The Outsiders - Chapter 2

Sigrid

Jonas tells me he broke his back and sustained a spinal cord injury in a workplace accident, but he doesn’t go into detail about what happened. I don’t push the subject further; it’s clearly not something he’s ready to elaborate about at this point. Maybe he’ll tell me more sometime in the future, when we get to know each other better.

Our conversation moves on to safer ground, and we find out that we have several mutual interests.  

“Do you have any plans Friday evening?” he asks me as we’re getting ready to leave. We both have lectures in about 15 minutes and it’s time to get moving.

“Not really. Why do you ask?”

“A friend of mine manages jazz club and there’s a new band playing Friday night. He says they’re very good. I know jazz isn’t for everyone, so I’m going out on a limb here; wanna join me?”

“That sounds great,” I reply with a smile. Don’t sound over-eager Sigrid.

“Really?” Jonas replies, he sounds surprised about my enthusiasm. “You like jazz? I know it’s a bit niche.” 

“Yeah, I grew up it with it. Dad’s a jazz aficionado. Anytime we moved to a new city finding the best jazz joints in the area was a top priority for him.”

To my pleasure he seems genuinely happy that I accept his invitation. He leans back in his chair and digs his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. “What’s your number?”

“I don’t remember my Norwegian number,” I admit, blushing slightly. “Just got it few weeks ago. What’s yours? I’ll call you.”

“That works,” he agrees and gives me his number. I punch it in as he says it and then I hit the call button. A couple of minutes later we’ve both saved the other’s number and we say goodbye. He wheels off in the opposite direction of me, and I can’t help admiring his strong arms and shoulders as he pushes the rims of his wheelchair.

The rest of the week moves by at a snail’s pace; Friday can’t come soon enough. I’m busy with schoolwork, but my social life is still depressingly non-existent. I run into Jonas a couple of times, but we don’t have time for more than exchanging a few quick words.

Thursday evening I’m sitting in my couch, watching some TV and trying to kill time when my phone rings; when I see Jonas’ name on the screen it brings a smile to my face.

“Hello,” I say, trying to sound calm and composed, despite my heart pounding in my chest.”

“Hi there. I hope I’m not interrupting something,” he says.

“Nah, I was just watching TV.” 

“Are you still up for the concert tomorrow evening?”

“Absolutely,” I say, with a smile lacing my voice. “Looking forward to it!” 

“Me too! Listen, I talked to my buddy earlier and he said the band probably starts playing around nine or nine thirty. I figured we could grab a bite to eat before we head to the club.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say, trying as hard as I can to play it cool and don’t sound overeager. It’s not easy, because I’m thrilled about spending time with Jonas.

“Any preferences food wise?”

“I’m not picky. I’m not a big fan of sushi, but otherwise open to pretty much anything.”

“Hmm… There’s a good burger place I’ve wanted to go back to for a while. Would that work for you?”

“Sounds great. Should we just meet there?”

“I can pick you up, just give me your address.”

“You’re driving?”

“Yeah. Getting a cab at all can be a bit of a challenge on the weekends, especially with a wheelchair in the picture. It’s easier to drive myself.” 

“Ah, ok” I give Jonas my address and we agree he’ll pick me up at six tomorrow evening. We won’t see each other at school; I don’t have lectures on Fridays, and my study group isn’t meeting so I’ve planned to stay at home and study and get some laundry done.

…

I spend most of Friday fussing about what to wear for my date with Jonas. I know we haven’t officially named it a date, but a guy is taking me to dinner and a concert. To me it counts as a date. A date with a gorgeous paraplegic man in a wheelchair. It’s a dream come true.

It seems like Jonas likes me and I have a feeling he’s interested in more than friendship, but it might just be wishful thinking. But why else would he invite me to a concert the first time we talk? Well, it might be because I asked him to help get to know Oslo. But he chose to add dinner to the mix, so… Oh crap, I need to stop overthinking.

At 5:45 in the afternoon I’m dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a beige silk tunic. I head into the bathroom to touch up my makeup and when that is done, I slip into a pair of black ankle boots, grab my black leather jacket and make sure I have my essentials in my shoulder bag, then I head downstairs.

When I step outside a black electric Audi SUV that looks brand new is parked outside with the engine running, and as I close the door behind me the passenger window rolls down and a familiar voice greets me; “Good evening,” Jonas says with a smile, his left hand is resting on the steering wheel. “Jump in.”

Fancy car for a student I think as I settle into the passenger seat.  Jonas looks yummy; dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal V-neck sweater with a light gray t-shirt under it. The sweater is just tight enough to show off his toned upper body.  I notice that he's clean shaven and his hair is tamer than usual.

“Hi! Thanks for picking me up,” I say as I buckle my seatbelt. 

“No problem. How was your day?” Jonas asks as he pulls into traffic. Like I expected he uses hand controls to drive, and I notice his wheelchair is in pieces in the back seat. The crutches are there too.

“Pretty good. Got most of my laundry done and did some studying too. What about you? Did you have a good day?”

“It was okay. Spent a few hours with my study group and it’s a bit of an uphill battle, since not everyone is serious about their studies,” Jonas shrugs a bit as he finishes the sentence.

“Sounds like we’re in the same kind of study group. I’m pretty sure I could get more and better work done on my own,” I say emphatically. None of the people on my study group are disciplined students and five weeks into the semester I’m becoming very frustrated with picking up their slack. 

“It’s frustrating, but there’s not much we can do about it though, since it’s mandatory.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. Then I add in a happier tone; “But apart from that I like school. My major has more interesting subjects than I anticipated. How do you feel about your classes so far?”

“Pretty interesting. I’m already familiar with a lot of things, but I’m gaining more in-depth knowledge.”

Jonas navigates through the city with familiar ease, he clearly knows his way around, and after about 15 minutes of driving he pulls into a parking garage. He parks in one of the handicapped spaces near an exit door and places a blue handicapped badge on the dashboard. 

I step out of the car and walk around to the driver’s side to wait for him. I wonder if he plans to use his wheelchair or if he plans to be on his feet. When he untangles the crutches from the pieces of wheelchair in the back seat I get my answer. 

I try not to stare as he plants the crutches in front of him and pulls himself to his feet. He steadies himself on his left crutch and slams the door shut, then he locks the car and slips the keys into his jeans pocket. He has a little black nylon pouch in his hand, and he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

“Want to put that in my bag? I’ve got room,” I say, gesturing to it.

“Umm… sure,” he says. Hands it to me, seems like he’s self-conscious about it. I have an idea what’s in it; it’s probably catheters and some other medical stuff. I put it in my bag without making any comments. “Ready?” He asks me when the pouch is tucked into my bag and out of sight.

“Yep,” I reply. I follow him out of the parking garage and into the elevator. A couple of minutes later we’re in a courtyard and I realize we’re at the square outside the food hall in Oslo.

“Have you visited the food hall?” Jonas asks me.

“Nope. I’ve wanted to, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“The burger place I mentioned is over there, Døgnvill,” he says and points his right cruch at a restaurant not far from where we’re standing, “If you want to, we can quickly go into the food hall and I’ll show you my favorite places there.  We have time. I made a reservation for 6:45 and it’s only 6:15 now.”

My first thought is to decline; I’m worried he’ll get tired from crutching around, from what I've read it's more straining than using a wheelchair, but I figure he wouldn’t have offered if he weren’t up for it. “Sure, I’d like that,” I say with a smile. 

He sets off toward the entrance in a brisk pace; I notice that instead of landing his feet even with his crutch tips he lands them ahead of them. 

Over the next 25 minutes we stroll around the food hall at a more casual pace; Jonas switches back to landing his feet even with his crutch tips as soon as we are inside.

As we walk around, he shows me the places he’s says are his favorites and I’m very excited to discover they have a pie shop. Back in South Africa I often grab a pie as a quick meal on the go, most grocery stores have them in their deli section, but the only pies I’ve found here are the rather disgusting frozen kind.

…

“This a great burger,” I say after I’ve finished the first couple of mouthfuls of my cheddar & bacon burger.

“This is pretty good too,” Jonas says about his Italian themed burger; topped with Gorgonzola cheese, Parma ham and fig marmalade.

“Really? I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to burgers,” I admit. “And blue cheese is just not my thing.”

“I figured as much,” he says with a slightly teasing grin on his face. “So, how do you like Norway so far? Do you feel more like a native?”

“Apart from everything being ridiculously expensive I think it’s okay. I’m pretty sure I’ll miss the South African climate when it gets colder. Especially since the seasons there are opposite of here.”

“You don’t really get winter there, right?”

“Not what Norwegians call winter. Temperatures get low at night, sometimes below freezing, but the climate is generally warm.”

“Have you been to Norway during the winter?”

“Yeah, we’ve been here for Christmas. I like snow but might change my mind when I get live with it for more than a couple of weeks,” I chuckle. 

“Probably,” Jonas say with a wry expression on his face. “I’m not a huge fan of winter myself, at least not for the past few years. Oslo isn’t the most accessible city to begin with and add icy sidewalks and heaps of snow to the equation and it’s an absolute nightmare to get around."

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” I reply, not sure what to say.

“It’s not. I just have to make the best of it while it lasts, but I prefer mild winters with little or no snow.”

After we finish our food, a waiter clears the table, and Jonas asks for the check. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” he says as he grabs his crutches that are leaned against the wall behind him and pulls himself to his feet. I hear a slight click as the knee joints of his braces lock.

“Uh, can I have my pouch?” he asks me; a slight blush creeps up on his cheeks. I grab it and hand it to him. He hooks the little loop on the end over the grip of his right crutch and sets off toward the restrooms.  He probably needs to cath himself.  

I wonder what he’d think if he knew how much I know about spinal cord injuries and how he’d react to me being a devotee. Should I tell him? Or is it better not to? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sigrid. He hasn’t expressed any romantic interest in you. Yet. Take one step at the time.  Before my mind can wander any further the waiter appears with the check, and I grab it and pull up the calculator app on my phone to figure out what we each owe.

Jonas returns a few minutes later. He puts the pouch down on the table and I grab it and tuck it back into my bag as he lowers himself to his chair. I notice some people stare as he unlocks his braces and adjust his legs. They avert their glances when the realize I’ve noticed them staring.

“I did the math while you were gone,” I tell him. 

“The math?” he asks, clearly not following me.

“Yeah, I added what we each ordered, so we can tell the waiter what to charge each of us when he comes back with the card machine,” I say.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says firmly. “I asked you out, so I pay.”

I try to object but soon realize it’s an argument I’m not going to win. I thank him instead.

“My pleasure,” he says with a warm smile that extends to his eyes.  A moment later the waitress reappear with a card machine in her hand and Jonas pays the bill by tapping his phone. 

 

Jonas

We exit the restaurant and head back to the car. The jazz club is in the city centre; just a 10 minute or so drive from here. As we cross the square, I feel my shoulders aching. I’ve been tall more than usual lately and it’s taking its toll. 

I should be using my chair more, but I feel like I stand out less when I’m tall. Which I know isn’t really the case, I stand out either way. I can’t stop a sigh from escaping me and Sigrid is apparently an astute listener.

“Something wrong?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. I feel a blush creeping up on my cheeks, my initial thought is to downplay it, but I decide honesty is the best policy.

“I’ve been using my crutches more than I’m supposed to lately and my arms and shoulders are telling I need to use my chair for the rest of the evening,” I say, I feel embarrassed and insecure and add; “If you don’t mind.”

“Jonas, do whatever you’re comfortable with. Doesn’t matter to me,” Sigrid says. Her voice is warm and emphatic and when we’re in the elevator, she places her hand on mine, that’s clutching my crutch handle, and gives it a squeeze.

That went better than I feared. I’m relieved. And surprised about how she seems to take my disability in a stride. I know from experience that things may change when she learns that there's more to it than the mobility issues, but I have a feeling Sigrid is different.

When we get to the car, I unlock it and Sigrid gets into the passenger seat while I get settled in the driver’s seat. I notice she’s watching me unlock my braces and lift my legs into the car, and for some reason I don’t mind. 

------

The concert is good. The music is too loud to allow much conversation, so we turn our attention to the stage. The club is packed and we sit next to each other at a small table in the back. At some point during the concert, in a spur of the moment, I wrap my arm around Sigrid’s shoulders. In response she slides her chair as close to me as she can get and leans into my side, resting head on my shoulder. I can’t help but smile as I hear her let out a content little sigh.

When the concert ends just before midnight a DJ takes over. We agree to call it a night; we’re both tired after a busy week. We make it back to my car and the short drive back to Sigrid’s apartment is quiet; the radio plays softly in the background.

I pull up to the sidewalk outside the building Sigrid lives in and put the car in park, before I turn toward her with a smile on my face.

“Thank you for a great evening,” she says before I can say anything, her smile matching mine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for my part?”

“I asked you on a date, I pay. You’re not going to win this argument,” I reply firmly, then I blush as I realize my slip up.

“Tonight, was a date?” is her reply, there’s what sounds like a hopeful tone in her voice.

I feel my cheeks reddening, I’m worried she’ll feel it’s too much too soon, so I quickly add; “If you want it to be. If not, it was just two friends having a good time together.”

“Date,” she replies. “Definitely.” Then she leans across the center console and place a kiss on my cheek. Without thinking I turn my head and our lips meet. 

Image credits: Chat GPT