Somewhere Else

Chapter 6: Drifting (iv)

I stand to the side, watching Aksel as he converses with the older man behind the counter. He is smiling as he speaks, gesturing with his hands. Ever since moving to Helsinki, I keep seeing sides of him that I've never known. I've never known him to be this animated – not in Edinburgh, nor when he used to visit me in Hamburg.

He is so different in Helsinki. So happy. So friendly.

I am different, too. I am a failure in Helsinki.

It's always different, isn't it? The way one behaves in a place they're used to, in a place that speaks a language they've grown up with, familiar with. There is an innate confidence that can't be imitated by someone who struggles to even express themselves.

Tuning out their conversation, I look down at the counter. I don't know why Aksel is being so sociable now. All I want to do is get back and curl up in the comfort of our apartment, but he seems determined to prolong our time out.

After the day I've had, I wanted to stay in for dinner, but Aksel had been insistent.

"Let's go out to that burrito place you wanted to try the last time," he said, after getting over the surprise of me arriving home early. "It's not every day that you come home early."

"There was a pop quiz," I muttered. "I left early after that." I'm not ready to tell him about my freak-out in class. Maybe I'll tell him later, when I'm ready to cry some more about it. But not now, not in public.

Dinner had been quiet, with me picking at the newborn-baby-sized burrito on my plate, and Aksel scrutinising me from across the table. The proprietor of the café is friendly; he had smiled at us as we entered and, upon realising Aksel is Finnish when he gave our orders in the language, conversed a little with him. Maybe that's why Aksel is still talking to him now, after we've finished our meal and settled the bill.

Then the proprietor turns and starts to address me in Finnish.

"No," I say, cutting over him rudely. I know it's the height of rudeness to interrupt someone, even more so in Finland. But I'm saving him from wasting his breath, aren't I? "I don't speak Finnish."

Beside me, Aksel is suddenly silent and very, very still.

There is an awkward pause. "Ah," the older man finally says, "I was saying, welcome to Helsinki. I hope you like it here."

I feel my heart twist. "Oh," I say, in a small voice. I clear my throat to try to dislodge the lump that has formed there, "Thank you. Helsinki is beautiful. And your burrito was really good."

He smiles at me, warm eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you. Come back again soon."

Aksel bids him goodbye in Finnish, and then we're out on the streets, back in the frigid air. I see Aksel zip up his coat and stuff his hands into his pockets, and follow suit. We walk along silently, side by side but not quite touching.

After a while, Aksel speaks up. "I told him you were learning Finnish." He's staring at the ground as he walks, not looking at me.

"Oh." If I had felt awkward inside the shop, I feel doubly so now. No wonder the proprietor had spoken in Finnish to me. "I..."

I trail off, unable to finish my line of thought.

Aksel blows out a breath of air, his breath white in the evening air. "You know tervetuloa, don't you?"

Welcome. That was probably what the proprietor had been saying to me at first, before I cut him off.

"Yeah." I'm looking down at my shoes as well, so I won't have to look at him. "I do."

When he doesn't say anything else, the heavy silence drives me to speak quickly in an effort at defending my previous actions. "The two of you were speaking so quickly, I couldn't understand a thing. I was zoning out when he spoke to me, I didn't expect..."

"Are you–"

"No!"

Aksel turns and looks at me. "You don't know what I was going to say."

"I do."

"Yeah? What was I going to say?"

"You were going to ask if I'm having trouble with the class."

He is silent for a moment. "Well, yeah," he concedes eventually. "You've been acting weird today."

I take my hands out of my pockets so that I can wrap my arms around myself instead. I hum in response – a noncommittal sound.

There is another silence. And then Aksel ventures, gingerly, as if approaching the scene of a crime, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," I reply, quite honestly.

Eighteen steps later, Aksel says, "What is it that you're not telling me?"

"I don't want to talk about it now, all right? I've had a bad day."

"If you tell me, maybe I can help."

I hate your language. I try out that sentence in my head.

No. I can never say it.

"You can't," I say instead, after a beat. "Sometimes I think you have a God complex. You can't make everything better for me, you know."

He sidesteps the barb I've tossed in his direction. "I've told you – if there's something you don't understand in class, I can teach you. I can help you with Finnish."

I am silent.

"What happened today, Emilie?" Aksel asks softly.

"Nothing," I say. I don't look at him. When he just heaves a sigh and doesn't say anything, the words begin to tumble out of my mouth. "I flunked the stupid quiz today. I didn't study for it, so I couldn't remember anything. I couldn't answer any of the questions." I don't realise I've stopped walking, until I hear Aksel's footsteps pause and start to head back towards me. "The only thing I could write was my name. Do you know how humiliating that is?"

"I–" I have to stop to take a shuddering breath. Shit. I can taste some salty fluid on my lips – snot, probably.

Fuck. My mascara is probably running again. Maybe I ought to just stop wearing eye makeup.

Warmth envelopes me. It's Aksel. "I'm sorry," he says, pulling me in, flush against his body. I don't know what he's apologising for.

I sniff, and laugh a bit. "No. I'm sorry. I suck so much at Finnish. I couldn't even get past the second question."

"You don't suck. I think you're doing well – you can understand quite a few things already. But it can get overwhelming." Aksel pulls away to look me in the face. "It's just a quiz. Don't worry about it. If you have any questions, just ask me. I'm always here to help."

The earnestness shining in his eyes gets too much for me, such that I have to look down and away.

"Okay," I mumble.

He lets me go and takes my hand in his. As we start back down the street, he says, "You can do it, you know. You just have to believe you can, and stop stressing yourself out. One setback doesn't mean failure."

I bite my lip and look out at the row of street lamps lining the street. One flickers.

I wish I had his confidence.