Read Online The Circle by Mats Strandberg Sara B. Elfgren - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mats Strandberg Sara B. Elfgren
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reflective surfaces are like fairground mirrors. It started in year six when she and a few friends went on a diet together. The others gave up after just a few days, but Rebecka discovered she was good at it. Far too good. Since then not a day has gone by without her thinking about what she eats and how much she works out. Several times a day she calculates it in her head: small breakfast, small lunch, slightly bigger dinner in exchange for an extra long run – how many calories does that make?
The autumn of year nine was the worst. That was when she ate least and was best at hiding it. At weekends she would sometimes stuff herself with sweets and crisps, so that her mum and dad wouldn’t get suspicious. Then, to compensate, she ate even less the following week. It was during one of those weeks that she fainted in the gym, and the teacher sent her to the nurse where she made a partial confession that she might have been a bit ‘lax’ about eating. But only for a few weeks. ‘I swear.’ The nurse believed her. Rebecka was such a sensible girl, not at all the type to develop an eating disorder, the nurse thought.
Things had been a bit better during the spring term. And then she had met Gustaf. Now she doesn’t starve herself, but the thoughts are still there. Even if the monster keeps to itself most of the time, it’s always there, whispering, waiting.
The terraced houses give way to detached homes. In front of her rears Olsson’s hill where the big May bonfire is lit each year. She sprints up the long steep incline. When she reaches the top, she slows down and stops.
Her heart is pounding in her chest. Her face is flushed. The music is exploding in her head. She removes her earphones.
Down below the canal runs past. Beyond it lies the church. The cemetery. And the vicarage. Where Elias lived. Where his room is now empty. Where two parents have lost their son.
They’ll see his grave whenever they look out of the window, Rebecka realises. Suddenly she’s crying.
She didn’t know Elias, and doesn’t want to revel in someone else’s misery, like Ida Holmström and her friends, yet she feels a great sadness weighing on her chest. Because what happened was so senseless. Because he could have been happy if he’d held out a little longer. And because of something else that she can’t put into words.
She wipes her tears with her sleeve and turns.
Someone is standing at the foot of the hill, gripping the handlebars of a bicycle. He or she is wearing a black hoody, similar to the one she has on, with the hood up. Rebecka can’t see the person’s face, but she knows they’re looking straight at her.
It feels like an eternity before the figure in black hops on to its bike and pedals off. Rebecka lets a few more minutes pass before she runs home.
*
When Rebecka comes in, Alma and Moa are stirring. It is nearly seven o’clock, and Rebecka starts to get breakfast ready, quietly so that she doesn’t wake her mother who came home in the small hours after her night shift at the hospital.
She puts milk, cereal, a loaf of bread and whey butter on the table. Since her father started commuting weekly to Köping, there have been many such mornings when she helps Anton and Oskar get off to school and takes Alma and Moa to nursery. Most of the time it’s okay. But sometimes she feels like Cinderella before her trans formation. Now, with the figure in the black hoody still haunting her, she’s glad to be doing something so mundane.
Rebecka goes into her brothers’ room. Oskar wrinkles his nose and groans as the light from the hallway falls across his bed. He has just turned twelve and has become taller and thinner over the summer. Even though his face is still that of a child, Rebecka has a sense of how he’ll look when he grows up. Anton, just a year younger, isn’t far behind. But when they’re asleep they look so small. Helpless.
She goes to the window and opens the blinds.
There are a thousand
The autumn of year nine was the worst. That was when she ate least and was best at hiding it. At weekends she would sometimes stuff herself with sweets and crisps, so that her mum and dad wouldn’t get suspicious. Then, to compensate, she ate even less the following week. It was during one of those weeks that she fainted in the gym, and the teacher sent her to the nurse where she made a partial confession that she might have been a bit ‘lax’ about eating. But only for a few weeks. ‘I swear.’ The nurse believed her. Rebecka was such a sensible girl, not at all the type to develop an eating disorder, the nurse thought.
Things had been a bit better during the spring term. And then she had met Gustaf. Now she doesn’t starve herself, but the thoughts are still there. Even if the monster keeps to itself most of the time, it’s always there, whispering, waiting.
The terraced houses give way to detached homes. In front of her rears Olsson’s hill where the big May bonfire is lit each year. She sprints up the long steep incline. When she reaches the top, she slows down and stops.
Her heart is pounding in her chest. Her face is flushed. The music is exploding in her head. She removes her earphones.
Down below the canal runs past. Beyond it lies the church. The cemetery. And the vicarage. Where Elias lived. Where his room is now empty. Where two parents have lost their son.
They’ll see his grave whenever they look out of the window, Rebecka realises. Suddenly she’s crying.
She didn’t know Elias, and doesn’t want to revel in someone else’s misery, like Ida Holmström and her friends, yet she feels a great sadness weighing on her chest. Because what happened was so senseless. Because he could have been happy if he’d held out a little longer. And because of something else that she can’t put into words.
She wipes her tears with her sleeve and turns.
Someone is standing at the foot of the hill, gripping the handlebars of a bicycle. He or she is wearing a black hoody, similar to the one she has on, with the hood up. Rebecka can’t see the person’s face, but she knows they’re looking straight at her.
It feels like an eternity before the figure in black hops on to its bike and pedals off. Rebecka lets a few more minutes pass before she runs home.
*
When Rebecka comes in, Alma and Moa are stirring. It is nearly seven o’clock, and Rebecka starts to get breakfast ready, quietly so that she doesn’t wake her mother who came home in the small hours after her night shift at the hospital.
She puts milk, cereal, a loaf of bread and whey butter on the table. Since her father started commuting weekly to Köping, there have been many such mornings when she helps Anton and Oskar get off to school and takes Alma and Moa to nursery. Most of the time it’s okay. But sometimes she feels like Cinderella before her trans formation. Now, with the figure in the black hoody still haunting her, she’s glad to be doing something so mundane.
Rebecka goes into her brothers’ room. Oskar wrinkles his nose and groans as the light from the hallway falls across his bed. He has just turned twelve and has become taller and thinner over the summer. Even though his face is still that of a child, Rebecka has a sense of how he’ll look when he grows up. Anton, just a year younger, isn’t far behind. But when they’re asleep they look so small. Helpless.
She goes to the window and opens the blinds.
There are a thousand
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