Prologue
As I bit down onto the crisp rye bread—or knäckebröd, as the Swedes called it—two hard crumbs flew out to the left and the right simultaneously, with the one on the left being lost into the far corner of the apartment, while the one on the right bounced off the glasses of Johan, my Swedish boyfriend sitting next to me on the sofa.
“Sorry!” I quickly exclaimed through a mouthful of the hard bread, paused in my chewing as I looked at him to see if he was harmed by the bread-schrapnel.
Johan laughed, taking off his glasses to inspect them. He smiled, speaking in English with a slight Swedish accent, “It's alright. They are not damaged.” He set his glasses back onto his nose and looked across the living room at the TV as he picked up the TV remote and continued. “I saw a new show advertised on Netflix. It's called, Orange is the New Black.” He flipped through the Netflix shows until it stopped on that one, and he paused to look at me. “Would you like to watch it?”
I swallowed the bread. “Sure,” I replied, nodding as I gave a half-glance at the TV out of the corner of my eye, but focused more on the bread and split-pea soup in front of me. I'd never heard of the show or seen any advertisements, but was open to watching anything.
Within minutes of the show starting, I was hooked. I even forgot to finish the soup during that first episode. I was shocked at how similar the main character's experiences were to my own, just a few years prior in my life. “Wow, this is incredibly similar to what happened to me!” I said to Johan while my eyes were glued to the TV. “Well, I mean, I didn't go to jail, but I lived in a homeless shelter for three months.”
My boyfriend of almost two years looked at me with eyes wide and eyebrows raised, his spoonful of soup held in pause just before his opened mouth before he returned the soup and spoon back to the bowl.
“You never told me that.” I could hear the surprise in his voice. He sounded almost... offended? But he was still calm. Then again, to a loud-mouthed American, all the Swedes seemed perpetually calm.
“It... just never came up,” I responded, with a slight shrug as I looked at him briefly, trying to soften his shock with a smile. What could I say? I guess I'm the type of person who someone can know for a couple years and still discover shit about my past that might seem surprising. The truth is that I've collected a few experiences under my belt. But it wasn't like I was trying to hide anything. It was just an experience I think I would have rather forgotten about.
But soon it was my turn to be shocked, as I watched Orange is the New Black and realized how closely I could relate to so many of the scenes. I was glued to the screen. I kept interrupting the show, pointing out to my boyfriend this or that person who reminded me of this or that person in the homeless shelter. Sure, this might have been intentional on the part of the directors and writers—movies and TV series need to be relatable, right? I'd bet that just about anyone could relate to feeling trapped and wanting to be free. I certainly could.
As the credits rolled on the TV screen, Johan turned to me.
“What happened?” he asked, and I could read on his face that he still thought it was very strange I'd ever be homeless. “How did you end up living in the homeless shelter?”
I paused, as my brain sorted through the memories. “Well....”