The girl on the train

(or—Like ships in the night) 

and every day she sat on the train and watched the scenery pass her by…. 

she promised herself that if today he was at the window going the other way…. well, this time…. this time she would wave

sometimes he sat in the opposite direction, and how strange to be always on the same schedule. but just going the other way 

and as her thoughts revolved, the scenery flowed by her, and as she daydreamed out the window, she saw the families through their windows in the apartment buildings as the train went by. And ….it gave her such a strange feeling to see, in parallel, lives and families —all doing in unison; the exact same things. Preparing breakfast for the children; variations of the dynamics but …. mostly far too similar. And it made her feel so insignificant. So utterly invisible. Like one of a million ants building their hills over and over and never ever seen nor noticed 

She got lost in thought and suddenly very sad. She wanted to open the window and fly out…. she was disappearing …. 

her eyes blurred and she blinked 

but that was when the other train was going by …..

and ….she’d missed him entirely 

and her mood sank deeper. Well that was just the day, it seemed to her. Starting with the step into the puddle right as she set off, soaking her boot right through. happy day.

she turned her glance to the annoying ads inside the train and noticed some unkind graffiti ….

and reached and took out her phone to find her eBook….re-reading 100 Years of Solitude…. 

She got to the part where the phrase is repeated “he stood before a firing squad….”

And still it boggles her mind

“Excuse me, hey—“

someone said stepping close to her seat and made her have to look up

It was him

“Is this seat taken?” he smiled at her knowingly 

“Um….” but struck dumb, she only stared at his eyes —which were quite nice now that she could see them up close ….as she moved over making room on the seat for him

“You know, it took awhile —but I finally worked out the train time….you always go ….”

E.d.&Film noir/jmmusechrontinyteaser

 And when I am brave enough to face Jörn’s living room who would I expect to give the warmest greeting?

“So nice of you to drop in and rejoin the party!”it is Elsa of course 

of spies & codes

 ….and as my thoughts wander they go to him, and what I know of him is that he would never say if something were the matter.he would give the impression of having his world in control.he would not tell me.he cannot be weak;what he thinks is weak;to show it….especially to me.never.but it is what you do after you recover from your moments of weakness that are what count.but —if it is his pride, then his war is within ….and myself be silent; because, as always, I know he will emerge more powerful in his contrition.yet,id never waver

 i shall miss you

Electra’s dictionary/Invisible Ink;scene continues

 

He says to me,

“I do see you.”

I am by his window looking out. 

The distance between us feels infinite

 it seems

 and the energy it takes for faith far less so 

I don’t believe him. He only shows me what he decides to let me see. And I wonder if then he can only see as much of me as he feels in the mood to bother and try. it makes me wonder who I have been in love with—he gives as much as he is inclined and then he retracts as if everything between us never was and so I am the idiot ….but then that means he too is another fraud…. 

“Duva….”he walks over to me and pulls my face up to look at him taking my chin in his grip, “I am your father figure,” he whispers into my ear

I say,

“no! a father—? someone to raise me up high and be my cheer-leader, daddy, no, you lock me out —you don’t allow me near you—how can you see me?” and move away but he pulls me back as I fight him, “how can you see me when you are pretending and playing your games? I’m not at your disposal—“

“Duva—“

“You don’t see me, you stopped looking.”

“I never stopped,” he says

“You don’t even read my words anymore,” I say

“How would you know?”

but what I wish I could really understand is—what is it he is afraid of….? what I would see if he showed me his whole self —or of how he would feel showing it?

left in stitches(scene continues)/e.d.&muse

 

But whatever Jörn was about to say is upstaged by a sudden interruption of more familiar voices entering the apartment in an excited rush and —in a heated argument that…. is making my head pound as their language is not kind to migraines 

“Oh!” I gasp and cover my ears and eyes, “why does my head still hurt?”

“Don’t touch the stitches!” Jörn says as he rushes towards me from the window where he had been pacing to but almost defeating the purpose, I’d hazard to guess, he calls out loudly in operatic tenor,

“snälla håll nere rösten!”

and this rings and seems to echo in revolutions 

“What do you mean stitches?” I am horrified now as I look up at him

But he is too busy looking at the back of my head and pulling away my hair in the exact spot that has been pounding and—

“ouwh! fuck!” I say and reach back to feel what he is looking at—but—he slaps my hand away! with a sort of reprimand —I can only guess— as it’s in his language and I cannot spell what he just said; still, the tone says everything, doesn’t it? As I suddenly feel like I’m ten 

“Your hands are dirty!” he says in English 

“I’ve been unconscious—“ I start to get up to wash my hands but he pushes me back 

“You shouldn’t be walking around —the doctor said,” he tells me and then he looks at me in —that way— which makes me think I’m risking being put over his knee with a spanking if I don’t get back in bed

So I give him a look displaying my surrender because I ….actually don’t care enough anyway 

I get back in bed and crawl under the covers as suddenly it feels like I ran a marathon 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/vampire eyes

And so, because —with the staggered television sounds snd a piece of a conversation that belongs to…. ? …. oh, it’s too involved to quite wrap my head around just yet…. 

my head is so foggy, I sit up and put my head in my hands 

I don’t know what I was expecting but I think it was that when I pulled my hands away from my eyes I would see something …. like a miserable container interior or—the drear of farmland and Sunny’s lodge 

….or, the Adirondaks even….

like the bunker underground I was buried in for so long ….my god was that, like— only just a little over a year ago? No…. then it was the high school stalker ….Shit— how many nightmares can you list off in ten seconds that have happened in my most recent life? ….but….

Now—alas …. it looks like, i have succeeded in losing my mind, bravo, as I am hallucinating or actually having a very lucid dream— unless, who knows, by some lucky twist of fate, I am …. fucking saved from that slow suicide that has been my life as my —magic pumpkin could have arrived in time, thank god, to get me the fuck out of there—as if—at last, and …. nice dream

To be back here

Because as I look around my surroundings —my grogginess wears away 

as again I sharply notice …. those very signature things …. it is that strange otherworldly quality I remember …. somewhat majestic, only actually sexy, yet in a sort of clinical yet most un-dreamlike way as

….everything is white, minimalistic 

—then I am startled with —!

“ni två är som två bortskämda brats, jag kunde höra er i korridoren!” A familiar high shouting voice now says. I hear a door slam. 

Then another familiar, yet slightly shrill operatic voice says,

“vet du vad den där ungen — din pappa — gör?  brat är det rätta ordet, han beter sig som om han var tio med den där överprissatta hörapparaten.  visste du att den höjer och sänker volymen?”

What is going on? I am so confused, I find, as I slowly start to realize this weird dream—isn’t one, and I appear to be back in Manhattan in Jörn’s apartment and in his bedroom 

I hear him now say,

“hur mår patienten?”

And it is Josef’s familiar voice who replies,

“Jag kollade på henne innan men hon var fortfarande inte vaken.  har hon hjärnskakning?  det är inte säkert att låta henne sova.”

“Jag ska gå och träffa henne nu,” I hear Jörn then say and then hear footfalls of steps near. 

A moment later I hear a tap and look up and see Jörn in the doorway of his bedroom 

“How are you feeling?” he says before I have a chance to get a good look at him

I force myself to sit up and prop myself to the headboard and look at him 

And as I look at him ….I say,

“what am I doing here?” only now I see he carries his big cello. 

I see him set it down now as he sees me looking. He walks across the room and draws open the window sheers and looks at the street below for one moment before he turns to me 

and yes….he is beautiful …. sleek golden hair tied back in a knot, a Nordic god….and immaculate as always, I notice as…. he wears his symphony clothes ….?

“Are you playing back at the philharmonic?” I ask even as I realize I’ve not allowed him the chance to answer my other question 

He raises one finger to start to say something but then changes his mind and walks over to me instead and….

Only, it is his eyes ….those ageless, timeless, immortal vampire eyes that dazzle as deadly as kryptonite with their strange northern lights glow and 

it is déjà vu …. because how many times have I looked up at him from this exact place on his ….bed ….but it has not been for ….so long that ….we have been here ….and …. I am so confused and ….

it seems to fuck with my emotions ….