Chapter Text
Frida felt alone, she missed her kids, she hated this town, everything sucked, she doubted it would ever get better, on top of that: her career had seemingly gone dormant while her boyfriend’s seemed about to take off. Things really couldn’t get any more hopeless and Benny’s empathy only made her feel worse. He tried so hard to make her feel better. Really, he was perfect in every possible way, showing her how much he loved her, but it caused her to feel like when she was a kid again, a liability. She was only bringing him down. What could she give him? She had nothing but the clothes she made and a passion for music; he might say it’s enough, but deep down, she knew it couldn’t last.
Oh, she knew all too well how Benny, with his laid-back nature, would drop her the moment someone or something better would present itself to him. She was too high maintenance for him, a man like him wouldn’t understand all her little anxieties, and besides, she had no need to share them either, sheltering them and feeding like them her own offspring.
She was too proud, too private. So sensitive, she sometimes thought it bordered on manipulative. She didn’t want to burden him with all of her worries. It wasn’t like she could own him and do with him as she pleased; she had to take him into consideration as a human being; he had enough sorrows of his own without hers added to it. No, she decided with a guilty conscience, she would never tell him everything, she couldn’t.
Yes, today was a particularly bad day. Benny was out of town for the weekend with his work partner Björn (one of those job opportunities). Yesterday she stayed up all night watching something boring on TV, because there was nothing better to do; no one here would invite her to parties (not like there were any). It had seemed like such a good idea to move where Björn and Agnetha lived, but that was at first…
Everyone around her was always in motion, showing progress, while all she did was sit on her ass all day, sleep, watch TV and feel sorry for herself. She thought she could make it. Hah, she had been so wrong. And the media had been right; perhaps she was crazy for giving up her stable family life... She comforted herself with the thought that, at least, she tried.
It used to be easier than it should’ve been, so easy to pretend to be just like all the other families, a husband with a job, two kids, a singing hobby on the side... But then it all got too serious, and she had to join that stupid competition. She remembered how nervous she had been for it, and at the moment it had all seemed worth it... Now, not so much.
Benny had told her that maybe Björn’s wife could come over. She knew her a little since they had spent their honeymoon together, well it wasn’t really a honeymoon but still, she could call it that, for herself.
She was a blonde girl, a charming thing really, she came from Jönköping. Frida had heard her sing for the first time when they rehearsed together for Studio8. It seemed ages ago, but the blonde never quite disappeared from her mind since then (or maybe it was just that her songs were on the radio everywhere). The girl was a talented singer, Frida knew that because they sang together on holiday too, sitting around the fireplace while Hans and Liselott roasted marshmallows with Benny.
Those were nice times really (and they almost brought a small smile to her face) but even then, when walking along the beach with an inquisitive Liselott, that happiness felt so fragile, as if it might shatter like a porcelain doll when handled too roughly.
Agnetha, she pondered, Benny said she might visit. But she didn’t need pity from someone who had returned to being a stranger since the wedding Frida couldn’t attend (it had been a deliberate decision on her part, to travel up north. Not ready to deal with whatever feelings she may or may not have for her friend. Besides, it was perfectly justified, as weddings still made her feel cynical due to her own history). Someone who would probably try to cure her of her ailments with some well-meaning Bible verses. She scoffed, a blonde from Småland, a stereotypical Swedish beauty! Only 21 and with her life together! That would teach her how to live hers! Oh, not for the world, she thought.
Suddenly the ringing sound of the doorbell pierced through the air. But Frida didn’t want to get up from the couch; she felt numbed with sadness. The person ringing it, however, was very persistent. And when there came no reply, they started knocking on the window. Frida looked up and locked eyes with the figure of none other than the woman who had been the subject of her thoughts. She sighed, now she had to get up.
Opening the door for her, she let in a gust of wind. Outside it seemed just as stormy as the interior of her mind. And she wondered what on earth moved the girl to go out on a day like this. She didn’t care to admit it but, she was rather glad to see her, a distraction from the gloom she had become accustomed to (secretly she hoped to rekindle the bond that had grown between them on their ‘honeymoon’). “Quick, come in. That wind is way too cold,” She gently tapped the blonde’s pinkish nose as she entered the hall.
After making coffee, she walked back to the living room reluctantly, eyeing the (much too pretty) intruder somewhat suspiciously as she sat back down in her corner of the couch, “So, what brought you here then.”
The blonde shrugged, warming her hands on the hot cup, “Well, you only live a minute away you know, and I don’t actually know that many people around here. I thought we both could use some company. Besides, I wanted to ask you for some advice...”
Now Frida’s interest was peaked and she sat up a bit straighter, always happy to try and help a fellow woman. “What did you want to ask me about?” She asked with a gentle smile, a million things that a recently married woman could ask her about went through her mind.
“Well uhm,” Agnetha began, and Frida resisted the urge to roll her eyes; of course she would be a prude. “Me and Björn have been trying to get pregnant, but I- it’s just,” and then it spilled out: “Well, it’s like something doesn’t feel right? And I think something’s wrong with me? What if my body is broken and I can’t have children?” Nervous at the thought that her body might be betraying its singular purpose Agnetha started biting her nails, and in a swift movement Frida took her hand in hers in an attempt to shush the nervous woman.
“First of all, nothing is wrong with your body, you’re only 21, and even if you would be infertile, your body is still not broken, you’re not sick, it’s carrying you around, making you sing. Doesn’t seem like an example of a broken body to me!” Agnetha nodded at that, contemplating those words; she hadn’t looked at it from that perspective.
“Now, second, you need to know, having children is not an end all be all heaven on earth thing, it hurts, and they need constant care and-“ Frida was beginning to get choked up (she hadn’t seen Hans and Lotta in 3 weeks because Hans got the measles).
“It’s okay, I know, you don’t need to talk about that, and I’m aware of the risks, trust me.” Agnetha hurriedly interrupted her with a comforting gesture, not wanting to make her sweet neighbor cry.
“Okay, now, what else were you saying? About Björn? Does he hurt you?” Frida frowned (one of her classmates had a horribly abusive dad, and that had left quite an impression on her; she wouldn’t want anyone to go through remotely the same thing). Mentally she was already planning to save Agnetha when she replied, “No, I mean, he doesn’t hurt me on purpose,” she turned as red as a tomato, “I’m sorry, it’s weird.”
“Of course it’s not weird Agnetha, come on, spit it out. We can try to solve something if there’s anything that needs to be fixed.”
“Okay, well, when we kiss and stuff, it’s alright, and I want to, y’know, but then... I don’t know... It feels wrong. I mean, it doesn’t feel like how they describe it in the books at all? Maybe the books are a lie but, I don’t know.”
Frida sighed, the books... She herself had sometimes turned to books for guidance as well, with differing results. “Which books do you mean?” She asked.
“Oh well, the Allers novels, or the ones I borrowed from Elisabeth.” She said, with a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Once again, Frida resisted rolling her eyes; she detested those books, they were a humiliation for humankind she thought. Cheap, amusing fairytales for grown-ups, nothing more.
“They’re probably written by men. Of course, they have no knowledge of what a woman feels. Come I’ll show you something you should read instead.” And she got up to take the first volume of Anaïs Nin’s diaries off her bookshelf.
All her answers could be found in those five little books, Agnetha assumed. She was used to going along with the ideas of her classmates. To fit in. (Which didn’t seem to be working out at the moment.) She was excited to find out what reality could actually be like then, if everything she used to believe in was only a fairytale. She lived in the real world now, like an adult.
At home, Agnetha started reading immediately and soon became captivated by the love triangle between Anaïs, June, and Henry, but what had Frida meant to tell her with this novel? What were the answers she had to find? She was left with even more questions than she had started off with. Exasperated, she let out a heavy sigh; she may never be able to unravel this mystery of adulthood.
Only one thing seemed to make clear sense; the difference between the male’s view against the view of a woman, it explained perfectly why she and Björn could not understand each other. The differences between man and woman which do not automatically complement each other. The way apparently women sometimes can complete each other. She understood that, in fact, she often felt she shared a more special kinship with other women. For she felt they all had to live under the same circumstances regardless of all other factors, and therefore, they shared a connection. This was why she had decided to come to Frida for advice, because she was a more experienced woman, having gone through all the same things all women used to go through since centuries. But now she understood, not even Frida or any other mature woman knew everything there is to know, and like witches, they kept some of their secrets hidden away for safety.
There was not one way to be a woman, one could be like June, or Jean, or more like Anaïs, perhaps Marguerite, and she suspected there were a million other ways to be a woman as well, it was like shells were falling off her eyes and an entire world was opened for her. The new possibilities excited, as well as confused her. She wondered what life would have in store for her, frightened by what unexpected turns it might take, for she was sure Anaïs wasn’t expecting to fall in love with his wife when she met Henry Miller either.