While Flipping Eggs

Inger Wold Lund

I. 

At a café. A year ago.

As they got up he looked at her. 

Tell me your secrets. 

My secrets. 

Yes. 

They said nothing more as they put on their coats and walked away. 

II. 

At home. Some weeks ago.

The branches I had cut and brought inside had grown roots. The roots were a light shade of pink, similar to my own skin tone. I sucked a finger to see if it would take on the same nuance. 

III. 

Where I grew up. When I was a child.

Before we had grown hips, the long underwear we wore when outside would sink down between our thighs, while the panties would move between the buttocks and itch. Wearing mittens, tucked under the elastic bands of the sleeves of the waterproof one-pieces that kept out the constant rain, there was nothing we could do about it without asking for help. 

At night, we built forts inside with kitchen chairs and duvets. 

IV. 

In a bedroom. Some years ago.

I asked him if he did not love me anymore. He did not answer. After a silence he looked at me. 

I am a better person now. I do not tell people things I do not mean.

V. 

At a beach. A year ago.

Before we entered the cold water screaming, we looked at the birds. The water was shedding of their feathers. It took on the shape of tiny pearls. 

VI. 

In a bar. Some years ago.

Have you ever had sex on a beach?

I asked her. 

Yes. 

She answered. 

Was it romantic?

No. It was punishment sex. And I was wearing my sunglasses. 

VII. 

On a balcony. Some days ago.

A mosquito had drowned in my drink. Instead of putting my fingers inside the glass to remove it, I maneuvered the straw from side to side while drinking to be sure not to swallow it.

VIII. 

In an apartment. Some weeks ago.

I read in the newspaper that a fisherman had caught two ocean eels in his net. There was a picture of them together with his sister. They were all laying on the ground. She was wearing rain gear with details in pink. The eels were longer than her. There was a box with facts next to the article. It said that in the summer the eel swim to an area in-between the Sargasso Sea and the Mediterranean Sea. There, 2-3000 meters below the surface of the ocean, the eel spawn 3-8 million eggs.

IX. 

In an apartment. Some years ago.

He told me that he did not like to have the men he met on the internet sleep over. He liked to clean his room, put on newly washed clothes, make his bed, and then sit on it while waiting for the doorbell to ring. That was his favorite moment. 

Then he asked me what I liked. 

I like it when my pillow smells of someone else.

X. 

In a restaurant. Some years ago.

His sister had been married more times than he could remember, he told me. Then he told me of his sister's dog. It had lost two legs in an accident and had a specially built cart with wheels attached to its body to be able to move. This cart had cost a lot of money, which he told me his sister's former husband had paid for. When their mother was visiting her she promised to dog sit the dog, as his sister went out for some errands. Not only had the dog lost two legs, it was also old and had poor health. His sister did not want it to be alone. 

But the mother did not like the dog, and had immediately gone to another room. She returned to the room with the dog hours later only to find it cold and dead in a corner. She did not know what to do.

He looked at me for a reaction.

Then she put the dog on a radiator to heat it up.

He said, again looking at me.

And when my mother heard my sister drive into the garage she picked up the dog, sat down in a rocking chair and put the dog carefully to rest in her lap. Then she sat there rocking back and forth with the dog in her lap, waiting for my sister to enter. 

I looked at him.

When my sister walked in my mother told her that the dog had gotten ill, but that it held on to its life, waiting for her to return. It had taken its last breath just as she walked through the door. 

My sister told my mother that she was happy that the dog had not been alone in the last moments of its life. 

XI. 

At a library. When I was a child.

We are lucky you and I. 

My father said. I was just a little girl. He was pointing at a faded poster of a famous writer.

We are not beautiful, as she used to be. 

XII. 

In a bedroom. Some years ago.

While I slept on a mattress on his floor, next to his narrow single bed, he woke up. Not being able to fall asleep, he turned from side to side. 

In the morning, while flipping eggs, he told me that every time he turned I turned as well.