Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Cecilie pulls the sweater off over her head, turning it inside out, her pulse climbing, shivering as she folds it before lying down on the bed.

No other girl has seen me like this since PE at school, she thinks.

‘Now we’ll just put this little hairnet on,’ the beautiful woman says. ‘Oh, you seem to be a little tense today, try to relax. That’s it. You’re a tad pale at the moment, don´t you think?’

‘Weell, maybe a bit, yeah…’

The woman smiles and leaves the room but returns after a few moments. She’s carrying a bowl of water. She puts it down on the little table and dips a cloth into the water, wringing it afterwards. She places the cloth on Cecilie’s face and begins wiping her skin gently while talking about a purifying cream she’s going to apply, one with several functions — it peels and cleanses as well as acting as a tonic.

‘You know, Cecilie,’ she says, removing the cloth and moistening her own hands with the purifying cream. ‘We need something pure, simple and effective. We only use ecological products here. Adverts will always try to convince you to buy the cheaper ones but they’re just stuff and nonsense. When we get a little older we…’

Cecilie shuts her eyes.

The beautiful woman begins to touch her. Soft fingers smear on a light cream and massage Cecilie’s skin in gentle, circular motions.

Cecilie’s breathing becomes shallow.

Nobody has ever touched her like this.

The beautiful woman talks and talks while she cleanses her skin but Cecilie can’t follow what she’s saying. All she can focus on is how unpleasant it feels to have someone touch her in this way.

When she’s finished with the cleansing, the woman wheels the big contraption closer. It’s a steam machine, and she positions it above Cecilie’s head, pretty much like a large hairdryer.

‘Now, Cecilie. You just lie there, okay? Do you feel a little more loosened up now?’

‘I … wha?’

‘Your muscles, have they loosened up a bit?’

‘Ehh … yeah…’

The woman runs her hand across Cecilie’s shoulder and smiles.

‘Stressful time at the moment, perhaps? At work?’

‘Suppose…’

Her fingers leave her skin.

Don’t touch me.

‘What do you work at, Cecilie?’ the woman asks and turns on the machine, the steam rushing into Cecilie’s face.

Touch me.

‘Work?’ Cecilie clears his throat, blushes, sweats. ‘Well, I … work in a video store.’

A video store? Why did she say that?

‘Ah, well, there you go,’ says the beautiful woman, ‘you’re on your feet all day. That can be tough, standing so much. Tough on your back, tough on your shoulders. It’s only proper you’re taking a little time out for yourself. Good. Have you done any yoga?’

‘Yoga?’

‘Try to get into a yoga frame of mind. Is it hot? Try to imagine you’re becoming soft and heavy all over, that you’re accepting all the peace and relaxation you can get. Don’t worry if you find it a little bit difficult to breathe, that’s quite normal, it’s the steam — just turn your head ever so slightly away. Okay, Cecilie?’

‘Okay’.

I need to pee, Cecilie thinks.

I want a smoke, Cecilie thinks.

A gush of heat hits her face.

Touch me.

In a little while, after the beautiful woman has left the room with the bowl of water and returned with it again, the steam machine is turned off and wheeled away from her face. The woman cleanses Cecilie’s skin once more and once again she touches her and again she tenses up, from her feet all the way up to her neck.

She hears the woman’s voice: ‘Okay, Cecilie, peeling.’

‘Huh?’

‘Peeling,’ says the beautiful woman, opening a small jar and scooping a thicker cream on to her fingertips. ‘You may as well throw out all those expensive creams if you don’t peel the skin.’

Are you going to put your hands on me again?

Cecilie looks at her. Doesn’t she realise who I am?

‘There’s no doubt,’ the woman continues, her hands moving slowly towards Cecilie’s face, ‘we all face stress and strain in our daily lives and that affects our skin, giving rise to impurities and blemishes. Do you use sun factor fifty? I do. Skin cancer is a real danger in the Nordic countries, you know. The skin needs to breathe — cosmetics block our pores and cause a build-up of grime, which is why you need to use mineral make-up.’

Her hands hang in the air in front of Cecilie.

Is she not going to touch me again?

‘Mineral ma—’

‘The skin is better able to absorb it and it contains fewer particles than cream. Doesn’t it feel lovely? Can you sense the dialogue between you and your body?’

‘Huh?’

The woman smiles. She just smiles.

You’re so beautiful, Cecilie thinks, not quite understanding why everything turned out this way, why this woman should have the life she has while Cecile is stuck with her own life.

The woman spreads the coarse cream over Cecilie’s face, it feels like grains of sand and causes a slight burning sensation.

‘Does it feel okay? Some people find it a little bit rough, a tad prickly.’

No, Cecilie thinks, I only feel your fingers.

‘Okay, great, now for a little tonic…’

She’s touching me.

‘And some serum…’

Even softer motions, a light tapping on the skin.

‘Anyway, Cecilie,’ the woman says after a few moments of silence, ‘now we’re ready for a face mask, a moisturising mask with hydralin acid — which our bodies produce less of the older we get — and collagen, to build the skin back up. Okay?’

I can’t breathe, Cecilie thinks, nodding with her eyes closed. With calm movements and supple hands, the woman applies a cream with a faint odour to her face and places cotton wool pads on her eyes.

‘Now you just lie there and relax for fifteen minutes while the mask takes effect. I’m stepping out for a little while. What about this fantastic weather we’re suddenly getting? You know, I just have to say again, that hair colour of yours? Smashing. I’ll be back soon. Think about something nice, Cecilie, think about the nicest thing you have.’

The beautiful woman leaves. Cecilie can feel the movement of her fingers across her skin, like an echo.

The nicest thing I’ve got?

Dad. The SodaStream.

The nicest thing I’ve got?

Rudi. Tong.

The nicest thing I’ve got?

Fags and cinnamon buns.

The nicest thing I’m going to have: my kid.

The music coming through the speakers changes. ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ has been playing since ‘Imagine’ ended, now the lapping of waves and the chirping of birds can be heard and the lighting above Cecilie’s head is dimmed.

She falls asleep.

Cecilie dreams, she dreams in strong colours — she dreams of Tong.

She’s woken up by the sound on the CD of the waves and the birds jumping. Cecilie’s body feels hot; she pictures Tong, hears his breath in her head and she feels sweat form under her hairline. The CD has caught on a loop in the middle of a wave breaking on a beach; she hears a machine out in the hallway — a coffee machine? — and then voices. Two woman talking. Slightly disoriented from having slept for a few minutes in the middle of the day, she gathers herself, and then catches bits of what the voices are saying. It’s the skincare woman and another girl: ‘Yeah, everything’s so expensive now…’, ‘…we’re going to re-landscape the whole garden next year…’, ‘…oh, poor thing…’, ‘…a complete wreck, I think she’s a drug addict…’

Cecilie pricks up her ears.

‘…you think?’, ‘…oh, yeah, poor thing…’

The CD stops, the jumping subsides, and the skincare woman re-enters the room. Her smile is just as warm as it has been the entire session.