Klubbgata ( Tale of strangers and Frank)

Klubbgata  (Tale of strangers and Frank)

PaulaRoblesNettel

I saw a man passing me by, he wasn’t young, he wasn’t old, late 40’s perhaps early  50’s. He had blue piercing eyes,  a long and lean body, the color of his skin was beyond Nordic pale. He looked sick, but still handsome. Something was missing in his sight, perhaps he was on the way of being healthy, perhaps he was on his way to his death. I could not know, because his movements and his look were just right in the middle of something, could have been either way, the last or first walk possible.

I touched his eyes with mine, but he quickly dismiss my sight, I didn’t intent to make him uncomfortable, nor my look had any purpose beyond looking into the beautiful blue color of his big Scandinavian eyes.  I walked further, and sat down in one of  Klubbgata street coffee shops. I waited for my friend Marit to arrive, and while I waited,  I saw a woman across the street in her early 40’s, she was dressed in jeans, and wore a big feather jacket, she wore trainers, and  her hair was blond, straight and messy. She smoked with necessity, and checked her phone constantly, as if life  inside her gadget was more interesting that being in the world she desperately tried to avoid looking at, she leaned there in the thick pillar number 6 of Klubbgata street, and I could recognize in her something of me, loneliness…

Two minutes later, I saw neon colors and a bicycle, across the street stood Frank, the character of the city. His bicycle serves as a mule for the many things he carries with him, he passed with  his bicycle just in front of the pretty coffee shop across the street where I sat. He stood there, and although I could not see his face, I knew what Frank was doing, I have seen him doing that so many times before. As I observed his back, I smiled, for I wished I could have  run across the street to see him. Frank likes to stand in front of shiny pretty places, restaurants, or public places where shiny pretty people gather to enjoy themselves.  He always executes for the ignoring audience many of his signature moves (the penguin walk, the peeing dog, etc.) this time I knew he was  putting his tongue out, perhaps the most harsh one of his performances, so graphic and uncomfortable, one can actually see his amygdales. Frank used to perform almost every day in front of my office. When I worked in Klubbgata 6, there was no afternoon I missed the chance to see him, as he stood just down the street in front of my window on the third floor. My colleague Gudrun and I waited for his arrival and very often we clapped and cheer for him. With time I've come to reflect that it was not only the diversion of seeing a man acting funny and crazy that drove me to look at him, and that I still do not know what I enjoy the most, his shameless  silly actions, provoking discomfort  to all those nice people sipping comfortably their lives in a Klubbgata street coffee shops in Stavanger, or his plain entertaining  boldness.  I cannot vouch for Franks sanity , but I think Frank is more sane than we tend to label him. Whenever I see him, I greet him with a “hello Frank”, he tends to ignore me, but at times he bows his head slightly and goes on signing “money, money, money, must be funny in a rich man’s world”.

 

I smile, for I no longer cringe at his awkward boldness, the look of his very pink tongue and amygdales, or rather interesting way to show individuality.  I question my long lived uptight behavior, that had lead me to the constant consideration of opinions of others who don't really matter, and my previous inability to defend myself,  and all those days that have vanished of my life, unfaithfully being who I wasn't, for I didn't want to see who I really was.

Stavanger 25^th January  2015