I could see the flurries from her kitchen window. 6am - we had been up all night. After leaving the bar, most of that time had been spent standing by the kitchen counter, where we drank beer, flipped randomly through an atlas, and talked for hours. When the sunrise began to reveal traces of snowfall, Maja was peeling tangelos; she was adamant that we eat some tangelos together.
Maja just needed someone to talk to: someone removed from her usual social circle; someone with no knowledge of her current predicament; someone who wouldn't be so quick to call her crazy. I just happened to be sitting on the barstool next to her.
"Can I borrow your lighter?," I asked.
"Is that your icebreaker?"
"It's just me wanting a light for my cigarette."
It went like that for a while. She took everything I said as an attempt by me to pick her up. I couldn't tell what conclusion she would have been happier making: that I was just another guy or that I wasn't.
I wasn't - Maja finally made that determination as closing time neared. With the tough girl facade put away, she began to tell me about everything that had happened to her recently - bad news after bad news, one on top of the other, until it became too much to bear. A week that began just like any other ended up with Maja running out of money, estranged from her long-term boyfriend, and with a demand by her employer to see a psychiatrist before being allowed to go back to work.
The bartender struck the bell that indicated last call. We needed more time.
"If you're expecting sex, don't bother coming along."
"I'm not expecting anything beyond what we're currently doing."
"Then let's go."
When thing got too heavy, she'd pause and start flipping through the atlas. It came in handy, as an enjoyment of cartography was the only real commonality we had discovered so far. She would stop on a random country; we'd spend the next couple minutes sharing any stories we had about the country, all-the-while tracing lines with our fingers around borders, highways, or any other locations of interest. When the stories ran out, the focus would shift back to Maja and her troubles.
All I did was listen. Having never been good at giving advice, listening was the only comfort I could offer her. On this night, it was enough. She was thankful that I stumbled into her life at just the right moment, and that I remained the opposite of what she was expecting when I asked to borrow her lighter all those hours ago. Sharing the tangelos was her way of showing her gratitude.
Maja just needed someone to talk to: someone removed from her usual social circle; someone with no knowledge of her current predicament; someone who wouldn't be so quick to call her crazy. I just happened to be sitting on the barstool next to her.
"Can I borrow your lighter?," I asked.
"Is that your icebreaker?"
"It's just me wanting a light for my cigarette."
It went like that for a while. She took everything I said as an attempt by me to pick her up. I couldn't tell what conclusion she would have been happier making: that I was just another guy or that I wasn't.
I wasn't - Maja finally made that determination as closing time neared. With the tough girl facade put away, she began to tell me about everything that had happened to her recently - bad news after bad news, one on top of the other, until it became too much to bear. A week that began just like any other ended up with Maja running out of money, estranged from her long-term boyfriend, and with a demand by her employer to see a psychiatrist before being allowed to go back to work.
The bartender struck the bell that indicated last call. We needed more time.
"If you're expecting sex, don't bother coming along."
"I'm not expecting anything beyond what we're currently doing."
"Then let's go."
When thing got too heavy, she'd pause and start flipping through the atlas. It came in handy, as an enjoyment of cartography was the only real commonality we had discovered so far. She would stop on a random country; we'd spend the next couple minutes sharing any stories we had about the country, all-the-while tracing lines with our fingers around borders, highways, or any other locations of interest. When the stories ran out, the focus would shift back to Maja and her troubles.
All I did was listen. Having never been good at giving advice, listening was the only comfort I could offer her. On this night, it was enough. She was thankful that I stumbled into her life at just the right moment, and that I remained the opposite of what she was expecting when I asked to borrow her lighter all those hours ago. Sharing the tangelos was her way of showing her gratitude.
