Winter Rot and a (Love)sick Pup
Bicycle Boy is back, baby!
Hello, sweet Bicycle Boys,
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? A month, maybe, or longer. How are you all doing? Leave a comment or email me back with the happenings of your world <3
(scroll on down to the Crystal Ball for some logistical updates on Bicycle Boy :))
Where to begin?
Perhaps in bed. Where else?
I found myself, a couple of mornings ago, in a King-sized bed. A distinctly uncommon opportunity, I’ve come to realize, here in Norway. This one was plush and the sheets were thick and white like a hotel’s, but soft like home. I was in a pool of my own sweat and acutely aware of it.
The man next to me was stirring, and half of my cells wanted to evaporate entirely, and the other half wanted nothing more than to wake up here, forever. Or at least until my Visa expires in August.
We met on a train. An 8-hour journey across Norway. I had told my mom we needed to book the day train because the views were supposed to be splendid.
And they were. I spent half of the journey staring at the man across from me, who sat slumped over, unconscious, probably hungover, and completely unaware of my existence. By the time he woke up, I had already planned how we would sort out the visa situation for our future children, how we would teach them multiple languages. There might be tension at times, sure, given the whole international thing, and maybe even some moments of questioning the whole relationship. Still, it was worth it. I would leave him a note with my number on it. This idea was inspired by my best friend via text message and my mom, who sat next to me and was becoming an increasingly glaring source of embarrassment as she fell asleep, mouth hanging open, manspreading her way through the snowy Norwegian valleys.
Oslo came closer, I became exceedingly dissociative. He was awake and so was my mom and suddenly she was asking this man about his family and I was inching further and further away from planet Earth.
Are we American? What? No, God no. Come on, sir, you know us better than that!
The note with my phone number (and email address, just in case?) was getting soggier and soggier in my hand. I wasn’t even sure if the writing would be legible at this point.
Amidst my mom asking him about the gorillas in Rwanda, I shot up and proclaimed, eyes wide,
“Mom, we gotta go. Now. This is our stop,” before turning to him and saying,
“Well, so I, uh, wrote my number on this piece of paper and I just.. well I wanted to say hi but you were asleep and anyway here it is and now I am very embarrassed and we simply must go okay bye!”
He laughed and politely accepted it and I grabbed our bags with hulk strength and ran off that train at mock speed. We proceeded to miss our connecting bus and ended up in a snowed-in Motel restaurant on the side of the highway. Hours went by of us dipping fries in ketchup and watching men sip black coffee, reading the paper, the snow and salt slowly accumulating on the slippery tiles.
We laughed about everything, Mom and I. But I told her that I genuinely had a nice feeling about it all.
The days went on and Mom and I went South to Morocco where the world was different and our senses were assaulted in strange and pleasurable ways. We sipped tea at sunset and laughed over the same jokes we’d been stretching for weeks. I practiced my Arabic and Mom practiced bartering over rugs and teapots and tajines. She took photos of laneways and horizon lines while I found patches of sunlight and sat still beneath them, like any other cat living in the Medina. One night we heard them fighting outside our window, and the next day Mom wrapped up part of her dinner in a napkin to feed to the skinniest of the neighbourhood. I wondered sadly if it mattered in the long run, but figured that a moment of pleasure is a moment of pleasure. A meal is a meal is a meal.
A sickness brewed in my chest and caught us both. We tried all the remedies. Fresh orange juice, Tiger balm, sniffing eucalyptus crystals steaming in Verveine tea. Nothing could kick it, nothing has. The weeks have gone on now, and Mom is back home and I’m back in my apartment and a cough still keeps us both up at night and home from school.
It got better, momentarily, when I finally met with the man from the train. But maybe it was a pseudo-wellness… the kind brought on by pure adrenaline and excitement. And now, the anticipation paling, my vision disillusioned, there’s nothing to mask the sickness. There’s nowhere to hide.
Yesterday, I did half of the pile of dishes and it required a Herculean effort. I heated up soup from a plastic packet and needed to sit down halfway through. My nightstand currently consists of three types of cough syrup, an assortment of vitamins, plain crackers, and a vibrator. I’m genuinely in awe that my fingers are forming sentences on the keyboard. And as I type, echoing around me are the words he told me as we stood on a snowy corner, contemplating whether I should go home then or in the morning.
“I’m just… I’m not really looking for something long-term or serious right now. I just, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”
“Oh, so you’re not into falling in love?” I say, half serious.
He laughs, and I tell him it’s okay. I wasn’t hinging my next six months on how this date goes or anything.
I went home with him anyway. As goes for a cat in the Kasbah, a meal is a meal. Or at least, that’s how I tried to justify it to myself later, listening to Sade on the bus home.
The truth was that I didn’t know him at all, and really he didn’t know me. And I had no idea what I was doing, this being my first technical date in years. But in those few hours, I caught a glimpse at another way of living, of another human being.
I turned the dial on the lamp and a warm glow filled the bedroom. I took the opportunity while he showered to inspect his bookshelf. Some in Norwegian, some Fantasy, a bookmark halfway through Orwell’s 1984. A guide on caring for a plant. He told me he had served in the Navy for almost a decade. And it showed. He was up, showered, coffee on, breakfast eaten, and halfway through the Newspaper by the time I got up and joined him in the kitchen. We tried to solve the Sunday quiz section, and we did only okay.
I watched him, as he put away the groceries — a bag of decaf coffee, a jar of peanut butter, and a packet of gingerbread cookies — as he emptied the recycling bin, watered the plants, and checked on the laundry. All before 10 am on a Sunday. I watched him in wonder. Is this a result of militaristic conditioning? Is this just who this man is? Will we talk about last night? Does he seem colder this morning? Is he emotionally unavailable? Or is he just a standard Norwegian? Do I really care, anyway?
Yes and no — to all of the above.
I look around me now, at the other half of the dishes “soaking” in the sink, the almost artistic arrangement of Kleenex tissues on my floor, my sheets probably the breeding grounds for the next Covid variant, clean laundry crumpled up on the ground next to the heater, a rolled-up yoga mat acting as a stand to hold up my phone while I watch the 5th episode in a row of The Curse.
I compare it to the spareness, the order, the clarity of a man’s home I don’t know. I compare this to the spareness, order, and sterility of a man’s home I do know. In both cases, I am left unmoored, strangely inspired, and somehow still protective of what is mine.
I don’t know what I am looking for. Likely, it isn’t a family who speaks half-Norwegian, or a man who has learned how to give orders but still doesn’t know what he wants. I think I’m just looking to get better at cleaning my apartment, of taking care of myself, and enjoying moments of pleasure when they come.
Bicycle Boy angels of the Internet,
I needed a big break this month, and I’m not sure if anyone minded or noticed LOL … but I thank you for continuing to read and support my silly little corner of the web.
I’m trying to find a rhythm for writing that feels sustainable, consistent, and fun for all Bicycle Boys. I’m contemplating writing 2-4 letters per month, released based on whim or inspiration. But I’m also curious, do you like receiving these letters consistently, on Fridays (or perhaps every other Friday?) Please let me know your ideas and feelings and I will do my best to integrate <3.
PS: for all paying Bicycle Boys/devoted readers, your thank-you presents are on the way, I’ve just been in full turtle mode. Thank you for your patience xoxoxox.
The List!!
5 things I’m looking at:
this last month has been a tonne of traveling— here are some different scenes, from 5 cities.
from Krakow:
Miroslaw insisted on me eating at least two pieces of cake upon my arrival at his home in Krakow. They were delicious and I felt oddly at home.
from Copenhagen:
I spent Christmas in Copenhagen. It was stunning and lonely, and here are a couple of photos from Christmas day at the mesmerizing Tivoli and some flowers at the Christmas markets.
from Bergen:
from Tangier:
Cinema Rif! Mom and I sat outside and ate grilled chickpeas from a paper cone, sipped Mint tea, and were convinced that Bill Hader was sitting a few seats down from us, smoking a cigarette.
(He wasn’t, we asked.)
from Marrakech:
4 things I’m feeling:
soothed by the steadiness of my tapestry needle, bobbing in and out of the knit of my sweater, mending a hole
like a deep fissure revealed itself, and that is a relief
that slow stream of inspiration that drips down on you when you’re sick, stripped back to your bare being, curious of the ways you could live when you’re well again
grateful to be safe in a home, that buildings aren’t falling all around me…
3 things listening to
Halcyon On and On - Orbital … I listen to this song twice a day….
Belinda Says - Alvvays
TV shows, playing in the background, while I mend my sweater. Do you have any recommendations, dear readers? This holiday I watched a lot more TV than usual and it's been fun. I watched The Last of Us, The Bear and The Curse. I think I loved The Curse most… it was disgusting and cringey and hilarious and 5 out of 5.
2 things I’ve been smelling:
a stick of sandalwood on my nightstand, every so often wafting towards me.
eucalyptus, working its way through me.
1 thing I’ve been tasting.
it cannot simply be one. I ate so much delicious food over the last month. But please tell me, sweet Bicycle Boys, have you tasted something nice this last month? Share your culinary delights!
Songs in the Voiceover:
Intro: So Long - Lo Noom
Transition: Ooh Song - DYAN
Outro: Shed That Fear - Nourished By Time
I am thrilled to read Bicycle Boy this morning! My last few Fridays were not the same without you <3
Yay Bicycle Boy is back!! I missed you so much!!!