1.

“Oh for a life of sensations rather than of Thoughts. “

 John Keats

 

One of the last days of March; grey, chilly and with light showers. Kristin tucked the long braid inside her jacket and flipped up her collar. She put her hands in the pockets and shivered a little. The morning had been the morning from hell. Jack had woken up in a horrible mood, and been as obstinate as only a three year old can be. He had refused to eat breakfast, refused to go potty, refused to get dressed and eventually she had wanted to run out of the door and scream.                                                                                                                                                                                   

Anna had been her sweetest until daddy hadn’t listened close enough and had put jam on her oatmeal instead of syrup. Tears flooded the little girl’s eyes immediately and she ran to her room and slammed the door. Kristin had nagged  her husband and he had nagged back.

When she finally had dropped off Anna at school and Jack at pre-school she had been exhausted and very close to crying. Sometimes she simply wanted to leave her life behind and go somewhere else. To be alone, talk to people that didn’t argue or nag at her and to be able to think one whole thought through for once. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

The grandparents were picking the kids up today. She had the whole day to herself and now she was so happy she had decided to go to the city.  She needed the distraction today; things had been bothering her lately. Memories from her past had been making their way into the present and, as usual, they made her feel on the edge.

If she had known what would happen that day she probably would have stayed at home (or maybe she would never have come home again). The museum was empty this day; it was her and a couple of older ladies and for some unexplainable reason two mothers with their toddlers. What toddler wants to look at expressionism art? Kristin shook her head and rolled her eyes. She finally felt relaxed, the cold weather outside had made her  muscles tense but the heat of the room made her almost sleepy.

She stood in front of a painting by Ernst Ludwig Krichner. She cocked her head to the side, the painting was greenish beige and she thought it was three naked women. She couldn’t help but smile. Why did it look like one of the women was crying or perhaps in pain?

All of sudden she felt that someone was looking at her; she slowly moved her head to the left. No one was there so she moved her head to the right. Four paintings away stood a man and he looked right at her. He looked like he was in his fifties, broad shouldered with brown hair that had turned grey. Handsome in a very manly way. She looked down at the floor for a moment, blushing slightly.

When she lifted her head again he was still looking and now he smiled.  A smile that made the wrinkles around his eyes appear. A smile that felt familiar somehow.  He took the few steps up to her.

“You enjoy the painting?” He asked still smiling.

She smiled back.

“I am not sure.”

“The painter had a  fascinatingly painful life,” he said.

“You can kind of tell,” she said and pointed.

He laughed a deep laugh that made her feel good.

“That is what they say in the program.” He showed her the program he held in his hand. “Do you come here often?”

Kristin shook her head.

“No, not at all.”

He pointed along the wall to show her the way. She started to slowly walk and he walked next to her.

“How come you came today?”  He asked with interest in his voice.

She shrugged, she simply didn’t know.

“I think I just wanted to do something I normally don’t do. Do you come here often?”

He narrowed his eyes when he looked at her and it made her shiver.

“No,” he said. “Do I detect a northern accent? Lake Country perhaps?”

Kristin was surprised; most people didn’t pick up on that right away. At least not anymore, in the beginning it had been different.

“Yes, I grew up north of Big Lake.”

He looked taken aback.

“Me too,” he said with a smile then he reached out his hand. “I’m Robert”

Kristin took his hand. His hand was rougher than she had imagined. Warm, strong and it reminded her of her grandfather. Her grandfather; the pastor with the troubled daughter who couldn’t take care of her own children. When her parents had been too drunk to take care of them or simply vanished for weeks, she called grandpa.

He came driving in his old Buick and picked them up. Calm. Collected. Never angry. He helped them gather their things before he put them in the backseat and drove out to the farm. He never said a word about his daughter’s behavior. But one time Kristin had walked in on him when he was praying. Pleading to God, Jesus, anyone who would listen to please help his beloved and only child.

“Kristin, have you lived in the City for a long time?”

“Yes”, Robert nodded, “we moved away when I was 14, then we lived down south for a while but I have been in the City for the last 15 years.”  

He pulled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and looked  at his watch. A big clunky watch with a leather band. Then he looked at her again.

“Would you like to grab some lunch?” he asked.

She hesitated for a moment, looked around the museum. No one knew her here and then she said yes.

He picked the restaurant, an Italian place with dark wood tables and yellow walls. The waiter looked at them examining, maybe even scrutinizing. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that people probably took them for a couple and he was a bit older, maybe even as much as 20 years.

When they got to the table she started to take off her jacket and Robert was there instantly to lend a hand. She was surprised that he was paying that much attention to what she was doing. She had grown accustomed to doing everything herself. Her husband never seemed to notice that she needed help with anything. A flare of irritation sparked in her chest; but she decided that she would pay no attention to it.

As she sat down she realized she didn't have  her wedding ring on. She had taken it off when she was braiding Anna’s hair in the morning and now it lay on the dresser in her room. There was no mark on her finger to show that there normally was a ring there. And in that moment she decided that she was going to be Kristin today. Not the wife. Not the mother. Simply herself!

Perhaps the salmon with lentils or maybe the chicken with spinach? She stared at her menu because she could feel how he stared at her. She tried to calm herself by pulling on her braid, lifting it up and laying it over her shoulder. This time it didn’t work and eventually she couldn’t take it.

“What are you staring at?”

She said it all with a smile but her voice was a little on the cold side.

“Your hair,” he said with crooked smile “most women don’t have hair like yours nowadays”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nowadays? You sound like you’re from another century.”

This time he laughed.

“What I meant was that most women have more elaborated hairstyles. Not as natural and simple.”

She rolled her eyes teasingly.

“I mean that in the best kind of way,” he said. “As a compliment.”

“Well, then I guess I have to say thank you.”

The lunch was not only very tasty but filled with satisfying discussions about art, literature and how absurd suburbia could be.  They talked about their childhoods up by Big Lake. The woods they ran in as kids, the lake’s crystal clear water and how the soles of their feet had used to turn hard as leather in the summer. She had no idea how she dodged the bullet to tell him that she was married, but she did.

When she left for the train she had his business card in her hand. And rosy cheeks and a big smile on her face.

The kids were in bed, her husband was watching TV and she sat with his business card in her hand by the computer. Hesitating, thinking and eventually she started to write an email.

Hi Robert,

I met you today at the Museum of Modern Art and we went out for lunch. I had a really nice time!  Just writing to say hi. Kristin

When she pressed send she got cold all over. Was this cheating? No, she decided, just because he is a man doesn’t make it cheating.  If he was a woman I would never even hesitate to write her.  She wrote one other email. Checked her Facebook page; nothing much going on there. When she was about to turn off the computer, she saw that he was online. She stared at the little green dot, and then she logged out instantly.

 

                                                                                2.

 

"As a child I felt myself to be alone, and I am still, because I know things and must hint at things which others apparently know nothing of, and for the most part do not want to know.”
 C.G. Jung

 

She woke up, opened one eye first. The room was bright, filled with sunshine filtering in through the curtains. Opened the other eye; blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes and put her feet soundlessly on the floor.

She looked over at Jonas who was sleeping close to the wall. He had his back almost pressed into the wall and he held onto his stuffed tiger. He had put it over his face the way he always did when he was worried. Emma mumbled a little in her sleep and Kristin looked down at her. The little girl had been sleeping so close to her body the whole night that Kristin nearly felt an indent in her body.

She walked softly across the floor; moved the chair from underneath the door handle and slowly and carefully unlocked the door and opened it. The hallway was quiet, the whole apartment was still. When she came out in the living room she nearly stumbled over a bottle. Someone she didn’t know was sleeping on the couch. A man dressed in underwear and a t-shirt. His jeans were hanging over the back of the armchair.

She saw the convex shape of his wallet in the back pocket and she walked right over, without hesitation. The man seemed to be in a deep sleep, his eyes were twitching like he was dreaming. Her nimble girl fingers had no problem to take out the wallet; slid her fingers inside and grab a handful of bills. She stuffed them down her underwear before she walked out in the kitchen.

The table was covered with glasses, ashtrays and bottles and in the middle was a big bowl of potato chips. In the fridge she found the milk; she smelled it just in case. But it seemed fine to her. She took the bowl with chips, the milk and three glasses.

When she came into the bedroom again Emma was sitting in the middle of the mattress.

“Tin come back,” Emma said and clapped her hands.

“Yes,” Kristin said and smiled, “and I have breakfast”

Jonas sat up too; his hair was standing up in all different directions and his face was red after being pressed against the tiger all night.

“We are going to the bathroom,” Kristin said and took Emma’s hand. “You too!” She pointed to Jonas.

“I don’t want to.” Emma started to whine. Kristin dragged the little closer to her and stared into her eyes.

“You are going or I will pinch you.”

Emma’s bottom lip started to tremble.

“Don’t cry or I pinch you”

Two big tears spilled over and moved down Emma’s cheeks and she sniffled but nothing more happened.

The three children moved quickly across the hallway and into the bathroom. Emma peed first, then Jonas.

“Wash your hands,” Kristin said before she ushered them back to the bedroom.

When she was alone in the bathroom she fished out the money from her underwear and counted them. 11 dollars! She almost laughed out loud. 11 dollars! She would buy fried chicken and French fries down at the diner later. Her stomach started to growl when she thought of the greasy food.

She opened the bathroom cabinet and hid the money inside her mother’s Tampax box. She knew that no matter what pressure she was put under she would never tell. But Emma and Jonas would break instantly. Inside of her was something unbreakable! When things hurt she simply slid into this part of herself and stayed there until the pain had subsided.