Page 9 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“This is my first train ride,” I admitted while sipping on my drink.

“Really? Well, I’m honored to share this with you. Now that we’ve broken the seal, what do you think?”

“It’s fun so far and the company can’t be beat.”

His eyes glinted in the overhead light. “Thank you.”

“Oh—” I bit my lip, smiling. “This is embarrassing. I meant her.” I pointed to the little old lady sitting hunched over in the seat kitty corner from mine. She looked as if she couldn’t sit up straight, but she wore her grayish-silver hair in a curved bob, covered mostly with a black beret. She wore a bright red boatneck blouse with ¾ length sleeves, and from the peek ofthigh, black skinny-fitting pants and black flats. I had a feeling this woman led a Beatnik life back in the ’60’s and possibly never left it.

Blake threw his head back laughing causing a bit of a scene where other passengers stared at us. Then he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I can accept that. If we can be as cool as her when we’re that age, then we’re winning at life, Glory.”

I’d only meant it as a joke and she’d been the first person my eyes had landed on, but Blake was right. This stranger on a train leaving France became my lifegoal. Once again, I had to smile at my decision to leave my old life for this adventure.

Several hours later, we arrived, and if I hadn’t thought it earlier, it was unequivocally true now—I freakinglovedtaking the train. Sure, we could have gotten here sooner if we’d flown, but this trip wasn’t about getting anywhere fast. We wanted toseeEurope. And Europe we saw, passing through Belgium into Germany, then we kept on into Denmark, then entering Sweden to finally end up in the capital city of Norway. I desperately wanted to call Pen and Sierra to gush about Blake, the trip and maybe even that kiss from last night but then I remembered that Pen barely had time for gushing any longer and my heart still hurt when I thought about Si blowing off our plans to take another friend to do those same plans.

No, they could learn about Blake and the trip the same way the rest of my world learned, through my social media posts. It was for the best.

Oslo blew me away with all of its modern architecture. The problem with visiting Oslo, even in the summer? Summer clothing, or more to the point, the shorts, dresses, and capris I’d packed for a warmer climate, didn’t cover it (and by ‘it’ I meantme,they didn’t cover me enough). The Oslovians who lived here year-round probably thought they had a beautiful day on their hands. Me? Not so much. My teeth chattered. Let’s justsay, the city gave the phrase ‘chill atmosphere’ a whole different meaning.

He grabbed my hand once we disembarked from the train to lead us out to the street. Blake flagged down a cab. Neither of us spoke Norwegian in any capacity and it was hilarious listening to Blake try to ask the driver to take us to the shopping district from a translation app on his phone. After about a minute, the driver broke down laughing and said, “I speak English.”

Oh my god! I roared with laughter, too. Blake’s cheeks pinked but then he began laughing along with us. The driver brought us to this huge, multi-level shopping mall where Blake bought me a sweater, long jeans, socks, and boots for walking/hiking from several different boutiques. The things I didn’t have room for in my backpack, he rolled and stuffed into his own.

“You know you don’t—” I protested, well, I started to protest before he pressed his finger to my lips.

“I asked you here, remember?” Then when he pulled his finger away, he pecked my lips and yeah, Ireallyenjoyed when he did that. The man could ask me to pry barnacles from rocks with my fingers and I’d probably do it for a kiss afterward.

It was safe to say, Ireallyliked Blake Parker. “Then at least let me pay for lunch,” I said and he graciously allowed that. Cue the eye roll. Out of any place he could’ve picked, Blake saw tacos and nothing else would do. So, on our first day inOslo, Norway, we atetacos.

Warm and snuggly in my new Oslo summer gear, he took my hand for what I thought was to tour the city, but no. He led us to the bus terminal, where he bought us two tickets for the bus to a place called Kristiansund. From there, we boarded a ferry. A ferry that traveled over the ocean along the coast, not up some river.

Our destination was an island thirty-three nautical miles off the coast of a city called Helgeland. The festival,Trænafestivalen, had taken place on Træna every year since 2003. Music. Food. The most gorgeous scenery anyone could imagine.

Without tents, I worried about us being exposed to the elements at night. Even in the summer, it got chilly at night this far north, but with the festival atmosphere, I shouldn’t have worried. We met a couple from Cornwall who offered to share with us.

And Blake introduced me as his girlfriend. I mean, I got it. Sometimes it was just easier to explain us traveling together that way because saying,“This is a woman I met in Paris and brought along” doesn’t exactly inspire faith in me being a good person who wasn’t out to rob them or something. But still—I hadn’t been a girlfriend in way too long a time and the idea of pretending to be Blake’s girlfriend held massive appeal.

Jory and Kerensa were on their honeymoon. You’d think that sharing a tent with strangers on your honeymoon would put a crimp in said honeymoon nocturnal activities, but they insisted. Who were we to turn them down? I could just imagine coming to the Trænafestivalen on my honeymoon. What a novel idea.

I didn’t know any of the performers, any of the songs, or even the language, but did that stop me from having a great time? Not one bit. Luckily, I had a knack for being able to pick up songs rather quickly, even in a foreign tongue. So, whenever they sang the chorus to the song, I pumped my fist in the air along with everyone else in the crowd. We jumped, danced, sang and cheered for hours.

In the land of the midnight sun, my body started to feel a little out of whack because it grew tired like it would during the night, yet my eyes kept trying to tell me it was the middle of the day.

Eventually, Kerensa and I had to throw in the metaphorical towel. “If I stay out here any longer, you’re going to have to carry me to the tent,” I told Blake.

“What she said,” Kerensa said to her husband, pointing at me.

Their tent held three sections, or chambers, if you will, the center right off of the tent’s zippered opening that they called “the parlor” and two “bedrooms,” one on each side off the parlor.

As they’d brought mats to lie on, they loaned us one of their two massive sleeping bags. Blake and I shared it. Being a gentleman, Blake waited in the parlor while I changed into my pajamas. I scooted out momentarily to allow him to change into his, then we climbed into the sleeping bag. I lay on my side facing away from him, with my arm under my head for support. He respectably spooned me.

“This is comfy,” he whispered and I nodded. Normally, lying next to a person filled me with terrible anxiety. What if I was a bed hog, or worse, what if I passed gas while I slept? Somehow, none of my usual “what ifs” bothered me tonight and I drifted right off to sleep.

When we woke up in the morning, I was turned into him, my head resting on his bent arm, his arm draped over my waist and his bent knee resting between mine.

“Morning, Glory,” he said with a definite twinkle in his eye, and my tummy dipped the way it did when Blake smiled or pretty much anything that showed me he was happy to see me.

“Morning,” I answered.

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