Norway

‘Norway. It’s right at the top of the world, you know.’

‘Yeah, it’s pretty far up.’ I don’t meet Freya’s eyes. Instead, I begin leafing through the stack of junk mail on the table and pretend to be really interested in a hardware store catalogue.

‘The world’s longest tunnel is in Norway,’ she continues, missing the social cues. ‘Vikings came from Norway. Do you think we’ve got some Viking blood?’

‘Nope.’

‘But you’ve got red hair.’

‘So.’

‘Well, I read that Vikings brought the red hair gene to Scotland and Ireland and that’s where our family came from.’

‘I’m not interested.’ Freya’s face crumbles. She worships me but being her older brother can be a strain and today, I’m not in the mood. Her autism can be hard work, but at least Freya is never mean – like me. ‘Now, leave me alone,’ I growl.

Freya bursts into tears and runs from the room. I scrunch up the catalogues and throw them at the wall. Why am I such an asshole? I wonder. I could have just listened to Freya go on about Norway. I’m the one who put her in front of ‘How To Train Your Dragon’. It’s a kid’s show about Vikings who live in Norway and ride dragons – I mean, what did I expect?

It's just that I need some space. I’m 20 and suffering from the limitations of a never-ending lockdown. Being stuck with Freya while our mother – an essential worker – is out all day, really sucks. I’m meant to help Freya complete her schoolwork, but I can’t tolerate that either. She’s happy enough not to do it, but my guilt is a parasite, sucking me dry. That’s probably why I feel so shitty. I hate my life and I hate myself.

Google tells me I’m depressed. Dah. This is the prime of my life, but instead of going to university, working my cool nightclub job, dating and generally enjoying my youth, I’m stuck inside a small apartment with a stressed out mother and health vulnerable autistic sister who's obsessed with Norway. The fact she’s harping on about a place I’ll never get to visit anytime soon due to border restrictions, is like a stick in the ribs.

‘Fuck!’ I scream, standing in a sudden explosion of energy. The chair falls over with a bang. I want to hit something, but instead, I drop to the ground and do fifty push ups. I can feel Freya watching me and hear her counting each one of my reps. When I’m done, she claps. ‘Well done, Byron. Did you know that red-headed people are stronger than normal people? It’s a scientific fact that they don’t feel as much pain.’

I think about the agony I’m in – the constant turmoil of misery that resides in my gut. ‘I call bull-shit on that,’ I say and my voice cracks. I feel like I’m about to cry. I’m really coming apart. It’s day 41 of lockdown and while the rest of the world are lifting restrictions, Australia is doing the opposite. The army has even been called in to keep us inside while cases continue to soar. Freya doesn’t notice I’m upset. She’s not good at reading emotions.

‘Byron, it’s a scientific fact,' she repeats. 'I read it when I was researching Vikings. You’d make a good Viking.‘

‘Yeah, yeah I know. I’ve got red hair and I don’t feel pain.’

‘You do feel pain – just not as much as a regular person.’

‘Makes me feel bad for everyone else.’

‘Did you know that red hair is common in Norway?’

I take a deep breath. I want to scream, shut up about fucking Norway, but that would make me a despicable human being. ‘Is it? That’s interesting,’ I say instead.

Freya picks up the chair. She takes time to position it exactly halfway along the table width. ‘Do you know about the aurora borealis, Byron?’

‘Are they the northern lights?’

‘Yes. Aurora borealis is the proper name. They are really spectacular in Norway.’

I think of the videos I’ve watched of people huddled in fur, looking up at magical skies alive with colour. I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. It would be fun to party under mystical skies like that. I wonder if Norway is in lockdown like us – you never hear about small European countries on the news. It’s all America, China and England. Oh and India got a big mention for a while there too.

Freya is blinking rapidly, and I can tell she's excited that I am listening to her. I sink into the chair and admit defeat.

‘Tell me about the aurora borealis, Freya.’

‘The colours happen when electrons strike nitrogen and other gases in the atmosphere. Green is the most common seen from the ground, then pink. Collisions with oxygen atoms high up in the atmosphere at 300 to 400 km cause red colours. Blue and purple colours occur too, but they are hard to see.’

‘Wow, that’s really interesting,’ I say and I’m surprised to find I mean it.

‘The best time to see the aurora borealis in Norway is from the end of September to the end of March.’

‘We could be seeing it now - if we went there.’

‘No silly, we couldn’t. Remember, the COVID19 virus? We have to stay home.’

‘Yes, you’re right,' I say. Freya looks at the clock and begins chewing her bottom lip. ‘It’s time for your sandwich, isn't it?’

‘Yes. It’s 11:26am. Lunch is at 11:30 am.’

I get up and begin to make Freya the same sandwich she has each day at the same time.

‘No crust. Cheese first, then ham, then lettuce,’ she recites.

‘Yep, I know.’

As I watch Freya waiting for the second hand to hit precisely 11:30 am before she takes a bite, I’m realise I’m feeling a little better. It’s only a slight improvement, but I’m suddenly grateful that I’m stuck inside with Freya. At least she’s a distraction. Being completely alone must be hell.

‘Do you want to watch ‘How To Train Your Dragon?’ I suggest, like it’s something new. This is a part of Freya’s every-day routine. Life inside, with all its predictability, is kind to her. She’s never been happier.

Once Freya is settled, I decide to venture out into the quarantined world for my one hour of permitted exercise. I always feel like I’m doing something wrong when I walk the streets. I carry a mask exemption – asthma, but the way people move away, glare and shake their heads, betrays what they’re thinking, anti-vaxxer, super spreader, part of the problem. It doesn’t help that I’m a young male.

At the park, I begin to jog. On my first lap, I pass a girl sitting on the bench. She’s not dressed for exercise and she isn’t wearing a mask. She smiles at me and my heart nearly explodes out of my chest. I’ve lost my aptitude for flirting. As I start my second lap, I plan my move. ‘You’re breaking the rules,’ I joke, slowing as I approach the bench.

‘Fuck the rules,’ she replies with a grin. ‘I’ll plead insanity.’

I stop at a respectful distance. ‘So, I’m not the only one.’

‘There’s millions of us – the poor unfortunate souls of Sydney. I’m Josie.’

‘Byron.’

She smiles at me again and I like the gap between her teeth and the high bun perched on top her head like a nest. ‘They tell us it’s for our own good, but really, this whole isolation thing is just brutal,’ she says.

I approach the bench. ‘Do you want to talk?’

‘We already are and it feels like Christmas.’

Josie is easy to chat with. We laugh and complain about our lives. It’s like a therapy session but charged with sexual energy. My phone alarm chimes. ‘It’s been an hour – I’ve got a little sister at home I look after.’

‘Lucky you - I've got a cat.’

‘A cat would be easier to manage. Freya’s got autism and she gets obsessed with things. Right now, it’s Norway.’

Josie’s blue eyes widen. ‘Fancy that! I was born there and most of my family are still living in Oslo. Before the Rona, I’d got back every year.’

I can’t believe it. I think of fate and all the pieces on a chess board lining up for the perfect win. I also think of Freya waiting for me - checking off the minutes I’m gone. She will start stressing soon. ‘Hey, I really gotta go, but can we meet again tomorrow at this time?’

Josie throws me another one of her dazzling smiles and I want to reach out and touch her – squeeze her hand or something. I remind myself that would be breaking the totalitarian type rules we’re all governed by, plus it would come off as desperate and weird. ‘I was hoping you’d ask,’ she says. ‘Maybe I could tell you a few things about Norway – for Freya? You could record me.’

‘That’d be great.’

My exit is awkward. I kind of half jog away, while looking over my shoulder at Josie. She is too good to be true. ‘Don’t stand me up!’ I call. ‘Think of my little sister!’

She laughs and I capture the perfect image of the moment in my mind. I’m already looking forward to tomorrow and like Freya, I’ll count the minutes.

Freya is waiting for me when I walk in the door – her face pinched with worry. ‘Seven minutes late,’ she says.

‘I know, but there’s a good reason for it – I met a girl from Norway.’

‘You did?’

‘Yep, and I’m going to meet her again tomorrow.’

‘When?

‘During my usual exercise time.’ Freya seems relieved. She wouldn’t be able to cope if I changed our routine. ‘Why don’t you sit down and write out a list of questions you want me to ask about Norway?’ I suggest, thinking of Freya’s neglected English work.

‘Yes, except she might not be able to answer them.’

‘Why not?’

‘People from Norway are getting less intelligent, while most people in other countries are getting smarter.’

‘What!’

‘It’s true. Since the mid-1990’s the national IQ has dropped.’

Freya remembers everything she reads, so I don’t bother arguing. Instead, I try not to laugh as I think of what Josie will say tomorrow when I mention this. I guide my sister to the table. ‘Write down easy questions then. If she can answer those ones, maybe ask her harder ones the next time?’

‘Good strategy, Byron,’ Freya replies, putting pencil to paper and starting a list.

As I watch my sister work, I try and pinpoint the exact feeling that is responsible for an impressive upturn in my emotional climate. After some deep consideration, I decide it’s hope. If I can see Josie again, I feel like I can survive this relentless lockdown. ‘Thank you Jesus for Norway,' I murmur.

Freya looks at me and shakes her head. 'Jesus doesn't belong in Norway, Byron. There are 15 major Norse Gods and Goddesses and he's not one of them.'

Yeah, but Josie might be, I think.