Vergil the Virgin (boyxboy)

[32] Parallels.

Ålesund.

Eirik could see the town in its entirety as he approached its coastline on the ferryboat. He could feel the smell of fish and biting coldness in his nostrils. He pulled his beanie lower down his head until it nearly hid his eyes.

Getting off at the port brought back memories of his child self running around the big rusty containers playin catch, and then his teenager self doing heroin with his junkie friends. He was definitely not proud of his past, which was why he avoided coming back home... the last times must've been fifteen years ago, at his wedding, and then ten years ago to sign the divorce papers.

He hugged himself to keep warm while he walked home, preferring to go by foot and take in the changes in the small town instead of taking the bus or taxi. It'd take 40 minutes to get there but... he was certainly not in a hurry.

Merchants waved at him with the hand that wasn't cutting fish heads, shop owners waved at him with the hand that wasn't holding a cigarette. Eirik waved back and kept walking up the street that led to his house, avoiding obstacles like bikes and playing children.

Left and right Art-Nouveau facades led the way, but the further he got away from the port, more modest wooden houses started showing up. The planks that formed their walls were musty and turning green from the humidity in the air.

At last, his own modest wooden house came into view at the top of the hill, further away from the street than most houses. He had to walk down a long path and take notice of the grown weeds and dead flowers that guided the way... He would make sure to work on the garden these next few months.

He felt that he wasn't yet ready to go to the front door, so instead he rounded the house to look it up and down, inspecting every crack from which tiny green strands of plants started growing aimlessly. Then he finally got to the back.

There, he could see the entirety of the Norwegian Sea unravel itself before his very eyes. That didn't change one bit, unlike the town which visibly started decaying and turning green from the sea's humidity, houses shriveling under its powerful currents of salty wind.

He loved that about his house. It was near the edge of the coastline, with an abrupt fall leading straight into the water. Young Eirik grew up there so he didn't learn to admire it the way he was doing now- back then, he'd just kill time throwing rocks down the coast and watching them splash.

Other times he'd go down the steep slope on an imaginary path only he himself knew, though more often than not he took a wrong step and ended up getting dragged down the 50m of dirt, dust and bushes straight onto the lone piece of beach that could only be reached that way. He never tried to climb back up, it was impossible, so the only way to get back up again was to swim to the nearest port- if it was a sunny day and the waves weren't too violent.

Eirik blinked away all of those memories, wondering just how he got to this age considering the stupid stuff he insisted on doing as a kid. He supposed that, were there an instance when he did ever die, he would've been too dead to acknowledge said happening- the only stance people ever know is living.

Which had to mean we are all immortal.

With that piece of wisdom safely tucked in his brain pocket, he finally decided to stop putting it off and turned around to head back.

Since the last time he's been there the wooden front door had turned the same chipped turqoise as the rest of the house, though it had originally been beige and the house white. But those were better times.

He didn't use his key. He knocked.

-------

There was a knock at the door.