Love in Theory and Practice: Chapters 1-13

I wake up in the morning to Elin shifting in bed beside me. Her hair is spread across the pillow and her lips are slightly parted. One arm is behind her head while the other is draped across her chest. Her chest rises and falls with her gentle breath.

She’s been staying with me every night since she arrived in Finland. If she doesn’t have dinner with her father, she goes out with me or we cook at my place. If she goes out with her dad she always comes to my place afterwards. We’ll listen to music, watch a movie or just talk. It’s been brilliant to hang out with her in reality rather than over a computer screen.

Despite the turmoil in my heart and mind after finding out about our potential baby a few days ago, I am at peace when I know she is near. I know I’ve fallen in love with her but I’m terrified to admit it or even say it aloud. I’m embarrassed that so many of our conversations have been over the internet.

Our conversations over the time we’d been apart and now that she’s here have given me insight into her and I only love her more. She’s funny, a little bit wild yet totally on the ball and organized. But sometimes seeing the endless hotel rooms in which she spends her time disheartens me. I have enough trouble keeping a relationship with women who don’t bounce around the globe. How would I be able to keep it going with someone who travels as much as, if not more, than I do?

It suddenly occurs to me that she might have somewhere to be today.

“Elin,” I say softly and gently rub her arm. Her skin is warm and soft.

“Yes?” she answers without opening her eyes.

“Do you have to be at the office today?”

“No,” she replies with a sigh before falling back to sleep.

I’m happy that she goes back to sleep; it gives me more time to think. We would have been having a baby. I hadn’t really thought too much about being a parent before. But now that I’ve lost the opportunity, I’m crushed. Ever since I found out, I’ve been piecing together what our baby would be like; I imagine she’d have her mother’s musical voice and beauty. I smile to myself when I realize I put nothing of myself into my imaginary child, only Elin.

When I can’t fall back to sleep, I do the only thing I can think of. I get out of bed and head downstairs to my guitar. Before I can sit down, Baudy is at my feet and whining. So I take him outside for his morning piss and my morning cigarette. I settle down with my guitar when we come back inside. More words and melody come just as naturally as the rest I’ve written about Elin. But after awhile I just end up playing “Thank You” by Led Zeppelin.

All the completed songs I have for the new album are about Elin. It’s funny and rather sad to me how someone I spent so little time in actual close proximity to has led to almost an entire album in only a few months.

It may sound foolish but it’s beginning to dawn on me that Elin could very well be the one true love of my life. Every good feeling I ever had in a relationship, every song I’ve written has been encapsulated in one woman. I can’t remember why I wrote songs about other women; all I can relate to now are things about being with Elin.

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts and playing my guitar that I don’t notice her come downstairs.

“Good song,” she says quietly and gently sits beside me on the sofa. Her hair is in disarray and her eyes are dim with sleep.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask.

“I haven’t slept this well in a long time.” She answers honestly with a shy smile. I set my guitar down and she nimbly climbs into my lap. Before I can say anything, she gently presses her lips to mine. Baudy barks from the floor causing her to smile into the kiss.

After breakfast and coffee, we head out into Helsinki for the day. Being with her is easy. She doesn’t care if we spend an hour in a music store. She’s okay with walking for hours. Her dog just prances around on his leash. She is not offended when fans ask for autographs and photos. She’s gracious, courteous and polite. She even volunteers to take the photos.

We’re walking around by the harbor; her hair is blowing in all directions and she’s laughing while attempting to keep it out of our faces while we kiss. I’m not usually a fan of PDA but I can’t keep my hands off of her and we’ve been making out randomly all morning.

Suddenly someone calls her name. I can feel her smile fade against my lips and her hand forms into a fist, gripping onto the back of my t-shirt. She breaks away from me but keeps one arm wrapped around my waist.

“Hello Nils,” she says with an incredibly fake smile.

“Hello Elin,” the man says and raises an eye brow she he sees her arm around my waist.

“What are you doing?” she asks rudely. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her speak impolitely to anyone.

“Just enjoying my day off; I see you are too.” I’m a straight man but I am entirely willing to admit that this guy is good looking. It’s quite intimidating. He looks either mid or late 20s; either way he looks younger than me.

“Yes, this is Ville. Ville is a musician.” She says and sweetly smiles at me. I’d be offended and would feel used if it wasn’t for the genuine smile and the little wink. “Ville, this is Nils. He works for my father.” Nils shakes my hand and fakes a smile for me.

“Your Dad has been looking for you.” He says.

“Nils don’t lie to me. If my father was looking for me, he’d call.” She retorts.

“How about we all grab a drink?” Nils suggests.

“No thank you. I don’t drink anymore.” She replies.

“What about your friend? Ville, a drink?”

“Sorry, I don’t drink either.” I reply. I light up a cigarette in an attempt to cool my nerves. Who is this guy? Something about Elin’s manners with him tell me that he’s more than just some guy who works with her dad.

“Wait a minute,” Nils says suddenly looking very intently at me. “I feel like I recognize you from somewhere. Have we met before?” I just shrug my shoulders.

“It was nice to run into you Nils but Ville and I have plans for the afternoon. Goodbye.” She gives him a short wave then gently turns me away and we walk away. As we’re walking away, I plant a kiss in her hair and she leans into me.

“Love, who the hell was that,” I ask. “Should I have been briefed for that?”

“Ugh, Nils, I hate Nils.” She says, shaking her head. “He’s my ex. I suppose you should have been briefed but I didn’t think we’d run into him. So I’m sorry.” She smiles up at me and instantly I don’t care about Nils anymore.

We arrive back at my house around 3:30 and we have a cup of coffee. I’m watching her intently and she notices.

“What? Is my face melting off?” she laughs. “Do you want to hear about Nils?” she asks when I don’t reply. She just shakes her head. “I started seeing Nils when I was 15 and he was 17. He was with me through awkward years and some hard times but he always had his own agendas. Once he got hired on with my dad it seemed fairly certain that we’d get married and be that ‘golden couple’ that my parents had been before us.” She sighs and I can tell she’s fighting back tears. “But he wasn’t all that great.”

“It seems like you’d be well taken care of with him.” I say, almost bitterly. They’d be together all the time; they’d work for the same company, make the same business trips and they’d have the typical Scandinavian blonde and beautiful family.

“If I wanted to know exactly what would be expected of me and what every day for the rest of my life would be like, I’d go back to Nils.” She says. “But I’d rather die than live that life.” She leans back into the sofa beside me and pushes some of my hair behind my ear.

She crawls towards me and kisses me. “Take me upstairs.” She whispers in my ear and I obey without question.

We lay together for a while but eventually she has to leave. She’s flying to Los Angeles in a few hours and my heart is sick already. In a few weeks I’ll be in LA recording but I’d rather not be separated from her.

She twirls my hair around her fingers and quietly hums a tune that sounds like a lullaby. I don’t recognize it.

“What are you humming?” I ask.

“It’s a lullaby my mother used to sing to me. I can only remember the melody now.” She answers. It occurs to me that she’s never mentioned her mother in any real capacity and I can’t help but wonder where she is. I decide it’s better to let Elin bring up that subject on her own.

After she leaves, I mope around my house for a while, not really sure what to do with myself. I don’t feel like writing but my guitar calls to me anyway. I let my mind wander and it goes right to Elin.

It’s amazing to me how a connection between two people can span over continent and ocean while still remaining strong. Being with Elin has caused me to forget and forgive all of my old hurts, angers, and failures associated my past relationships.

She told me once that she believes every encounter, every choice we make, and every moment of our lives leads us to our ultimate destination. When I jokingly told her that the ultimate destination is death she was really offended.

No Ville, it isn’t death. When people find their destination, they create something that lives on after they die. So all our work, if it’s good work, can lead to immortality. Think of it, Elvis, Picasso, your great-grandfather all have legacies that live on and all their choices created those legacies.

Every choice she and I have made in our lives has helped to lead us to each other. Whether we are at our final destination or not, we’ve been led here.

I settle into my sofa and pull out the book about St. Valentine I borrowed from Elin. I’d flipped through it a few times and read certain sections. I honestly have more fun looking at her highlighting and reading her notes.

Her handwriting is neat and precise but feminine. Her comments are insightful but sometimes over my head. I have no context for the art theories or movements she’s referencing. So I decide to head down to the bookshop and see if I can find some books on art historical theory.

I’m sitting on the floor sifting through a stack of theory textbooks when I hear someone speaking to me.

“Ville Valo, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you!” I look up to see my old friend Soren.

“Hey!” I exclaim and get up from the floor. “It has been too long! How are you these days?” I ask.

“Good, good.” We begin to walk together after I pay for a book about Religious Iconography and Indian art. “I’m having some of the old gang over tonight for a bit of a launch party. You should come.”

“What are we launching?” I ask after agreeing to attend.

“Some friends of mine are releasing their first film and we’ll be screening it and just hanging out.” Soren explains.

“Sounds great.” He gives me the time and address for the party and I head home to get ready.

“Ville!” Soren calls to me when I arrive at his house. “Come meet Isak and Bo!”

I make my way through the crowd towards Soren and two blonde men who look surprisingly similar to Elin.

“Ville, this is Isak and this is Bo. They are from Sweden and make wonderful films. Guys, this is Ville Valo, the lead singer of HIM and Finland’s greatest export aside from eco-friendly water bottles.” Soren jokes. I shake hands with both men and we make some small talk about their film and film making in general. “Ville, where is this enchanting woman I’ve been hearing about?”

“She had to return to Los Angeles today.” I say and Soren says it’s a shame because he’d wanted to meet her. Isak and Bo exchange a look with each other as Soren describes what he’s heard about Elin.

“What’s her name?” Bo asks.

“Elin,” I reply. “Why?” I ask with a laugh when Bo’s face lights up.

“Ah,” they high five each other and laugh at my confusion. “Elin is our sister and she’s always so mysterious about who she’s seeing! But wow it’s a small world.” Isak says with a laugh and shows me the caller ID of his cell phone. It says “Elin Märta” beside a picture of Elin smiling widely.

He answers it quickly, tells her that he’s with me then hangs up on her.

“She’s all keyed up about something. She’ll call me back when she calms down. It’ll be one of her crying jags.” He explains causally before continuing the conversation we’d been having before Elin came up.

“A crying jag?” I ask in confusion. Elin has only cried in front of me once and it seemed, to me at least, to be a legitimate reason.

“She gets so stressed with her job that sometimes she just breaks down and will cry for a day or two. She’s always much happier afterwards. You’ll have to get used to those if you’re going to date her for long. But she usually wants to be left alone.” Bo explains with a laugh.

It’s frustrating to be dating a woman who is so independent that they don’t even want your attention when they’re upset but that’s just how it has to be with me. It always has to be done the hardest way.