Child of Thunder

It was a casual Monday morning. The auditorium was obviously pretty empty, people sitting splayed over the seats, so far away from each other as if a new dangerous disease was having its prime time of spreading. 

And right in there was Vuela. And also this was casual because Vuela was here every Monday morning. Because what else was she to do? She could sleep longer, of course. But therefore, she needed a reason to stay awake on Sundays. Or the strength to stay awake on Sunday, which she didn't have, since she stood up at seven on Sundays. There was no reason to do otherwise, when there was no point in staying awake on Saturdays. And maybe this was what life damanded. To do what makes sense for you. 

Still, the brain circuits blurred before her eyes. She had done this somewhere before, in a former study maybe. She had learned about pain receptors, thalamus activity and animal brain physiology. She became more and more an expert in a topic she chose to become one in a few years ago. And so she carried on. Although there was no specific job she was working towards. Vuela would stay a student if this was in her possibilities. She would go to university on Mondays at eight and learn all kinds of stuff on weekends. 

It was great to have something to do on Saturdays. She could feel the most productive ever. She could go to sleep in pride, in a feeling of being her very best self. And - she had reasons on her mind to neglect her mother. 

„I’m in a lecture.“ She would love to write that. But her mother always texted, never called. Said she felt bad, since she could disturb Vuela with a call. What she didn’t know is that by that she laid all the responsibility in Vuela’s hands. And since she was writing that she was in a lecture, she could just as well answer the question fully.

„How are you doing, honey?“ Yes, how was she doing?

She could act like she was still sleeping, her mother didn’t know about her newly gained sleep rhythm and was still used to the young Vuela who couldn’t shut up about not wanting to go to bed. The one she found under her sheets, secretly playing Candy Crush or watching Let’s Plays.

Maybe the answer had to wait until another time.

As she left the university’s hospital, she was already thinking of repeating all the newly learned stuff at home. About doing mind maps, maybe even starting with flip cards already.

She hallways were weirdly narrow, big windows on both sides showed the beautiful river, barely blossoming now in late autumn. Foggy grey air shoving itself over the landscape, bringing darkness and the burning need to sit under your blanket snuggled on the sofa with hot chocolate and the typical Swedish Pepperkakor. But also did it mean that the semester was moving towards the end. People were talking about exams already. Assignments got longer and the general atmosphere became filled with hustling people, stressed out about their life and the impossibility of learning all the stuff they neglected to work on the whole two months the semester already offered them.

So be it.

The hospital was still the weirdest place Vuela found herself every Monday morning. She felt like a child, not knowing where it was allowed for her to go. The lift was apparently only for staff, but that she found out the hard way, when she went down to floor -4 and to open the door she needed to show her card. Of course, her student card did not work and it demanded to some official document. It was shameful being too late for class because of some thing like that.

Also, the hospital made Vuela feel very grown-up. So important. Walking besides nurses, next to decisions regarding life and death. A place filled not only with bad, but also with happy memories, as people hug each other. Beating cancer, childbirth. Donated organs and all the divine luck of getting back from that limbus of being unsure if your life will still be a thing in the future.

Also this morning, the waiting room was crowded. Families, older people, a dog running in a circle, apparently stressed out, but still people let it be, because that was a place without any judgement.

And then there was this girl. Vuela just wanted to pass the hall, move to the exit and go to the bus. Just like every Monday morning. Then her eyes fell on a little girl. Couldn’t be older than eight, maybe nine. The dark brown hair braided in two fizzy braids, just like Vuela liked to do it herself. At least she did like to wear her hair like that. It was a hairstyle, which someone else did for you, but she herself didn’t feel like doing that much to her hair. It was something braided with love, not with haste at six thirty in the morning.

Although it was almost freezing out there, the girl wore a pink dress with a bright white ribbon, almost too girly childish in its expression. But she was jumping around, twirling and watching how the hem flew upwards, laughing. Unti her eyes met Vuela’s. And some kind of sadness spread across her small face.

With her gaze down, Vuela passed the people and made her way to the exit.

At the bus, she put her earphone in her ears, blasting music to numb off the people around her. It was surprising how empty the bus was today. She was used to more people here. But that must be a good thing. Sometimes, the bus was so full, it was even hard to stand in it. But still, people did not choose the empty seats that were next to occupied one. Vuela often times felt like smacking them. How could you refuse the empty seats just for sitting next to someone else? Was it such a bad thing? Can't they just show a little humbleness?

She threw linguini in the boiling water, added salt and waited to be able to eat her everyday meal in front of her phone. Netflix was running almost nonstop for her. She wasn’t even used to eating without something else beside her. As a child, she knew nothing about films and series. When someone asked her for references, she just acted as if she was brightly informed. But living alone came with the pleasure of being able to watch whatever you wanted. As well as to do what ever you wanted.

She could dance through her kitchen when making dinner, do strobe lights in the bathroom or sing her flip cards loudly, since it helped memorising them. Still, she did nothing like that. Instead, she glared at her phone, where her mother was typing again. „Are you all right, sweetie? Haven’t heard from you for a long time.“

She was okay. And maybe she wasn’t.

Cecilia and Sabine were so good at conversations, it was a blessing for Vuela to just sit next to them and listen, like it was some podcast. "Have you seen Victoire? I think she is too busy with Sigrid.“ It was a bunch of names Vuela remembered, but couldn’t match to faces or occasions, where she could have met them.

"Oh yeah.“, Sabine remarked. "What is it with them? Are they a thing now?“

"I hope so, they are the perfect match.“

"How are you, Vuela?“; Sabine asked.

Startled, she looked up from her falafel bowl. "Me?“

"Sure, girl.“

"Oh, I’m fine. Learning a lot, but I really love that topic.“

"You’re doing the psychosomatic studies, right?“

"Yes.“ She said. Was there more she could add? "It’s very theoretical, but that’s fine.“

They nodded and kept eating. End of conversation, apparently. What else could she contribute anyways?

"Look, what’s that?“ Cecilia was staring at some point behind Vuela’s shoulder, her gaze a mixture of irony and something Vuela didn’t quite recognise.

"Are children allowed here?“

Vuela knew it before she even looked. The girl was leaning on a pillar, eating some kind of yoghurt from a plastic cup. It was a highly weird thing, especially in the university’s canteen. In the hospital, there were always people who were there for not study-related reasons. Of course, it was the city’s hospital after all. But in the engineer’s building?

And again, their gazes met. It felt so strange, as some fear swept over Vuela, as if trying to drown her in some sorrow, some longing even.

"I wish I was a child again“, Cecilia whispered behind her, over all the noise that concentrated to one big thing in Vuela’s mind.

But the girl didn’t hold the gaze. This time, she ran away. Put her spoon at the cleaning station and marched down the staircase, in a motion that seemed way too frightened for Vuela. She was a kid after all. What was she so scared of? And what was she doing here?

"I’m sorry.“, she mumbled as she left the table. She went slowly at first. Didn’t want to raise attention. But when she reached the stairs, she ran. Took two steps in one.

The lower floor was empty. Two guys were sitting on one of the tables, working on their laptops and eating some kind of cinnamon thing from the engineer’s café. No child.

And in her pocket, Vuela’s phone buzzed. This time, her mom tried to call her. But she didn’t have the nerves, not now.

Neither later. Time wasn’t a constant, but a flexible thing. Vuela perceived it as hours what were days instead. And suddenly, her mom waiting for an answer for what were several days. Vuela could do it before going to bed. But these were the good moments. The time when you knew you finished all the stuff you wanted to do for the day (or you didn’t, but then still you decided to give up) and all what was waiting was the blanket’s warmth. These were the moments, where all the life’s duties fell off and you could be yourself for a minute. And so, Vuela went to bed.

She was scrolling on her phone, when she heard something. Wind probably. Something outside. Could it be something she had to look for?

But then came the knock. Thrice, as if done with a small hand. The phone dropped out of her hand. She dared not to stand up, not even to get her phone back. The images kept getting access to her brain. Some ghostly monster wanting to get in the house. Some weird man wanting her to open the jalousie.

The kitchen was next door. It meant knives, maybe something heavy like a pan.

Only when she actually stood up and opened the door to her bedroom, she realised how stupid this was. The knock didn’t even come back. What was she so scared of? There was nothing happening. Did she really think some ghost was haunting her? She was a scientist after all and knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as a ghost.

Still, she went to the kitchen. It was cold in pyjamas, the time was too late in the year already, but Vuela never felt like heating the kitchen, when she could just wear a thicker sweater.

She told herself she was here for a glass of water. Her eyes went to the shelf of pans nevertheless. Then, she saw the shadow. Like some person from a hospital. Wide, stereotypical nightgown, only that this person was small. A child. Of course.

Her shoulders sank and she gulped down the water in an instant. "Who are you?“ she asked, but received no answer. Didn’t this shadow have a person to make it? "Where are you?“ she tried instead, but it was not futile either. So, where did she come from?

Of course, the window. But also that promised only darkness, until suddenly the porchlight turned on. Revealing her. In the light she looked like some animal. Deeply defined features. Her face bearing a little wrinkle next to her nose, that Vuela knew a little too well. She knew the whole face a little too well, now that she saw it with that much detail. The eyes that depicted all the world’s curiosity. The small lips that liked to talk for so long. The shoulders that sank so deep from all the looking on the ground.

"You are…“ But the girl lifted her arms before Vuela was able to finish the sentence. A lightning struck. The house wobbled. A pan dropped from the shelf as Vuela’s sweaty hands clamped around the cheap plastic table. "What are you doing?“, she screamed, but of course the girl couldn’t hear her. Not because she was far away. The window was quite thin and not sound-proof at all. Still, the girl couldn’t hear her because she was not real. And as the thunder came, she was already gone. Left no trail behind.

The thunderstorm went on for the whole night. Vuela sat on her bed, snuggled in the blanket, as one does when there is a thunderstorm in autumn. And maybe also what one does when looking through the family photographs in your bed at home. It’s not much, just one album. But Vuela took whatever she could.

Her mother holding her on what must have been her first Christmas. A burning fireplace in the back, presents piled up so high, Vuela was sure they must have been fake. Vuela was very small on that photo, so it was probably before her mother’s sickness started. Before she started yelling at her. Calling her dumb when she forgot to put her plate in the sink. Probably before her mother drilled her to good marks in school. Before she did a list of things she knew Vuela wanted. A visit to the rollercoaster park. Phone time on weekends. Dessert. With every point, Vuela lost in her exams, her mom crossed out one of the things. At random, mostly. She smiled doing it. Not because she enjoyed it, Vuela understood later. It was because she was proud of herself. She was sure it made Vuela a better person. One time, she cut Vuela’s hair to 2 mm length, right after she saw how proud Vuela was of her long braids. The braids the girl outside wore. It did not make Vuela a better person, and it didn’t teach her to survive disappointment. It only taught her to be careful when dealing with other people.

And the girl on the next page was still staring at her. Vuela didn’t recognise herself. The stranger had her hair, her think lips, which stopped speaking so much. There were her hunched shoulders. But it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. Still, it was the girl from the porch. And it was her indeed.

Was that the moment where she was meant to be crying? She tried, but it never worked. As if tears were for people weak enough to allow them. Because tears don’t mean getting no brownies on Sundays for them.

They found out her mother had some hallucinations on a random Tuesday morning. She called Vuela for removing a spider from the kitchen. According to her mother, it was very thick. But Vuela knew how her mother was exaggerating. Like always. So, she wasn’t surprised to find no spider at first. Until her mother claimed to have been bitten by it. And then the tour through doctors began. And it ended in the hospital. The one Vuela was studying in now.

They told Vuela to wait in the waiting room. Her father left them years ago, so she had to spend her time there alone. Some nurse, who finished her shift asked her for her parents, but as Vuela only stared at the ground, she took her to the canteen and bought her some yoghurt.

And now she was here. Years passed and still the image of her mother slamming doors or yelling from the kitchen, that there was some drop on the floor, haunted Vuela in her dreams. Not vividly, she was beyond that. But the sweat in her sheets told enough of a story. What must that frightened child have thought? Thunder in the air, a house on the street. And all they did was stare at each other. Is that all Vuela ever did to her past self?

She thought she came further. She studied Neuroscience to understand her mother better. To find a solution to this misery. To be her freaking self. And still she felt stuck.

She flipped the side in the book and came across some article. Neatly glued in, like Vuela always had to do with worksheets in school.

"Thunderstorm hits house in student village. Woman struck by lightning.“

Struck by lightning? The pages seemed to diffuse to air before her eyes. And outside, the lightning struck, followed by rumbling thunder.

“I’m a bit scared for Victoire. I mean, it must be her first time with a woman, so of course she can’t be really sure if that’s what she really likes.”

“Yes, how should I know? Maybe I’m into women and just never had the opportunity to really find out.”

Vuela knew these voices. They accompanied her latest days. From morning to night, sometimes loud and chatty, sometimes with whispers so small, they could have been imaginative. But never before has she heard them with such a joyful shriek.

“You’re awake.” And light flooded her eyes. Cecilia and Sabine stood before her, only visible in a haze.