Many thanks to snowbear for editing this story.
*
It was a cruel awakening. I found myself naked in a shabby bed beside a worn out woman, probably twice my age. She too was naked but still sleeping and snoring. My head rang like a blacksmith shop and I was thirsty. The worst thing was that I hadn't the slightest idea who the woman was nor even where I was or how I had got there.
I found my clothes spread on the floor together with some women's clothing. After collecting my clothes, I found a shabby kitchen with the sink filled with piles of dirty plates and dirty glasses. Two empty bottles of cheap white wine and two dirty glasses on the kitchen table completed the view of somebody's poor home.
My wallet was in my pants. The Visa card was still where it used to be and even some money.
After drinking some tap water I left the apartment as quietly as possible. There was a name, Veronica Olson, on the mailbox outside of the apartment door.
Obviously I had been drunk as hell, met this Veronica somewhere, went to her apartment, drank some more wine and thereafter probably fucked her. Of course, I could wake her up and ask her, but I preferred to sneak away.
As soon as I was out from the house, I puked behind some bushes and felt slightly better, at least for a while. The worst thing for the time being was the terrible remorse for the lost memory and not having any clue about where I was. The area was a typical low-income housing area with many of the apartments rented by the social welfare system for housing local alcoholics and refugees from exotic countries. Those kind of new neighbors made average people flee such areas as fast as they could find something better.
However, not even the street name gave me any information. Then I saw an elderly couple and tried to ask them, but their only reply was a loud comment, "Hooligans everywhere nowadays."
Not much for information. The next human being I met was an old woman. At least the main question about where I was got solved; and she even told me how to get to the town center and the bus station.
I was in a town about 45 km from my own Scandinavian hometown. But I guessed that the other questions about how I got there and where I met Veronica might never be answered.
Back home I checked my Visa account, which didn't say much other than that it had been an expensive evening, but nothing paid with the card, only money from ATMs both in my hometown and in Veronica's hometown.
My friends and I had begun the evening together at a Pub but thereafter they had no ideas about my doings that evening. There was one question, which haunted me for some time; what had I done with my money? Did I really pay that shabby Veronica for fucking her?
I'm not stupid and now it was obvious that loosing the memory was a serious sign that it was high time for some new lifestyle choices. The easy way was to continue with hard drinking and partying, loose the job, end up on the infamous "A-team" living on the social welfare system in a shabby area just like where I woke up in Veronica's apartment, make a little extra money off some petty crime, and forget all thoughts about average family life with wife and kids.
The necessary but very difficult way to go on with my life was to skip the hard drinking, skip the old drinking friends, and get other interests. I understood that it was impossible to do that in my hometown where my bad reputation and all my jolly good drinking friends would make such plans impossible.
My name is Matteus Wallin, Matteus after one of the 12 disciples. (Mathew in the English version) I was born in a small Scandinavian village, 16 kilometers from the town, which is the center of the community that I used to call my hometown. Both my parents were members of the local free religious parish that dominated the life in our village. Non-members called it a sect.
My home in that village wasn't a happy home and my father left my mother and the village after he found out that the rumors about my mother and a preacher were true. After a lot of praying, the scandal was forgiven and the preacher married my mother. He never liked me and used to threaten me with terrible times in hell.
However, I have never believed that Saint Peter, who is running the pearly gate, would take any orders or even any advice from a cheating preacher in a small Scandinavian village, thus I didn't give a shit about the preacher's threatening. Thanks to the law in this country he never dared to hit me; because hitting a child is regarded as a serious crime.
Therefore it was a great relief for all of us when I left the school at the age of 16, got a job as apprentice at plumber firm, and hired a room and boarding of an old aunt in the town center. That was much better than living in the preacher's house. The aunt was okay with me and I used to help her with the garden and the snow.
The only problem during that time was that the preacher didn't allow my mother or my old friends at the parish to have any connection with me; because he somehow had convinced them that I was a tool of the devil. My aunt didn't accept such rubbish and she now and then managed to fix some meetings and phone calls between my mother and me.
My father had married a divorced religious woman with a daughter my age. The only connection I ever had with my father was the three Christmas holidays I spent with his new family. The last year I was there, neither my step mom nor my stepsister made any secret of the fact that they would be happy if I spent the next Christmas elsewhere. I obeyed their wish and, as neither my father, who was completely dominated by his new wife nor I had any interest of any further connections, we didn't speak again. After that we only sent cards for birthdays and Christmas.
The reason why my father's family disliked me was that instead of going with them to their church both morning and evening I celebrated the Christmas Day evening at a bar in town, met a girl at the bar, and spent the night with her. Average people can't accept that because Christmas is the main "Homecoming holiday" in this country. Christmas Eve is for the family and nowadays Christmas and Boxing Days are for seeing old friends coming home from all over the country and the world.
I was working as a plumber and I did it well. In spite of my hard drinking I had earned a license for welding stainless pipes for high-pressure use, which put me in high demand in many booming areas of the country and throughout Scandinavia and the European Union.
I had a serious talk with my boss, who understood my problem. He promised to help me and only a few days later he had used his connections and fixed me a new job in a small town about 350 km from my home town.
The next weekend I went there and met my new boss. I had a positive first impression of him, the job and the town. After a short negotiation about my salary and some other conditions, we shook hands and I was welcomed to my new life.
My new boss used his connections to fix me a small apartment. He even helped me to fix a loan at the local saving bank so I could buy some furniture and other necessary things for my new home. I even used some of the money to change my old rusty VW Golf to one several years newer and still in good shape. That completed the start of my new life. It wasn't easy to be a stranger in a small town, so I took it very easy at the beginning and spent a lot of time at a gym.
I was a keen dancer and it was a strange feeling going sober to a dance. But without the heavy "backpack loaded with bad reputation" I once again could occasionally get a nice girl with me to my apartment or was invited to hers - but so far only for one night flings.
After a few months in my new hometown I even met my dream girl, Madeleine Olson; and to my great happiness even got a few dates with her. One of the dates ended up in the most unforgettable night in my whole life.
