Fear of the unknown

Fear of the unknown



He pulled up the blinds- a pale grey light, wet. It didn't appear cold outside, the bitter and icy winds of late January still some time away. ”Another in between day-” thought the man. Though it was not yet winter, certainly the season had advanced beyond the colorful days of autumn. It was a depressing to look out the window, such pointless weather. The shortening days shedding more and more precious light with every hour that passed.
The man offered up his energy. Unwontedly indulging in a morning ritual- worshiping at the alter of despondency and dullness. His eyes caressed the apartment building that stood opposite to his, an exact replica. A grandiose structure in its day, built as part of the 'million project' in Sweden. But over fifty years had lapsed since their creation and still the buildings endured. Huge square blocks of weather worn beige and brown. In their day well designed structures- tough. Sadly though, no building however strong can survive the long years and harsh winters of a northern seaside climate, not without repeated reconstructions. And so gradually the exteriors decayed, little by little, worrying away at the face of social progression.
The man was left feeling tired before he'd even dressed himself, defeated before enjoying the taste of breakfast. The tiny box from which he gazed out was warm, but overcrowded by his privileged standards. The forty sq feet that he called home was merely a building block, hammered with unknown calloused hands into a far greater structure of some seventy five apartments or more. He could hear his neighbors. Gradually they burned a way into his fragile piece of mind, crying to be heard in every creak that pitched in the ceiling, in every beat of nauseating bass vibrating through hollow walls. They became as close as family. He smelled their cigarettes and cursed their midnight sicknesses. They too were unfortunate souls- left behind, like he'd been.
The years had hurried by. The entire area, its -so called- gardens, the apartments inside and out, the loud neighbors with their sour faces and unhappy greetings. Everything, completely run down and long forgotten- timelessness. What the man witnessed and what he felt when looking around was despair, an eternal rot, unfixable, the essence of why his home was unbearable. Even as the light of day gradually improved, no cheer was born within it. Enduring rain and ugly facades surrounded him all on sides. A grey dampness on the apartment house opposite appeared like smudged tear drops, reminding him of his wife's face not two nights before. They had to get out, and soon. But how?
This was but of the one enduring questions neither he nor his wife could find an answer too. These days it seemed as if their entire world was a question mark looming above, an ethereal grey sky creating a depressed atmosphere. An existence, a life they'd created together, recently turned sour in the face of on coming winter. Although at its core- in its heart, what lay between he and his wife was love. It was not always pretty or glamorous, but it tried to be pure and did its best to be honest. However careless the world outside appeared to him, or hurtful the words he spiked into her when voicing his despair- they each tried to give and receive a love that had its foundations built upon pure happiness and joy.
The man and his wife had known each other throughout four years, and had been married for one of those years. But the latest three months had lead them through an emotional stairway to an explosive breaking point. The horrendous apartment, her stressful masters education grating against his lack of stable employment. Their financial strain. The lack of little extras to brighten a tiring week- like going out for coffee or lunch. A non existent social life. An intrusive and -at times- uncaring family. The dwindling light outside- the winter. Everything a negative cycle. Husband and wife lay trapped in its peril, at its epicenter. But they- were no longer simply man and woman. No longer just 'a couple' dealing with the trauma of life and its circumstance. And the reason why lay within his wife womb- the last three months she had been carrying their child.
It had been so simple in the beginning, a wonderful pregnancy. The seed had found its way to the egg and were now one- together. An instinctual function, played out as nature intended. To create, to strengthen a bond. Everything surrounding the event spiraled uncontrollably up to a height that could have conquered ages. But such is the deception of miracles. Now this day had come, this grey and unyielding light signaled the moment in which this joyous pregnancy traded itself for the life of an actual child and its tiny beating heart. This afternoon they would go to the hospital for the wife to under go an ultrasound examination, to see exactly 'what' was living inside of his wife- for the very first time. Supposedly a joyous occasion, the women who carried the child voiced that opinion anyway. But the man's world had been filled with unhappiness of late, and it became exhausting to believe that anything healthy could be alive in there. He couldn't quite stamp the exact moment when his thoughts had become so morbid. In fact it had been a gradual decline. The knowledge that life -in its beginning- is so fragile, was not a new concept to him. A nurse by trade (although currently unemployed and living within a country he could not speak the language of) his grounding in health forced him to acknowledge the perfected physiological functions of the mind and its vehicle. Throughout his career he'd witnessed the healthy struck down by sickness, the injured return to function. He'd bowed his head when the elderly passed on, and smiled at seeing new life being brought into the world. And through all the experience he came to understood the absolute unpredictability of all existence. Not everybody got their due fairytale, not everyone could remain within the darkness of ignorance. The beginning of life had always been an unpredictable and helpless time for new parents. What if something goes wrong- what will happen? What could happen? What is going on in there? Is it safe? Will my baby come out with two heads? ”Well....yes” The man was forced to believe, anything could happen in those first months in the womb. Every new parent was forced to cast their hands ou into the heavy traffic of venerability.
The man had lost all of his instinctual joyfulness- all of the fertile feelings newly bloomed within the creation of life- swiftly turning on the knowledge of his experience. Gathering tremendous speed in the last few weeks- his thoughts and emotions had plummeted down, smashing into the ungodly mess he and his wife had made of their life recently. What could they do but wake up every morning and continue on. Trying -gradually- to make things better. Find a new place to live, look for a job, try to find laughter among the winters rosebush, maybe a little extra cash. Try not to take every moment in life so seriously, it was after all- only life with all its selfish moments of living.
On this day however both the man and his wife could not find any laughter, the sun would not show through the clouds. Both remained in their silent and selfish worlds throughout breakfast. The women endured the motion and preparation for her day ahead. Her masters program was a manic schedule of endless books and long articles that- ”Created only a thin surface of knowledge” the man had criticized during one quarrel. Going on to call the degree ”intellectual masturbation.” in a blaze of anger and frustration. That had made her cry, for she believed strongly in her education- in all forms of education in fact. And so did he, it was a foundation they'd always shared within their relationship. But a weaker moment of jealousy had bitten into him, and it was easy to criticize things he failed to understand- like her entire masters education- A Political systems and hierarchy analysis.
She'd dressed warmly to face her busy day ahead, speaking to her husband for the first time that day-
”So I go to school now and I will study for two hour before I have my seminar. Then I'll take the tram to the hospital and met you there at about quarter to three. Then after that I have choir practice.....so-”
”You don't have to explain your entire day to me-” the man complained ”-I'll meet you out front of the hospital at 2:45, don't worry.”
”Just don't be late.” Shot his wife as she laced her shoes.
”God...how am I gunna be late? The hospital is just there, two minute walk, plus a got nothing else to do today. It's you I worry about. You're normally the late comer. Plus I don't think this whole thing will work if you're not there.”
”Maybe you could show them your stomach.” She added with a light tone.
”They'd be more impressed. I still say mine is bigger than yours.”
”Hah, not for long.” She laughed.
”I'll just stop pooping, I can have a sympathy pregnancy.”
For the first time that day husband and wife smiled at each other. It took only a brief moment of laughter to relieve the tension. But in the time it took for his wife to collect her bag and open the door to their apartment, the husbands strained look returned. She kissed his nose, looking up at him with her ever faithful and beautiful outlook. Only she, could ever appear to him in that way.
”Don't stress too much, it'll be ok...ok?”
”OK, hej då, puss.”
”I love you.” were her final words before she went out the door.

Boredom was not the correct remedy for the man and his anxious thoughts. The grim day kept him prisoner within his 40 square meters. The scenery outside dissolving within his brain, so that he need not look outside his window to be aware of all the disparity that lay in wait- surrounding him. Just another day really, just like any early season day in Sweden. Only today had an extremely vital and high expectation added to its conclusion. This day would pass as usual, but as unpolished silvery rays of light descended to dark, so too would the man be forced to break from his prison. To meet with his wife at a place where 'by definition' only the sick gathered. To place his wavering support at the feet of his unborn child -a conjurers trick? Time would tell.
The hours until his departure were many, whilst activities to keep his mind occupied were few. He didn't like communicating with his friends via social networks, and under such a stressful situation outrightly refused to skype any member of his family-especially his parents (the very people who'd landed him in this mess to begin with). Furthermore, the man was not swayed unto temptation easily, his was neither the body nor mind given into addiction. Drinking was pointless. He drank only whiskies and wines, very occasionally beer. But sadly for him- only the above average or satisfactory liquors needed apply for his attention. He once asked his wife what she would do if he should become an alcoholic? To which she replied- ”You'd need to be a millionaire to become one. How long did it take you to drink that last bottle of whisky? Year and half.” To say he was careful with his tastes and monies was an understatement. The man would -however- have loved to indulge in a joint, he'd not smoked pot in years and missed the calm outlook it so often provided. But alas Sweden was not designed for such pursuits. A strict country, with harsh and punishing laws for such a diminutive recreation- plus, when the man -and his then girlfriend- had purchased a gram of the narcotic through a friend, he sadly found that the high price did not match the abominable quality of the product. So that was out too. He would have masturbated, but on this particular day his sexual energy was also dead. He could have blamed the weather, but this was his second winter in Sweden, and his desires had long ago worked their way beyond that thin barrier. Although the dark clouds outside may well have attributed to recurring thoughts of oncoming paternity, and mingled with every miniature fear of life and death, thus destroying his lust for anything sexual.
In the end the man picked up his guitar. Though after five minutes it was clear to him that a barking dog would create a more melodious sound than he. He put down the instrument and resorted to his last line of defense- T.V series or movie. He glanced over at what he had in stock- unseen. Resources were dwindling, two movies remained unwatched. A heavy choice- The Turin Horse....or .....Funny Farm. One- A film about the life of a horse that supposedly shared an encounter with the philosophical author Fredriche Nietzsche, or the other- the Chevy Chase movie about a city couple who move to the country side and experience all manner of misadventures. Of course the man had already seen Funny Farm, but that laughing child memory was just that- a memory that occurred a long long time ago. He weighed up his choices, in the end opening the Funny Farm file into his computers media player. The reasoning behind his choice was a thin one. Believing that his wife would 'probably' want to be with him- so to watch The Turin Horse together- was a false assumption. He did judge one aspect correctly- being that his wife would certainly not wish to be present when he watched the 80s comedy Funny Farm. So Funny Farm it was. An hour and a half later and the man felt slightly better about the world. It was as good as he remembered.
After eating lunch there were still more hours to do. The man though about watching The Turin Horse, but in the end decided against it. His brain wishing only to process the absolutely necessary depressing patterns on this day. He felt no desire to further inflame the negative cycle created by the stress of the ultrasound appointment. But his mind was now a vacant lot, waiting to be occupied. And when nothing new came to the gates, the old junk resurfaced and began to rust and decay anew-

”Will the baby be ok?”

”Even if its ok now, will it be ok when it comes out?”

”Will I be a good dad?”

”Will we find a better apartment, a bigger apartment?”

”Where can we live?”

”How can I support a family without a job?”

”Can I get a job......even in my own country?”

”Will I keep fighting with my wife?

”Am I being selfish?”

-though it was his last thought (always the last thought) that sent a bitter shiver up and down his spine. The one though that could destroy everything- even all of the other fears and anxiety.

”Do I even want to bring children into the world I despise so much?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent lying on their bed in bleak despair. Music played, his music, his stereo. Throughout the years music had become his true mother. It watched over him, nurtured and cared for him, even in times of unresponsiveness and negative emotion. It listened, and in return gave floorless and invariable advise in loving tones. It voiced the feelings he could not. Beautiful creative music, offered willingly by like minded souls, each yearning to be listened too, each expressing their inner most thoughts and ideas into a world of shallow corruption and shamelessness. Many true artists broke though the barriers, offering timeless sounds of hope and comfort. Many talents though- remained within the dark and obscurity, desperately trying to piece their lives together from a creative seed that never seemed to fit in anyplace, never taking root -never blooming. Vanity often deceiving their better judgments, and desire constantly inflaming their egos.
The man allowed the music to continuously play and wash over him. But as the hours pressed by he listened to their songs less and less, drifting into the background without argument, soon he could no longer hear any sound at all. Only one piercing force remained, overcoming the will of his mind, crushing even the rapid beats of his heart- it was silence. It had seeped deliberately into the room, laughing, pushing its tormenting jest- 'it's time to go.'

She was late. The man stood outside the hospital. It rained- lightly, and when he was unthoughtful enough to look behind himself he could still see the horrible grey buildings where he lived. He looked again at his phone, no message, no missed call- five minutes until the appointment. Just at the point where frustration reached out to strike from within his heart, the man saw his wife walking towards him. She waved from the distance, she always did that. Stepping from the tram, slowly making her way over.
”Maybe you wanna hurry up?” Vented the man as his wife drew near.
”Sorry.”
”Well we only have five minutes before the appointment. Do you even know which building it's in?”
”Didn't you bring the appointment letter?” She asked, the man's heart jolting.
”Shit!....I forgot it. You didn't remind me!”
”God...Jon! Don't worry I think it was somewhere in the women's clinic.”
”Yeah well I'm still hoping they don't allow men in there.” Said the man trying to joke and wound at the same time.
”Come on.”
They scurried off down the colorless street towards the women's clinic. The women moved much faster now than when she'd stepped from the tram, the urgency and stress of the the situation quickly infecting her system.
”Why didn't you call me?” Asked the man as they hurried.
”Because I used the last of my credit on a ticket to get home.”
”You should've just fare dodged!” the man almost shrieked
”I'm a pregnant women Jon, not a fare dodger.You're so cheap.”
”Not even a message, I was worried.”
”I was two minutes late.”
”Try ten minutes.”
The women decided not to answer. She mistrusted her voice in moments of his anger, his frustration, his anxiety. So in silence -each now bound between their own high levels of un detonated and negative energy- the women guided her husband into the hospital. After asking for quick directions they soon found themselves seated in a sparsely furnished waiting room. A white room, maybe twenty chairs, half of them occupied by other pregnant couples. The man quickly concluded that each one of them (singles and couples) appeared all to casual considering their mutual situation. Everyone sat quietly conversing with one another, or lazily leafing through the pages of dead magazines. Their collective appearance grated further against his nerves. And the tension between he and his wife feed upon the growing silence that lay in between, until-
”Look at these guys-” he whispered with bitterness ”-they're all so.....bloodly calm....fricken Swedish-”
”Its not a funereal.”
”It could be.” Spoke the man in all seriousness.
”......Can we just.......-”
”Annie Lees?” Called a female radiologist from across the room.
The women did her best to smile as she stood up, not wanting to look at her husband as he followed behind -head bowed. Down a short hallway, into another stale and metallic room-smaller, darker. There was nothing inside that did not in some way relate to the ultrasound machine. The machine itself looking like a mechanical monster straight out of a B sci fi flick (Attack of the killer radiology equipment from the 1970s). The radiologist attached the viper like appendage to the machine and then switched on the previously dead monitors-.
The snappy routine the radiologist adhered too was utterly unpractised by the young couple. Husband and wife were bluntly instructed to take off their jackets- no place to hang them, some nervous glances, quickly placing their bulky winter gear upon the hard beige floor in the corner. The wife was then instructed to lay upon the bed, only it was not a bed (the man's perception), not even a hospital bed-really. It was more of a thinly cushioned vinyl topped bench- again beige, half covered by a bleached white sheet, two hard pillows lay at its head. Its four legs were tall, so the women had to uncomfortably lift herself up onto its surface. After she'd laid down the radiologist decided to point out a small set of mobile steps on the other side of the room which may have helped her. The women was then instructed to expose her belly. Following questions : First child? Yes. Married? Yes. First ultrasound? Yes. Feeling well? Ahhh...yeah (nervous). The radiologist remained unsmiling. She had on a pair of square and thick rimmed glasses, had the typical short hair- as did every nondescript women over forty in Sweden. Wore a blue set of surgical scrubs, though the man believed they appeared somewhat beige under the dim lights above. She began to spread clear gel over the pregnant women's swollen belly.
”It will feel cold.”
-The screens flashed into existence- four separate squares joined as one. The radiologists steady hand guided the serpent- its flat and strange looking head striking towards the mass of new life. The women lay nervous, unable to tear eyes away from the inevitable procedure, though finally managed -as the once so distant future shifted into reality- to catch her husbands face, who found himself seated helpless and uncomfortable within a chair by her side. The screens showed what lay beneath the surface. A collective heart raced as the seconds drew out. A chaos of movement and shapes- flashing here, disappearing there. The entirely abstract creation never allowing a clear definition by untrained and helpless eyes.
The radiologist did her job. The man looking on with growing horror and apprehension- absolutely helpless. The clinical snake slid over every inch of his wife's abdomen, probing within, assessing, judging every inch of the vitality that waited inside, all guided by a meticulously trained hand. The radiologist did not speak, her face stone, unreadable within the high tension. Flustered and frustrating jolts of life appeared upon the screens in front of the man and his wife.
”Do you see what I see?” Asked the clinician in a flat tone.
”.........Ahh......what? No....maybe.....” Husband and wife spluttering out speech- a perfect union of confusion terror and blind hope.
”I see two heads in there.”
”What?”
”You have two babies.....twins.”
”Ooohhh......Wow.”
Suddenly the room felt lighter, just like any other room in a hospital. The man finally looked to see his wife smiling a very confused smile- peering into the monitors above.





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