Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm, Sweden

Almost everyone converged in Stockholm at about the same time. We were given rooms in the dorms at the University. There was a strange painting in my room of a medieval man. The eyes seemed to follow you wherever you were in the room. It was spooky. I hung a sweater over the painting, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Our school had organized a social evening with some young men. The girls were as clicky as ever. I arrived downstairs from the dorm room and found the two girls who would be in Spain with me.

The situation was laughable. It looked like a High School dance with females on one side of the room and guys on the other. The music started and in a little while, some brave souls from the male side crossed the invisible line and interacted with some of the females.

When I first entered the building in the afternoon, I noticed a guy who was sitting perpendicular to the front entrance. He was trying to look occupied, but I smiled as he darted a few glances at me. He knew he was caught and just broke into a wide grin. That was the totality of the encounter. I went over to a table with soft drinks, and immediately, he was behind me and introduced himself. His English was perfect, and it had a definite but very pleasing lilt. He reminded me that he “saw” me earlier in the day and hoped I would be at the gathering this evening. We sat down and started to have a simple conversation. He volunteered a lot of information about himself. I felt like I was looking to hire somebody for a job, and he was very interested in the position. I provided little information about myself. Then he asked me to dance.

I wish someone would have told us that if a guy asked you to dance and you said yes, it really meant he reserved you for the rest of the evening. Several of us found out a few hours later what the question, “Will you dance with me?” really meant.

Some of the girls acted outraged, and some were tongue-tied, which I thought was hysterical. I laughed.

There was no pressure from the guys. They acted upset as if we should have known. My guy felt embarrassed. He asked me if I would go to the beach with him the next day. I told him I didn’t have a bathing suit. His turn to laugh at me. “The water is too cold to go for a swim. Do you have shorts?

I nodded yes, and he told me he would pick me up at 1 in the afternoon, and we would have a picnic lunch. I agreed.

The next day after our ‘seminar,” I ran to my room, put on shorts and packed a little bag with a change of clothes and some cosmetics. I had no idea why I did that.

He picked me up in a tiny car and introduced me to his brother and sister-in-law. They decided to come at the last minute.

We had a great time. The three of them were so friendly. I felt safe, and one of the reasons was that he had to sign me out of the university. I could have just walked out and met him, but this was some kind of ritual then. We had been there a couple of hours. The weather had clouded over a bit, and it was starting to feel chilly. The beach was not like the beaches I knew in Long Island, with the wide sandy shores. This was rocky. We packed up everything from our lunch. Suddenly, a bee came out of nowhere and started buzzing around me. He told me to just stay still, and it wouldn’t bother me. He lied, or that was one unusual bee. The damn thing landed on my eyelid and stung me. I screamed! Within a few minutes, my eyelid became swollen, and I felt dizzy.

They quickly got me into the car and went to a nearby ER. The care was immediate and free! The doctor thought it was a riot. He and my “date” spoke in Swedish, which I thought was rude. The doctor asked me if I had allergies. I did, and then he gave me a shot of something. He told my date to put cold compresses on my lid every hour or so for 5 minutes. Apparently, the doctor thought we were not just a first-date mishap but an established couple.

We returned to the dorm and had to pass through the probing eyes of my classmates and the chaperones now congregating in the entrance foyer. By now, the eyelid was various shades of purple and red and quite swollen.

Poor guy, everyone came after him, they thought he hit me.

Even though the whole incident was innocent. The rumor mill started. Word got around that the guy hit me, that I was engaged in some kind of bizarre sex, that I asked for it! Of course, everyone knew the truth, but it was more fun for them, apparently, to create juicy scenarios. Even the Plier incident in the ship somehow turned into something I planned. The two other women who would be with me in Spain stood by me.

To make matters worse, the next morning, leaving Stockholm, my “date” was at the railway station. He felt terrible about the bee sting, and I assured him it was not his fault and that, until that moment, I had a very nice time. He asked me if I had any plans to return to Sweden, and I honestly told him no. He gave me a friendly hug goodbye, and that was that! Gone from my life forever. Not gone from the gossip!