One frosty but calm evening
fiction by Eolake Stobblehouse

One frosty but calm evening in January I was standing on an empty street in Copenhagen waiting for the bus. I'd had a good and active day, and I was in a calm and satisfied mood, not thinking about much (which is unusual for me). The big trees lining the street stretched above me in dark majesty to both sides down the road. I was humming Barbie Girl by the Danish hit band Aqua, a song I had discovered later than the rest of the world because I don't own a radio, but which I then had fallen for big time.

The light suddenly came on in the window behind me, and I turned and looked. Inside the window was a nice modern apartment with powder blue wallpaper. Hanging on the wall were Monet, Van Gogh, and a painted portrait of David Bowie (inspired by the cover from Scary Monsters, my favorite Bowie record). As I was looking, a nice young girl came walking out from the bathroom. She was a very Danish type, reddish blonde, slim, with a friendly and outgoing face. She was carrying a red towel in her hand, and she stopped in the middle of the room to wrap it around her wet hair. She wasn't wearing anything else. She was a genuine blonde, and she had very pretty breasts, with a few drops of water still sitting on them. She stood there in the middle of the living room with her hip swung in a smooth curve to one side, lit by a small lamp in front of her, and by a bigger lamp behind and to the left of her. Her long blonde hair was a bit tricky to get all into the small towel, but she managed well, only frowning a little above her bright blue eyes.

So did I turn away in embarrassment from this sight?

Please don't joke about serious stuff. Of course I didn't. Several kindhearted people (or not) have informed me at different times that it is improper to stare. But what always followed their information was a notable lack of rational explanation as to why this should be the case. So I tend to look when I want. (Or at least as much as I can bear, being unfortunately rather shy.)

So the girl walked to a small wooden table close to the window, and looked at some papers lying there. As she took up one of them, she noticed me looking at her. She smiled a little smile and gave a little wave with her hand. My heart jumped with fright and pleasure, but I smiled at her and gave her a wave. Suddenly the January air did not feel so cold as it did before.

The girl continued reading the letter or whatever, and after a minute she went to a dresser and started looking for something in a drawer. She found some other papers and put them on top. Then she bent over to reach the lowest drawer, found a light, short dress in a yellow and greenish pattern, lifted it high above her head, and slid it over her body on top of nothing. She yawned, brought the papers to the table, and went out of the room, to her kitchen. Then my bus arrived.

I almost forgot to get aboard, I was feeling so lightheaded, happy and dizzy with all this beauty. I was riding on the half-empty bus, looking at the relaxed Copenhagen winter night, and smiling to myself. The bus drove me through the streets, gently rocking and humming, and the people on the street went about their business as they do. When we rode over a bridge, it seemed to me that I could somehow feel the immense mass of the dark water stretching away below me. It was a great feeling.

What I mean is, I was really feeling good. Thinking about telling about this to others, the thought occurred to me that they might assume that I was talking about sexual excitement. So I looked for that, and I didn't find any. I was just feeling very happy. I was happy that this girl was friendly, and that she was so open, and had let me admire her nude figure. And beyond all, I was happy simply from looking at something very beautiful, similar to the feeling I get from a great art show or a good concert.

Considering, I suddenly realized to my pleasure that I really didn't give a flip if anybody understood what I was talking about. I knew how it was, and that was enough. So I just leaned back and relaxed, and let my spirit slowly lift up, out of the bus, and into the cold night air over Copenhagen.

Eolake Stobblehouse

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