After getting her checked in and in place in the long security line at Gatwick, I stand at the doorway and watch her move in line. I am hating to see her go. She turns back to me, smiles and waves. I mouth, I love you. She returns the affection, turns around and disappears into the interior. I weave through the enormity of the airport, catch the Gatwick Express with a minute to spare, return to Victoria station, take the Victoria Line to Oxford Circus, change to the Bakerloo Line to Regent's Park, and walk back a couple blocks to the hotel. By the time I get to the room, her flight has taken off.
Sleep takes me for hours.
Feeling that I must do something else today beyond chaperoning to the airport and back in the early morning, I put on warm clothes, lace up my tennis shoes and head for Regent's Park for a walk. What I have in common with the others out in the park is the fact that we do not posses a modicum of sense. It is below freezing and we're all out strolling about like it's a sunny day. There is something invigorating about it though, the yellow leaves interspersed with the bare branches. Piles of fallen leaves along the paths. Couples strolling together with their dogs. A man kicks a soccer ball to a Dachshund wearing a Texas flag sweater; the Dachshund excitedly returns it with his head. A little boy and his mother walk towards me. He says, But Mum, I don't want to be rich, I want to be like all the other boys. She gives me a sheepish smile, and to him a devilish look. Rugby games are going on in the center fields. A single pink glove lies discarded on the sidewalk. As I walk, I think about the past four days, what a joy her company has been, how much I thrilled in watching her experience this city, and experiencing it with her.
The sun sets and darkness moves in quickly. Twinkling Christmas lights of white pop on around me. The wind picks up and I zip my jacket tight, pull the collar up around my ears, and make my way home through this chilly English winter evening.
3 comments:
A Texan in England. How did you survive?
Alie - sorry don't know why I wanted to call you Alie - like the old t.v. show. Great description as always, I am pretty sure I was there with you as I read it.
Alie - sorry don't know why I wanted to call you Alie - like the old t.v. show. Great description as always, I am pretty sure I was there with you as I read it.
Post a Comment