Again, But Better(6)

The RA took us around the general area, pointed out the laundromat (I’ve already forgotten where this is), the movie theater (it’s called the ODEON), and brought us to Orange UK (a cell phone place).

My new phone is a little gray plastic box straight out of 2003. It has real buttons and no flip-top to protect them. When I powered it up, the background was set to a stock photo of a rock garden. There weren’t many options, but I’ve changed it to a close-up of a tiger’s face. Tiger’s face has more of a brave vibe than rock garden. On the way back to the Karlston, we stopped at a cafe where I ravenously ordered quesadillas. Note to self: Don’t order any more Mexican food in England. It’s not their thing. I’m already getting hungry again. The RA mentioned something about a grocery store somewhere close, but the details have already fallen out of my brain. I can’t be expected to remember complicated things like which way the grocery store is while running on zero sleep.

I’ve now gleaned the code to the kitchen (which was, in fact, buried in the blue folder paperwork), grabbed Sawyer, and settled in at the table to write. I want to write about my experiences in England, so I’ve started working on a blog post about my first few hours here. I have my Horcruxes to house my personal musings, but I have a blog to post more polished writing pieces, like short stories that I’ve finished. While I’m here in the UK, I want to turn it into a study abroad blog of sorts and post short story versions of my adventures.

I let words drain out of me and into the digital space, until my doc is brimming with all the travel-related thoughts I’ve been wrestling with throughout the day. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is playing softly, and my fingers are still dancing across the keyboard when I hear the door open behind me. I straighten, anticipating the need to make conversation. You got this.

I turn in my seat. The hi I’ve loaded up dies on my tongue when I see Pilot. I glance around nervously as the door clicks shut behind him. Do not be silent.

“Hey,” I force out.

“Hey. Shane, right?” He meets my eyes.

I nod as he walks around the table and sits across from me. “Pilot?”

“Like the first episode of a TV show,” he drops casually.

I bring my hand up to cover my face.

He chuckles. “What are you working on?”

I look at my laptop and back up to his eyes. They’re green. Like olives.

“Oh, um, nothing really, just writing. I like to write short stories and stuff.”

He grins. “Looked like some super-intense typing was going down when I walked in.”

I grunt-laugh. “I mean, just a rambling account of my first fourteen hours out of the country.”

“Is writing, like, what you want to do? Be an author or something?” He eyes me curiously.

I falter a bit, fidgeting with my hair. “Um, yeah, I love reading and writing and stuff, so, that’d be amazing.”

“That’s awesome. Can I read something you’ve written sometime?”

I blink in surprise. What’s going on? We’ve exchanged two words, and he wants to read something I’ve written? I look at my computer screen for a second because I can’t handle the prolonged eye contact that’s happening. Is this flirting? He looks and sounds so genuinely interested. This internal struggle needs to end, because of course he can read something I’ve written.

I look back at him, a smile crawling onto my face. “Um, yeah, sure. I have a blog where I post stuff sometimes.” I pause, trying to maintain eye contact. “Do you write?”

He smiles. “Yeah, I do.”

My lips drop into a surprised O. “Really?”

“I mean, I write music.”

He. Writes. Music. “Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Do you play an instrument, then?”

“Yep, good ole guitar. I’m working on an album; gonna try to finish it while I’m here.” He drums a quick little beat on the table with his hands.

I push Sawyer over to the side a little. “Whoa, what kind of music do you write?”

“You know … like, acoustic jazzy stuff.”

I smile again, trying to imagine what acoustic jazzy stuff sounds like. “That’s great! Is that what you want to do?”

He looks at the table. “Eh, I mean, I’d love to be able to do something music-related, but it’s more of a hobby. I’m a finance major—I’m doing the business track here.”

“Oh, well … I’d … I’d love to hear some of your stuff sometime,” I squeak out. He shoots me a modest grin.

We’re having a conversation!

“We should all do something in here tonight,” he suggests, clapping a hand down on the table. One side of his mouth kicks up. “A flat bonding activity or something. Maybe get some beers and hang out.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, yeah, we’re legal here! I really want to go to a grocery store and get some food, too. I know we ate on our orientation tour thing, but I’m already starving again.”

“You want to go now?” he asks.

Butterflies hustle through my veins. “I, um, I don’t know where the grocery store is or anything,” I stutter.

“The guy who did my tour talked about it, so I know roughly where it is. I think I’ll be able to find it. I’m good with directions.”