The Swedish Sex Bomb (LSD, #7)

6. The Only Star In Heaven

The Only Star In Heaven

"Good morning, Miss Larsson. Did you sleep well tonight?", I laugh.

Frieda laughs back: "The late-night program showed the same nightmares as always, but every time I woke up, there were some comforting thoughts: «I've shot my fears», «I've killed my demons», «I've burnt my nightmares», «I'm not afraid», or «I've had a courage transfusion». Those little, bright stars made this night something special."

Mrs Holt doesn't believe her eyes. She stands up behind her counter, points her finger at Frieda and asks me, with the aggression of a predator: "What have you done with my patient?"

I give Frieda a wink and say: "I replaced her with a clone. She looks just like the late Miss Larsson, but she no longer takes shit from anyone. Don't worry, Mrs Holt. She won't kill you, as long as you provide her breakfast, lunch, and dinner on time."

Mrs Holt looks at us like we'll both need urgent therapy and more expensive medication, but she also notices how genuine Frieda's laughter is. She doesn't know what to make of it.

"Don't worry about me, Mrs Holt. My friend here has given me a new kind of therapy and it's... hopeful. Have you ever seen me laughing since I've been here?"

"You better take care. I have little confidence in everything that didn't prove its worth scientifically."

The scientific methods of the Kepler Clinic have proven, during the eight months Frieda spent here, to have no positive result at all, but I don't say that, of course, and laugh back at Frieda: "Today will be another fabulous day. I'll personally take care that nobody makes you cry."

Frieda takes my arm and together we go outside. Away from the Big-Brother's ears of Mrs Holt, she confesses: "I can't guarantee I won't cry, get sick, or suffer a panic attack. I feel better, but I'm not..."

"I know. Don't worry. I understand. We'll be careful with you. Those things take time. There's no use in trying to rush it. Important is feeling better and being hopeful. Time and Mother Nature will do the rest. It's called «patient» for a reason; quality needs time."

As we pass through the gates of the clinic, I remember something: "I bought you a little present this morning. It's nothing, really, just a silly, cheap piece of metal, but..."

I give Frieda a little paper bag. She opens it and looks surprised.

I explain: "It's a star. It's a symbol, bright and shining, something I look up to, something I admire for its beauty and its energy. You're the only star in heaven, Frieda. You're awful bright, you're awful smart, you have lots of wits, and lots of heart. It's great to be you. You're strong, you're young and you're beautiful. People look at you and think: «There goes a supernova». Your nightmares have cost you eight months. That's enough. Go shake your tail. Go make a wave. Live life like a diamond ring. Be the star in somebody's sky. Look at the stars and look at yourself like I look at you: you're an amazing woman."

I won't always be here to cheer you up with my words, but this little token might help you remember how you can keep your light shining, I think, but I don't say that, of course, because I don't want to spoil my little speech.

She hangs the chain with the little smiling gold star around her neck: "I don't know what to say."

"You might say «thank you»."

"I'm not beautiful."

"We're not going to discuss that. The taxi is waiting. We have a train to catch."

* * *

On our trip to the train station, I see the proof of what Frieda told me yesterday: Swedish people are active. It's early in the morning and still dark, but people of all ages run, cycle, or walk around with tennis rackets and sports bags. I could have been there too. When my work allows me, I run ten kilometres a week and visit the gym for one or two hours. Jogging is a great way to discover a city.