Peter
I was walking to my appointment with Ola, giggling at the thought of how surprised he would be. This week I had much more interesting things to talk about than how dull and meaningless my life was. And this once I did not know what he would say and what he would think. I was humming the goofy sitar-theme of "Winds of Change" (Animals), since this time I was not coming for my weekly fix of comforting sameness. The sitar, the didgeridoo drone of my shades, birds bright in the sky like little jewels with lice and the carbonated bubbling of my happy blood made for spring feelings, helped along by the warmest December ever.
His waiting room was the same but not the same. I was not the same and everything had changed. I was in love. I had had sex. Good sex. I was a hero. In spite of all this I was a little worried that Ola would be angry about my missing last week's appointment. But surely being unconscious in hospital was a valid excuse.
"It looks like you have a lot to tell me today." he said. He looked sort of happy, maybe he too could smell something. There was a golden glow to his mossyness. I had, so I did. I told him about me falling in love. And I told him about the attack and the hospital and Magda and her moving in and me meeting her friends and her parents and having sex and me falling in love. The goldening of the moss had increased, and there was a definite smell of that spice I never remember the name of, so I could tell that he was pleased as punch, which is a strange expression, come to think of it.
Ola made that little movement with his hand he always makes before speaking. It makes me think that he would have liked to hold a pipe. Not to smoke it, he doesn't smoke, but just to wield it, a tool of his trade boosting his authority and confidence.
"These are wonderful news," he said. "Tell me, do you feel depressed now?"
"Not in the least."
"No, And even if this romance ends badly you will be less depressed than before. Unhappy and devastated maybe, but depression is not predominantly about sadness. Everything that's part of life is the opposite of depression, including broken hearts. And I must admit I'm a romantic cream cheese, I believe in the healing power of love."
I was crying.
"Excuse me, I said. "I just realized that pretty soon I will not need you anymore. This growing business sucks sometimes." It did, but not as much as it was fantastic.
Magda
We overslept. We had both been so wrapped up in each other last night that none of us remembered that everyday life was about to begin again. Luckily Peter woke up before I was hopelessly late, but there was no time for morning sex, a proper breakfast or a shower. I snagged a piece of bread to chew on while pedaling and was off. If I smelled of sex, so be it. I had at least brushed my teeth.
Our city is mid-sized for being Swedish, small for just about everywhere else. It's small enough to go anywhere in the city by bike, for which I yet again was grateful that morning. I was at my school in twenty minutes. Time for a cup of coffee, thank god.
My entrance caused quite a stir, just as I had expected. Sick leave and then appear with the multi-hued remnants of a royal black eye is bound to be noticed.
"It's ok to joke about it!" I assured them. It would take them a while to reach joking mode, but I knew they would get there.
"What happened?" Karin asked. She's my best friend at work.
"My asshole ex wanted to make clear who was the master of the house. Which he is now, by the way. He can lord it over his hamster."
"What will you tell your class?"
"The truth. If they ask."
"Are you sure that's wise?" That was Birger, my least favorite colleague. I wonder why I seldom get along with gym-teachers. "They are only ten, after all."
"What else would I tell them? That I fell down the stairs or walked into a door?"
"I don't think we teachers should spread rumors about people."
"Rumors! I know you know Roger a bit, but he hit me in the bloody face."
"All I'm saying is I haven't heard his side of the story."
"I'm sure he'll say I provoked him. Well, you are pissing me off right now and I won't hit you."
My class did not ask. I probably looked like I would bite their heads off if they did. Eventually I raised the subject myself. I had dug out some statistics and they were shocked. The boys were sweetly certain that they never would hit someone they lived with, insofar they could imagine living with a woman at all, cooties still being a factor. I hoped they were right. Almost everyone gave me a hug, and I cried a little bit.
The world was a shitty place in so many ways. Peter had chosen to opt out of that world to survive, building his own little universe. I must be careful not to tear down that universe, but it would be nice if his world could expand into mine and the other way around.
Peter
"Changes", Band of Gypsys version. Yes, there were changes coming. I had given myself permission to hope, and hope I would. I was banging along on my drums to the music in my head, longing for my left arm. It would soon be with me again, the pain was just a violet whisper now. I was hoping for a life with Magda, of course - that was old new already. I was hoping for friends and perhaps to play in a band. Could I? Maybe, with the right people. I would ask Bettan and Erik if they wanted to play with me sometime. Could I play on stage, with a crowd? Maybe. One step at a time.
I had to synch myself better with Magda, time-wise. I couldn't live my life at nights anymore. Small sacrifice. I was excited. I wanted to change more, faster, broaden my horizons. I went into the bad flat to confront the floor but its passively malevolent plastic shit-brown-squared self-satisfied ugliness defeated me. I staggered out, shaken.
