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Tord's brief appearance in my life was nothing short then just brief. I had tried to summarize our friendship into something clear that I could store in my brain, however it was challenging to think of a way to describe it. His jokes made me laugh, albeit his thick Norwegian accent made it hard to understand him sometimes, and he offered good company. Around him, I could never laugh too much, and he thought likewise.
I was younger then, and Tord’s existence in my life was nothing more than a friendship. We were a system, not just him, but my other roommates. Matt was a long time friend, never more than that. Tom was someone who I had met on an online chat room, soon becoming yet again, another friend. We all were young adults who wanted to spend a little portion of our lives together while we relied on each other for our livelihoods. By then, Tord was just one room away, not a car ride to another part of London. And by then, the muddiness of our friendship was never more clear.
In a world where lines weren't meant to be crossed, Tord and I jumped over them like nothing more than hurdles. It would start in the morning at breakfast when Matt was too busy studying his reflection in his spoon, and Tom was reading the morning paper that Tord would stand a little too close to my proximity while we both scrubbed the dishes. Again, I'd often find myself blushing a little too hard when at night Tord would be near enough on the sofa that I could feel his body heat against mine. I was a vessel of dynamite that exploded whenever I felt his warmth close to mine.
While Matt and Tom were only ever close friends that I hung out with, Tord was a tangible energy that I'd prefer over sleep any day. At night while everyone else was asleep, Tord was in my room watching me draw as he laid lucidly on my bed, talking about whatever. At times he'd complain about Tom's lameness or Matt’s ignorance, but he'd always have half a mind to stop right before he'd say something he was aware would offend me. As much as Tord meant to me, I was still quite fond of my other friends. When I'd get tired of my craft, I'd set my pen down and lie next to him as he would occasionally let his hand find mine. It was so quiet, but so loud as my heart never ceased to quit pounding in my chest. Tord was always gone when I woke up, but the sheets left his lingering scent in his wake.
Our relationship was difficult to define in short phrases, however I still try to find the right words to describe that time in my life when I challenged the world more than it did me. I stood high while my youth peaked, and right beside me was Tord, however his greatness never seemed to plateau, even when he'd bring other girls home and leave late at night to be with them. Regardless of his true wants and desires, he knew just as well as I did that we were not endgame, merely just a bond between two souls curiously discovering what path to go down. If I could, I would tell Tord to stay the nights he'd stay at other women's homes with me, but I bit my tongue when I'd see the way he'd look at them. To him, they were real, a possibility that would lead him to greater success. Me, however, was an idea that challenged the women he brought home, though he couldn't express his love to me the way he did with them. A touch, a smile, an idea.
It broke me down internally, though not even someone as transparent as Tom could see through me. I was alone in my feelings, I presumed, as Tord would be laying with me one night, while sleeping with another girl the next. He still made me laugh, he was still good company, but he was slowly breaking me. With every touch I felt closer to bursting, and during those days when it was just me and him alone in our one story house, I felt regret for not doing anything more. I was young, and so were my roommates. We had goals and dreams, and unfortunately Tord never let go of his.
I wasn't surprised when he told us that our house was too small for him, and that he needed his chance at success in a bigger one. He watched my eyes as he told us this, and as I met his, he faltered. Back then I had wished that he'd ask me to come with. Now I'm glad he had decided not to. Our relationship to him might have been just an experiment, a test to see if he'd be able to sacrifice himself for a different path, but I must've not been convincing enough.
That night when all his bags were packed in the living room and Tom was putting his own furnishings in Tord's old room, Tord visited me one last time. A twisted sort of goodbye, as he still looked at me tenderly like he wanted something more, like he knew I wanted something more. We lied down together, his head on my chest, and he told me the silliest thing. He told me that he loved me.
The next morning I watched him load his personal belongings away into the car I helped him pick out when he first got his license. Now I was going to watch as he used it one last time. All four of us, me, Tord, Matt, and even Tom stood in company as we said our goodbyes, and at that moment I regretted not telling Tord those silly words he had told me the night prior back. He drove off, leaving me till this very day thinking of the right way to summarize those few years Tord and I were friends. Even back then, I knew that'd be impossible. Tord was impossible. When I woke up the day after he left, my sheets still smelled like him.