Never Forgotten

17 06 2013

Another bus in front of me. There is a screeching sound in the background, a nice mix-up of Muslim vibrations from the mosque, and simply a loud weeeeaaaahh, fronting its never ending message to the world. My head is fuzzy, after just some hours of sleep, shortened by my roommate who got up really early and then just sat on her bed for 20 minutes staring at her phone. I tried a timid hello, but I probably looked like some alien right then, my right eye swollen after a piece of a contact-lens decided to have some fun. I’ve bought
some tea, ice-coffee, juice and water (just a little bit thirsty). Some soft drink god must have disapproved of how I grabbed everything for myself and took revenge by turning my teacup around. I can hear him snickering somewhere, but I still don’t think I’ve learned the lesson. The clock is 8, my bus will head for the Vilnius airport in 20 minutes. My plane back to Oslo leaves at 09:45, thankfully the airport is just 5 km away.

I put down my phone, to let my thoughts roam for a while I watch a green tree in front of me, noticing the wind tickling the leaves and get into post- morning mood (E. Grieg) at once. I have a warm feeling running through me. jt’s compassion and happiness, cradling me in its arms as they tell me their memories. They remember a little girl from the bus ride from Riga, putting her head on her fathers shoulders, and then comes more glimpses from yesterday and days before that. I hear excerpts from emails recited inside, melting like Lithuanian chocolate. I remember her brown, sparkling eyes and compassion nods its head in agreement. Yes, it likes where my thoughts are, and especially clap its compassionate hands when we looked at each other in the cafe. It was a moment of silence, but with so many messages being sent back and forth. I grabbed one of them and said: I’m so glad we found each other (it sure wasn’t easy!). It’s like whipped cream on hot chocolate (yep, still thirsty), almost too good to be true . She let her curtains be drawn away several times, and out came precious collections of memories, retold with animation and respect for the ones in it. Her thoughtfulness was behind everything she said, no matter if it was telling about places they visited, people they met or people she loved. Her brother Emmanuel (the three E’s) was with us, also contributing with insightful comments of finishing his story. Sometimes they finished each others sentences, if they not continued it out of eagerness before the other was done. He was so calm, handling everything in the world. His violin shoulders not protesting against the task of bearing others in mind constantly. And further; They shined of ambitiousness that have brought them every possible experiences. When she goes back to the states, there is more work to be done. I see her in my mental theater, in front of a white piano together with a student, passionately making sure they get her delivery to their potential. A sound intrudes my reminiscence, reminding me to only take one piece of hand luggage unless I’m in classy business.

I’ve thoroughly liquidized myself with coffee, drinking yoghurt, tea and water, feeling slightly nauseated by the rapid intake. Again, I see number 22 in front of me (literally) which amaze me since it has been around all the time during this trip, pushing me on and telling me I’m doing this for my own sake (22 is my birthday) . The clock was even 22.00 when we finally started walking towards our cafe yesterday, chatting about how we ran back and forth like Crazy, blind people.
Slightly funny we could walk around each other like that: When I was pacing back and forth on McDonalds, going over to the cashier to convey a strict instruction; ‘ ‘If they come in her, tell them to follow me). Maybe she was busy calling the crazy ward as they came in, cause our paths never crossed inspire of vigorous exercise for all of us (they sweetly thanked me for that later, lithuanians really love potatoes!) We found each other at last. ‘I said to my brother, we won’t give up before we find her’. She smiled, probably dead tired from lack of sleep and a quite special and stressful afternoon.

One flight, hard bump in the head after one refreshing rain-shower and three bottles of tax-frees later, sitting and waiting for a bus I think I will not take.

I thought I had time in Oslo to get my luggage, but seems like I must be extraordinarily fast if want to accomplish that. Nothing in me is turned on top speed, so if I find an earlier bus I will take it, even if I bought train tickets already. The flight was spent in-between the skies and earth, in my own creative land. That’s where I build strange buildings (inspiration: Emmanuel) and think about stuff like: How funny would it be to actually smear yellow marmalade at on the singing ladies ? And that Ryanair use a lot of psychological tricks to sell stuff, but smear it over people so they feel sticky and just want to wash it away. Most of all I been re-living yesterday. How many details can one have from just three hours ? I am not sure, only know I’d take the Carousel again.

For now, the ride is over. I will walk on familiar ground again, but with my disorientation, I’ll never be sure if I suddenly walk on a new road.

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