Sleepwalking my way through life: Closing time



Closing time

We are dotted around the dimly lit room, each doing individual things whilst listening to a compilation of slow melodies. I am sitting on the double-bed, the Lapdancer balanced on my lap as I choose the next song in line; Kiwi is beside me, playing with my watch on her wrist and occasionally pulling out her phone to text as she writes another line in her diary; and Elisabeth is on the floor, her attention wrapped up in Foamy (which we introduced to her). We are mostly silent, speaking only in the most hushed of whispers as we sit and wait.

It’s our last night here in Norway. A week has passed since I landed amongst the sparkling fjords, and soon I’ll be climbing a sickly plane to leave them. That’s why we’re silent. It’s our last night together in Norway and none of us really want to admit it. We’re just sitting up, all night, and doing whatever it is we’re doing. There are hundreds of pictures stored on my hard drive that chronicle the past week, each pixel shining with energy and happiness. Now we’re subdued. Not even half as much life shines out of us now.

I’m sad to be leaving. Really sad. I’ve had such a good time, and I really don’t want to leave all those memories behind in the past. I want to make more, and keep living them, and wear out the batteries on Elisabeth’s camera. I want to go to more parties and have more late night discussions and I want to find myself again in these verdant green hills. I want to drink in a log cabin, smoke while looking at the stars, and wake up to find pure and utter silence.

Not too long ago, when asked what my perfect house would be, I described a small lonely wooden house near the edge of a high cliff that overlooked the sea. The house would almost be a bungalow, with the attic being used for my bedroom, and a desk sat in front of large bay windows that held the sea; stretched out in all its glory. I always thought that that place was a myth, that there was no such place in the UK that could fit my specifications, even slightly, but Norway has it. Norway has it everywhere.

This place is fantastic, but my experience is not all due to my surroundings. Elisabeth and Kiwi have been indescribably more amazing than I could have imagined. We’ve grown so much closer in the past week, so at ease and comfortable with everything. I now read their blogs differently, and I know our online conversations will never be the same as they were. They’ve been incredible beyond words. I feel a sharp pang in my stomach when I have the sudden realisation that I won’t see them everyday. They won’t be there with chocolate toast when I wake up or there to attack me with avocado face mask when we’re getting ready or there to chide me when I pull a cigarette out of my pocket at night.

I’ll see them again eventually, but that really isn’t soon enough. God, I’m going to miss them.


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3 Comments:

At 4:43 pm, Anonymous brendan said...

Friends like that are hard to find. Sucks to leave them.

But seriously, don't smoke.

 
At 4:41 pm, Blogger Joe said...

Trust me, I'm trying.

 
At 7:34 am, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Welcome to the big, bad, wide, incredibly fascinating, colourful and diverse world, Joe. But seriously, don't smoke.

 

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