The Unpredictability of Being Human

by Linni Ingemundsen

  “That will never happen.”

  She was about to say something else, but then her face suddenly turned really white and she ran into one of the cubicles. I heard her throwing up three times before the toilet flushed and she came back out. She went over to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror, while smoothing her maroon hair. She still looked really pale. I asked her why she didn’t go home if she was sick.

  “I’m fine,” she said and bent down to the sink to splash some water on her face.

  “But I heard you,” I said, “you were being sick.” Her red eyes met mine in the mirror. “Malin.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am not sick.”

  Her voice was determined so I decided not to argue. Hanna took out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her leather jacket. She took one cigarette out and fiddled with it between two fingers. “You know, Malin, you have to stand up to Frida at some point. If you don’t she will just continue to be mean to you. And I won’t always be here to help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hanna didn’t answer.

  She just looked at the cigarette she held in her hand, and then she put it back in the packet and threw the packet in the bin. “I’ve been thinking about quitting anyway,” she said. “Now is as good a time as any.”

  “What do you mean, you won’t always be here to help me?” I said.

  Hanna looked at me and sighed. Maybe she was getting tired of me. Maybe she didn’t want to be my friend any more.

  “Basically,” she said, “you need to toughen up. You don’t have to feel tough. You just have to act like it.”

  I thought about this. What do people do when they want to act tough?

  Hanna lifted up her backpack and put it over one of her shoulders. “I have to get to class,” she said, and started walking towards the exit. “Are you coming or not?” she shouted as she hurried out the door. I picked up the packet of cigarettes from the bin before rushing after her. I figured they might come in handy.

  11

  Me and The Devil

  It was a Tuesday and we were having Social Studies. We were cutting out pictures from magazines and gluing them to sheets of paper. On one sheet we glued pictures of things that we appreciated in today’s society. On the other half, things we didn’t appreciate. Our teacher, Harald Foss, taught second grade until last year. It shows in the assignments he gives us.

  I took my stone out of my pencil case and held it inside my fist. Sometimes I take it out for a bit and just hold it. I like the way it feels in my hand.

  I looked over at Frida, who was sitting on the other side of the room. Every now and then, she turned her head to talk to Julie Losvik. They were smiling and laughing. And probably telling secrets. Then Frida tucked a lock of her perfect hair behind her ear and started to cut out pictures in the shape of a heart. How clever.

  I went up to Harald’s desk, which he had turned into a crafts table. He had laid out scissors, glue sticks, glitter and paper cut-outs in different shapes. There were also several magazines and newspapers for us to find pictures in. I looked at the table, but couldn’t see anything that I liked. I ended up grabbing a paper cut-out shaped like a cat and a golden star, and then found my seat.

  Shortly after, Harald said, “Okay, it’s time to present your work to the rest of the class.”

  I looked down at my poster. It was empty. “Who wants to go first?” Frida smiled and raised her hand.

  She held up one of her posters so the rest of the class could see. It was titled, Things I do not like in our modern-day society. She pointed to a picture of some chocolate-chip cookies. “These cookies contain palm oil. Every year, large areas of rainforest are cut down to make these kinds of oils. This endangers the lives of people and animals and has a huge impact on the climate. There are plenty of ways to make sweets without using palm oil, so I think this is unnecessary.”

  Frida smiled and pointed to a picture of a mink. “Minks are killed every day to make fur. This is a very cruel industry and quite frankly animal abuse, if you ask me. They raise animals only to kill them so we can look nice.”

  Then she held up her second poster: Things I like in our modern-day society.

  There was a picture of a family sitting at a table eating breakfast and another picture of three girls laughing, and a picture of a red house. She had also cut out some letters that spelled home and family. She had decorated the poster with silver stars and hearts and on the bottom corner of the poster she had glued a small round stone. On it she had written the word Love with permanent marker.

  The stone was oval shaped, in a grey tone, and was covered in tiny black dots.

  Frida started talking. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it was something about how the picture of the family represented love and happiness.

  I grabbed my pencil case and shook it so I could see what was in there. I couldn’t see my stone.

  I turned my pencil case upside down and emptied it on my desk.

  Pens and pencils fell out, along with a ruler, two erasers and a pencil sharpener. But no stone. The stone was not there.

  The stone was glued to Frida’s poster and was written on in permanent ink.

  Frida was saying something about how the picture of the red house made her feel safe and loved. Or maybe she was talking about her own house. I felt dizzy and confused. I think that might be why I blocked out most of what she said. I remember that her poster looked nice though. And I wondered what it would look like if someone were to cut it in half. Frida found her seat, still smiling, and another kid went up to present their work. I don’t remember who it was. Maybe Gjermund Moen or Vegard Gudmestad. One of the boys from the back row.

  What happened next is a bit of a blur. I remember getting up from my seat, holding my scissors, and I remember walking across the room. But it was like someone else was doing it. Like I was sitting in my seat and watching my body walk across the room. I think Gjermund or Vegard or whoever it was stopped talking. Or maybe the sudden loud screaming just drowned out all the other sounds.

  The next thing I remember is everyone staring at me. And Frida looking at me with a mixture of confusion and anger. And Frida screaming and screaming and screaming. Harald rushed over to me. “What the hell is going on?”

  I looked at him.

  “Malin!” he said. “Malin, what are you doing?” I looked down at my hands. In one hand I was holding the scissors.

  In the other, a handful of perfect brown hair.

  “She took my stone!” I shouted. “It’s mine and she took it!”

  “What are you talking about?” Harald said.

  Me, Frida and Harald were standing in the corridor. He’d taken us out of class so he could sort out what had happened. Meanwhile he’d got one of the substitute teachers to step in and take over the class. I could hear kids laughing and shouting on the other side of the door. It sounded like utter chaos in there.

  “The stone on her poster,” I whispered. “It’s mine.” Harald looked over at Frida. “What stone?” “I have no idea what she is talking about,” Frida shouted. “I found the stone on the crafts table. It was just sitting there.” She was holding her right hand to her head, covering the part where I cut her hair. “Who cares about a stupid stone anyway?” She looked at me. “You weirdo!” Then she started crying.

  The school called Frida’s parents and told them what had happened. And then they came and picked her up and she got the rest of the day off.

  They called my parents too and asked them both to come in for an “emergency meeting with the principal”. My dad even had to leave work early to be there.

  I had never seen Principal Skogen so angry before. He said that what I had done was an assault. A violation. Illegal.

  “If we were in America you would have been charged with assault with a lethal weapon at hand,�
� he said.

  My dad flinched. “Really?” he said.

  Principal Skogen looked a bit startled. “I don’t know. Probably.” Then he raised his voice again. “More importantly, if Frida’s parents decide to file a complaint, this could go on Malin’s permanent record.” My stomach was riding a roller coaster. Up and down, over and over again. I felt like throwing up.

  I looked over at my mom and dad. Neither of them said much. My dad was making fists with both of his hands, and his knuckles were turning white. My mom held her handbag on her lap and smiled the way she does when she pretends that everything is okay.

  Then Principal Skogen started talking about something called CAPS. Child and Adolescent Psychiatry Services. “I would strongly suggest that we get in touch with them for a follow-up,” he said, looking at my parents. “In the first instance you would receive a letter calling Malin in for a meeting. No big deal, really. For now it would just help with mapping out the situation and getting some input on how to proceed further.”

  My dad was holding his right hand over his eyes, rubbing them slightly. I wasn’t sure if he was listening to Principal Skogen. My mom still smiled, but was clenching her handbag in a tighter grip.

  “I think we should discuss this further in private,” Principal Skogen said. “I will call you.”

  Principal Skogen suspended me for the rest of the week, which meant that I would miss the trip to the museum. This was just as well, because I didn’t feel like talking to anyone at school for a while.

  When I got home, I had a quick shower and went to bed without dinner. I tried to remember when I last had the stone. I couldn’t remember leaving it on the crafts table, but maybe I did. Frida had called me a weirdo for caring about a stone. And looking back at it now, it did seem childish and stupid.

  Principal Skogen said that I had done something illegal. I didn’t know what was scarier; the fact that Frida might report the incident to the police, or the fact that my dad hadn’t yelled at me.

  12

  Suspension

  I wasn’t allowed to go to school, so I stopped by Magnus’s house. He’d called me and said that he had heard what happened and that I could come over if I wanted to, because he had the day off. I guessed my mom had told Aunt Lillian about it.

  I rang his doorbell at 10.46 a.m. and we went into Magnus’s room. He sat down by his desk and I sat down on his bed. He normally keeps his room much tidier than Sigve does. There were some clothes on the floor, but no leftover food or empty Coke bottles. Magnus had brought down an old record player from the attic and he was trying to make it work.

  “I think I can get it running again if I replace the needle,” Magnus said.

  “How will you find music to play on it?”

  “My mom has some old records. And I can find more in vintage shops.”

  “But you won’t be able to find new music.” Magnus shrugged. “I am not really into mainstream music anyway. I like different things.” He took up his phone and put on a song. “Like this,” he said as the music filled the room. “It’s Daniel Kvammen.”

  “A lot of people listen to Daniel Kvammen.”

  “Yeah, but I listened to him before he was popular.” We didn’t say anything for a while. I was watching Magnus dust off the record player. He was stroking it like a dog or something. But a dog made of glass, which he was worried would break if he petted it too hard.

  Then he said, “So you got suspended from school, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Because you cut that girl’s hair?” I looked over at the shelf with all of Magnus’s swimming trophies. They were not lined up nicely but stacked in front of each other and on top of each other. A few medals hung on a hook on the wall and some of them just lay in bundles on the shelf. It was like he had too many prizes and not enough room for them all.

  “Do you think Frida is still mad at me?”

  “Probably.”

  “I shouldn’t have cut her hair.”

  “No,” Magnus said. “But everyone screws up sometimes.”

  I thought about how I had made Frida cry. Maybe she wasn’t the Devil after all. Maybe I was. “Her hair will grow back,” Magnus said.

  Magnus wanted to practise holding his breath underwater again and asked if I could time him. In the bathroom he filled a bucket with water just like last time. He got down on his knees, took a deep breath and put his head in the bucket.

  My mind went to Frida again. My dad had talked to her dad to smooth things over. Apparently, they kind of know each other from way back. Everybody kind of knows everybody around here. Frida’s dad agreed not to press charges, and my dad promised that I would apologize to her in person.

  Magnus came up from the bucket and exhaled, dripping water everywhere. Then I realized that I had forgotten to press the timer.

  He tried one more time, but he was kind of exhausted from his first try and he was only able to hold his breath for three minutes and fifty-nine seconds. That is not bad,

  but it wasn’t a personal best.

  “Principal Skogen said that I might get a letter from CAPS. To call me in for a meeting,” I said.

  “What’s CAPS?”

  “The Child and Adolescent Psychiatry Services.”

  “Okay.”

  “What will they talk to me about in the meeting?” Magnus wiped his face with a towel. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I never had one.”

  Magnus said that he would make me lunch. He warmed sausages in a pot of boiling water and made instant mashed potatoes. He finished the mash off by stirring in some seasoning packets meant for Maggi 3 Minute Noodles. “To spice it up,” he said.

  We sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The mash tasted horrible and wonderful all at the same time.

  On the wall there were two pictures of Magnus as a child and Aunt Lillian. One where they were skiiing, and one where they were playing with a ball in the back yard. I wondered who had taken the pictures.

  “Magnus, do you know who your dad is?” I said. He looked puzzled. I had never asked him about this before because there never seemed to be a good time for questions like that.

  “He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Did you ask Aunt Lillian?”

  “I used to ask her all the time when I was younger. She said he was a good man, but he couldn’t be in my life due to certain circumstances.” “What circumstances?”

  “I’m not sure. And I don’t think it really matters.” Magnus put more ketchup on his plate. “There is no excuse for abandoning your child if you ask me. I know I would never do that. No matter what.”

  And I knew Magnus wouldn’t do anything like that because he is a really nice guy and it was hard to imagine his dad as a good man if he didn’t stick around to take care of his own child.

  “I think you’d make a good dad,” I said. He smiled. “Wouldn’t take much to beat mine.” “Mine neither.”

  We laughed. “At least you got one,” Magnus said. After we finished our meal Magnus got up and put our plates in the sink.

  “I have to apologize to Frida,” I said. “Before I go back to school.”

  “I would do it as soon as possible.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It is better to get it over with.”

  * * *

  After visiting Magnus I cycled straight over to Frida’s house to apologize. It was better to get it over with. Her dad opened the door, and even though I had given his daughter a new hairdo, he was actually nice to me. I asked for Frida and he went inside to get her while I waited on the doorstep. A couple of minutes later she came to the door, wearing a long knitted sweater. She had a new, much shorter haircut. It actually looked better than before.

  “I am sorry for cutting your hair,” I said.

  Frida didn’t say anything. She just looked at me as if she
expected me to say something else. But I didn’t know what else I should say. So I said the same thing again, “I am sorry for cutting your hair.”

  Frida crossed her arms and just as she opened her mouth to say something her dad showed up in the doorway. “Are you two still standing out here in the cold?” He turned to Frida. “Why don’t you invite your friend in for a snack?”

  I had no idea why he was calling me her friend. Everything in Frida’s house was white. The sofa, the picture frames and the bookshelves. And on the window sill were four wooden letters that spelled out home. I sat down on the white couch and Frida brought me a glass of water with a slice of cucumber in it and put an open jar of olives on the table. Then she put on a DVD, before sitting down on the other end of the sofa. The DVD was a documentary about an animal I had never seen before: the alligator snapping turtle. The narrator said that the alligator snapping turtle is found primarily in south-eastern United States waters. It is one of the heaviest freshwater turtles in the world and got its name because of its powerful jaws and its shell that is similar to the skin of an alligator.

  Without taking her eyes away from the TV, Frida said, “Do you know how the alligator snapping turtle catches its prey?”

  I said I didn’t.

  “As it is a turtle, it can’t chase after prey at high speed. So it just lies in the water with its mouth wide open.” She held out her hands to represent its jaws. “And then it just has to wait until prey comes. Fish, insects and sometimes even frogs. They swim right into the turtle’s mouth. And then, when they least expect it, the turtle snaps its jaws shut –” Frida clapped her hands together – “killing the prey instantly.”

  Frida kept staring at the screen. “I guess they deserve to die. If they are stupid enough to swim right into the snapping turtle’s mouth, I mean. Don’t you agree?” She turned and looked at me. Her eyes seemed lifeless. Like two small stones pushed into a snowman’s head.

  I began to think that I would never make it out of there alive. I was on death row and my last meal was an olive and a glass of cucumber water.