monitoring myself through hidden cameras and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was back in the African mask again and watched my body hug and kiss my girlfriend and I felt jealous. I wanted to get revenge on my body, but my feelings meant nothing in this place. I watched them both walk down the hallway and out into the world from an invisible camera hovering slightly behind them, like a fly on the wall. I saw them walking down the street towards the bus stop, laughing and holding hands, from the eyes of a pigeon on a rooftop, from the eyes of a dog tied to a light post, from inside of a poster glued to a concrete wall. I watched them step onto a bus and sit down next to each other. My eyes were the security cameras, flickering from one shot to the next, and I kept wondering what they were doing when I couldn’t see.

Watching them sit still on the bus holding hands I started wondering again, wondering what the hell had happened to me. There was obviously some sort of consciousness stuck inside of my body since it talked and acted just like me, but it clearly wasn’t me. How or whatever it was though, it was enough like me for my girlfriend not to notice a difference. I came to the conclusion that there were two identical me, one in my body and the other one watching. I wondered if the me now inside of my body had made a mistake somehow and taken the wrong one. Maybe he also had a body just like the one I was seeing, but in some other world where I couldn’t go, or maybe he spent his time where I was spending mine now, watching from the sidelines unable to do anything. Had he found a way to switch places with me?

I was longing for some control, to be able to walk around. I didn't care if I ended up in the body of a 90-year old woman. I just wanted to be able to approach my body and my girlfriend. I wanted to tell them about my situation. I would explain everything, and the me inside of my body would realize what a horrible mistake had been made and give my body back. If only they could find out about this I wouldn't be alone, I wouldn't feel as stuck. Unfortunately all I had ended up inside so far were cameras, posters, animals and other things that couldn't communicate like humans.

My body and girlfriend took the tube to Camden Town and shopped for Christmas presents. I stared at them laughing, talking, kissing and hugging from everywhere. She picked up a teddybear and stared straight into my eyes. She held me and then put me down again like I was nothing. I stared straight at her again from an old grainy photograph in a pile of hundreds in a some antiques shop. She didn't see me and I didn't know what to think any more. I didn't even know how I could think. Here I was, stuck in some weird in-between world. Watching and thinking was all I could do. I wondered how long I would be stuck like this. A day? A Week? A Month? A Year? Forever? I had no known way of reversing this and no ideas were forming.

I watched them buy some things for themselves and a few Christmas presents for family and friends. I felt angry that my body got to pick out presents for my friends and family without me having a say. I felt hungry. I felt like I had to pee. I felt very alone.

The two of them went home and cooked, wrote in their journals, read and then eventually went to bed. There they were, my body and girlfriend, asleep in their underwear hugging in my bed, and I was stuck on in an African mask on my wall, unable to even blink. My body woke up for a bit and went into the bathroom. I watched him from the mirror again. He took a leak, washed his hands and then he looked straight me again. He smiled and I knew then that he knew.