The next month was a blur. I passed the seed in the lake on a clear evening. The sun had just gone down enough past midnight that no one would see me if they were looking. I didn’t like the idea of being in the water still, but as soon as the bleeding became nonstop, I felt it was the cleanest choice. I was afraid of what the smell of all that blood would attract from deep inside the woods. I suffered through the pain I deserved.
After that, it was time to go back to school. I had other plans. The abortion ravaged me with guilt daily and the longer I stayed where I was, living with my parents, going to school, going steady with Stäva, the more I felt guilty for what I had done. If I was going to go through such a selfish event, I had better follow through with my reasoning. Otherwise what was the point?
And so I dropped out of school just as we came into the last year and decided to head to Stockholm to pursue my dream. Maybe then the guilt would stop clawing at me.
My decision came as a shock to everyone I knew. Stäva wouldn’t come with me and didn’t understand how I could leave him. Neither did any of my classmates or teachers – to them, we were the perfect couple. My parents were livid. They told me that if I left I would not have a home to come back to when I returned. In other words, they disowned me. I expected as much from my father and didn’t really care what he thought but my mother’s actions surprised me. I suppose she was so hurt that I would leave them that I didn’t deserve to be her daughter. I am still not sure if that’s true or not. On good days I think my mother was wrong to shun me like that. On bad days, I couldn’t really blame her. At least it prepared me for a pattern that would endure for the rest of my life. Looking back, I wonder where my “karma” began to fester. Was it when I had the abortion? Or was it when I selfishly abandoned my only love and family?
I left the place of my childhood with nothing on my back but a small sack full of belongings. I can still tell you what was in there: Two dresses, one fancier than the other. A tube of red lipstick for “acting” purposes. A clip for my hair. My nightgown, corset, stockings and two pairs of bloomers. A copy of Dante’s Inferno in English to help my language skills (I nicked it from the school library). A tiny notebook and pencil. A handful of licorice.
I didn’t have any money and was planning to hitch rides to the big city, but Stäva surprised me and borrowed his father’s car to drive me to nearest train station. It was about an hour away and together we had our last ride together. He didn’t say much to me but I could see how I was breaking his poor heart. It absolutely tore me up inside and I when he hugged me goodbye – slipping a wad of kronas in my pocket for the train and a few nights in a hotel – I broke down in tears. As emotional as I was on the inside, my steely reserve finally collapsed and in his arms.
“I don’t understand you,” he whispered into my ear as I choked back the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “But I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
And with that ringing in my ears, I got on the train and left my old life behind for good.
CHAPTER FOUR
In some ways, I did find what I was looking for. When I arrived in Stockholm two days later, dirty and tired, I was immediately enthralled by the big city. There was a pulse here with bright buildings as high as I’ve ever seen them and so many people it was like I was swimming in a sea of them. Speaking of the sea, the water stretched onward dotted by hundreds of tiny islands. This wasn’t a lake but a moving and breathing sea that stretched to faraway lands. It was a gorgeous and bustling metropolis to this country girl and I probably stood on the streets for hours, just gazing at everyone and everything.
Eventually I had to fix myself up, eat and sleep so I found a nearby boarding house by enquiring into local shops. It took a few tries and a lot of my patience until I found one that was willing to take me in. The war was going on and though Sweden was a neutral country, there was a surplus of people from Norway, Denmark and Finland hiding out in Stockholm until the war was over.
The place I ended up finding was a bit run-down but it was for women only, and that made me feel safe. No one was very talkative and they kept to themselves, but the owner helped me with finding a job. I worked as a maid at the house for two weeks, my work for my keep in return, before I found my dream job – or the closest thing to it.
A community theatre had an opening for an “all hands” type woman. They wanted someone with experience in the theatre, particularly in either makeup or wardrobe, and who would also be able to clean-up the theatre after the performances and rehearsals.
As you can imagine, I jumped at that listing. At school, I had done the makeup for the plays as well, and though I didn’t have experience with wardrobe, I knew I had a flair for it regardless. In my mind, I was perfect for the job and I was determined to get it.
The theatre was downtown but near a rather derelict area. I was scared out of my wits going there to meet the manager, just as I had been when I met with Maria in the woods. In my town, I was never leered at by strange men, I never had vagabonds shout rude words at me. Part of me wondered if it was some kind of test that I’d have to go through, to see if I wanted this life badly enough.
By the time I made it to the theatre, I was a pile of nerves. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just a grey stone building with chipped pillars and slippery steps, and I started to think if I had perhaps made a mistake.
But the door flung open and a rush of warm light bathed me from the inside. Before me stood Lisbeth, the theatre manager. She was taller than I and in her late thirties, wearing men’s trousers and a short, curled do. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick that matched my own (later we would simultaneously compliment each other on it) and a smile that lifted my weary heart.
“You must be Pippa,” she said, holding out her hand.
I nodded, feeling shy for the first time in a while and shook her hand back. Hers was strong and vibrant.
She ushered me into the building and it was then that I knew I had passed the test. I was meant to come here.
Though falling apart on the outside, inside the theatre was opulent in a museum-type way. The halls had plush, dark green carpeting, creaky chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and tapestry paintings of classic performances and plays, from Roman theatre to Shakespeare, hung from the walls, competing for space with fading posters of shows long past. There was a staircase leading to the balcony level that had gold-glazed railings, that even though they were old and chipped, still gleamed like the heavens. The theater itself had rows of velvet and gold-trimmed seats in a deep, wood brown.