Somewhere Else

Chapter 3: Teething Pains (v)

He's gone the next morning before I wake up. I notice that he has tucked the covers more tightly around me and turned up the heat in the room, but he didn't wake me up. I lie in bed for a long moment, feeling the tears flood my eyes again.

It's the first time since I've come to Helsinki that he's left without even a goodbye kiss. I know this sounds stupid, but it's tradition. It's our tradition.

Being from different cultures – different countries – we don't share many traditions. But this was supposed to be one of the few things we share.

I sit up in bed, slowly pushing the covers away from my body. My sluggish actions mirror my state of mind. Another day alone in Helsinki. What am I supposed to do today?

I look around the room, and my gaze falls on the mess of books scattered across the desk in front of the computer monitor. Out of the blue, I feel a gag reflex coming on. I turn away.

I'm sick of it. Sick of sitting in here, trying to cram all of this knowledge about Finland and Finnish vocabulary into my head.

I can't do it anymore. I need to get out, or I'm going to go crazy in this apartment, surrounded by all these Finnish books. These books that I hate.

I get washed up and dressed in record time, then yank open the door, trample down the stairs, and plunge out of the building for the first time in a week. The wind is the first thing that hits my senses with a vengeance. This is what you get, it seems to be crowing, slapping at my cheeks. This is what you get, when you hide away for so long.

A whole week indoors and I've almost forgotten how cold Helsinki is. I almost turn back to retreat into the warmth again, but I force myself to go on.

I walk briskly down the street, head bent, trying to avoid looking at my surroundings. I can feel the tears creeping back into my eyes.

Everything outside is so Finnish. Finnish people, Finnish signs, Finnish shops... Finnish everywhere. I can't escape it.

I continue to trudge on, not entirely aware of where I'm going. I don't bother looking at the street names – how are they going to help me? I don't understand them, and they all look too alike. I'm starting to get a headache from it all.

I wonder, briefly, nonsensically: if I walk for long enough in the same direction, could I walk straight out of Finland? And then I laugh at myself, because there are only two places to go, on foot, from Helsinki. Russia or the sea.

Sighing to myself, I stop walking. And then I look up for the first up, steeling myself against the sight of the unintelligible words that I'm sure to see.

As expected, I have no idea where I am. Nor do I know what the shops and signs around me say. I recognise a bank, a book store – and that's it. There are flyers stuck on a lamppost that I cannot decipher. There is some graffiti on a low wall in the distance that I don't understand. I close my eyes briefly, as if that can help me escape this nightmare. Then I open my eyes and turn in a circle to observe my surroundings.

It doesn't matter where I am. I'll just find a café – a place to sit, to spend the rest of the day. I can probably point at the pastry I want to order in the glass display. Even I can handle that.

There is a shop to my right that looks nothing like a café. I almost pass right over it, but something in me makes me look up. My gaze zooms in on one of the words on the sign over the entrance.

Apteekki.

It's the word. If I squint a little, I can make believe that the sign is saying Apotheke. The word feels almost like an old buddy.