Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  He sits down next to me. “You know you’ll regret this, right?”

  “I know.” But I also know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t leave now before it’s too late. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted.”

  “Me too.”

  During May, I spend all my free time checking on Nana, always ending my night at Mom’s to make sure she’s okay. Dad seems to have disappeared, and according to the police, he might be gone for good.

  I don’t believe that for a second. He’ll show up when we least expect it.

  After sanding and painting every night for two weeks at my new apartment, Josefine stops by with wine. “This light yellow color is amazing. It feels so cozy in here compared to before.”

  “How are you and Johan doing?”

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead and continue to roll on paint while she answers.

  Josefine sits on the floor, her legs folded over one another like a Buddha. “I’m thinking of leaving him. I think he’s cheating on me again. Besides, Johan’s not that nice.”

  I laugh. “No, he’s not.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “You told me. I wouldn’t listen.”

  “I said he’s a criminal. I still don’t know if that’s true.”

  She laughs. “Turns out he is. What can you do, eh?”

  “Find a kind non-criminal that loves you. Nobody cheats if they love the person. It’s not possible.”

  In the middle of June, Mr. Jensen and Josefine help me move into the apartment. Josefine locks herself out of the building two times, and I have to buzz her in. Johan is supposed to help, but he bails. Josefine ends their relationship that night. Somehow, we end up agreeing she’ll rent my apartment fully furnished when I leave for Porto with Nana. Things can’t be better. They are too perfect to last, and I wonder what disaster will strike next.

  TRAPPED

  I’ve continued to practice yoga almost every day for a year now. My goal since I took it up has been to do the Taraksvasana, the handstand scorpion, which I’ve been practicing for weeks. I plan to quit my job tomorrow, so I decide that today is the day I’ll do it because I’ll need that confidence facing Mom.

  I flip the square wooden coffee table up onto the couch and spread my purple mat on the floor. The soothing voice on the app leads me through the warm-up, but when she finishes, it’s all on me.

  Bending over and placing both palms on the floor in front of me, I shift my weight to my arms, slowly lifting both legs over me. From a straight handstand, I arch my back, breathing out loud as I fold it backward, hoping to feel my feet on the top of my head. My balance gives out, and I fall to the floor with a bang. I grit my teeth together for a new attempt, slowly raising my legs, bending my back, eagerly waiting to land my feet on my head. Then there they are. I hold the position for half a second until my laughter forces me down. “I did it!” I scream. If I can do that, I can do anything. Nana is right. Where there is a will, there truly is a way.

  June twentieth is the first day of the school summer holiday, and tourists flock into The Bluebird to have lunch. I meet Ms. Vogt in the garden to hand in my three months’ resignation notice. Although my hope for her to still remember me has vanished, it reappears when she opens the envelope, and her eyes widen. She must feel something. I’m leaving the restaurant, her and the country.

  She raises the espresso cup to her mouth, pinky pointed to the sky, and sips before dabbing the crease of her mouth with a napkin. “You don’t have to stay for your three-month contract period. Go as soon as you’d like. You’re easily replaced.”

  If she had stabbed me, it would have been less painful. I need the tips from our summer regulars, though. “I’ll stay until I leave in August.”

  When I pack up to go home, Josefine walks up to me. “I heard about her reaction. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “Can’t expect more, can I?”

  I should know better than to have hope by now.

  “Let’s celebrate you quitting instead of it being a sad day. Huh?” Her eyes are so hopeful and eager, it makes me laugh.

  “Great idea. A celebration of two, I like it.”

  “Who knows, maybe someone else wants to join us?” She glances at Mr. Jensen, who shakes his head.

  “That is such a kind invitation, I’d love to, but I have to take a raincheck. I have an exhibition opening in Oslo. There’s too much to do, just hectic, I tell you.”

  Mom enters the room, and Josefine bursts out laughing apparently thinking the same thing as me.

  Invite Mom?

  “Don’t think so.”

  When we leave The Bluebird at ten that night, the air is warm, and the sky lit up by the summer sun that hardly sets at all.

  I lock myself in downstairs in my apartment building, and Josefine lingers by the mailbox in the entrance area. “I might have already changed my address so my mail comes here. Mind if I check?”

  “Eager to move in?” I throw her the keys for the mailbox.

  “Very.”

  “I’ll get a set of keys made for you so you can come and go as you like.” I walk up the two floors to my apartment. She’s been here almost as much as me by now, so she’s used to finding her way. When I stick the key in the lock, I don’t hear the usual click. I turn it again, but it won’t go any farther around. “Did I forget to lock up this morning?”

  A cold sensation travels up my spine as I recheck the lock. It’s broken. It looks as if someone’s forced it open.

  Is Dad back?

  I peek inside. On the coffee table is a whiskey glass and a half-empty bottle. I can smell the alcohol on Dad from where I stand. He’s asleep, snoring.

  This is my chance. You’re not getting away this time.

  I close the door slowly, careful not to make a sound as I get my phone out of my pocket. I dial the number to the police and tiptoe away from the door when Josefine calls out to me. “I got a letter.” She’s waving it in the air.

  I gesture for her to be quiet.

  “Oh, come on. Your neighbors will survive a little joy.”

  My pulse races and my hands shake. I must look terrified because Josefine freezes. From inside my apartment, a bottle falls to the floor. He’s coming for us. The door opens, and I scream. “Run Josefine, run!”

  “Amalie!” My father’s voice rings after us down the hall as we sprint in a panic towards the stairs, his heavy steps coming after us. My ballerina shoes slip on the top step. I throw my arms out to keep from falling and catch the wooden banister mounted to the wall. Josefine jumps down several steps at a time while I stumble down, desperate to stay on my feet and get out the front door before Dad catches up with me. Josefine darts around the corner in the ground floor entrance. The front door clicks open. She’s out.

  I scream as I turn the last corner and see the door closing. “Hold it!”

  She turns around, grasping for the handle. But before I reach it, Dad’s grip slams me to the floor, and the door slams closed in front of me, locking Josefine out and me inside with Dad.

  Josefine is pulling on the door, banging on the glass, shrieking. “Get up!”

  The lock on the door for me to escape is only a meter away. I push myself up and throw myself towards the door, but when my hand touches the lock, Dad snarls behind me. “No!” His hands grab my legs and pull me back. His fingers dig into my skin. “You’ve ruined everything!” he screams.

  I kick him off. He falls on his back, giving me enough time to stumble to my feet again. He’s quick to get up, but I throw myself at the door, my hands clawing to reach the lock.

  Josefine has her phone to her ear and is screaming for the police to hurry. It’s as if she pounds on the glass in slow motion.

  “Stop fighting me!” Dad shrieks while stumbling to his feet.

  My index finger touches the lock. I grab on, ready to twist it open and escape. Josefine is prepared on the other side to pull on the handle when Dad yanks me back by my hair, and I lose my grip on the doo
r.

  “No!” Josefine shrieks and bangs on the glass.

  “I want my money!” Dad spits out the words. “You owe me.”

  You sick manic man.

  “I don’t owe you anything!” My hands scrape along the tiles while I desperately kick my legs to move away from him. “Skar’s and all of its consequences are mine. I don’t owe you a thing.”

  Outside the glass, tears are streaming down Josefine’s cheeks, and she’s shouting into her phone, but I can’t make out the words.

  Panic fills me as Dad’s hand clasps the back of my jacket, flipping me around and pushing me to the ground. “Skar’s is my life’s work. You ruined it. That money belongs to me.”

  The stench of liquor hits me along with the spray of his spit, and I push with all my strength to get him off me. It’s no use, he’s too heavy. Images of the night he attacked Mom and me flash in my mind while I twist my head around in search of an escape. I kick him in the groin as hard as I can, and he falls next to me but doesn’t let go. With shivering hands, I claw at his face. Nothing works.

  I stiffen when he laughs and hisses at me. “You ruined my life!” He screams and climbs on top of me, pinning my legs down with his feet. Grabbing the front of my coat, in one swift move he lifts my chest off the floor and slams me back down onto it. “I’m supposed to be rich. Not you!”

  The air in my lungs escapes me, and I gasp for more while his fingers tighten their grip around my throat. His face blurs before me. I can’t move. He has me locked to the ground. He is killing me.

  My vision of him and of Josefine through the glass front door darkens.

  In one last desperate attempt, my cramped hands dig into the pockets of Dad’s jacket in search of anything to force him to release his grip and let me breathe. Nothing in his right pocket. In his left, the sound of change gives me hope. I force my fingers to grab on to the coins. Pain etches its way up into my arms like flames. This is my final chance to survive. The police will never make it in time, and Josefine can’t get inside. I pull out my hand and smash the coins into his eyes. Dad roars like a lion. But he doesn’t let go.

  Come on! Let go, I can’t breathe!

  Something has to be powerful enough to overthrow him. Mom is the only idea I think of to use against him, but she isn’t here. She doesn’t even know who he is. The only other person that has influenced Dad is his father. His parents wanted Mom and Dad to abort me, and they defied the Skars. At one point in time, Dad had refused to become like his father. With what little air I have left in my lungs, I force out the hoarse words. “Do it! Make your father proud.”

  No reaction. I am dying, my awareness drifting out of me, and I’m not ready. Despair flares through my body. I panic again, but I have no strength to keep on trying to get away. I can’t die like this, staring up at Dad pleading while his face disappears into darkness. All I want is for him to let go.

  Please, let go!

  His hate softens into a puzzled expression like he recognizes who I am for the first time. He loosens his grip. I gasp for air, my back arches to make room for oxygen. My vision clears, and he’s crawling back on all fours, eyes wide to the ground, whispering over and over. “I’m not like my father.”

  I look up at Josefine, eyes red, waving her cell phone in her hand. “The police are coming!”

  Dad staggers to his feet, but I refuse to allow him to escape this time and cling on to his legs.

  He kicks to get me off. “Don’t be an idiot. Let me go.”

  I tighten my grip. “Never. And I’m no idiot. You are.”

  “You spoiled shit. I gave you life, and you stole mine from me. Now, piss off.”

  Dad kicks me again, this time in the breast and I shriek out from the pain. “No. You ruined your own life. Don’t blame me for your own stupidity. That has nothing to do with me.”

  Police sirens make him frantically try to pull his leg out of my grip while screaming. “You’ll send me to jail!” He grabs both my arms and rips them off his leg. I grab his hand and bite the skin.

  You’re not escaping this time.

  “I’m done being afraid of you. Blaming myself for what happened. You and you alone destroyed your life. Not me or anyone else.”

  He falls to the floor, bawling. “But it’s all your fault. Mom stopped caring about me when you were born. It was ALL ABOUT YOU! No more sex, no more attention. All she talked about was you, you and you. What about me, huh? I was supposed to be admired, loved and rich, in London. But no, I had to stay here. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not your fault.”

  “You pathetic excuse for a man. That was YOUR choice. Not mine!”

  Dad blinks. “I made you tough.”

  “You made me insecure and scared. You did everything you could to break my spirit.”

  “I did nothing to you that my own father didn’t do to me. I didn’t want my daughter to be a sheep like everyone else.”

  “I’m not the sheep, Dad. You are. Just like your dad is. You dress in your wolves’ suits and convince yourself you’re tough. But you have no idea what you’re doing. And you’re too lazy to reflect on why you do anything.”

  Dad deflates and gazes at me. “I made you.”

  I scoff. “I made me. You made yourself.”

  The police car screeches to a halt behind Josefine. Tears stream down Dad’s face. “You can’t let them arrest me. I’m your father. You owe me. This is your fault.”

  “No, Dad. Your actions can never be my fault. They’re your responsibility, no matter what I do, or what anyone else does.”

  I stumble to my feet and open the lock at last, and Josefine pulls the door open.

  Dad has nowhere to escape, so when he limps past me, I let him. Josefine shoots her foot out and he trips. When he starts to run, the two police officers chase him down. The sight of him huddled on the ground underneath Robert and Clara is almost poetic. They cuff him and walk him back to their car.

  Josefine is by my side, supporting me as I let go of the door, quivering.

  Dad yells at me while fighting against his restraints. “I gave you everything!”

  Clara closes the police car door. I tune out his muffled screams as I give my statement.

  FULFILLING DREAMS

  Heading to work at The Bluebird the next day, I meet my neighbor by the entrance door picking up her mail, an elderly woman around seventy years old with rollers in her hair. “Was it a nice surprise?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your father. He told me he was here to surprise you, so I let him in. Such a lovely gentleman.”

  You have no idea.

  I want to simultaneously punch her and pity her, and it leaves me speechless for a second. I don’t want to scare her, and Dad’s gone now anyway. “For next time, perhaps don’t let strangers into the building.”

  “I never would. I do wish my family would visit me, though.” She takes her mail and continues talking about her family as she heads up the stairs to her apartment.

  At The Bluebird, Josefine’s hands are so badly hurt from trying to break the glass to get to me yesterday, she struggles to carry even a plate.

  “Go home. It’s my turn to cover for you,” I say.

  She cries before I can finish the sentence. “I almost killed you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You shattered your hands trying to save me.”

  She stares down at them. “I don’t know what happened. I was running and forgot to hold the door open for you. I’m so sorry!”

  “Then you know what to do next time.” My voice is still hoarse, but she cracks a smile. “Go see a doctor. It’s my time to cover for you,” I say.

  After work, I walk to Nana’s. Although my neck feels as if it’s been severed and put back on, I’m elated knowing Mom and I are safe from Dad. The sun warms my back and children play in gardens I pass by. A lawnmower starts far off in the distance, and from behind the hedge to my left a sprinkler starts watering the lawn.

  My neck is blue, and Nana gasps w
hen she opens her door, pulling me inside.

  “The police finally got him,” I say and flick off my shoes before walking into the garden barefoot. Over the neighbor’s hedge flows the smell of barbeque.

  “You should lay down!” Nana stops in the doorway.

  “I will. But first, I need to be here, in this garden, listening to the wind in the trees and feeling alive, with you.”

  Nana joins me outside, sitting down in her rattan chair with her face to the sky. “I hope your father receives the psychiatric help he needs to get well. That man must be suffering.” She takes a deep breath, then slowly exhales. “We should have a going-away party. What do you think?”

  “In August?”

  Then I’ll get to say goodbye to Mr. Jensen, Josefine, and Ms. Berg.

  “Why don’t we have it at The Bluebird?”

  “Wonderful.” Nana grins at the sun, her glasses raised up to her forehead. My heartbeat finally slows down.

  On my way home, I pass Mom’s house. The scent of lavender hits me when I step out of the forest. Mom’s on her jetty overlooking the water.

  I whisper. “You’re safe now.” I take a moment to breathe deeply, wanting to remember this day, the chirping of birds around me, and the lavender smell that will always remind me of Mom. In only two months, I’m leaving and bringing Nana with me to experience Porto, fulfilling her dream. My hand goes to my heart.

  I hope you’ll come to say good-bye. But until then, I’ll see you at work.

  I walk home.

  CHEERS

  The summer vacation is officially over for the city tourists, and once again our town is empty. The only difference is that this time, I’m leaving too and so is Nana.

  Excitement dances in her eyes when I meet her outside her home. “Can you believe it? Tomorrow evening, we are in Porto.”