Chapter Text
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Isak wants the hug to be firm and warm, like a shield against the windy and chilly morning. He wants it to be like an embrace from a lover before a long parting, like a promise of undeniable affection and care. But it's nothing like any of that. It's just a hearty gesture from Isak's forlorn crush. Jonas, his best friend.
“You're shivering.” The softly voiced statement stirs Isak from his thoughts, “You should go indoors.”
Stubbornly, Isak tries to shake his head, in vain his face only managing to rub against Jonas' shoulder, "It's barely freezing." Isak replies. To be honest, seconds ago waves of heat were flowing through his body, but he’s not going to say it out loud.
“Okay, okay.” Jonas loosens the hug and smiles at Isak, pouting. “Maybe I’m cold because it's bloody early in the morning, and I'd rather still be asleep.”
Isak’s face turns into a grimace, “No one forced you to walk me here.” Here, this place was his home for more than a year, although he still has trouble accepting it. For Isak home will always be behind the hill looming behind him, where he could walk out of the house and be at Jonas's or Eva's place in minutes.
“I watch out for your safety!" Jonas defends himself. Isak laughs heartily, because it is ridiculous.
“So you're using me to fulfill your gangsta fantasies?” Isak replies, looking at the street, quiet and peaceful. “Or have you become xenophobic? It's not a ghetto here.”
Jonas makes a wry smile,sighing. “Fuck you, Isak. I’m just...Never mind. Anyway, why are you going to church so early?”
“Because mass is so early?” He explains, hiding his hand in his pockets. The warmth from earlier all well and gone “Anyway, dad wants to make breakfast.” Treating Jonas to breakfast would be about right, he muses. After all, he's spent the whole day and night at the Vasquezes' place, still he worries if an invitation would be more of a punishment. “I would invite you, but you know...it's a bit of a crapshoot.”
Jonas nodded in understanding, squeezing Isak's shoulder. Why was he always so tactile, he wept inside. Fortunately it is evident that Jonas attributes any his uneasiness to the subject they touched. The mention of his mother’s condition was always visibly upsetting to Isak.
“I'm sure she'll get better.”
“Thanks.” That is everything he is able to say to Jonas. How could his assurance, however well-meaning, help? “See you at school, right?”
Putting on a brave face for Isak, Jonas breaks into a broad smile, reaches for Isak's shoulder once more with a friendly stroke, then leaves with a loud "Bet on it!"
Isak watches Jonas disappear towards the subway station, then makes his way to the front door of the row house, and steps in. Inside, the heat radiating from the kitchen strikes him immediately, he takes off his jacket and sweater, following the smell of sugar and cream wafting through the house. He finds Terje in the kitchen at the stove.
“Hi, Isak.“ his father greets him, “I saw you and Jonas standing outside, so I started making breakfast.”
“Hi....” The room smells heavenly, but Isak feels like the scent just disguises a mustiness. It’s as if nothing moves in space or in time, just waiting for him. Waiting to attack him, from the most advantageous position. That was exactly what the home was filled with when he screwed something up. He had absolutely no idea what he might have done wrong this time. So he tries to postpone the inevitable judgment by asking, “Pancakes?”
“Yeah,” Terje answers and begins to fill a tray with them, “and berries with cream,”
Isak's favorites. That's more of a sign that everything's fine, unless his dad is playing some twisted mind game with him.
“Have a seat, I'll bring it right over.”
The tablecloth with reindeer and selburoses seems to indicate that Christmas is closer than it actually is, but something on the table interferes with the family's coziness. Two plates, a bowl with the creamy spread, Terje’s checkered mug, and Isak’s mug with dinosaurs. There are place settings missing.
“Mom won't have breakfast?”Isak asks.
Terje sets the pancakes’ dish on the table, looks at his son, his voice cracking. “She wasn't feeling well yesterday... at all. She had an episode, so I had to call an ambulance.“ He sits down, cautiously pushing the tray over to Isak. “The psychiatrist at the hospital wanted to keep her under observation, she agreed after a little persuasion.”
Isak stares at him in disbelief. No! No! That had to be a lie! Marianne was terrified of psychiatrists, she would never let herself be left alone. No matter what.
“A persuasion?“ What an odd choice of words, he thinks. “Like you forced her?”
“How on earth could I force her?” Terje shouts, then lowers his voice trying to explain further, “She was a danger even to herself. Do you think you and I could have helped her?”
Isak shakes his head and admits to himself that Dad really could hardly force her. Still, he feels that something about the whole situation is wrong and that his initial outrage is justified. “But...at least we should try.”
“We were trying, you know that,” Terje states as he dishes the food on their plates.
“Maybe we should've tried harder.” He answers Terje, without even giving the food a glance. Instead, he stares intently at the man sitting down opposite him, as if nothing had fucking happened.
Terje picks up the bowl, but then puts it back down with a sigh.
“It's been too much for her lately.” Lately? Was it really? Marianne's condition remains basically the same, just Isak himself has changed.
“Lately?” Isak repeats icily, “You mean my coming out, right?”
His father looks at him squarely in the eyes and shakes his head, “Of course not,” he states defensively. “Anyway, it was good for you to do that. You need to think about yourself, not just your mom.”
So that's how it is, Isak thinks, letting the contempt show on his face, “So mom is in a psych ward for my sake?”
“I never said anything like that,” Terje whispers, looking defeated, avoiding his son's angry gaze.
But Isak is not going to whisper, instead, he shouts back “Or am I wrong and it's for your sake?”
He rises from his chair and shouts again. “Fuck you, you can't just…you can't,” Isak sputters overtaken by his own seething anger, surprised for having used such language with his father. He had never done that before. “I'm not hungry anymore,” he tells Terje. On the verge of tears, he turns to leave the kitchen heading to the front door.
“Where are you going?” Terje asks, calling after him.
Isak looks at him and shrugs with no answer.
Letting his anger energize him, Isak takes off at a fast paced walk, his legs eating up the pavement. He heads west as if to climb Glassberget and return to Jonas. But the direct way is blocked by fencing surrounding a construction site. The buildings inside the fence look bleak, one in particular beckons to him.
So no fairy tale....
He finds a hole in the fence and begins to explore one of the abandoned buildings. And as he roams the rough concrete structure, the anger begins to fade. He welcomes it initially, being angry is fucking exhausting. As his heart stops beating furiously, guilt begins to seep in. He doesn’t know himself what they should do to ‘try harder.’ They have tried so many different approaches over the years, without success. He can't shake the notion that deep down Terje, despite his many faults, is genuinely worried about Isak's well-being.