“Like Snow” by Laila Stien, published in Two Lines Journal

At first I thought it was just the wind. There’s this one window that isn’t completely airtight. It used to have one of those rubber seals, but now when it’s windy you can really tell. There was rustling coming from some papers and other things on the table—a folded newspaper, an empty peanut bag, the shiny crumpled-up plastic wrapper around some lemon cookies. And a box of hard candies that I suddenly saw was lying on the floor with all the candies strewn about. By then I’d been hearing the rustling for a while and figured it must be pretty windy outside and I was lucky to be wrapped in a warm comforter.

This place has more than its fair share of issues, but I’ve gotten used to them. The kitchen faucet drips, for example, but it doesn’t bother me. It used to. There were a couple of times when I almost called Sture, a sort of buddy of mine, or someone I know at least. My phone was still working then, and I was close to calling and asking him to come over with some pliers. Sometimes you just need to turn the damn gasket or scrape it clean.

But I pulled myself together. Sture, here?

Absolutely not.

Read the full translation on the Center for the Art of Translation’s Two Lines Journal.