Conversations #1

Autumn 2009

He cut himself shaving, in the shower, washing off the night. The sudden smell of salt and iron. Deep. through the lip. with a new blade, of all the luck. And it ran into his mouth and reminded him of boxing. He wiped his face and the hand came away red.

"Your room is very red." he said

"Yes. I like red. Do you mind it?"

"No. I was just saying."

"Salmon! I like salmon." he said

"Oh really? I didn't know."

"No. I didn't tell you. It's one of my favorites."

He didn't say it reminded him of his father. and his grandfather. and family dinners.

"Can you close the window?"

"I can try."

"You shouldn't stand there naked. You will catch cold."

"No. I won't."

"Or you will get arrested"

"True. It is a civilized country, afterall."

"Is it raining?"

"A bit."

"Do you want sugar?"

"Where?"

"In your tea?"

"Maybe."

"If you want it, it is there."

"Okay."

"Well! Do you want it or not."

"I don't know. Sometimes."

"You're writing is odd."

"May I have some more wine?"

"Sure. But it is. You know. If I write something, then it is me. The same. But when you write, it is like a third... median?"

"Medium?"

"Yes. A third medium. Between you and the world. Like those songs you put up. They were shit."

"I know."

"But you said that some were with your roommates around... so you were nervous... so you see, when there are people around you are different. But yet you will put it online for the whole world to see. I don't know. It is strange. You are strange."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't know yet. I like to read. But it is a different voice. The... the tone is different. The words you use. The way you put them together. You are not like that in real life."

"Not at all. I would never talk to anyone like that. Or discuss those things."

"But you don't care, the content, to be online?"

"I put those songs up."

"yea. you should stick to writing."

"ha. It doesn't matter if I suck at singing. Maybe I do. Probably. for sure. or the content of the writing. Could be shit. Could be good. If the whole world can see it... well... then it doesn't matter anymore does it? Then it is shit. Garbage. And I am free of the things. Otherwise I would be... I don't know. pent up? or... I don't know. It is good, for me to write. And I don't give a damn if people read it or what they think about it."

"You are shameless."

"perhaps. I think. I think it is a kind of honesty, in a way."

"Yes."

"I am good now. I wrote about today. there is Peace."

"Good!"

"I think I will probably delete the whole thing."

"Why? I think you shouldn't"

"Because it has served its purpose."

"But some are nice... nice to have... nice to read... and anyway, is something of you. Once is done, leave it there....no?"

"meh."

Blood in the shower. And the numbness. And the gratefulness. And the sweet grating truth of the irony. Blood. Salt. Iron. Irony. Clean. Washed clean. We clean the body. The mind is harder to scrub. Not of filth or bad things. But of marks. Of things that stick. Permanent. Nothing on the body is permanent unless it is etched or scarred. The same with the mind. Words are dirt, thoughts are sweat. but really good things... and really painful things.... these are etched and sore and ache. So we numb them. And maybe, in proper circles, this should be kept private or it should take a long time. a 'decent' amount of time. it is indecent and cruel otherwise. But there is shamelessness. Honesty. If a man has no secrets to bear, he cannot be found out, cannot be judged save by his honesty. Judge that, if you must wonder or make sense of things. What I wished and what is are opposites and separated by a mere hundred meters.

Blood. Iron. Irony.

"Did you have a good night?"

"Yes."

"Would you like me to shave it with the machine or use scissors?"

"Whatever you prefer."

"Scissors. It will take longer. But we will not be too late to Fika."

"Did you take all these pictures?"

"Yes."

"I like them. I am not surprised that they are here. I am just saying that I like them."

"You hair is very dark."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Look at it. It is almost black!"

"Hmm. It is hair."

"You are such a boy. 'it is just hair' ha."

"Life is simpler that way. What is that? The entire Sex and the City series?"

"Yep."

"RICARDO, how could you!"

"At the movie. Everyone was crying and she just said, 'Oh Lina. You are going there and you will be killed. ah ha ha ha. like thanks. serious stuff."

"Du kan se galenskapen i hennes ögon."

"HA! bra svenska."

"jag ska lära mig."

"I think you will be fine by the time you do your fieldwork."

"I hope. Or they can speak English. Martin thinks it will be fine."

"Vackert väder"

"In Sweden they complain. they always complain. Where I work in the summer with old people... they complain if it is too hot. They complain when it rains. They complain that if it is too dry the leaves will fall in the streets. and then it rains and they complain that they had only two weeks of summer."

"God forbid the leaves fall in the street."

"I know, right?"

"I like all kinds of weather."

"There is nothing you can do about the weather anyway."

"Right. So you might as well like it."

"Have you been to Las Vegas? Out West?"

"Yes."

"Karl and I went there."

"Did you see the Grand Canyon?"

"Yes, but we had to pay to see it."

"Of course. It's America. The first person to find a giant hole in the ground gets to charge you."

"Ha."

"I like that heat. the dry heat. I cannot stand humidity. Heat and humidity. I cannot think. Today is not so bad."

"No. Today is good. It is a cozy day."

"Yes. The rain is good."

The cut healed in a black slice through his lip. Stiff. He reflected on the humor. A stiff upper lip. Ha.

More irony. More subtlety. More nothingness in an endless sea of nothings. Events without significance. He grew tired of significance. Tired of caring. Until he couldn't bring himself to do it anymore. As the water pounded on his neck and the memories layered upon memories to banish the Furies from their wing-ed antics. Rain suited him. The weather suited him. It did not reflect his mood. Nor change it. It just fit. And that was good. No studying this day. Movies. And powering down. For the next two week would be stressful. Paper writing. Reading. And nothing else. Until he could get to Ireland. And hug his little brother. That would be a wonderful thing.

"You do not have to run, we can bike slowly."

"I don't mind running."

"You have lost weight since you came here."

"Where? To Sweden?"

"Yes."

"It is the training. And everything else."

"And you do not eat."

"Ha. I spent my food money on the ink. That was my choice. And what are you saying? that I was fat?"

"No. Just... your cheeks were rounder. Now your face is thin."

"Meh. I will eat more then, I guess."