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inyournightmares97 · 5 years

Text

Unwritten

A chance encounter with a stranger on a rainy night shows you that it doesn’t have to matter who you are or what you’ve done until now... your story can always begin today.

Warnings: Fluff, some intense topics. I’m not sure what this is. Maybe it’s a birthday gift to myself because who can possibly know what I want as a gift better than me? I probably shouldn’t have posted this since it’s really personal and kind of a mess, but eh, what the heck. (Also, inspired by my all-time favorite song, Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield)

Word Count: 3.6k

Maybe you were a little bit crazy.

It could have been the alcohol, the stuffy atmosphere of the club, or even the crushing weight of the realization that you hated absolutely everything about your life. But none of those things were new.

The truth was, you weren't entirely sure what had caused you to snap that particular dark and drizzly Wednesday night. But somehow, even the lack of any evident stimulus was fitting.

Everything doesn't have a reason.

The world is a mess that we've somehow convinced ourselves makes sense.

You didn't tell any of your friends that you were leaving the club. One second you were dancing and celebrating the hours leading up to your birthday and the next, something inside of your brain snapped and you needed to get out. It was like a sudden rush of clarity. You hated being here. Surrounded by people who you hated, people who themselves hated life and who lived it so begrudgingly.

Everyone around you suddenly seemed to be carrying this huge, indescribable void inside of them and you had to leave. You didn't want to be here. You weren't sure where you wanted to be but it definitely wasn't here. You grabbed your purse, walked out of the club and hailed down a taxi.

The brightly colored car stopped in front of you and you grabbed the door handle of the front passenger seat and plopped down onto it.

You could feel the driver's eyes staring into you.

"Are there, uh… are there more people coming?" he asked, since that was the only logical explanation why a taxi passenger would sit in the front seat. You blinked.

"Nope."

"O-oh."

"Why?" you demanded, turning to look at the driver. He was young; you were struck by how incredibly handsome he was. He had dark, kind eyes and the softest lips you had ever seen. The startled expression on his face was adorable. "Am I not allowed to sit up here unless the back seat is occupied?"

He blinked at you and then the corner of his lips turned up.

"No, you can sit wherever you like. I was just asking."

You grinned. You liked this driver. His shoulders visibly relaxed. Maybe he'd just resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be driving an annoying and drunken woman home. You turned back to face the front.

"Okay. Start driving!"

He started the car and slowly merged into the main road with his hands on the steering wheel. He had pretty hands, you thought. Everything about him was pretty.

Why are humans so drawn to beauty?

"Where are we going?" the driver asked you. You hesitated. Where were you going? You weren't sure yet. When you didn't reply, the driver turned and frowned at you. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Where do you live?" he pressed gently.

"I… I don't want to go home," you admitted.

"Then where do you want to go? Another club? Maybe a boyfriend's place?" he continued to prompt. You were still silent so he pulled the taxi over by the side of the road and bit his lip. "Ma'am. I can't keep driving if you won't tell me where you want to go."

You suddenly felt empty.

"If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?" you asked him suddenly.

The man blinked. "Uh, home, I guess."

The answer disappointed you and you pursed your lips with a frown. Home? Why was everyone so obsessed with home? Home was an illusion of safety and comfort that we try to lure ourselves into thinking belongs to us. Nothing really belongs to us.

"Why? Why is it that we have this enormous world at our disposal but every single night we go back to the same boring old place and sleep there? What's so great about it?" you demanded.

He blinked at you. "It's just… comfort, I guess. Home is where we're happy and we can be ourselves."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm happy right here in this taxi so I've decided it's my new home," you informed him defiantly. You kicked your painful heels off and crossed your bare feet on the comfortable seat.

"That's… not how it works," he told you with a hesitant chuckle as he watched you get comfortable. You tried to take the seat belt off but he silently put it back on. "Can you please give me either your ID or your wallet so I can find your address and take you home?"

You frowned at him. "I just told you that this is my home. Your car-sorry, what's your name?"

"Jinyoung."

"Well, Jinyoung, your taxi is my home."

He sighed. "Look ma'am, if you don't tell me where to take you then I'm gonna have to drive you to the nearest police station and drop you off there, cause I can't be responsible for your safety-"

You groaned. "Wow, Jinyoung, are you always such a buzzkill?"

"... Yes."

"Fine. Then let's go to the beach."

"It's raining outside."

"And I want to go to the beach, so get driving, mister!"

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If you believed in fate, then you would perhaps have thought it was fate that you got into the handsome and patient Park Jinyoung's taxi that night.

But you didn't believe in fate.

Not tonight.

You settled back into the taxi and rolled the windows down. If Jinyoung was upset that rain was entering the car and ruining the seats of his taxi, he certainly didn't show it. Freezing cold air hit you in the face and little droplets of rain grazed your skin. You took a deep breath and smiled happily.

You felt excited. For once, you felt this sudden burst of hope and relief. It was almost like you had just escaped the prison of your life's monotony and you were on your way to your newfound freedom. You turned and saw that Jinyoung was watching you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you think I'm weird?" you asked.

"A little," he admitted honestly.

You spotted Jinyoung's wallet lying in the cupholder and reached out to grab it. You leaned back in your seat and opened it up. Jinyoung watched you warily but again, said nothing as you lifted the flaps on the inside of the wallet.

"Let's see who you are, Jinyoung," you said cheerfully. In the first slot was his driving license. You glanced at the photo and made a face. "Ew, you're handsome even in your driving license picture. How does that work? Who did you pay to get that done?"

Jinyoung chuckled. "The camera doesn't lie."

"No, but it can be a little bitch sometimes," you complained. You sighed and dug further into his wallet. You found a student ID card. "Oh! You're a college student! Do you drive part-time?"

Jinyoung nodded. "Actually, I just graduated."

"Oooooh."

"Yeah, I uh… I start my first full-time job tomorrow," he admitted to you. He wasn't sure why he was telling you this. Maybe it was just the way you were staring at him with your innocent wide eyes. Jinyoung couldn't remember the last time someone had seemed so curious to learn about him. "Tonight is my last day as a taxi driver."

You gasped. "No!"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"And I'm your last passenger? I'm the last person to ever sit in a taxi driven by Mr. Park Jinyoung? That is so cool!" you decided.

"It's not that cool," he muttered. "Besides, you might not be the last because I might find another passenger after I drop you off-"

You weren't listening. "We have to celebrate!"

"It's not worth celebrating."

"Everything is worth celebrating," you told him decidedly. "Do you know what I was supposed to be celebrating tonight? My birthday. In other words, I'm celebrating the fact that the earth was at this exact position in relation to the sun at the time I came out of my mother's vagina because my parents had sex nine months prior. If we can celebrate something as pointless as that, then we can celebrate anything."

Jinyoung couldn't hold back a smile. "Okay."

"So, Park Jinyoung, allow me to congratulate you on managing to operate a taxi for, um, how long?"

"2 years."

"-2 years without any accidents, without killing anybody and without getting your license revoked," you announced happily. You offered your hand for Jinyoung to shake in congratulations but he simply raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know I haven't killed anybody?" he challenged.

Your eyes widened excitedly. "Have you?"

He shook his head with a chuckle. "No. That's not really the reaction I was expecting, though. Would you rather I had?"

"It might have been an interesting story. I've never met a murderer."

"Most people would consider themselves lucky."

"Well you know what, fuck luck," you told him with a frown as you folded your arms across your chest. "I'm so sick and tired of luck. Whenever something good happens to me then people go oh, you're so lucky! And when something bad happens then they go, oh it's nor your fault it was bad luck. If luck decides everything then why do we even try? What's even the point?"

"I don't know. I guess that's just how it is."

"I'm tired of luck. I want to be in control. I want to be able to do whatever I want and steer my life exactly where I want it to go. Wouldn't we all be so much happier if we could do that?"

"That depends," Jinyoung mused.

"On what?"

"On whether you really know what you want."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "How could I not know what I want?"

"You want to be happy," Jinyoung reminded you. "But the truth is, you don't know exactly what will make you happy. It's like knowing the name of the place you want to go but not having a map to get there. You'll end up trying all the wrong roads until you stumble across it by accident. Chances are high that you will never find it at all."

You stared at Jinyoung. "Wow."

"What?" he asked, with a flustered smile.

"Jinyoung that was so deep, I'm so impressed," you told him with a grin. His ears turned a light shade of pink. "You're so right. Happiness is like a destination we don't know how to get to. But you know what the problem is? The problem isn't that we keep trying all the wrong roads. The problem is that we're scared to try new roads so we keep asking other people for directions and they don't know where it is either."

Jinyoung hummed. "Maybe."

"Do you think anyone is happy? Do you know someone who's happy?" you asked him.

He shrugged. "There's no way to know, is there? You can't feel someone else's happiness or experience their emotions. You can ask them… but words are an inadequate way to express emotions. Only the person experiencing an emotion can ever know the true intensity of it and he can never know whether his emotions are greater or lesser than others because his own emotions are the only emotions he can ever experience."

You stared at him. "So it's possible that we're all equally miserable?"

He chuckled. "It's also possible that we're all equally happy."

"But we'll never know."

"Nope. I suppose it's one of the many mysteries of the world," he replied simply. You stared at Jinyoung in confusion as he slowly pulled the taxi over by the side of the beach. It was still raining and you glanced out of the car window nervously.

"Too cold to get out?" Jinyoung asked knowingly.

You pouted and dug into your purse. "No. I'll get out. How much do I owe you?"

Jinyoung bit his lip. It was dark and deserted in the beach in the middle of the rain and you didn't look entirely sober. It was also unlikely you would find another taxi out here in this weather. He sighed and cursed himself for being worried about you, but he was.

"How about I wait until you're done?"

You paused and blinked. "Until I'm done what?"

"Whatever you're planning to do here."

You stared at him and fell silent. What were you planning to do here? You didn't really know. You had just come here on a whim. But there was genuine concern in Jinyoung's eyes and it made your heart skip a beat. You wondered why this random man was so worried about leaving you here.

"Okay," you decided. "Let's go take a walk in the rain!"

"Hold on, I have an umbrella in the trunk-"

"You can't carry an umbrella! Where's the fun in that?" you demanded, getting out of the car. But there was no stopping Jinyoung from locking the car and walking around it to extract a large umbrella from the car trunk. You shouldn't have been surprised. Jinyoung looked exactly like the kind of guy to carry an umbrella around in case of emergencies.

"Do you want to get under it or not?" he asked, holding it up over his head. You folded your arms across your chest and frowned. It was cold and you weren't dressed for the weather but you refused to get under the umbrella.

"Nope!"

"Okay, your loss," Jinyoung replied simply.

You started walking down the beach towards the sealine, wet sand between your toes and the soft rain hitting your cold skin. Jinyoung followed you silently with his umbrella. He watched as you tilted your head upwards and let the water run down your skin.

You were beautiful.

"You're going to fall sick," Jinyoung scolded you with a sigh.

You turned to look at him, your eyes shining. You couldn't worry about tomorrow. You didn't want to worry about tomorrow. You wanted to enjoy now. You spread your arms out happily and smiled.

"So what?"

He raised an eyebrow. "So what? You're going to be miserable."

"I've decided I'm not going to be miserable anymore."

Jinyoung chuckled. "I wish it was that easy."

You didn't respond. You simply closed your eyes and felt the cold freshness of the rain on your skin. Jinyoung was right. Nobody else could feel this feeling for you right now. Maybe they could feel something similar… but right now, this very moment, you were the only person in the world who could feel this exact rain on your skin in this exact way.

You suddenly felt warm.

Jinyoung had placed the umbrella over your head and was looking down at you with a small frown. You opened your eyes and blinked at him.

"Jinyoung!" you protested.

"You look like you're having too much fun, it's making me jealous," he muttered.

"So get rid of the stupid umbrella."

"No."

"Yes! Get rid of it!" you insisted. You could see a small smile on the corner of his pretty lips but his grip on the umbrella was still tight. He shook his head and you sighed, continuing to walk down the beach as Jinyoung followed you with the umbrella.

"Are you always this crazy?" he asked you honestly.

You frowned. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

"I'm really shy."

"Why don't I believe you?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Ah, but that's the nice part," you told him with a grin. "You'll never know. I could be completely nuts. I could also be the most boring person in the world. Who knows? Not you, Park Jinyoung!"

He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh. "I'm leaning towards completely nuts."

"Suit yourself. Truth is, I'm undefined. We all are."

Jinyoung shrugged. "Maybe so."

"Does it even make sense to slap labels on people when we change every moment? What does it even mean to say I'm not like this normally? What counts are normally? I've lived for 22 years in this world and I think I've been a different person every single day I'm pretty sure 20-year old me or 21-year old me had a bunch of feelings and a personality but who cares? She's gone. I'm not her anymore."

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't care about birthdays."

"I never said that. I just said they were a random thing to celebrate. It doesn't make sense to me to celebrate one day. We don't suddenly get a year older. We grow a little bit every day, every hour and every second. We're just too lazy to keep track."

"I'd like to see you keep track of how many seconds old you are."

You rolled your eyes. "Now you're just being annoying."

Jinyoung chuckled. He had never met anyone like you. Perhaps on another night he would have been annoyed to have to deal with a crazy woman who insisted on walking on the beach in the rain. But not tonight. Maybe it was something to do with your beautiful eyes, the smile on your lips or the way you looked like a bird that had just broken free from a cage.

Something about your magic was contagious.

Jinyoung found himself wanting to see a little bit more of it. He followed you as you continued to skip down the beach, holding the umbrella up over his own head and yours. Your hair and clothes were drenched but you didn't seem to care. You walked until the edge of the water and then stood staring out at the roaring sea.

"Isn't it sad that we're so limited?" you wondered.

Jinyoung chuckled. "What's this about, now?"

"Like the human body is so limited and useless. I want to jump into the roaring sea and feel it. I want to fly into the sky and see a thunderstorm up close. I want to feel that freedom. I want to do so many things but I can't because my body doesn't let me feel all these amazing things."

"I think there are a lot of things only humans can feel, though."

"Like what?" you demanded.

"Love?"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't disappoint me now, Jinyoung. I was just starting to like you. What is love even? It's just something we make up to make ourselves feel better. It's a comforting delusion that we need because we're too scared and weak to be alone."

Jinyoung bit his lip. "You don't think love exists?"

"I don't know. All I know is this; the only person who is ever going to have to be with me no matter what is myself. The person I spend the most time with is myself. So why would I ever waste my time loving someone else?"

"Because love is about taking a break from yourself."

"Is it?"

"You don't fall in love with someone because they're amazing or attractive or irresistible," Jinyoung replied thoughtfully. "That's not real love. You fall in love with someone because you want to love them and you want to dedicate your time and attention to them. Love is, for that tiniest moment, forgetting yourself and letting go and immersing yourself completely into another person. Love isn't one huge thing. It's a bunch of tiny things."

You stared at him. Jinyoung's shoulders were damp from having shared his umbrella with you. His dark eyes were shining and you couldn't tear your gaze away from him.

"Have you ever felt love?" you asked.

"Sure. Love doesn't have to be a huge commitment or a promise. It doesn't have to last forever or be with a single person. It can be any number of tiny things and experiences."

"I don't think I've ever felt it."

"Maybe you should try."

"Should I?"

"Give it a shot."

You weren't sure what Jinyoung had been expecting but it probably wasn't that you would knock the umbrella out of his hand. He was surprisingly calm as the rain soaked his soft hair and you stepped closer to him. Your hands snaked around his shoulders.

Jinyoung was the first one to lean down to kiss you.

Both of you were cold and wet from the rain, and you each clung onto the small shreds of body heat coming from the other. Jinyoung's lips were gentle and soft and exciting as he grasped your waist and brought his lips down on yours. Your spine tingled in delight.

Perhaps you should have thought about the fact that you were kissing a stranger in a deserted place, perhaps you should have been worried that this was inappropriate and rushed.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't, because like Jinyoung said, love wasn't a promise or a commitment or a trap. It didn't have to be with someone you knew everything about or understood. It was a moment; a small, fleeting moment when you give yourself entirely to somebody else and as Jinyoung kissed you in the rain and the sky ahead thundered, you experienced that moment for the first time.

There was a beeping from your phone and you reluctantly pulled away from Jinyoung to take it out of your pocket. You'd set an alarm for midnight. The time was clear on the screen.

00:01

"Oh look at that," you muttered. "Happy Birthday to me."

Jinyoung was still staring at you, his eyes sparkling. His fingers slowly slid up to your face and he cupped your cheeks and turned you to face him. There was a magic in your eyes. He wondered how a complete stranger had managed to take his breath away so suddenly.

"Who are you?" he breathed.

You slid your own fingers into Jinyoung's damp hair and smiled.

"Does it matter who I've been until now? All that matters is who I'm going to be from this moment on."

----------------------------------------------------

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open,

Today is where your book begins,

The rest is still unwritten...

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 jinyoung #park jinyoung #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung angst #jinyoung fluff #got7 scenario #got7 fanfiction #got7 angst #got7 fluff #got7 imagines #got7 drabbles

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allthesedetails · 5 years

Text

09 November 19

Part 4 The creepy policeman

I hope you’re sitting back in your chair and that you have some popcorn because this is the weirdest and creepiest conversation I’ve ever had with a policeman. I don’t know how the police are acting in other countries, but in Norway, they’re someone we can trust, someone that helps us when we need them, and someone you feel comfortable talking to. This policeman was none of the above. So I was sitting in this police office about to tell the policeman everything that happened in order to get a report for my insurance company. Everything went down in French, but I’ll translate it into English so that we don’t have to start using Google Translate again.

Policeman: So, Charlotte, where are you from? Me: Norway. P: Norway? What Norway? Me: I’m Norwegian. Like from Norway.

He looks at me confused and I’m sure he’s joking.

P: Ah, Norway. That’s not in Europe, right? Me: Well yes, it is, it is in the north of Europe, next to Sweden. P: No, you’re wrong. It goes Sweden, Denmark, Finland.

He points to the countries in front of him in the air, so they make up a perfect line next to each other. I’m starting to worry that he isn’t joking, after all, so I laugh kinda nervously at what I was hoping was an attempt of being funny, and he looks offended.

Me: No, it’s Norway on the west coast, then Sweden, then Finland, and Denmark is south of these countries. P: I don’t think so. Norway is in the United States, right? Me: No, it’s in Europe. P: It’s in Europe?! Me: Yes, in the north. P: Ah, so it’s cold there now, right? Me: Yes, we have snow now, and it’s dark all the time.

Btw, a thing you need to know about me is that I am the most sarcastic person ever, and I was struggling so hard not to offend this police officer with some snarky comment.

P: Snow? Wow, that’s different from here. And what do you mean “dark”? Me: Like there’s almost no daylight in the north of Norway now. We have like 2-3 hours of daylight back home. P: WHAT?! But that’s not possible, how do you survive? Me. Well, winter depression is a thing in Norway.

Can I just point out that we have been sitting here for like 10 minutes NOT talking about anything related to why I’m there? We kept talking about Norway for a while and then we went… well not back on track, because we never were on track, to begin with, so I guess we just went on track.

P: So, someone stole your wallet. (I’d told this to the lady at the reception). What did he look like? M: Well, he was a lot taller than me. He had curly brown hair on top of his head and the sides were shaved. He was wearing a black wafer jacket and beige pants. 3-day beard, brown eyes, kinda skinny. He spoke to me in Spanish, so I’m guessing he’s Spanish. P: I’m half Spanish. Me: Okay, I’m not blaming Spanish people in general. I’m just explaining that he spoke to me in Spanish. P: My mother is Spanish, and my father is French. And now we’re talking about his family for a while, and I am wondering if I will ever get out of there. At this time my friend has come back from the store, and her head appears in the door opening, and she’s like “Excuse me, can I come in?”

P: Well, no? Me: Oh, but that is my friend that can translate if something is unclear! P: Well, you don’t need her. Me (To my friend): Maybe you can wait outside, and if there’s a problem, I’ll come get you? Friend: Sure! Let me know if you need me! P: So, what is your number, Charlotte? Me: Actually, I’m always struggling to say the numbers in French, so I’ll write it to you, give me a sec. P: No, Charlotte, look me deep in the eyes and say your number.

And I’m like no, and I write the number on my phone and hold it out to him. He then continues by writing down the information in my passport, and then he studies my picture.

P: You look incredibly cute in this picture. Me: Well, that’s from 2014, so… P: That’s 5 years ago. Me: Yes, you’re right, that’s some fast math. P: … So! What was in your wallet? Me: Okay, so it was all my cards, my driver’s license, my… (I’m counting on my fingers while I’m reciting what was in my wallet, and he stops me and takes my hand by the wrist.) P: What is this? Me: (Looks confused down on where he’s stroking my wrist with his fingers). Well, that is my tattoo. P: Yes, I can see that, but what is it? Me: A key. P: Yes, but what significance does it have to you? What does it mean? (He’s still stroking my skin). Me: That actually is a long story. P: Maybe you can tell me another time. Me: (Laughs nervously again) I don’t know how to answer that. P: But what is this? (He points to a point of my tattoo where the ink has bled) Me: Oh that was my first tattoo, and I didn’t know how it was supposed to look like, so it’s just a part of the tattoo now. P: Did you take it in Norway? Me: Yes, but I don’t think that matters.

And I hold out my hands like you do when you shrug, like ¯_(ツ)_/¯, and of course, he then sees the tattoo on my other wrist, and he takes that hand and rolls up my sleeve up to my elbow. This one has writing on it, and he asks what it means. I translate it into French for him, and he asked where I got that one.

Me: In Australia, I went backpacking there. P: Oh really? Alone? Me: No, with a friend. P: I bet you learned a lot. You learn a lot about yourself whilst traveling. We get a deeper meaning of life. (Of which I agree, but could we maybe talk about my thief now? Me: So is there anywhere I could go to get my stuff back. Like a lost and found or something?

Again, I knew that this existed, I just wanted to get back to business. The policeman looks at me, and then he says:

P: Do you speak English in Norway? (………… I mean???) Me: Yes, we learn it pretty early, but it is not our main language. We have our own language. Norwegian. P: Oh, really? How do you say “Hey” in Norwegian? Me: Hei. P: “Ei!” And how do you say bye? Me: Ha det. P: “Adé”. And thank you? Me: Takk. P: Toc. … So, you’re sure you’re in Europe. Me: Pretty sure, yes. But we’re not in the European Union if that’s what you mean? P: So, you are not in Europe! I knew it! Me: Well yes, we are, just not in the union. We have our own agreement with the European Union.

He blinks slowly, maybe trying to figure out what I mean.

P: What else was in your wallet. Me: Okay so my cards… P: Yes, you already said that. Me: Uhm… My ID? P: Yes… Me: And 60€… P: Hah, see! Norway is in Europe! Me: Yes it is, but we don’t use Euros in Norway, we use the Norwegian krone (crown). P: Well then why did you have Euros. Me: Because I live in France now, and here you do use Euros. P: But Sweden uses Euros, so why don’t you? Me: But they don’t though. They also have their own money. P: So, they are not in the European Union. Me: Yes, they are, they just have their own money. P: Finland is using Euros. Me: (Super confused about this whole conversation). That I actually don’t remember, I think they might, yes. P: … What else was in your wallet. Me: My tram card, my fidelity cards, Mastercard, boat license… P: Boat license...? Me: Yes. P: You drive boats? Me: Yes. Only one at the time though. P: Oh, Norway is the country with all the fjords! Me: That’s right, and the coastline. P: Do you fish? Me: Me personally or Norwegians in general? P: You personally. Me: Well not right now, but yes, I do know how to. Been doing it since I was a kid. P: What fish? Me: Uhm, I don’t know the name for all the fish in French. Salmon? P: Do you know all salmon are damaged because of these bacteria that live in all fish and that’s why we avoid them in France? Me: No, never heard of that, I’ve been eating it a lot and I’m fine. My family fishes a lot of salmon because they live on this island, and it’s all fine. P: On an island?! I love the savage life. Maybe you could take me one time. Me: …

He then starts talking about one time he went to a country in the north and it was snowing a lot and he saw the northern lights every day, so how did he not know about the darkness of the north?

P: Do you cook, Charlotte? Me: Yes? P: What do you like best about French culture? Me: Am I supposed to say the cooking? P: Yes! You know, I am a perfect chef! French men are really good at cooking, you know. Me: So I’ve heard.

He now takes up his lunchbox, and I’m like is he going to start eating his lunch now? Are we done, or are we going to keep talking during his break? He then picks up a piece of really dry chocolate cake from a plastic bag inside of his lunch box and holds it up in my face.

P: Here, have some cake! Me: Oh, no thank you. I’m really not hungry. (And I really don’t want to eat cake from your hands). P: Yes, it’s for you. I made it myself! (He takes my hand again and puts the cake in my palm).

I’m sitting there looking at the cake not sure what to do next. I really didn’t want to eat it, but I felt obliged to, now that it was in my hand, so I break off a little piece and puts it in my mouth. It grows in my mouth like a disgusting lump, and I swallow hard. It’s not that the cake wasn’t good, well it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t terrible. I just felt so uncomfortable. The policeman watches me eat a few more pieces before saying:

P: Do you know what’s in there? Me: No? (Unsettled). P: Have you ever heard about coconut sugar? Me: I don’t think so. P: You can eat it if you’re a diabetic too, cause it’s not normal sugar, you see.

And then… okay, this is like the weirdest part of this whole thing… then he bends down to his bag on the floor and picks up a little plastic box with a green lid. He opens it and holds it up to my nose.

P: This is coconut sugar, smell it. It smells weird, right? Me: (Trying to smell the sugar without it coming up my nose). I guess it does, but I don’t really remember how normal sugar smells like.

The policeman then bends down again and takes up another small container from his bag.

P: Here you go. This is normal sugar. Do you smell the difference?

Okay, so looking away from the fact that he gave me a piece of cake and made me smell his sugar… Why, WHY did he have all that sugar in his bag? Did he bake the cake down there? Is it only me that feels that it is super weird to make someone smell the ingredients of a cake you’re basically forcing onto someone?

P: Do you know what else is in there? “Poire” and nuts. Me: Okay P: How do you say “poire” in English. Me: Pear. (Getting more and more confused. We’ve been speaking French for this entire time, and this is the word he really wants to know in English?) P: Pear. Yes, that is my secret. (I have no finished the entire piece of cake). Delicious, right?

I nod. He looks down on my passport again, studying it.

P: So, Charlotte. Are you married? Me: No. P: You’re Norwegian, but you’re not married? (He said this in a tone that implied that this was really uncommon, that he’d never heard about a Norwegian person that wasn’t married. I find this really bizarre, considering that about 30 minutes ago he didn’t even know what or where Norway was.)

At the beginning of this conversation, I’d been really prepared to tell him about the theft and the Spanish guy and all that, so I’d been leaning a little forward like I was invested in the conversation. Now I was sitting all the way back in my chair, with my head held up high and my back straight. The policeman looks me up and down and asks:

P: Do you do Yoga? Me: Yes. P: What kind of Yoga? You do a lot of stretching, don’t you? You have good posture. Do you go to Yoga here? Me: No, I haven’t signed up for anything yet. P: I do a lot of yoga. You can come with me if you want. Me: (Still trying not to be rude to the police.) The problem is I can’t sign up for anything seeing as all my cards are gone and all.

I don’t remember exactly what we talked about here, but I got to say what was in my wallet, and a little more of what happened. When we’re starting to wrap it up, the policeman looks at me and points to my chest.

P: Why are you all red? Are you shy? Am I making you a little… nervous?

My entire life, people have asked me if I’m part Asian because of my looks. I don’t know why, but people find it hard to believe that I’m all Norwegian. I used to care more about this before than now, and now it has become a joke amongst my friends that I’m part Asian. Now, when I get stressed my chest gets really flushed. This also applies to when I drink alcohol, which is commonly known as Alcohol flush or the Asian flush. So, when my chest reddens, I just say:

Me: Oh no, it’s just the Asian flush. P: The what? Are you Asian? (Probably still trying to place Norway on the map in his head.) Me: (Getting really tired of having to explain stuff not related to my case). Yes, someone on my mother’s side is probably from China. P: Oh really. (Nods as if that makes sense.)

He then holds out his hand, as for me to shake it. I take his hand and shake it. He takes his hand away, turn mine with the palm down, and then he slaps it. He slaps my hand. As if to say: You’ve been a bad girl.

Me: …??? … Uhm? P: That is so you’ll be more careful next time. And don’t trust people. Behave. Me: Okay? Well am I done here now? P: Yes, you’re free to go. Goodbye, my little Norwegian girl.

LITTLE NORWEGIAN GIRL???

I swear I’m not making this up. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. It’s not that any of these things were mean or anything. I just felt like he was being so unprofessional, and I felt super uncomfortable. And also, it would have been one thing if I’d come in there and told him what happened, and he’d been like “oh, I’m so sorry this happened to you. I actually baked some cake yesterday to bring to work, do you want some?” But the way he gave it to me, the way he touched my wrist and the way he talked to me and didn’t listen to what I was saying. It was all so uncomfortable and off-putting. I don’t know if I’ll ever go to the police here again.

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