Swedish Stories Ch 03

Ch. 1 - The Candle of Truth

Another girls night had ended and I left the club scurrying to make the last tram. I arrived just in time to see the illuminated compartments of the passing tram smear a glowing yellow streak across the dark backdrop of the city. When it slowed to a halt in front of the crowd waiting on the dreary platform, the packed figures inside the cars pushed towards the doors. There was a pneumatic hiss then they opened.

I leaned into the mass of people bundled in heavy jackets anxiously awaiting the warmth of the cabin. The last of the alighting riders were clearing the compartment when I saw her. Black wavy hair, deep blue eyes, and a creamy complexion that glowed in the overhead light. She wore a black coat with a purple scarf wrapped around her neck.

Oh my God, it's the girl from the street photo I took last summer.

I still remember that day--bright and sunny--perfect for hunting subjects in the city. I dialed the ISO setting all the way to 100 allowing for highly crisp shots with virtually no grain. Central Station had always proved fruitful for finding interesting characters to photograph, so I had started

my day there.

After getting some mediocre shots of travellers getting on and off the trains, I turned my attention to the platform. That is when I saw her, standing at the edge of the overhang, half in shadow, half in light, wearing a dark blue suit and a wide brimmed hat. I held the camera down by my stomach in stealth mode and took a gutsy head- on shot as I walked straight towards her. I snapped the shutter just in time as she leaned into a shaft of sunlight that painted a bright stripe across the brim of her hat and onto her clasped hands. Her face was cast in soft shadow with one eye looking straight at the camera with the other one covered by the downward angle of the brim. I thought she saw me, but she did not react

.

The interplay between the intensity of her one-eyed stare and the light glowing off her hand gave the picture its mysterious resonance.

It was one of my all time best shots. I never stopped thinking about who she was and what she was all about. Now here she was again, coming straight for me. I had to take another shot.

I didn't have my camera with me, so I pulled out my iphone and put it up in front of my face swiping around to put it in camera mode. I only had a few seconds, but miraculously her face appeared in the display. Right before I could tap the red dot to get the picture, a hand grabbed my phone.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She said, staring at me.

"I'm looking at my phone," I jabbered.

"You were taking a picture of me."

"Sorry if it bothers you." My face grew hot. I couldn't lie

.

We were blocking the doors to the tram so I moved over to the side to let the others pass. She followed me.

"You took a picture of me last summer, too, didn't you?"

Oh my god, she remembers.

"I don't know, I shoot lots of people, I mean, it is a hobby, I'm working on a photography project."

She was now looking at me like an interrogator staring down a suspect. The side of her face glowed from the interior lights coming from the tram.

"I didn't mean to exploit you," I said.

"You didn't mean to exploit me."

"Look I'm sorry."

"So, how did your shot turn out, anyway?" she said after a pause looking down at my phone.

"I never got the shot, you grabbed my phone before I could take the picture."

She laughed. I felt silly.

"Alright then, friends?" she said, extending her hand out to me. I couldn't tell if she was mocking me or was genuinely trying to be friendly. I removed my glove and took her hand. It was warm.

"Friends," I replied.

"Want to get a coffee?" she asked.

"Sure," I said instinctively without really thinking. David was probably waiting up for me,

but I decided I didn't care.

"Follow me," she said.

"Where we going?" I asked.

"My place, there is nothing open this time of night." I looked at my phone and it was almost two in the morning.

She spun out into the darkness toward Södravägen into the flecks of snow dancing in the amber streetlights above. I watched her dark silhouette float across the shimmering reflections radiating off the concrete. She took off so abruptly that I wondered if she really wanted me to follow.

There was something that enticed me to start walking. Perhaps it was an unconscious effort to salvage another dull night out with the same old crowd. Or maybe I wasn't quite ready to go home to David. I quickened my pace until I was right beside her. She seemed not to notice. This was one strange chick. My curiosity deepened.

I walked with her in silence down Södravägen, then we headed to the stop at Korsvägen arriving just in time to jump into a departing tram car. I didn't even look at the board to see where it was going. The compartment was filled with late-night partiers, their shrieks of spontaneous laughter stabbing through the alcohol-scented air.

The tram rode on for ten minutes then coasted to a creaky halt at a stop in the Majorna neighborhood. Of course she lived in Majorna, bohemian heaven. I continued to follow her to a three-story building on Såggatan. A heightened sense of arousal chased away my drowsiness and the buzz I had from the drinks. I thought about the picture I took of her this past summer. The light, the hat, her face, that eye. The more I looked at her image, the more I saw Maja and realized how much I missed her.

With nimble fingers she punched at the soft rubber buttons on the entry panel followed by a buzz signalling we were cleared for entry. She pushed on the door and led the way. The clip-clop of our footsteps echoed throughout the dim corridor.

What the hell was I doing?

We climbed two flights of stairs, turned left, then she pulled out a key.

"This your place?" I asked stupidly.

"Sure," she said without breaking the cadence of unlocking the door. I suppose she was still pissed about the photo.

There was a metallic burp as the key slipped in between the tumblers of the lock followed by the twisting of her hand. The thick wooden door opened and she felt around on the inside of the wall. There was a click, then the room lit up. It was a one- room apartment decorated in the bohemian fashion one would expect from someone living in this part of the city. A small faded green couch was pushed up against the wall underneath a large window facing the street. The orb of a street light hovered just outside the glass leaking dull amber light into the room.

"So, you followed me this far, aren't you going to come in?" she said.

So I did.

She bent down to untie the laces of her black boots and I slipped off my shoes. I watched her black mane bob at the effort. Maja's hair was similar, but not as dark. She placed her shoes on a black rubber mat against the wall. I did the same. Our shoes were the only ones there.

"You live alone?" I asked.

"Have a seat on the couch and I'll make some coffee."

The black jeans hugging her body showed off the sweep of her thighs as she strutted into the kitchen. I had never looked at another woman like that before. I felt an odd attraction to her. There was a gushing sound as she turned on the spigot, then the hiss of water filling the carafe. A metallic clank, then the sound of a spoon scraping against the bottom of an unseen metal container.

I had a seat on the couch and took in my surroundings.

In front of the couch sat two black-lacquered Lack tables from Ikea

.

There were no magazines nor conversation pieces sitting on them giving any clues into the mind of this dark mysterious woman of very few words. Up against the opposite wall, there was a flat- screen television sitting on a black knee-high stand. Also Ikea. Sitting next to the couch on the right, there was a square, metallic table; the kind given to you by an arty friend made in an evening metal-working class. A bizarre-looking cylindrical candle, the size of a paper towel roll, sat on it. I leaned over to study it.

The black nub of a burnt wick poked out from the center of a divot on the top where the wax had melted away. Gnarly fingers of yellow, orange, and red cascaded down its sides forming crusty layers indicating the candle had undergone many burns. At its base, the wax was sculpted into the forms of intertwined naked human figures engaged in a kind of orgy. It was more freaky than erotic. Sitting next to the candle was a flat metal ashtray containing the butts of what looked like joints. I poked my nose closer, took a deep whiff, and confirmed.

"Want to smoke a joint?" she said as she entered the room.

"Sure," I replied.

She set two cups of coffee down on the lack tables and disappeared back into the kitchen. After a few minutes she came back into the room carrying a small multi-colored, cloth bag.

"My little bag of tricks," she said.

"So, what's your name anyway," I asked, reaching for my coffee.

"Adelina."

"Mine's Anna."

"Well, pleased to meet you Anna," she said lifting the cup to her lips looking at me. Her eyes were a mesmerizing blue. She took a quick sip then set the cup back down onto the table. Reaching into the cloth bag she pulled out a small plastic baggie full of weed and a pack of rolling papers. She rolled two joints and handed me one. Taking a lighter from the bag she walked over and lit the freaky red candle then lit the tip of my joint.

"Whenever I smoke, the candle of truth must be lit."

"The candle of truth?" I asked before taking a big inhale of the joint.

"Yeah," she said after exhaling.

"There can be no lies when the candle of truth is lit."

I took another hit of the joint and the cannibis started its work on my brain. The last time I smoked weed was with some British guys I met in Spain five years ago on summer holiday. After a couple more hits,

I was warm and relaxed. She sat on the other end of the couch taking slow, deep drags with her eyes closed. We had forgotten about our coffees.

"So, Anna," she said while sliding next to me on the couch

.

"You and your boyfriend aren't getting on like you used to, are you?"

I looked straight into her eyes wondering how she knew this. Her accent had a tinge of something. Eastern European? She definitely wasn't Swedish.

"Don't lie, now. Remember the candle of truth," she nodded over in the direction of the candle.

I took a long drag on my joint then held the smoke deep in my lungs. She did the same. I let the smoke out in a long, slow exhale. She leaned in to me with her face close to mine, pursed her lips, then blew a long steady stream into my face. I sucked it in through my nose. I held the smoke briefly in my lungs then blew it out back at her. When the undulating wisps of gray dissipated, she moved in closer. Her breath was a mix of smoke, alcohol, and coffee. I liked it, it smelled naughty, like the night.

Then, I felt her hand on my thigh. I looked down. Her nails were painted deep red.

"Your boyfriend, Anna."

I looked into the dark pupils of her eyes, then at the watery blue irises surrounded by bloodshot white. I thought about the photo. The photo, yes. Ever since the day I got that shot, I had become obsessed with her. I even started to convince myself, she had been there waiting for me to find her. How often had I stared at the photo in my studio thinking she was looking back at me? I had become obsessed by an arrangement of digital pixels on a two-dimensional surface. Pathetic.

"Are you a mind reader or something? How do you know I even have a boyfriend?"

"All pretty blonde Swedish girls like you have boyfriends, Anna, " she said, playing with the tips of my hair grazing my shoulder.

"And what makes you think we're not getting along?"

"Just a guess, and judging by your reaction, I seem to be right."

"So, who are you? Where are you from originally? I mean your accent."

"I'm from Romania, originally. Bucharest."

"I'll bet you get a lot of vampire jokes?"

I reached for my coffee and took a sip to alleviate the cottonmouth that had developed from the smoking. It was lukewarm.

"You have no idea," she returned with a slight eye roll. "People think Romanians are all vampires, thanks to Bram Stoker."

"Are you?" I asked, half in jest.

"Maybe," she whispered, edging in closer to me, her mouth slowly opening.

I stared straight into her narrowing eyes and leaned back slightly then felt the warmth of her lips pressed against mine. I closed my eyes and accepted her mouth. Her hand swept around the back of my head and pulled me into her. The memory of my first kiss flooded my senses. My heart pounded.

Her soft fluttering tongue explored my mouth and I all of a sudden thought about David. But I was with another woman, did it count as cheating? Didn't feel like it.

I felt her breath on my ear as she started to nibble around its edges. Her lips and tongue danced across my tingling lobe. Her hair smelled like a mix of winter air and the charred smoke of weed. There was a fading hint of shampoo. I imagined her in the shower hours ago, before the night began, lathering up her thick, black mane. Soapy bubbles running down her shoulders and back. Trails of white foam sliding off her body and running for the drain.

"Anna, you taste good, so milky and sweet," she purred into my ear.

A soft moan was all I could muster. Warm shivers radiated through my body. I felt a flush in my loins.

She began a trail of soft kisses down the side of my neck then swept her hand over my breasts. I felt my nipples harden. She then slid her hand between my legs, lightly fingering the coarse fabric of my jeans. My sex grew wet.

My chest heaved. I could barely breathe.

"First time?" she whispered.

I nodded my head, yes.

"That's okay, just relax."

"Just a little nervous," I said.

The flickering red candle mixing with the ambient yellow light coming from outside gave her face a mysterious glow. She was gorgeous.

"Oh my God, David. I need to text my boyfriend," I cried out.

"Do that," she said standing up. I watched her hips swing as they rose in front of me.

I ran over to my coat and pulled my phone from the pocket. I typed out a message to David:

"Hi! We're not quite ready to call it a night yet. We are going to Julia's for a coffee and more girl talk. I am fine. Missing you :) Kisses. Me"

I pressed send and put the phone back.

Adelina was standing in front of the window looking out.

"All good?" she said, turning to me as I approached.

"He's going to be pissed, but what the hell."

"Come," she said, taking me by the hand and pulling me close to her. Her arms wrapped around me and we resumed kissing.

"I think I need to lie down," I said pulling back and clamping my palm to my forehead. The effects of the weed and alcohol combined with these new sensations sent everything into a spin.

"Follow me," she whispered.

She led me across the sitting room and into a dark room which I assumed was her bedroom.

"Here, lie down on the bed."

I heard a click then the small lamp on a bedside table cast dim light over the biggest bed I had ever seen. I sat down on the edge then lay back on the fluffy dark blue comforter. Adelina sat next to me and stroked my cheek with cannabis-scented fingers.

"Just lay there for a little bit

.

I'll get you some water."

I lay back and fought the urge to sleep. My mind drifted through the memories of the past, and I thought about Maja. The first day I met her still burned vividly in my mind, perhaps because that is how I wanted to remember her.

It was the beginning of August, and I was going to start my studies in the fall at Gothenburg University. I had received a seat in the business marketing program, which seemed to excite my parents much more than it did me, but I wasn't so sure if I wanted to go into the business world with all its bland conformity and illusion of self-importance. With a keen interest in photography in high school, I had won many awards during my final year. Despite the urgings of high school instructors to study photography post-high school, I instead applied to several business programs. I wasn't sure how my parents would have taken it, having lived their entire life within the traditionalist bubble, if I strayed outside of their template. And I didn't have the courage to try. I mean, how could I betray the privilege of growing up in an upscale neighborhood in Ögryte, summers in Bostad, and everything else that came with it? My parents never said anything to me about what I should study, or how I should live my life. The restrictions I felt were completely self-imposed, and I hated myself for it.

But one thing was for sure. I needed to move out and live on my own. Affordable student housing was hard to find in the city, especially close to campus, so I wasted no time in answering the ad I saw posted on one of the an online student forums:

Second year student at Valand School of Art seeks roommate to share a 2-bedroom flat in Vasa

Non-smoker preferred :)

Call or send an SMS: 072 xxx xxx xx xx

Thanks!

Maja

When I called, she picked up right away, "Hello, this is Maja." Her voice was bright and cheery. I liked her right away. I explained who I was, assured her I didn't smoke, hinted at the fact that I was unattached so she did not have to worry about the invasive presence of boyfriend and the eventual conversation about him being here too often and can we please go to his place once in a while; nor have to listen to the sounds of our drunken Saturday night sex. She gave me the address and we made plans to meet the next day at two O'clock.

The flat was on the third floor of an apartment building on Vasagatan, only a few minutes walk to where my classes were, and an equal distance to the Valand art school. When I got there, I pressed the button of the apartment number she gave me and waited. There was no buzz to let me in, nor sign of any movement in the lobby. I rang again. After a few minutes, still nothing. What the hell, did she stand me up? I was about to write her off as just another flakey creative-type who couldn't keep a commitment, when my cell phone pinged. I pulled it out and looked at the newly arrived message:

Hi Anna! I'm running late, had another engagement beforehand. Be there in 5 mins.....sorry for this! Maja.

Oh well, at least she let me know. I stood outside the front door glancing casually at the various passers-by looking for someone who could be her. It was a sunny, late summer day, so I didn't mind.

The fashionable figure that was bouncing up the sidewalk with her dark brown hair, pink silk scarf wrapped around her neck, and stylish shades had to be her. She carried herself as if she either didn't have a care in the world or was too naive to know there were things in this world to be cared about.

"Anna?" she asked, stopping in front of me.

"Yes, Maja?"

"That's me. Sorry I'm late." She said it in a way that indicated she often apologized for being late. I started to wonder how an aspiring straight-laced business student like me was going to get along with an artsy-type like her.

"Anna, sit up, drink some water," I heard Adelina say, jolting me awake. My mouth felt like a dry, stinking hole.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Just a few minutes. Here, drink up."

I took the glass from her hands and drained it. I was immediately refreshed.

"Thank you," I said, handing the glass back to her.

She placed the glass down on the nightstand then pulled me up off the bed by grabbing both of my hands. Backing up a step, she grabbed the bottom of her white sweater then pulled it over her head. After shaking her hair free she tossed it on the floor then unbuttoned her black jeans. Her gaze locked on to mine as she wiggled them down her legs. After carefully stepping out of each leg, she stood back up, then undid the front clasp of her skimpy bra. Two round breasts fell free. Sliding her hands down her hips, she caught the edge of her purple panties then slipped them off. I stared at the black triangular patch sitting above the confluence of her curvy thighs.