Page 32 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
She turns around on the midpoint of the steps leading up to the car and shakes her head.
‘No, thank you. I need my space,’ she says. ‘Good night.’
Good night? Its eight o’clock. If that’s not a direct rejection of me and my snack bag I don’t know what is. I take my sleeping bag out of the tent and spread it on the ground. The trees are tall and dark green, like Christmas trees. I dip into the snacks, starting with the crisps. Here I am, spending my night alone, much as I’ve been craving. But this, actually being alone, feels different to what I’d imagined. I can’t think any clearer and the anxiety is still there, along with thoughts of Mum and the decisions looming ahead.
Letter time, I think. I’ve read them all at this point and feel like a case-obsessed detective looking for new clues, as if the Swedish night would somehow shine new meaning onto the words. This is the letter which confirms that Mumfound the shop address randomly, that it was simply a long shot and no real connection.
Svennie,
I don’t even have your–our–address. The one where we were meant to live together. Isn’t that crazy? So I’m sending these to the only one I could find. We were meant to move, to escape it all and start our new life and I don’t even know where this magical start is supposed to happen.
I always wondered if you went without me. Or if you changed your plans. Where are you now? I saw something in a movie the other night. Someone called up an airline and checked if their friend had gotten on the flight, as though that was something airlines actually kept track of. Who checks in and who boards. I did call Ryanair, but they just told me that they record calls for training purposes and that I couldn’t get a refund.
Did you take the tickets we booked and go, just without me? Did you put your coat on the seat that was meant to be mine? Or did you keep it free and glance over, imagining what it would be like with me sitting there, Blade on my lap?
I stop here and put it aside. Escapewhatto start a new life? The capital’s pollution and inflated rent? The constant din of the traffic, the too small houses, the lack of jobs? Orsomething else? I can’t help but let my mind trail after Mum’s words. I really do imagine her sitting there in her seat, me on her lap. Perhaps she’d feed me juice from a sippy cup to alleviate the air pressure getting to my ears. The man next to her is blurred and faceless in my fantasy. And I’m starting to genuinely wonder for the first time,Who was he?
Sophia
Eksjö
I managed to sleep. Eventually. Even though the sheets are the wrong colour and they smell of new fabric. Which for me is an achievement.
I’ll admit I’m curious about Blade, and what his idea of a good snack is, but a day ahead full of listening to fairground rides zoom and clink and chatting to strangers means I needed sleep and quiet first. So I locked the doors, closed the curtains and all the lights, and got underneath the duvet as soon as I was alone.
I check Lina’s location, and she’s been all over.
Me:I’m afraid I won’t have any chance to have my breakfast in peace. SOS.
Lina:May not help but when I went on first holiday with Kurt I popped down to the reception bathroom to poop in peace.
Sneaking off with my breakfast cereal into the woodsisan option, I suppose. I weigh it up as I wait for Blade to get ready to drop me off in town.
Seriously, this whole idea, this whole trip is just...
Exciting.That’s not the word I expected to pop up in my head.New, sure, but I wouldn’t want it to end now. Or at least not yet.
‘Good morning,’ Blade says when he sees me. ‘Can I... make a coffee?’ he asks. And I realise I’m standing in the small doorway, blocking it.
‘Sure. My home is your home.’ I hesitate. ‘Or rather, your home is my home. Or Sixt’s rental is our home? Technically.’
Blade smiles. It’s short-lived but stops me up short. I inhale through my nose, trying to restore my breathing and immediately regret it. Because all I have accomplished is filling my lungs with an unfamiliar, overpowering scent. Blade’s scent.
I’m not used to anyone else as part of my morning routine. Or even coffee.
There is not quite space enough for two people so I stand awkwardly at the side, feeling very much in Blade’s way. Finally, I decide to squeeze onto the sofa, folding my legs underneath me to make them fit, and look on as he waits for the coffee to brew. Before it’s finished, he pulls the can out and empties what little liquid there is into his cup, then quickly puts it back.
‘Coffee?’ he asks, offering me the mug.
‘Wow. That is generous of you. But, no, I won’t take it from you. You’re practically sniffing the fumes. And I had a glass of milk already.’
He looks at me like I’m some kind of suspicious creature from the nearby forest. As if a human can’t run and work properly when fuelled by only a glass of milk.
‘Childhood habit. Were you not force-fed milk for the bone growth? A cold glass of milk with dinner was normal. I mix it up now—oat, almond and normal to reduce the guilt of using too many animal products.’
I watch him practically inhale the caffeine as he swallows the contents of the mug in a few fast sips. I take it the tent is not the most comfortable sleeping quarters.
‘We need to get some groceries. Unless you, in addition to mosquito-surviving skills, are also trained in foraging the forest for berries and nuts. Meet you at the supermarket after work?’ I say.
