“Stockholm Silhouettes” by D. Bliss

Daniel Bliss is a world-traveling writer originally from Anchorage, Alaska. He is currently based in Canada, getting an MFA in poetry. His writing focuses on relationship to place and experiences opened by place.

Stockholm Silhouettes

You know the most authentic view of Sweden’s capital isn’t from the condos or high-rises littering the hillside. They can keep their distant million-dollar views locked in window frames. Experiencing the hustle of Stockholm in the busy streets and being part of the culture are the priceless views.
Just like the view from your simple commuter ferry packed to its 50-person limit. With its bare walls and lack of seating, it’s the simplest ferry you can imagine. The ferry wasn’t built for high seas or even strong currents, just the same two-minute journey taken endlessly, every day.
As you make your way towards your favorite spot on the boat, you trade droplets of sweat bumping arms with locals celebrating midsummer. Women wear the traditional holiday crowns of bright yellow and white flowers. Handfuls of petals are ripped away by the wind and scattered in the boat’s wake. There’s a thick scent of spilled pear and apple schnapps so sweet it’s only tolerated on this single day of the year.
You stare out as the summer’s maroon flame engulfs the Stockholm skyline, dulling its details into nothing more than a silhouette. Every night the sun toys with the idea of giving way to a different season. Right before the moon feels it’s finally time to bring the darkness of winter, the sun rises again to steal another day.
At the moment, you’re floating from the historic district to one of the commercial islands filled with tourist traps built so close to the shore they seem in consistent danger of being swept away. The brackish waves crashing against the barnacle-covered boat are just loud enough to drown out the ABBA playing from the nearby museum and provide a coolness like nowhere else you’ve ever breathed.
The people, the sights, the nights that never seem to end, have all become part of who you’ve dreamed of becoming. You even love the complicated language you come nowhere close to understanding. Maybe if one or two Swedish words looked familiar, you’d be able to read the sign warning passengers not to lean on the railing.
Under the slight amount of pressure you provide, the rusted railing snaps. Face first, you tumble into the dark Swedish water. Even as your lungs burn to understand what’s happening, you feel no fear. There’s less salt in your mouth than expected, and the water seems to lack the layer of pollution associated with most cities.
Your arms don’t reach for help, and legs don’t kick as you sink faster. Ending in Stockholm would be better than ever going back to whatever you called life somewhere before. When you boarded the first plane, there was no guarantee Stockholm would be anything other than just somewhere else to go. But this city captured your heart with the same intensity the skyline held your eyes.
You’ve already given every part of yourself to this city, invested every last hope of staying here forever. As you accept this as the end, a hand grips the collar of your t-shirt to jettison you back to the surface. You emerge with a deep gasp from the dark water.
“Hjälp honom, hjälp honom,” some woman shouts behind you.
A strong force pulls you back to the ferry, but you still can’t tear your eyes away from the Stockholm silhouettes.

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