….so
We were last at Latitude 44 Bistro —weren’t we? Talking to Jörn ….
well, I don’t know what happened….
Sometimes …. well, so long ago now …. there was this thing that happened to me
as a child. It —would ….just suddenly come upon me. It’s shameful. To speak of. Like, it’s crazy. But—as a child I’d fall into a trance. I’d feel it happen. I could not move. I was frozen. I just was ….stunned.
Later when I studied for my psychology degree —I read the label for what they call this but—I’d rather not say. Anyway. It seems to be that the event that first triggered this as a child all surrounded this big secret I grew up living
but it was the cruelty and violence and actual inflicted harm to me by that psycho dad with his belts. He insulted me too. Called me filthy names. He made me wish I never lived nor ever breathed. He made me want to die. And it was because of something I am still trying to remember ….it was about my real dad.and it seemed to be too terrible for me to believe that I just went blank; like white out; I couldn’t move ….i was literally catatonic. I tried later to snap out of it but it seemed something kept me from talking. And the family freaked out. They didn’t know how to get me back
I learned to outgrow it. But this was something that later happened over and over. A trance I couldn’t shake. Well….as a scholar I understand how this could happen to a child. Intellectually, I know what was the matter. The umbrella term is “dissociative disorder”
but
I know why I had to. So their dumb DSMV book isn’t worth the label on me. I needed that to survive. It was not wrong. I found how to escape myself. I found the cell inside. I found the Celf. So it’s just a Darwin thing
But sometimes it still happens inconveniently
And I must have blanked
….and when next I open my eyes it is to the view from within the interior of Jörn’s Volvo as he slows to the entrance to ….the old Barn House
I sit up fast, bolt upright and rub my eyes behind my glasses as if to rub out a dream ….but now, he is pulling down the drive to the two story barn house with the two story picture window and a glimpse of Jörn’s white Steinway grand piano that I swear I can almost hear
I turn my head slowly to look at him,
“what the fuck am I doing here?”
But then as we reach the front of the house, I see Josef! stepping out the front door! and ….Elsa too….
I sigh heavily because I sense a plot —and that marriage contract we did actually go through with but….until this moment assumed it was in name only and they all got from me what they wanted ….
“What’s going on?” I keep looking from Josef through the car windows and then back to Jörn’s profile —as he is clenching his jaw
“Just—don’t get how you get,” he looks at me in that appealing way he usually reserves for lady operatic ‘Mama’
“What does that mean?”
And now Josef (have we forgotten that I outed him as the Interpol director?) is reaching to open my door!
But no, I want an explanation first, not another ambush
I realize Jörn has not released the lock on the door.
I realize this is for me.
So I look at him and wait.
I raise my eye brows to gently prompt him with forthcoming intel asap
“Papa is retiring,” Jörn says
Three words. Succinct. They say more.
No, his eyes say more
It’s like slow mo—I start to notice there are quite a lot of cars parked by the house. And also note the strong constitution of Swedes as Elsa stands outside in —an evening gown; aka, a fancy and expensive garment meant for hosting or going to ….
I look at Jörn again from that alarming image
He says,
“By the way, you passed out—but, it saved time because ….”
“Let me guess, am I going to a party?”
“No duva —you are hosting one.”
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