Ok, so maybe I wasn't the best coach

”But, you called me a loser” she almost cried

Sweet little victim. I shook my head. Gosh.

“That’s the point” I said, gesturing my hands out into the free air.

She blinked at me. The message was not received. I think she might’ve been scared. I sighed.

“Let’s go through this again. You need more confidence, right?”

She crossed her arms, gently touching them with her small hands. Up down, up down they moved. She looked to the side trying her hardest to avoid eye contact, slowly stating a: “errm…” 

“Right?”

Her eyes flickered at me, as if my eyes would burn her. Pierce her soul with my-

“I… I guess”

Her voice was light, I could barely hear it.

“Excuse me? What did you say? I heard nothing. Nada. Once more please”

Her eyebrows were touching in the middle. Insecure.

“Nevermind, just listen”

She was trembling.

“If you are strong in here” I pointed at her chest “You will show it all around you”

Sceptic she looked back.

“Errm…”

“Yes, I know ‘errm’, I get it”

She looked away again, water in her eyes. Was I being too harsh? Too up front? No.

“Listen”

She didn’t, so I gently went forward and grabbed her arms. I changed her position, made her see me.

“Listen”

She looked down. I gave up my attempt of forcing eye contact upon her.

“The point is” I said and let her go “if you are confident with who you are, then you won’t care about what others might think”

She looked up, kind of asking ‘really?’

“Well yes. Because if you love yourself, what would it matter what others think?”

“Everything” she whispered

“No, no, no. You do your thing and that’s that. What others think becomes irrelevant. Suddenly you stand there, looking yourself in the mirror thinking: damn, I’m good. You are ultimately the one who criticises you the hardest, which means that it’s your attitude that must change. Once you accept yourself, and you won’t need the reaffirming factor from others!”

No reaction.

“Don’t you see?”

Nope. I launched ahead, grabbing her arms yet again, shaking her as I got filled up with my ideas.

“Don’t you see? You don’t need anyone to tell you how amazing you are, because it’s already an established fact!”

She tried smiling. I let go.

“Doesn’t help, does it?”

She looked away again.

“Nothing I say makes the smallest amount of impact on you?”

She took one step back.

“Then you are a boring bitch aren’t you?”

En annan tid

I ett andetag bortom stadens gator hör jag deras viskningar. Ingenting gick som det brukade, förutom paraderna. Genom staden, över bron och in i mina drömmar for dem. Varje dag, ut och in i medeltidens stillhet och smuts. Ingen vet vart jag försvunnit, bara att jag vandrar runt med tomhet i blicken. Ingen vet att jag haft en annan värld i månader nu. Att jag ler och skrattar som de vill, det är vad de ser. Men att jag har en tom blick, ett fantastiskt uttryck av ingenting. Även om jag skrattar, så skrattar jag inte med dem. Jag skrattar åt mina nya vänner på andra sidan. Bortom staden. Runt det smutsiga vattnet.

Trädens kronor vajar i vinden. Flodbanken ligger öde i solnedgången. Kyrktornet slår fem när jag går längs kanten av sten. Jag ser bort mot bron och solens sista strålar. Jag sätter mig ner och känner doften av matoset från restaurangerna. De börjar tillaga inför kvällens gäster. Kaféerna står vidöppna och snart ska vi ses.

Jag känner en kall hand mot min panna. Jag vänder mig om och hoppar upp i din famn. Allting är så stilla. Inga krav finns i musiken, bara förståelse för varandra. Vi vandrar hand i hand längs floden, bort från solen och in bland människorna. Upp på bron går vi. Skymningen omfamnar oss och jag kysser dig. Vi ler och fortsätter bortåt. Bort från samtal om ångest, in i vår verklighet bland ljuvliga toner.

Varför kan inte verkligheten kännas som en sommardag? Jag vill vandra i lätta klänningar genom städer jag aldrig sett, med nya människor med kärleksfulla intentioner. Men krigen ställer sig alltid runt om mig. Mörker och ondska skrämmer mig och mina drömmar om natten. En ensam hand som trycker tillbaka i mörkret är det lilla jag begär i min rädsla. Jag vill uppleva och förenas, jag vill ut och förväxlas, jag vill se och förstå. Men någon skrämmer mig ständigt och jag vet vad de tänker. Jag vågar inte gå ut även om det är vad jag önskar.

En julidag på gatorna. Fredliga sinnen och lukten av kaffe utan krav. Jag vill känna nya människors tanka vandra hos mig och förstå varför verkligheten inte blev som poesin. Ge mig romantiken och musiken. Ge mig värmen och vackra ord. Pryd mitt huvud med kronan av självförtroende utan förakt.

Visa mig att det är värt det. Visa mig att jag kan klara det och att det finns något bättre på andra sidan. Ge mig modet och håll min hand när jag inte vågar. Låt mig se det jag väntat på så länge.

salt

”So, what do you do for a living?”

The man put down his suitcase on the floor and sat down. The flight was cancelled. He looked at Patrick with eyes full of scepticism.

”And who are you?”

”Patrick”

The man sighed.

”What to you do for a living?” Patrick persisted
”And why do you care?”

”I’m being friendly” Patrick explained

The man looked around, as if searching for the plane. It wasn’t going to show up. He might as well…

”Salt” he said promptly

Patrick couldn’t help it. He had to laugh.

”Salt?” he said, looking at the mans black suit ”Really?”

The man moved a bit uncomfortable in his chair.

”Yes. My company is gaining the most profit in the country”

”No way” Patrick continued with amazement

”Yes. Why is that so funny?”

”Haha, well salt, it sounds so not serious, and you” said Patrick and pointed his finger at the man ”you look serious”

”I don’t understand why this is funny”

Patrick jumped in his chair.

”How can you not? Salt? You know you never think of salt. Salt is always there and then here you come here and you work with it! How funny isn’t that?”

Patrick started laughing again. The man looked a bit hurt, his pride was spit on. Patrick kept on laughing and tears came to his eyes.

”This isn’t funny” the man said firmly ”Besides, how would you feel if I laughed at your work?”

Patrick stopped laughing and looked into the eyes of the man. A silence came over them both, striking down with no turning back. Patrick’s eyes pierced the man with such a power; he did not know what to say.

“I’m a clown” said Patrick and broke out in laughter once more.

Pokémon-era

”Can I come?”

My shoes are black from mud. I tie a knot and look up.

“No”

I smile at his small face. Innocent, without any marks of adolescence.

“Why?”
I look down again and untie the other knot. I tie it again.

“Well” I say as I continue my struggle “it’s not really a place for you”

“Why not?”

I look up. My arms rest on my legs as I sit on the floor. He’s a bit taller than me in this position.

“Because it’s a place where people make out and listen to loud music” I say, trying to frighten him. He doesn’t understand the amazement of girls yet.

“But I want to make out”

I look at him.

“No you don’t. You’re not in puberty yet”

“Yes I do” he insists

“Listen. I get to make out with girls, and you get to have fun all day, it’s pretty fair” as I stand up I add: “Besides, I would change places with you any hour of the day”

A piece of hope came into my brothers’ eyes.

“Really?”
“Yes. You see, you get to play all day and I get to work. You don’t have to do anything – you are free”

I bend down towards him and whisper: “Run while you can”

Ignoring my sarcastic tone he turns his adult face on.

“So why don’t we switch? I get to live your life of excitement and you can play all day”

I get my jacket.

“It’s not that simple”
“Why?”

I put the jacket on.

“Well, that would not matter so much for you maybe,” I say “but for me, that action would have dire consequences. I have expectations to live up to”

I look around and find my bag. I put it over my shoulder and continue:

“You have none yet”

“So, I can do your work. It can’t be that hard”

I shrug.

“Maybe not. But it’s a lot. All you do is sketch all day”
“That’s not true! I do other things. Like math”

“Math at your age is fun”
“I bet yours is more fun. I want to do what you do, I want to work too!”

I smile at him.

“One day” I tell him as I fetch my keys “you’ll eat that up”

“What does that mean?”

I walk to the door.

“It means” I say as I open it “that you will realize how much you loved your life when you were nine, and how miserable everyone else is – who isn’t at that age. And that life isn't really what tv made it seem like”

“Hmm” he says, sceptically “I’ll meditate over that”

“Good. Tell mom I’m at the library”

“It’s eight o’clock”

“I’m in the IB – she’ll buy it”

“Fine”

“And when I come home I want a full scale report of what happened on Pokémon”

“Pokémon is so 2011”

“Fine” I say

When I’m just about to close the door I lean in and tell him: “I love you”
“Shut up, faggot”

“These ten-year-olds…”

“You told me that!”

“Back in my time…”
“Just go, I have a date with Pokémon”
“I knew it” I say and close the door behind me

As I lock the door and head towards my bike I realize that I much rather be in there with him, discussing Pokémon, than going to the mainstream parties. 

Jag skulle vilja blogga. Men jag vet inte vad det skulle handla om.

Min vän. Lyssna noga några gånger.

Jag vet inte riktigt, men särskilt bra känns det inte. Mitt skrivande har legat vi sidan av så pass länge dessutom, det känns stelt när jag skriver. De små adjektiven och uttröttnande liknelserna. Det låter inte bra. Jag får väl öva på det. Igen. Och igen. Igen igen. Och igen.

Mellan och och och och och. 

You’re not very conducive for my wellbeing.