Meeting the parents

....so how would I describe Jörn’s family? Definitely the word “Dramatic” suits them, as Jörn aptly characterized

I find I melt into the corner here to write this into my phone completely lost in the sea of their rapid fire Swedish conversation. I cannot follow any of it. Here and there a word but then their words mean other things and instead I fall into a daze

He is right how he has explained them to me in earlier conversation. His father, Josef— I’m not sure I spelled that right.... he has a loud voice and he commands a lot of attention. Do I like him? It is a funny thing because I have not had a ‘father figure” in my life for at least twenty years—nor mother so..... that it feels .... so weird

Do I like his father....? Yes. Which is a foreign concept to me. Perhaps his foreignness too allows me to want to feel I can trust him. Without saying a word to me, Josef looked at me as I came into the apartment in this way that reminded me of how my grandfather used to look at me right before he pinched my cheek. I think it was this that made me instantly like his father. He said something to Jörn in Swedish looking at me and then Jörn replied something as he also then looked at me too.

I wonder what they said....?

But I sit here writing as they loudly discuss some performance they are preparing to do with such bravado that I swear, I feel like I am watching a Bergman film. I don’t really need the subtitles, their faces are so expressive and their inflection on words.... well, it makes me wonder why anyone even needs words.

What do I think of his mother? Elsa. I think I am a bit frightened of her even as she fascinates me, somehow. But I do like her even though she terrifies me.

They are both characters I would put in one of my stories so it helps to write about them here as I can use this for later ....Elsa has good taste in color and I notice this first as an artist; she knows how to dress so that you hardly think of her age; she’s quite beautiful; so as an opera singer she seems aware of what impact her presence can create along with her physical self. She walks into every room like she’s walking on stage. Her hand gestures amuse me. I can see this is where Jörn gets it from. Have I mentioned this about Jörn? I don’t remember but— they all do alot of hand gestures

and they walk as they speak as if in soliloquy

Not to be such a flaneur but they truly set the stage for quite a lot of material for writing so I hide in the corner well amused as I write analyzing them provided with such material

Andreas has told them all about who my real father is but I wish he would not because I still feel like it is a holy secret I kept for my mother.

I think Josef sensed this about me and.... it was something he did right after Andreas went to get his phone to show his pictures he took of the statue of him.

It was so subtle but he stood up from the chair and walked over to me; Jörn’s mother was busy beside Jörn at the piano looking over sheet music so.... as he played and she sang; her voice bouncing off the walls....

well, he put his hand on my shoulder very lightly in this tender way. Josef has much more gentle eyes than his son; they are eyes that have known deep sorrow too, I see this in their bright blueness so.... he looked at me with some kind of knowing —but I don’t really know what .... only that he seemed to say with just his eyes that he would keep my secret. But more than that. He seemed to be saying something else too.

When he found me later in the kitchen sipping coffee in the corner by the window he says,

“you have been without parents a long time.”

It was not a question. But he searches inside me and I find I cannot hold his stare. I could not even answer him. It affected me because I was not prepared for it. I try to say instead,

“they were not happy people....” I try to construct my face void of pain and keep the mask smooth now as I slowly raise my eyes up to him. I successfully manage a sincere smile because he makes a sudden comical face at me almost like an exaggerated clownish expression

He says,
“people expect too much from happiness,” and still looks at me

I want to ask him about his life in Sweden; what their lives are like and how he grew up but I seem unable to step out of my own shadows. I think I have forgotten the vocabulary to speak to parents in so instead I am awkward because I am most afraid of being disrespectful by mistake. So I say,

“I can’t imagine being so fearless to stand in front of so many people and perform like you do. Like all of you do.”

But he doesn’t answer right away. What I say makes him think and in a quiet tone he tells me,
“I find the shyest people to have the most to say and find them to be the kindest and most generous,” then adds, “not everyone has to command a standing ovation. The world needs the gentle creatures too.”