On the distance

In life, there are moments that, for one reason or another, etch themselves into our memories with vivid details; these moments stand in stark contrast to the mundane and routine aspects of life. These moments usually carry significance to the persons who we have become today and if you stop to think for a second, some of them will easily resurface; a wedding, college graduation, your first kiss, and so on. Sometimes, in between this meticulously curated list created by our minds, there often lie odd instances, seemingly out of place, that cannot really fit directly into any of the symbolic categories of events. Nevertheless, we seem to remember these oddities with vivid details, usually at similarly off moments of our days. They are like those filler episodes of your favorite series that you don’t particularly like, or they don’t give any particularly any value to the story, but they leave an impression that keeps you wondering : Like that fly episode of Breaking Bad.

And so, this peculiar day comes back to me at the most unexpected times and momentarily fills me with uneasiness, flooding my mind with questions and then goes aways as swiftly as it arrived like a random leg cramp that painfully trembles all the way to your head with discomfort before vanishing as you shift position.

It was my fourth day in Stockholm after I moved away from my home country to pursue my post graduate degree. I have just picked up the keys to my new accommodation from the student housing department after I crashed a friend’s place for the first few days. Excited to start my new chapter in life in Sweden , I grabbed my 40-kilo life packed into two bags and took the metro. My new place was located close to the medborgarplatsen station in this building called Skrapan, a 1960’s tower that once housed the tax office then turned into student housing. The neighborhood was known for the many pubs, restaurants, and cafes where all the city hipsters use to hang out, which was quite cooler than the student enclaves outside the center where the international students usually were assigned to.

So, I enter my room which was located on the 4^th floor, of a reasonable size for a bachelor. Mostly unfurnished with a small bed, a small kitchen, an unreasonable big toilet and nice balconet overlooking Götgatan, the street in which everything was happening on the neighborhood.

I planned to have some drinks with an old friend, and he told me that he will be on the neighborhood in 2 hours or so and since I didn’t have much to do and didn’t feel like unpacking, I wanted to sit somewhere outside to kill some time. From my window I spotted a small square adorned with some flowers and a little sculpture on its center, and I thought I could sit there and watch the people pass by and maybe take a walk if the mood hit me.

I went outside and sat on this concrete semicircle around the square looking at the people on the street, watching them going on with their lives – the weather, neither warm nor cold, marked the end of the summer giving way to the fall with its greyish sky, contrasting to the extremely warm August days back home. I haven’t really come to realize the big change in my life that was happening until I looked around and realize how different things really were from home, triggering a cascade of emotions that overwhelmed me for a moment. But still my moods were up and I found myself smiling there like an idiot for quite a while. I felt I sat there forever, yet just a few minutes have slipped by, my sense of time wasn’t fully adjusted yet with the jetlag, like a loading screen on a videogame caught in a loop with some animations as the new level or cut scene loads.

As I set there, lost in my thoughts, a middle-aged women entered the small square pulling a purple shopping cart bag with a small white dog, maybe a crossed French poodle. She walked up the small statue and she started mumbling some words that I couldn’t really comprehend; my Swedish was nonexistent at that point in time. She didn’t look particularly odd, her clothes were quite clean, color matched, and her hair was carefully groomed. She continued mumbling next to the small statue, which was a small cubist man-silhouette; like if she was worshipping an unknown urban deity. There were other people on the small square, but none seem to notice the small ritual of the woman; everybody kept into their own business.

I tried not cross glances with her and interrupt her with her little ritual, but I was quite curious trying to understand her mumbling words until she eventually noticed my presence. She ceased her mumbling as our eyes crossed paths , offering a smile that carried neither warmth nor coldness. She then turned facing me completely and approach with a few steps, which I have to say it made me anxious a little, maybe even embarrassed for interrupting a moment that felt quite personal. A part of me felt like just standing up and escaping the encounter, but the itch of curiosity kept me from moving.

As the woman moved toward me, she mumbled a phrase I didn’t understand and I replied – Sorry, I don’t speak Swedish- The woman stop for a second and it seems that she went into her memory to recall the translation – Death is just a door that we are afraid to open, but it always unlocked-.

Her words made my skin bristle as I felt a mix of fear and confusion, which made it clear that she was probably on the crazy side, so I was ready to stand up and scape a second after and as I was about to move , the woman turned around and went back to the statue to continue into her mumbling completely ignoring the reaction she left on my face, which made everything even more disturbing. I contained my haste to flee and kept my cool for a secondl, but before I could have a moment to think on the whole situation, the woman collapsed into the square ground making a big sound as her head hit the cobblestone and blood slowly started running through the gaps.

Stunned, it took me a moment to process the scene before me. As I sit there, a girl sitting on the other side of the square rushed to help her, which eventually I did as well. A strong smell of whiskey mixed with perfume overwhelmed us as we tried hold her head. Someone called the ambulance and eventually some waitress from a nearby restaurant came to help with some towels to stanch the bleeding. The woman kept mumbling nonstop , but it seems nobody really was listening to her words. Her dog stare at the whole thing silent and motionless; I completely forgot about it until we made room for the paramedics when they arrived.

 I clearly remember the change of expression of one of the paramedics as they were pulling her into the ambulance while she kept mumbling to them. It was a big expression of confusion and a mix of fear. As they pulled her into the ambulance the paramedic told me if I could wait with the dog for a while until the police could come and pick it up, which I agreed since I still had to kill some time and quite frankly, I was still shocked of the whole thing.

The crowd dispersed and the ambulance vanished into the distance, and I found myself standing in the square with the small white dog by my side in front of the small pool of blood. Before the girl that help her with me left as well, I approached her and asked what the woman was mumbling to which she said – It was something about a gate being open and trying to walk through it, but it didn’t make sense at all. – and she walked away. As the police arrived to collect the dog, I was left bewildered by the whole thing, after that I just went on with my day trying to leave all behinf.

That day faded and life carried me forward as my went on with my studies and adjusting to my new life in Sweden.  Months later, as the summer was started to kick in, I found myself having drinks with some friends at a bar . A good-looking brunette at the bar caught my attention, so I decided to make a move.  As I approached her, her eyes stuck me with recognition – she was the paramedic of back then!  My memories of that day came back as fast as when the water runs when you turn the tap and a feeling of uneasiness ran through my spine, but I remembered quite well about her expression after the woman spoke to her, so I was still curious about what she said to her that day.

I offered to ger her a drink and asked her if the remembered that day, and her smile changed to an expression of confusion, so I knew she did. We had a small chat and she told me that the woman died later at the hospital after a heart attack, but the doctors weren’t sure if it was related to that fall she had on the square, which made everything odder. I asked her if she could recall what the woman said when they were pulling her away – I remembered it very clearly.  She said that she had opened the gate for a while and today she was going to walk through it because she was too curious – A grimly sensation passed through me as I listened to her words leaving a bunch of questions to what really happened that day. We changed our conversation into other things, leaving that unsettling day behind.

I still can’t find any answer or explanation to what went about, often wondering if it was all a just a creepy coincidence or something beyond our natural understanding of things, but I try not to think a about it, but now and then the woman’s words hunt me; making me question my sense of logic and ponder if life holds mysteries beyond our understanding.  

Stående figur by  Rune Rydelius.