Hop in Then!

by Ulla Bolinder

  I walked alone in town, and a car with two boys stopped. The one driving was very good-looking and when he asked if I wanted to come along, I hopped in. But as soon as I had got in the back seat he looked at his friend and said: “Now, let’s go and fetch my girl!” I was so mad at them because they had tricked me like that. But I hadn’t the heart to ask them to let me out again, because the other boy (called Björn) seemed nice, even though he wasn’t very handsome. Besides, he was possibly a little too young for me. You prefer to meet boys who aren’t younger than 18, but he was 17. The other boy and his girl were about 20 years old, but Björn was only 17 and very childish. When he made a pass at me, he was so clumsy. You realized immediately that he was very green when it came to girls. Not that I wanted rougher stuff, but he was so childish when he talked, also. I felt superior to him and you don’t want that. But he was kind, and I noticed that he was keen on me, poor boy, so I let him have his way.

  I’m not going to see Torkel anymore. There’s no point. There’s no point in anything. I wish it were possible to be drunk all the time, or that it helped to smoke. I smoke twenty cigarettes a day now. Why does it hurt so much? Why does it never end? Only Lasse can make things good again. If he doesn’t come back it will be this way for the rest of my life.

  Yesterday when I was in town, I hoped that someone with booze would come. Once, when I saw a blue Volkswagen, I thought it was Torkel, but it wasn’t. Two guys in a Valiant stopped twice and asked if I wanted to come along. The second time I said no, they got angry.

  “What the hell are you doing here, if you don’t want to go with anybody?” one of them said.

  “You can be here anyway.”

  “Well, hop in now, damn it!”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  Then he got mad.

  “Forget it, you fucking cunt!” he shouted and made a flying start and sped off. The next time they drove by, they pretended not to see me.

  When two hours had gone by and I had said no to five offers, Chrille and Klangen, who I have ridden with once before, came and asked if I were going home. Kerstin, who Chrille is together with, was with him, so I got to sit in back beside Klangen. As soon as I got in the car, he put his arm around me.

  “There’s no point in it,” I said.

  “What?”

  “There’s no point in putting your arm around me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t manage being nice.”

  “But I want to hold you. You don’t have to do anything.”

  They had been to the movies, to “The Wages of Fear”, and talked a little about the film. I could almost not listen, and finally Klangen noticed that something was the matter and asked me if I had the blues.

  “No, it’s nothing,” I said and put my head on his lap.

  “But I notice that there is something,” he said and began to stroke my hair.

  It didn’t make things better that he was kind. I just wanted Lasse to come. After a while I started to cry. I pressed my face into Klangen’s thigh, because I didn’t want anyone to hear, but he felt that his pant leg became wet.

  “Eva-Lena is crying so my pants are completely soaked,” he said.

  “Is she sad?” Chrille said.

  “Yes, she’s crying so I’m completely soaked.”

  Then he tried to console me.

  “There, there… Don’t be sad… It’s better now.”

  “Why is she so damn sad?” Chrille said.

  When the worst was over, I sat up, and then I saw Chrille’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Has anything happened?” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say and Klangen drew me closer and held me.

  “Her whole body is shaking,” he said.

  “Have some guys been rotten to you?” Chrille said as he turned his head around.

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  “Well, tell your uncle here. What kind of car did they have?”

  But nobody had done anything.

  I was afraid that they would become angry because I was so strange and said it would be best if I went out into town again.

  “No, we’re taking you home,” Chrille said.

  I didn’t want to go home, but town was almost empty, and if I got out I might not meet anyone who could give me a lift later.

  “What are you doing on Saturday?” Klangen said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to see you again.”

  “But there’s no point in it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m worthless. I only mess things up and use everyone.”

  “But I like you, Eva-Lena. And I want to help you.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “I want to try anyway.”

  Chrille remembered where I lived and drove out on the Stockholm highway. I didn’t want to go home, because at home it feels even worse, but there was nowhere else to go.

  “I’ll call,” Klangen said when I was about to get out.

  “There’s no point.”

  “Yes, it is. And don’t be sad now. It’ll be alright.”

  But it never will. It is going to be like this until I die. And I don’t want to see Klangen again.

  I went out on the E4 and thought I would walk there and freeze and get pneumonia and die. The truck drivers hooted, and a guy in a common car blinked his headlights, but nobody stopped. After a while I went into the woods and sat behind a boulder and smoked. When I was going to light the cigarette, I put the match in the matchbox cover so that the flame wouldn’t go out, and then the whole box caught fire. I let it burn up. If I had dared I would have set fire to myself, instead. And I thought about how easy it would be to throw oneself in front of a car or a train. But I’ve already decided how to do it. When it has become cold enough outside I’m going to get a bottle of vodka and go out in the woods and sit in the snow and drink myself dead drunk, and then I will fall asleep and never wake up again.

  Wednesday, 18 November 1964

  Sometimes when E-L talks I can get the idea that she thinks she is so down that she will take her own life. But I find it so hard to take it seriously. I think it’s mostly some sort of a game that she carries on with.

  When I’m down I usually sit on the shoe-rack in the wardrobe, back where it’s dark, and ponder. Sometimes I think: Why does it have to be this way? But I never stop hoping that it will be better. And as soon as I can I am moving from home. E-L and I will move in together, we’ve said.

  I feel guilty that I’m not able to help papa to stop drinking. I know it isn’t my responsibility, but I feel guilty anyway. He should not need to do it, I think. But I never tell him what I think, because I can’t make him sad. I can’t talk about it, because I get so sad myself and start to cry, and I can’t stand it that I do. That’s the absolute worst thing, because then it feels like I have lost.

  Torkel called, and I went along with meeting him, though I had thought that I wouldn’t do it anymore. He offered wine this time too, and that was what I had hoped. We played vingt-e-un and strip poker. When we sat at the table he looked at me and said:

  “What has happened to your face?”

  “I’ve hurt myself.”

  “How did it happen?”

  And before I could decide if I should lie or not he said:

  “Just don’t tell me you ran into a door.”

  “No, I hit myself with a hair brush.”

  “Hit yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “Why did you want to?”

  “Because I felt like it.”

  “As if you wanted to punish yourself?”

  “No, as if I hated myself.”

  I didn’t dare to look at him and I couldn’t relax until he had started to play again.

  “I didn’t think you would call again,” I said.

  “You didn’t? Why not?”

  “Because of
what I said last time about never being able to forget him.”

  “I see.”

  “Why do you meet me though you know it?”

  “Possibly because I believe in my ability...”

  “But it won’t work.”

  “We’ll see. Have you met him again?”

  “No.”

  “Have you called him?”

  “No.”

  “There, you see!” he said and smiled.

  “But it makes no difference.”

  “No, I know,” he said and turned serious again.

  Then we lay on the bed with the light off. It was snowing outside, and everything was so quiet. I heard Torkel’s breathing.

  “Are you sleeping?” he said.

  “If you never wake up from sleep, you are dead,” I said.

  “What did you say?”

  I wish I were dead, I thought.

  He took my clothes off and laid me again.

  “You don’t have to pull out, because I take birth control pills,” I said.

  But he did it all the same.

  “Why did you pull out?” I asked after he had been up and dried himself off and came back to bed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you think I lied?”

  “No, I was so prepared to do it that I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “You perhaps believed that I lied, so you could make me pregnant, so I could go to Lasse and tell him it is his baby and get him back,” I said.

  “I didn’t believe anything.”

  “Why didn’t you trust me then? Why did you pull out though it wasn’t necessary?”

  “It just happened. And I have explained why.”

  “You possibly think that I lie as easily as you do!” I screamed and jumped up and sat in an easy chair.

  Torkel remained in bed, watching me.

  “Cheers!” I said and held up the wine bottle towards him.

  “Why are you so unhappy?” he said.

  I couldn’t bear to hear his sorrowful, compassionate tone.

  “I don’t believe in your unlimited frigging patience,” I said. “Tell me to go to hell instead, because that’s how it will end, anyway!”

  And then I drank until the bottle was empty.

  Monday, 23 November 1964

  I spent Saturday with Solan. I stayed overnight. We listened to records and did each other’s hair. She set up my hair in a hair-pad, but this hairdo doesn’t suit me, because it makes my face seem too square. I did a Brigitte Bardot hairstyle for her, that E-L uses sometimes, with some hair hanging and some combed back above the ears and teased up and fastened with a slide in the back. Then I did her make-up, and she became so unlike herself that she looked more like a raggarbrud (that terrible tribe!) than a nice and well-behaved family girl. If she went into town this way she would most likely be sought after by the boys. But she wouldn’t appreciate it, if I know her at all. She would prefer not to be considered as a sexual object. But that’s bloody difficult to avoid when you are out and having fun with the opposite sex, I have to say!

  Soon I’m going to make coffee before mamma comes home. When she works I first put on the potatoes when I come home from school and then papa or I fix dinner. Then I make coffee for mamma when she comes home at 8:30 p.m. Previously she worked at Ringbaren at Stora Torget but now she cleans offices. And I’m supportive and help her to shop and cook and wash dishes. While I’m washing dishes, she looks through the refrigerator for things that should be thrown out. They go out, and then there are lots of extra containers that need washing. But she helps with drying and it isn’t completely boring, because sometimes we are in good humor and have fun at the same time. We talk and sing. If there isn’t anything unpleasant going on at home, both she and I can easily laugh and be happy.

  I don’t know how much I have told Torkel about Lasse, because I don’t remember everything I have said when I’ve been drunk, but as of yesterday evening I’m not going to say anything else, I’ve decided.

  We just drove around, because he intended to go home early to study for an examination, and because of that he wanted me to go home as well.

  “Why did you wish for us to meet when you don’t have time?” I asked.

  “I wanted to assure myself that you feel well.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you made me a bit uneasy yesterday evening. And honestly, I wanted to stop you from going into town again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think it will lead to anything positive.”

  It was cold and dark in the car, and he sat there in his overcoat and looked like a cop, again. I don’t want to see him anymore. He has no warmth and no music and no feeling in the car, and I don’t like his cock!

  “Is it better for me to sit at home and stare?” I said.

  “Yes, because there you can’t do anything dumb in any case.”

  “Like boozing and fucking, you mean? But that’s what I do when I see you too.”

  Then his face turned totally rigid.

  “Do you think that’s comparable?” he said.

  After that I started talking about Lasse, though I had decided not to do that, and Torkel said:

  “But don’t you understand that he just used you?”

  “No, because in that case I used him, too.”

  “How?”

  “By letting him give me everything I wanted, but which I wouldn’t have needed if I hadn’t been so immature and childish.”

  “Don’t you think you are going too far in your self-effacement attempts now?

  “This is no self-effacement attempt! You don’t know how he is.”

  “No, but I can imagine! And if you are determined to cling fast to a false dream world instead of trying to accept reality as it is, you are dumber than I thought.”

  “Yes, I know I’m dumb. That’s what he thought, too. But I won’t...”

  “You won’t what?”

  “You might just as well drop me off here.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So you get rid of me.”

  “But I can’t leave you here.”

  “Yes, you can. You don’t need to take responsibility for me. And I just use you, too. You know it, and you are damned tired of it, if you’ll be honest.”

  “I’ll give you a lift home!” he said and turned around a street corner so the car skidded in the slush.

  “But I’m not going home.”

  He either didn’t hear me or didn’t care what I said, because he just kept on driving.

  “Why do you make it so hard for yourself?” he said.

  “Pull over here!”

  “You just won’t give up until it’s confirmed, will you?”

  “What?”

  “That nobody wants to have anything to do with you.”

  “Have you ever considered being a psychologist instead of a lawyer?” I said.

  I have written a letter to Lasse and asked if we can try again. I explained how I feel and what I have realized I did wrong, and I wrote that he can call or write and tell me what he thinks. But he will probably think it’s just shit and not answer.

  Torkel will presumably not call or want to see me anymore, either. And that’s just as well, because I just use him, anyway. I know that I can’t fall in love with him and that Lasse is the only one I want, so it’s not fair to Torkel to keep on seeing him. I have done it for lack of better and to avoid the company of worse, which is a risk when you walk on Svartbäcksgatan. But it can’t be especially fun for him to know that I think about and miss another person all the time.

  The guy I rode with first yesterday drove out to Galgbacken. He stopped there and turned off the engine. It gets dark and quiet, and you hear the clicking sound from the car when the engine cools and feel the tension climb...

  He wanted me to jerk him off. He opened his fly and pulled my hand over.

  “Karl-Oskar wants a greeting!” he said. “Touch him a little, then you won’t have to do
anything else.”

  I didn’t want to feel that frizzy hair and the thing that was cramped up in his underwear. I didn’t want to dig for it in his disgusting fly.

  “It’s easier if you take it out,” he said and helped get it out.

  It wasn’t as long as Lasse’s but about as thick.

  “Take him in your mouth,” he said. “Take Karl-Oskar in your mouth!”

  He sat back against the seat with legs opened and breathed through an open mouth.

  “No, I don’t want to,” I said.

  “Yes, you do!”

  But I couldn’t. It would have been so disgusting. And I didn’t want to jerk him off. Finally, he did it himself. It felt embarrassing to sit there and hear how he panted and groaned while he carried on. Wasn’t he ashamed at all?

  When we came to town again I said that I wanted to get out, and he dropped me off in front of Fågel Blå. I didn’t feel like going with anybody else and I didn’t know what to do. I’m so tired of all cold, dark cars and all ugly blockheads who aren’t able to talk and believe that they are going to get everything, though they haven’t done anything to deserve it first.

  A police car drove by and the cops inside stared. That’s all they do – stare and drive by. And there isn’t anything else they can do. There isn’t anybody at all who can do something, except Lasse. But he doesn’t want to. It would have been better if I had never met him, because before I didn’t know what I longed for and missed out on all the time. I only yearned for it and hoped that I would get it. At that time it didn’t hurt.

  Friday, 27 November1964

  E-L drinks and papa drinks and nobody cares about what I think. But it’s worse with papa in any case. I will never get used to him doing it. On Thursdays it’s always tense at home (or I am tense, rather). Will he or won’t he come home drunk? He usually turns up at a quarter to five, and then I am possibly standing in the window and wave and see him disappear into the cellar with his bicycle. Or he doesn’t come at that time, and then the tension rises. Mamma and I eat, in any case, and a little later we see through the window that he is coming. And I know immediately how things are. If he has just drunk a single beer I notice it, while mamma is more uncertain: “No, but now he can’t have...?” Oh yes, I know for sure that he has, and I get very disappointed, because I don’t know how he could do like that to me. I take it as a betrayal of me: How can he do this to me? I don’t understand it.