Words 2/2: Nik Eriksson

Vessel

Light Works

Nowhere in a Hurry

The honey bucket is always there for you. Family passes, peers move on, relationships fade. A grandmother grows old, a childhood friend may one day up and leave, headed to some far away place.
A signicant other may be found unfaithful, or the flame may simply fizzle out.

As humans we crave and need these connections, both platonic and romantic. This need for connection, reliability,
dependability runs deep in the fabric of our psyche.

We also need to shit.

We need honey buckets. I still remember my first run in with the crisp white and red logo emblazoned on the side of a large turquoise rectangle.

I was eleven years, staying at an overnight soccer camp. We were given access to the campus food court, which I had taken full
advantage of. Inside my stomach Italian pasta waged war with onion rings. Al pastor tacos fought
shoulder to shoulder with spicy curries.

I had reached the point of no return. My friends had gone
ahead of me, eager to return to our air-conditioned dormitories. I was alone. However, in my time of
need the honey bucket was there. It’ll be there for you too.

The best part of cleaning something is the realization that it’ll get dirty again.

At my first job the boss had me sweep the gravel driveway clear of pine tree debris daily. My fourteen-year-old self was furious at being given this task. Where was the sense in sweeping something that would look unswept within an hour?

I brought this thought up to my employer, hoping it would be the death of my monotonous
task. Their answer was a simple one, “presentation.” Fourteen-year-old me was far from impressed, and
went back outside to sweep. It took me years to understand the importance of this “presentation.”

The swept driveway wasn't going to impress everyone; my younger self was evidence enough of that.
Regardless, presentation dictates how an individual desires to be perceived. Whether it be through
personal style, grooming, their place of business, work ethic or topics of conversation.

Presentation
shapes how we are perceived through the eyes of others, and creates the version of us living inside their
head.

These days I clean my house weekly, and take care of choosing my clothes in the morning.

I avoid certain topics, and get a haircut every two weeks. However, my driveway remains unswept, covered in
dirt and pine needles.

My father and I used to visit the cabin each summer. As the school year drew to an end, we'd spend the
first two weeks of summer break out in the woods, just the two of us.

My mother never joined, claiming the air was too muggy and thick. I suspect the real reason was she just wanted a break from us.
We definitely needed one from her. 

We'd spend those two weeks fishing, watching vhs recordings of old Swedish soccer games. Eating
the worst pasta with red sauce to ever grace the earth.

As I got older interest in these cabin trips lessened. My interest in friends, girls, and the other seemingly unmissable events of adolescence grew.

My father continued to go to the cabin each summer by himself. He has long since passed, and I now
write this sitting in his old chair on the porch. I have my own son now, a boy of seven years.

As I watch him run off to the woods carrying an admittedly remarkable stick, I can’t help but wonder if he'll one day reflect on these days as well.