After a week in Copenhagen I was ready to go home. It's hard to describe fully my feelings about the place. J-Po commented to me earlier today 'Did you like anything about Copenhagen?' which at first I thought was a bit unfair, but I do so like to complain to him that of course he might get the wrong impression.
And there was a lot about Copenhagen that put me off. There was definitely a tinge of unfair "well, this isn't Japan" coupled with discomfort at things being different. There were more legitimate complaints, such as the otherwise excellent Metro systems continued insistence on not accepting bills. There was the odd feeling as I walked down Stroget, which reminded me so much of the busy 3rd St. Promenade, that some things were even too familiar (I hate the Promenade when it is busy). And my flat out dislike of being around so many people who were publicly drinking, no matter that they never did anything to me.
But there was a lot to like about Copenhagen. The convenience and speed of the public transportation system. An admiration of how many people were out their on their bicycles, and the way some people used them instead of cars. Also, I liked the lack of cars. The parks were always full of people just enjoying a nice day. Tivoli was magical. The museums were fantastic and I'd go back to the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in a heartbeat. The countryside was gorgeous. Wandering around underneath Hamlet's castle and seeing the sleeping viking something I will never forget. History was in the air and one never gets tired of walking past castles.
No matter my feelings on everything, a week was enough.
So I was a little surprised when I woke up Tuesday morning feeling really rather sad. The reason, of course, was simple.
The boy asked me, when I was a bit tearful thanks to a potent combination of exhaustion and missing my brother, if I missed the now Theo or a younger Theo. I knew what he meant, Theo being 18, traveling, on his own, soon to go off to college, means a lot of changes. The boy wondered if I wasn't missing the times before.
It only took a moment of reflection. I missed the now Theo. The one who could take care of himself and cook me pasta for dinner. The one brave enough to go off to Europe all by himself. The one who spoke with evangalistic passion about how he thought others should do the same.
We'd had such a good time, wandering all over and talking about everything from our parents influences on our personalities to what reminded us of Silent Hill, that I didn't really realize how much fun we were having until it was over. That's how it should be I think, enjoying the moment rather than reflecting on ones enjoyment, but I was taken aback by my sadness. I'd be seeing him again soon enough, and I hadn't been nearly this sad when he left in the first place. Still, it was hard to shake.
We dropped our stuff off at the airport and then went into town for a last bit of wandering before we went on our separate ways. Neither of us knew what to say I think. In times like that things get quiet. Since we still had a few hours together it seemed to much to expound about anything too deep, drawing out the moment into some kind of endless final lecture. Yet, talking about frivolous things felt too light for our last hours together in Denmark. We settled for silence broken up with brief bursts of conversation about our trip, where he was going next, what I was going to do next, and what we'd do as soon as we were back in the states.
Luckily, there were things to distract and amuse us.
The time drawing near, we settled down for a meal at something like a Danish Sizzler, and I picked at my Ceasar salad, managing to eat most of it. The weather was finally living up to expectations, and we were quite cold.
Then, we took the Metro back to the airport, saw two of the drunkest men I'd ever seen in my life, picked our stuff up, and said our goodbyes. I took a half a dozen blurry photos before I finally got this one.
My gate was a mile away and it wasn't until I got there that I let myself sniff a tiny bit before reading my book. The flight was long and I sat next to some very nice Danish men who drank my weight in alcohol but seemed to remain clear headed.
Ten hours later, when I arrived in Seattle, I was done. Unfortunately, since I was in Seattle, I really wasn't. I got picked out for a random customs inspection, made friends with the British guy in the line with me, and tried not to blush when the young woman in customs opened my bag and "Sex and the Immortal Bad Boy" stared up at her, along with Theo's 007 book.
My flight was delayed, the plane wasn't even at the gate. I got to talk to My Boy for the first time in a week while I waited. I sniffled with my mom on the phone. And then settled in for the last leg of the flight.
I wish I could say that my reunion with The Boy in LAX was magical, but I'd fallen asleep on the Seattle flight and woken up too late to use the restroom and by the time I got to baggage claim (there were no bathrooms on the way) I was desperate. He got a hug, a kiss, and my carry-on as I ran off in the other direction to the ladies.
I fell asleep easily that night but woke up at 5am on Weds and couldn't get back to sleep. The morning found me in that exhausted, weepy state that I sometime get into. The Boy has dealt with this version of me before so he was very sweet with me and we walked together down the street to a local bakery.
The Boy and I walked back, me chomping on my coconut-chocolate croissant, I felt a little better. Already I made plans to go there with Theo when he got back, then maybe we'd play some Silent Hill on the 46" LCD screen that had appeared in my living room while I was gone.