The Meaning of Life

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And then Lena had to leave to get her kids at her ex-husband's and I found myself alone in my car driving towards home with a big smile on my face but also with a fear I would miss her too much. Well, if I did it would also be a new experience for me.

8 - PHONE-CALLS FROM MY FUTURE

A few weeks went by. I talked to Lena a few times, but she didn't want me to call since she hadn't told the kids about me. I would have liked to see her again, but she was undecided. She found me attractive, she said, but wasn't sure she needed the complications of a maybe-relationship now. Oh well.

My running got slightly better and it was easier to get my body to agree to make it a daily routine. I got myself a shrink; Erik the Existentialist. With the eminent aid of Erik the Existentialist I went on with my explorations of Lukas-space, finding new stuff every time we met. I won't bore you with details about existential therapy, but if you're lost and confused but don't want a set of ready-made answers I recommend it.

I was experimenting with cooking. I had Karl and his wife for dinner and they behaved like they liked my efforts. But then, they would anyway. They are very polite, which I guess is a good thing but sometimes it makes it hard to know what they are really thinking. Karl was super-busy with the company. He seemed happy enough and I was happy that I was out of that life. We also talked about everything and I found out they were very interested in rabbits.

I hadn't known that rabbits was something that you could be interested in, but they had some thoroughbreds that they showed off at exhibitions, and also a few athletic rabbits they entered in jumping competitions and races. All those years I had known Karl and Mona and I never knew. Did I never ask them about their lives?

One day I got a phone-call from Bea. She was very tentative and I could tell she had something important to tell me, whatever that was. She wanted to see me and we decided to meet at a café. She lived in one of the satellite-cities round Stockholm, so it was not all that far.

I was early, but she was already there. We hugged and I got myself a big sandwich with fried egg and meatballs. Guru Gag would have had a fit.

"Okay," she said, "please just listen at first. I've got this little speech, so please just...but I already said that. Please don't freak out but if you do I understand because I'm pregnant and yeah, you're the father. I'm very happy about it and I've always wanted kids but I thought I couldn't since me and my ex-husband never managed to, and that's why the ex-part."

"So I will keep the baby but I don't want to be a bother and I know we can't be together and I understand if you don't want anything to do with us because this was not your choice. Of course I hope that you will want to have some contact so the baby knows her father but I understand if you don't want to. And don't worry about money I will manage and it's not fair you should pay because it wasn't your choice."

This was a lot to take in and my feelings were rather unorganized,, but there was no doubt in my mind that I was happy about it all. And proud, as if I had accomplished something. I knew that all I had done was to ejaculate a small amount of sticky fluid, but I was proud just the same. Bea watched me anxiously, seeing the emotions chase each other over my face. She started smiling, obviously she could see which emotions won out.

"Wow!" I said, "I'm going to be a father."

"Yes, Lukas. You are."

"I want the baby to know me. I want to be her dad. We can be friends, can't we?"

"Yes, Lukas. We can."

"And don't you worry about money. Ever. Except it may be dangerous to have too much."

Back I my car I woke my phone up. I was eager to tell the world my great news, but there were sadly few I could call. Karl, of course, maybe Lena. Yes, I thought it would be okay to tell Lena. When the phone came alive there was a voice-message from Lena; "I'm pregnant! Call me!"

9 - WE ARE SO IRRESPONSIBLE

If your world is turned upside-down twice in the same hour, does that mean that the world is right side up again? Logically it should, but it does not. This second pregnancy shook me a lot more than the first one, maybe because there were so many unknowns. What did Lena think of it all? Did she want to keep the baby or not? I called her.

"You have to come down here," Lena said. "Sophia is running amuck here. Or, well, she has given me a long lecture on safe sex and interrogated me about you and your qualifications to be a father."

"Give me an hour."

Sophia was Lena's oldest daughter, all of thirteen and, according to Lena, very outspoken and youthfully sure about what was right and wrong. Stina was five years younger and more of an introvert, but Sophia probably would have my hide. I was trying to think of good answers to her inevitable questions but did not think of any. Saying yes I fucked up but hey, I'm rich would not cut it, I was sure.

When I arrived at what the GPS insisted was Lena's house (I didn't recognize it but I was kind of distracted last time I was here) I was severely worried that the authorities (Sophia) would deem me an unfit father and deny me access to the child. I hefted the bunch of tulips I had bought in a supermarket and pushed the door-bell button.

Mercifully, Lena had managed to convince her daughters that we adults (snort from Sophia) needed to talk things through first. They had agreed to go to the library for an hour, but not without inspecting me first.

"I think you have been very irresponsible," Sophia said. "Even I know how to put on a condom and I am a child."

"How..." Lena began.

"Internet. It is, after all, an important thing to know. Right?" The last word directed at me, who nodded shame-facedly. "We will make a list of questions at the library."

"Coffee?" Lena asked. That seemed to be the drink of choice when discussing things like this. Sweden is the country with the second highest coffee-consumption per capita in the world, by the way, after Finland. But I'm rambling.

"She found the gravity-test," Lena sighed. "She's been giving me the inquisition treatment ever since. Well, what do you say about all this?"

"There are two main questions, I guess. Shall we, you, whatever, keep the baby. And what are we to each other? Friends? I hope so. Lovers? I don't know."

"One thing I know for sure, city boy – I have my life here and I am rather set in my ways. The girls have friends and they are close to their dad. As for keeping the baby, I was happy when the test told me I was pregnant. It may not be the most sensible thing, but apparently I want it."

"I want it, too, and I want to be part of her life in some way. What about us, then?"

"I don't know. I like you but the thought of us living together feels...weird somehow."

We said a lot of things in that hour, of course, and I bloody well won't quote all of it. We decided to keep the baby, to stay friends and see if there was a possibility for more. Both of us doubted that, and Lena doubted it a lot when told about Bea and the other baby coming up. This made everything even more complicated and complicated was what she did not want. For some reason she seemed to think that I would be more trouble than yet another child.

When the girls came back Sophia ordered us to the kitchen table. I had a hard time deciding if I found her delightfully frank or a total pain in the ass. The jury was still out.

"First; abortion or not?"

"Not."

"Good. We want a brother. Secondly; are you in love?"

"Probably not, but we do like each other a lot and we feel we could be friends at least."

"Ok, I guess. Thirdly; what do you know about each other? Do you even know what he's doing?"

"I don't know what his job is, no. I know he's not an artist."

"Well that's good. What do you work with?"

"Ehh, right now I must admit I don't work at all. The company I worked for was bought by another and some had to go. I got a nice deal, though."

"So you were one of the deadbeats they paid to get rid of?"

"Well, I guess so."

"I googled you, you know. Have you done that, mom? Kind of interesting."

"What?" Lena asked.

"It's a common name," I tried.

"There were pictures. You're him alright."

"WHAT? Is he a criminal or what?"

"Heard the slogan "Property is theft!" If so, he's a major criminal."

"I'm glad you didn't know Lena. Thing is, I have a lot of money. You don't have to worry about that aspect of life, at least."

9 - THE FUTURE. ON FACEBOOK.

I drove back home, tired but happy. I was going to be a father times two. That was big for me, I could feel past generations cheering me on; their genes would not die with me. Nor would mine, and I found that I liked that thought. Not that my genes were all that much better than others, but as far as I knew there was nothing obviously wrong with them.

Many agree that we are genetically predisposed to carry our genes on to the next generation, some argue that that is the only true meaning of our lives. I certainly wouldn't take it that far, but I couldn't deny that becoming a father was the most interesting project ever for me. Wealth was sometimes cited as an evolutionary asset, rich people had an advantage in finding a partner and providing for their offspring.

When I found that Facebook-site I really started thinking. Did I want to take this to the next level?

BOOK 2 - ISABELLE

Yeah, I may have called Lukas a megalomaniac and a humungously inflated ego-boy blimp, but here I am, offering my own tale of fucking woe as if this world of look-at-me bloggers needed yet another dose of me-ing. Like him. And like him I like him, these days. But my story begins about half a year ago, when the life I had worked for and fucking lived for chewed me up and spit me out.

10 - DIG IT? NO.

"Hi, I'm Isabelle and I'm a fucking failure!" My image in the mirror didn't answer, but it made a face signaling total agreement.

"Come on!" my best friend Estelle yelled . "You can't be a failure at twenty-five. You're not where you want to be right now but you're smart and you're pretty and the future belongs to you."

All right – so I'm not ugly. All right – so I'm not stupid. Or maybe I am, at least when it comes to strategy. Studying archaeology, for instance, was perhaps not the smartest thing I could have done from a strategic point of view. It is very hard to make a living as an archaeologist, jobs are few and there are a lot of eager amateurs who love to dig for free. I knew, I had been one of them. Digging great holes in the ground with a toothbrush is perhaps not everybody's idea of a perfect summer, but I loved it and wanted that to be my life.

So, again from a strategic point of view, it was perhaps not very wise to try and pull the beard off that fucking asshole who bossed over that latest dig I worked on. And of course it was me who was kicked off the site and not mister can't-keep-my-fucking-paws-to-myself. Now I was (unofficially of course) blacklisted by him and his cronies and making a living from archaeology was one dead dream.

Boyfriends...shit, the less said the better. Plenty of turds wanting to fuck me, but none that I wanted to be with wanted to be with me. The other night (embarrassing!!) I even managed to be a failure as a groupie. I was horny and this bass-player was just so hot. I could tell he was interested, but then he turned on the big head and remembered he was married. Just as well, I'm not into fucking other ladies' husbands.

11 - I LOVE MY MUM

I love my mother.

Yes, I do love my mother. If she died I would be devastated. If, for instance, she was run over by a car which would then reverse and run over her a second time I would not applaud and I would definitely not be the one who drove the fucking car.

"I told you so!"

"Yes, mother dear, you told me so. And you have also told me that you told me so. Many times."

"I told you that archaeology was a bad idea. You're a smart girl, you could have had a real job now. A nurse or something, they have no problems getting a job."

I didn't answer. I was too busy imagining other scenarios that would sadden me deeply if they really happened, like my mother being eaten by goats or trampled to death by wild ducks.

"What shall you do now?" my mother asked.

I didn't answer that, either. Not so much because I was imagining gory deaths but simply because I didn't have a clue.

12 - THE QUIETEST DAD ON/IN EARTH

My father very seldom irritates me these days, so I went to him hoping for advice. He is not the most talkative person in the world but sometimes his reticence is comforting and helps me to think.

"You know, dad," I told him, "it's not that there's a great immediate panic or that I'll starve or anything. But my life needs a new direction."

He didn't answer, but at least he didn't tell me I was stupid or irresponsible. A yellow butterfly fluttered towards me and landed on my shoulder. I felt like it was kissing my cheek. Then it flew away, staggering through the air like someone really drunk, the way butterflies do. It flew towards the sun until I lost sight of it in the glare. I waited for a bird to catch it and eat it, but no.

"Thanks dad. Great direction!" I sat on a conveniently placed bench right by his grave, soaking up the sun, wishing we had been able to hold as relaxed conversations as this while he was alive.

Right. Go for the sun. Don't fear hungry birds, mothers or melting wax. Don't let moth-eaten beards obscure the light. Fuck archaeology for a while, fuck career. Maybe moth-beard would go down for sexual harassment and zap I'd be back in the running. Probably not, though, but I would get me a nice voodoo-doll and a lot of pins. You never know.

Meanwhile, I would aim at having fun for a while. If I couldn't have my jollies with my digging-brush I would get them elsewhere. But where? I've always been a party girl and I like clubbing, but that couldn't be my direction. A diversion can't be a direction. What did I really love, apart from old bones?

Music.

13 - SPIT SPOT ON. OR NOT.

Yes, music. I wanted to be in a band. Me and my friends had an all-girl pop-group for a few years; The Dill Dolls. Giggle, giggle, sounds like dildos, fun if you're seventeen. Truth be told, I still like the name. Estelle played the drums and she was pretty lousy, mainly because she never could be bothered to practice. I had been serious about it though, and I really loved it the few times we played in front of an audience. When I got seriously into archaeology I didn't have enough time for a band but I played regularly by myself and I felt I still had it. Keyboards.

Estelle cheered me on, as usual.

"Great idea, Bella. You'll be a star. Or maybe not, but at least you'll have fun. Go for it."

"Problem is finding the right group. I don't want them to be too damn serious, but not beginners either. They have to make music I like and they have to be nice."

"Sounds like a tall order."

I suppose it did and I suppose it was, but I knew people and the people I knew knew people too. About a week later I stood outside a warehouse in an industrial section of the town, waiting for Spit Spot On to arrive. I had received a phone call the other day that they needed someone playing keyboards and they had heard about me.

A thin, blond guy arrived on a bike. He looked like he was about thirty-five but he looked younger, and I wondered why I didn't simply think he was younger instead of older and looking younger. Maybe it was his eyes, I thought as he approached me. His eyes looked like they had seen everything and now they were taking me in. I'm used to guys looking at me but the way he did was new. Wow. Later he turned out to be twenty-nine, which is just about what I thought he looked like, but didn't think he was.

"Hi, I'm Peter."

"Isabell. You with Spit Spot On?"

"Possibly. As yet we change names every week. Ho seems to think that half the fun of being in a band is making up silly band names."

"Hoe?"

"No. Ho. Our bass player. Lives with Marie. I guess you are the keyboard girl?"

"Yep, that's me."

"I'm known for my powers of observation. I miss no detail. Such as you're a girl and that you're carrying that keyboard. I hope you work out, I like you."

"Thank you."

"I like that you're so pretty and yet I can look at you. That's good."

"If you say so." Was he coming on to me? If he was he was doing a pretty good job since I didn't feel like he was and yet I was attracted to him. I had never been called pretty by a man in as unflirty a manner, and from him it was kind of cool.

"Here they come." A rusty old Volvo made a noisy entrance and parked beside Estelle's little Hyundai that I had borrowed. A largeish woman and a large man emerged.

"Hi there," she said. "Shit, it's you!"

"Hello Isabelle", he said. Bloody hell and eternal damnation! He was that bass-player I tried to seduce. And she was in that band too and saw it and it's her he's married to. Shit, shit, shit.

I just wanted to run!

14 - MAKING BEAUTIFUL MUSIC TOGETHER

"It's okay," Marie said.

"Don't worry," said the bassman. He was a lot bigger, bigger and, well, fatter, than I remembered him. His smile was very nice, though. Gentle.

"I'm so embarrassed. And you must think I'm a terrible person for hitting on your husband."

"Not husband, no. He lied about being married, the little scamp. But we got together soon after."

"I was in love with Marie, of course. But I was very tempted by your kind offers. It would not have been fair to you, though, since that leathery rock-star type doesn't really exist. In this group, today called Buckwheat Broncos, I can be myself. To avoid any misunderstandings I should mention that Peter is married, too."

"Haa haa," I said, but I was a little disappointed.

"Let's get started," Marie said. "And relax, Isabelle, you're among friends, here."

They had a great place to rehearse in, they shared it with Ground Zero Naughts, of course, which is Marie's main group. Ho didn't really play with the Naughts, he was just a sub that night I saw them. The Naughts are punk, but Ho had a very soft touch on the bass when plying as himself. His bass sort of muttered gently in the background. He was happy to stay there, playing his basic bass-lines and let others shine. He was steady, and that was good.

Peter was playing his drums like no one I ever heard. He was utterly unschooled and couldn't be bothered by how a drummer was supposed to play. He told me he had been playing more than ten years by himself but that this was the first time he played with others. It was totally different. Before when he played he played to keep everything out, now he had to take us in and drum as a togetherness. And he did, there was nothing ego about Peter. But it was (again) a good thing that Ho was so steady.

Marie liked to be totally wild on the guitar, but she was a team-player nevertheless. She sang, too, but sighed that she was too much of a punk-singer for these songs, although she had written them. They wanted to know if I could sing, but sorry – I sing like a frog. A run-over frog. But they were happy with my keyboarding and I was happy with them and with the material. Smart pop with charm and I was allowed a lot of space to do my thing. We had a lot of fun, I was happy, they seemed happy.

And I did not think of moth-beard the whole evening.

15 - AAARGH! IT'S THE PENGUIN!

NO, not The Penguin! Don't think of the fucking penguin!

Yeah, right. As if it ever did any good to try and not think of anything. I brave you all to not think of a pink elephant right now.

I try again to be sensible. The penguin is dead long ago and it probably didn't suffer all that much. The world is full of suffering and pain, why be so hung up on this particular tiny piece of it? Doesn't help. Yet again I cry and cry over this baby penguin I saw years ago on TV.