By about 4 PM, I started loading my belongings into the pickup truck. I wasn't taking everything, just the essentials. Bryan helped with the lighter items, though he kept asking the same question: "Nora, are we really leaving this place? I don't want to go!" I simply nodded and reassured him that we'd buy him a PlayStation. By 6:30 PM, the house was practically bare— stripped of wallpaper, TV, ornaments, curtains, and all the usual household items. In the garage, four barrels of gasoline awaited. I loaded three into the truck, using the remainder to fill the car's fuel tank. After cooking a meal, I packed it into takeaway containers, along with snacks and drinks. I secretly consumed some coffee, preparing myself for the long night ahead. The drive to Hammerfest would span twelve hours, and despite being just a teenager without a license, I was a skilled driver. My main worry was encountering the police; I could only pray it wouldn't happen, placing my faith in God.
Around 9:00 PM, I began to dress. Bryan had been sound asleep in his crib since 7:00 PM. August nights were typically cold, windy, and misty, and this one was no exception. After getting dressed, I gently woke Bryan and bundled him into his own warm clothes. Given his susceptibility to bronchitis with even a slight chill, I made sure he was well-layered for protection. A deep unease settled over me, a feeling of being profoundly unsettled by the journey ahead. My mind raced with questions: How could my own aunt betray me? Where were we truly going, and why? Who would take us in now that we had no family left? I yearned for my grandpa to have lived just a little longer, to offer answers. Perhaps, I mused, someone in Hammerfest would finally explain everything.
***
That night, Bryan and I sneaked out and got into the truck. I was an experienced driver, having often driven with my father when I was younger. I fastened my seatbelt, aligned Bryan in the backseat with my phone and headphones, and started the engine. I waved at our house one last time before heading off. My mind was racing with worries about traffic police. I decided to be extra cautious, paying close attention to the road regulations to avoid any trouble. No sooner had I got into the city, than the time the traffic brought me to an abrupt halt. While idling, my gaze drifted to the car beside me, and a familiar profile caught my eye. She was looking at me back. I instinctively rolled down the window, and our eyes locked. Could it really be her? Was she following me? A visceral jolt of fear shot through me as I recognized my Aunt Anna. My heart hammered against my ribs. When the light mercifully turned green, I sped away, my anxiety escalating with every meter. My father's warning echoed in my mind: "never drive while stressed or intoxicated." Recognizing the wisdom in his words, I pulled into a nearby parking lot to compose myself. Bryan asked why I stopped, and I simply told him I was taking a break. He didn't question it. It had become dark, cold, and foggy. The streets were nearly empty—only a few cars speeding by and a handful of pedestrians walking briskly. After two hours in the parking lot, Bryan had fallen into a deep sleep. I was almost alone in the truck. My phone's battery was running low, so I plugged it into the power bank. As I gazed out the windshield, an idea popped into my head. I clearly remembered the countless times Grandpa and I drove that truck, the soundtrack provided by the music playlists he meticulously stored on CDs in the glove compartment. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out some CDs. Each one was labeled—three with poems, one with ballads, two with history, and one with a long playlist. I decided to play the playlist, filled with old English and French songs, many of which were my favorites. The first song that came on was by Celine Dion. I loved her music deeply, and so did my grandpa. With the music in the background, I resumed my journey, the road ahead stretching into the unknown. I wasn't fretting about Aunt Anna because I had already devised a plan for her during the two hours I spent in the parking lot, clearing my mind. I kept driving, and by about 4 a.m., the car was running low on fuel. I stuck my head out of the window and saw nobody around. Quietly, I snuck out of the car, unloaded one barrel of gasoline, and refueled the tank. After locking the car again, I took a deep breath and continued the journey. Bryan was still fast asleep. I was 200 miles away from home, with just about 100 more miles to go. The sky began to brighten an hour and a half later, signaling the approaching dawn. I hadn't truly slept, my attention chained to the steering wheel, despite brief, intermittent nods. Young birds sang in their hidden nests as their mothers darted above, diligently seeking food. The rivers meandered peacefully, their soft lapping against the stones composing a tranquil morning symphony. Finally, the city I aimed for appeared before me. I parked by the road's edge and retrieved my phone. Its battery was full, and my power bank still held ample power. I opened the map, tracing the address again, resolved to navigate without error. But when I reached the destination, I was baffled. It was just a neighborhood of red bungalows—nothing that seemed to stand out as the place I was looking for. I didn't know where to go from there. It was now 6:10 a.m., and I felt exhausted and frustrated after driving around the city, searching for the right location. Bryan was still asleep. I wondered if I had entered the wrong address or if my grandpa had made a mistake when copying it down.
As I drove further on the outskirts of the city hoping to turn to the address by chance, I accidentally hit a dog. It yelped in agony, and the sound sent a pang of guilt through me. I accelerated, panicking, as I feared someone might hear it and come after me. I couldn't stop thinking about the poor animal, and I felt guilty for its death. Just then, Bryan woke up, likely due to the high speed or the dog's loud barking. I heard him call my name. I slowed down, trying to regain composure. "Morning, Nora," he mumbled, his voice soft. "Morning, little boy. How was your sleep? Hope you had a nice sleep..." I asked, my eyes still on the road.
"Fine... But I'm starving," he said, stretching and sitting up in his seat. He poked his head out of the window. I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "I'll get you something to eat when I park," I promised. "Okay. Where are we now? This place looks so unfamiliar to me. I think I've seen these roads in a movie. Are we lost forever?" he asked. I forced a smile. "What makes you think that? We're not lost."
"It's because you've been driving as if you don't know where you're going. Now quicker, then slower..." he replied.
"Oh, is that so? I was just speeding to get there faster. That's why," I lied, not wanting to reveal how lost I was.
"Fine, hand me your phone," he demanded.
I handed him some chocolate bars instead, but he scowled. "I'm asking for your phone, not those damn chocolates," he grumbled.
"How dare you talk to me like that? Can't you see that I'm using it? Take the chocolate or leave it," I snapped, trying to mask the sadness I felt. Deep down, I was terrified that Bryan's fear of being lost forever in the North might come true. I had been driving around the city for hours without finding the place. But I still held on to a glimmer of hope, trusting my grandfather's word.
We drove a bit further until it was 7:10 a.m. The sun had risen, and the city was coming to life. People were out and about, shops were opening, and the streets were bustling. Bryan and I sang along to the songs on the CD I had put on, turning the car into an impromptu karaoke session, even though his inappropriate tone had provoked a disagreement between us. He's just my little brother; a grudge over something so silly was impossible. Besides, he's a sweet boy; he'd immediately understand he'd upset me; his apology conveyed solely by my expression.
I pulled into a supermarket, hoping to get some food. Inside, I met a Norwegian man who greeted me in his language. I quickly ordered five cheeseburgers, two bottles of ketchup, four bottles of juice, five kebabs, two loaves of bread, a jar of chocolate syrup, chewing gum, and a bottle of water. As he packed the items, I kept glancing nervously outside to make sure everything was safe with the car.
He handed me the shopping bag; I paid and dashed back to the car. I placed the bag on the seat next to me, and after driving to a quieter area, I pulled over to have breakfast on the roadside. I handed Bryan a burger and ate one myself. We drank some juice, filling our stomachs and momentarily easing the tension. When we finished eating the thought of calling my boyfriend, Ethan, crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. I knew he would worry if he heard that we were lost. I decided I would call him once we reached our destination. I stopped using my phone to navigate and handed it to Bryan. I've had memorized the address.
I started the engine and drove slowly around the area. The sun had begun shining brightly, and the sky was clear with white nimbus clouds drifting lazily. I felt uneasy about autumn, as Bryan is particularly sensitive to the cold. He suffers from sneezing fits in colder weather. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to bring his medications and pump. I worried that the upcoming cold season could put him at risk, and I dreaded the thought of him becoming seriously ill in my care.
Two hours later, I was taken aback when I saw a sign welcoming me to another city, Alta. I started to question how I had driven so many miles in such a short time. It was quite a distance from Hammerfest to Alta. It became clear to me that I was completely lost.
I began to wonder where we would stay. Would we have to camp in the car or find shelter with strangers? Or we were going to take our road back to Bergen? Hell no. I decided to look for free accommodations and maybe ask for directions, as we were completely disoriented. I confessed now that I needed someone to take us in. Norwegians are known for their hospitality, and I hoped to find someone willing to help.
Within minutes, I spotted a small, isolated semi-detached house on the roadside. It was white with timber siding. I instructed Bryan to stay in the car and not get out until I returned. I hurried toward the house, jumping over the small wooden fence and approaching the porch. It seemed unoccupied, so I cautiously peered through the windows, like a thief, unsure whether I should knock. What if the house was haunted, or worse, if the people inside were dangerous? Just like it happens to thespians in the horror movies.
Summoning all my courage, I approached the door and knocked twice. There was no doorbell, and though I was confident in my decision, I had no idea what I would say if someone answered. From inside, I could hear the faint sounds of a radio, broadcasting the morning news. After another knock, I noticed two eyes peeking through the curtains. They were big and blue, belonging to a young woman who quickly disappeared when our eyes were about to lock. I waited, tense, until the door unlocked and opened. A beautiful young woman stood before me. She was my age, tall, blonde, and slim, with pink lips—a typical Norwegian. Her gaze was intense, and for a moment, I felt paralyzed. I managed to greet her in Norwegian: "God morgen, jente," meaning "Good morning girl." She responded in Norwegian, "Ja. Hva trenger du her denne morgenen?" which meant "What do you want here this morning?"
I asked her if she spoke English, and to my relief, she replied that she did, and probably better than I. We switched to English. Indeed, the very blueprint for this novel had already been etched upon my mind.
"Are your parents home? I need to speak with them," I asked.
"They are no more," she replied curtly.
"Sorry, what do you mean by that?" I stammered.
"Mind your own business," she snapped. "Say what you need or leave."
I took a deep breath and continued, "We're lost in this city. I'm with my little brother, and we're just looking for a place to rest for a while. We don't know where to go."
She frowned, "Why don't you just call your parents to come get you? We're in Alta. That's the commune. Call them."
Before she could shut the door, I quickly responded, "No, wait! They're gone."
She paused and smirked at me in a forced way. "Now you know what 'They are no more' means?" she said, almost mockingly.
I felt a wave of embarrassment. "I'm sorry for asking such a silly question, but all I have in this world is my brother," I confessed.
She seemed to soften, her expression changing. "Where is he? You're leaving tomorrow," she said as she opened the door wider. She wandered indoors.
I went back to the car, returned with Bryan, and we stepped inside. The house was well-constructed, but it felt empty. There were no signs of life—no TV, no decorations, no books, just a sparse interior. In the living room, two young girls sat on the couch, their legs folded beneath them. They watched us intently as we entered, their gazes fixed on us without a word. They were very thin, their blonde hair typical of Norwegians.
I greeted them politely: "Good morning, girls," but they didn't respond, their eyes never leaving us. I couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't welcome, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the room.