The flight to London was quick for Marie. How anticipation counters time
and brings the future to our door!
This flight was different from the rest, truly, but it was still a flight
with 2 connections to make, and therefore shouldn’t the stress level be
high? To get to the airport, giving the right amount of advance time in case
of a flat tire, or long lines at the ticket counter, security… after making
the first flight, to time well the second so as not to pass too much or too
little time between to feel successful at this game. The stress level can
seek to temper the enthusiasm of even the most lighthearted, experienced
traveler.
But for some reason there was no stress this trip.
Quite to the contrary, there was a general feeling of giddiness at the whole
thing, to have gone outside the box to make this trip happen. As it had come
together at the last minute and as such, had great risk of at least some
failure. But the case here was quite the opposite. Maybe, as a case in point,
this is how such trips should always be done, should always have been done,
to make such a venture bring to light the feelings meant to come to the
surface during a vacation jaunt to romance. Would there be romance?
This trip she felt would hold many lessons. A life full of learning is for
all of us, it can accelerate our mission if we are open and throw caution to
the wind. She wanted to take life to a new level, and this trip made sense
to her. It was against her nature to be so spontaneous, and she knew that.
It kindled her desire further to break the bonds of sameness.
The ticket had come in the mail. The address on the envelope had obviously
been typed with a regular, old fashioned typewriter. A novelty in this age
of computers. Her mother had always typewritten her letters over the years,
and this envelope gave her a sense of comfort and security. It had to be
from someone she knew, for that one important feature. It had no return
address. She opened it.
Around the ticket was a single, folded piece of blue, lavender scented
paper. As she unfolded the paper, various dried flower petals fell out.
There were different colors of certain large petals, she recognized those as
rose, but there were also varieties she didn’t recognize. She was no expert
in these things, but they most probably were wildflowers or some sort, she
guessed.
The paper had a simple message…”Meet ME in Gerrard Cross in May, at 12:00.”
It was handwritten in a strong script that she did not recognize. It had
purpose, meaning…with emphasis on the “me”. She felt it was masculine, but
all she could really say is that it was not feminine. Nothing more.
That was it. AM or PM? What day? This just didn’t make sense. How could
someone invest in a ticket for her, and then give such vague instruction?
She looked inside the envelope, just to see if there was something she
missed. There was nothing else in the envelope.
One issue was quickly solved. Her flight was scheduled for May 28th. So that
brought the month of May down to just several days once she arrived. Time
zone changes meant she would get there on the 29th, and have the 30th and
31st as possibilities. Her mind tried to narrow it down further, but it
wouldn’t resolve any more than that. It was now mid-April, just giving her
time to get her passport renewed. This could work.
A day later another envelope arrived with a similar, folded piece of blue
scented paper surrounding $1000 in crisp 100 dollar bills. The message on
this one read, “All arrangements have been made.” The money relieved her
greatly, as to take such a trip would still cost a lot with hotels, food,
and local travel, despite the actual ticket having been paid for, and she
was not budgeted for this. This was a turnkey package. Someone really wanted
her to go to London, and was not going to give her any excuses to get out of
it!
But who was it? Who was HE, she hoped. She had no current boyfriend, was not
dating anyone even casually at this time. There were some possibilities. She
was active in several organizations, and did have many contacts. They were
people she knew, but didn’t really know. People with whom she had held long,
enlightened conversations over every topic, but without any personal,
afterhours connection she would hesitate to call them friends. Still, there
were a LOT of cute guys that could fit the bill here, and she was hoping, in
fact, counting on that to be the case! She was in her mid-thirties, and at
the height of her charms and femininity, and somehow felt this a logical
progression, a rite of passage perhaps, that all woman must be challenged to
and grasp. This was her due.
Marie waited on more envelopes to come to explain the “arrangements” that
had been made, but there were no more. No more contact, in fact. As the time
grew closer, rather than grow stressed at the lack of definite purpose in
her trip, she grew more relaxed, and confident that everything would go
perfectly. Even if she did not meet this person, she had the ticket and the
money, and she would just find a hotel once there is she had to. It was
win-win.
She arrived rather early in London, at 6:25 am. She had slept during the
movie, and for a good deal of the flight. A wise decision, and she was also
so upbeat now with adrenalin that she didn’t feel the jetlag people talk
about, even if it was to be present. This was her first flight to Europe,
having only been down to Mexico and the Caribbean, and didn’t know for sure
what jetlag was. But she was told if she slept on the flight over, that
would help correct for it. She did and was the better for it.
Enthusiastic, she led the pack through passport control and customs, and
strained at her leash to get through to the Gatwick Express, aboard a
non-stop train to Victoria Station in London.
It was 9:30 by the time she got to Victoria Station, having made the best
time anyone could possibly make to get there to that destination. Time
slowed down only slightly for her, and she made the decision to go
immediately to Marleybone Station and board a Chiltern Rail coach straight
to Gerrards Cross!
Marie had done her research ahead, and knew the connections to make, and was
unafraid now to ask for help at the kiosks. She found out quickly that the
British were so polite, that she almost felt a grand conspiracy, that
everyone was involved in her trip, to personally guarantee her fulfillment
of that which she was seeking. Whatever that might be, even she was not
aware.
Could the 12:00 mentioned in the note be today at noon? It struck her. Hard.
It just had to be that way. There were 2 more noons left in May other than
today, and 3 midnights, but it just made sense. If arrangements had been
made, then that must have meant hotel arrangements, and after 12:00 noon
today, if she didn’t make contact, she would have to make her OWN
arrangements, and that would void the letter. Logic finally got to her, and
she felt rather silly for a moment in not having thought that through
before, as she realized that of course, it had to be today at noon. There
was no other possibility.
She went underground and took the subway, called the “tube”, from Victoria
Station to Marleybone. She bought a one way ticket to Gerrards Cross and
also paused to buy a sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a Fanta orange
soft drink from a vendor. She found the chips had a strong taste and was
surprised when she found they had vinegar on them! How odd! She ate a few
but tossed them, washing down the taste with her orange drink. The sandwich
was more normal, but very basic, with several slices of cheese and ham with
lettuce between french bread, with no dressing. Still, it satisfied her,
and, eating half of it, gave her the energy she needed to continue. She
wrapped up the other half carefully not knowing when she would need more and
put it in her tote bag.
All of her belongings were in a pull-behind piece of luggage, but even at
this stage she didn’t feel its burden as it simply had become a part of her.
However, she found locker storage at Marleybone anyway, and stuffed only
essentials into her tote bag for the next stage of her journey. This
mentally helped, as she didn’t like to stand out as a tourist. She began to
blend in more with her surroundings.
Why Gerrards Cross, she wondered? Perhaps it held significance for the
person she was meeting. She could only wonder. Her research on the internet
showed nothing distinctive about it. Especially for it to be a tourist
destination of any kind. Just a village with soccer clubs, and churches and
a High Street, their version of a Main Street, perhaps.
She stumbled upon real estate sites on a search and found the properties
were very expensive. Beyond that, there was nothing that would surpass the
Tower of London or St Pauls Cathedral as a must see. But she had her
instructions, and she was intrigued and of course indebted, and so continued
on her way to Gerrards Cross.
As the train began its journey, Marie watched the countryside as it passed
by her. She felt as though in a dream. The brickwork everywhere was a
similar color of dark tan, with lots of black soot looking material on it.
Could it be that this old brickwork was still stained from the coal burning
times of Queen Victoria? If so, then nothing has changed in this place
because it was everywhere! The timeless quality appealed to her as an
appropriate and even necessary backdrop for her quest for romance.
The carriage picked up it’s pace through the country, and she found the land
surprisingly lush and wet. It was partly cloudy, with evidence of rainstorms
at times. The lands were manicured in their own way… mother nature being
shaped by the hand of man to bring out its best.
Her mind wandered, but only slightly… she kept her main focus. Even if one
had not just flown the Atlantic, one would find the calming effect of this
journey through the English countryside almost too much. The light rays
created an undulating rhythm as they swept through the trees and clouds. The
sun just wouldn’t come out fully, but its intensity was a presence just the
same and part of the landscape to be felt.
She passed different stations, stopping at some, and whooshing by others at
an incredible speed.
On to Gerrards Cross!
And then she was there.
The train pulled into the station. And she got out. It was an odd station,
old ironwork, and set into a gulley, almost a ravine, she felt. Ancient. For
a moment she felt all alone. She realized only several other people had
gotten out of the train and disappeared while she was getting her bearings.
Her instruction ended here, and for one odd minute, she felt her life had
just ended here as well. That to regain her life, she had to immediately get
back in the coach and go back to the main station, get back on a plane, and
go back home to what she knew. To do anything else would be to die. She felt
a wave of nausea. She felt overcome and sat down on a bench to regain
herself.
She stifled a cry that welled up within her as she pondered her life and the
events that led her here. It all rushed up before her…the failed
relationships, the hopeful holiday seasons spent alone wanting a boyfriend
when she was without, and she felt cheated. Even this trip now felt cheating
to an extent as she had built her hopes up so high, possibly over nothing at
all. There was no Prince Charming here, there was no parade, no procession
of royalty to greet her with red carpet.
She had always been afraid of the unknown, and here she was now forced to
embrace it. She had done so well up to this point, what had happened?
Perhaps the jetlag was having an effect upon her, and she paused to consider
this. Yes, the jetlag, that had to be it. The train ride also had
disoriented her like a drug. She smelled diesel fumes from somewhere… from
the train? And she needed to rest. Just for a minute, to close her eyes, and
feel the soothing breeze, warm and mild upon her skin, bring her into its
embrace…
Marie felt a tug upon her sleeve, and upon looking up, saw a small boy of
about 10 looking at her. She was taken aback, at this sudden reality check.
This was the first time in this strange land that someone had actually come
up to her. She had taken the initiative for everything so far, had been in
control. For someone to come up to her was almost an intrusion into her
reality, her dream, her fantasy.
She adjusted herself on the bench and asked him what his name was. He said,
“Colin.” He held out a slip of blue, folded paper and offered it to her.
Inside, it read, “come to ME.” When she looked up, Colin had already started
to ascend a large walkway to what must be the town.
How he got to that point so quickly was beyond her. But then she realized
she had stared at the piece of paper for awhile, taking it in, this
grounding event to her emotion. That one piece of paper linked her past at
home to her present at this strange, wonderous place, and defined a point in
time for her. It was extremely important to her, and she clutched it tightly
to make it even more real.
The train had gone, and she had refused to go back to what she knew… to her
past, to that which she had come from. She knew now that it was ok to go
forward, that she was intact and very much alive, had not died, and had a
future to look forward to. The sun came out from behind a cloud and hit her
square on her forehead, bringing her fully back.
She looked up as Colin reached the top. He made a grand sweeping motion with
his arm that was the universal symbol for “Follow me!” She got up without
hesitation and went out of the station and up the walkway to the street
beyond.
Colin was mindlessly skipping along the sidewalk as they passed along the
street. She didn’t feel like running, he didn’t want to stop skipping and so
they maintained a small distance between them. There was no pressure here,
and they adjusted to the pace together. She looked behind her, and noticed
shops, and what must be either the town or the way to it. They were going
away from the High Street, she thought. She wanted to see a High Street, to
see what it was all about.
But now she knew she had to follow Colin.
As they walked, once in a while he would point towards a house or two along
this residential street, and she would look but not see anything. At first.
Then as she just took it all in without expectation, she would see…gabled
windows with crosshatching on them contrasted against white plaster walls… a
garden beyond the fenceline here, manicured lawns and gigantic sunflowers
and unusual plant specimens there. What started as mundane now became larger
than life. The plants were bigger than they should be, they were arranged
better than they should be…the entire street was beset with trees that had
been topped at some point, with canopies growing back in a beautiful way.
The trees topped canopies completely covered the street, forming a perfect
shroud. The shades of green were beyond words. And it seemed that this
entire neighborhood had been crafted at one time by some master gardener
from times past, something she knew was probably not true, but was the only
thing that would explain such majesty, with no true, real understanding of
how such things are done.
The train ride had been a transformation. She now became aware that London
itself was encased in the tan, coal soot covered brickworks, the train
tunnels and bridges, most of the houses she witnessed on her passage out of
the city, and even the Gerrards Cross station itself.
Before her, on this street, there was none of that… the land was now alive
with color and life and sought to prove to her its worth as more than merely
priceless.
The sun was out from behind the clouds now, but it rained as they walked.
None of the rain hit them, but it could be seen through the gaps in the
foliage as the sun hit it above the treed canopy and off to the side. The
raindrops shone intensely as the sunlight glared off of them, having a
peculiar quality reminding her more of mist, but indeed more than that. This
was a contradiction, for the sun to be out and for it to rain, and also for
them not to get wet. It didn’t make any sense.
Eventually they passed along a path through a wooded area, and he led her
out to a field, that was set along the side of a small hill. The field was
covered by foot tall grass, maybe rye or wheat, she wasn’t sure. It was
definitely cultivated.
Colin ran up to her here at the edge of the field and gave her a big hug and
said, “You’re pretty!” He said he had to go now, but pointed to the top of
the hill and told her, “That’s where you need to go!” and then ran off
towards town.
Marie looked up to the top of the hill, but didn’t see anyone. She started
to walk through the grass, and did her best to pick up her feet, as the
grass was slightly wet from the rain that had just passed moments before.
The sun was out, doing its best to dry it, while butterflies and white moths
fluttered about, settled on, and drank from the wet grass.
She found a pathway along the side and took it the rest of the way up. At
the top, was a large wicker picnic basket sitting atop one, only slightly
damp, red and white checkerboard blanket. It had a folded blue piece of
paper under the handle, and she picked it up.
It read, “I’ve always loved you.”
She looked inside the basket. Immediately inside was a glass of red wine,
carefully laid so as not to spill it, several chocolates on a napkin, and an
assortment of tea biscuits and cookies. There was a box on the bottom, with
a note that said, “Enjoy these treats, then open the box.”
Marie unfolded the blanket and made a space on the edge of the path and took
in the marvelous view.
The clouds passed overhead, threatening to hide the sun, but it dodged them
quite well. The field was lit up with sheens of iridescent greens that were
consuming to watch. The sky was a palette of deep blue cut sharply by white
and chocolate clouds that passed overhead at their own definite rate of
speed. This made the lighting to change constantly, causing the colors to
change, a blending of elements that creatively constructed the landscape
newly in each moment…a living work of art.
This was emotion on a world scale that she was witnessing, and very private
for her and her alone. Artists seek to trap and capture this vitality, and
she had dreamy thoughts of easels and oils and Van Gogh and French cafes as
she sipped her wine on the blanket and tucked at her treats.
All together it was a product of the moment, and couldn’t be taken out of
the field, this magic produced by the interplay of nature here. It was
simple, and had been witnessed surely many times before. Had she seen such
events happened before and just not been aware of them?
She finished the treats and wondered about the box. In a short time… she
opened it.
Inside were photographs. Hundreds of them. There were also event tickets,
one used, and one unused, always in pairs, here in this box. Many movies…
plays such as Annie, Jesus Christ Superstar… entrance tickets to Tower of
London, the monument at Stonehenge, the Roman Spas at Bath… the music
festivals of Reading and Knebworth... and more.
The pictures caught her interest the most as she scanned them for clues, for
someone she recognized. They were pictures of just about everything you
could expect to find in England. There were the obvious tourist
destinations…she recognized Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey and more
from her internet searches, and then there were people. They were young
people, high school age most likely, but she didn’t recognize any of them.
The pictures were old, you could tell by the clothing styles. They obviously
meant a lot to someone, they were personal pictures containing the people
and the events they went through. Over here. She didn’t understand. She
didn’t know anyone from over here.
There was a letter inside. And she opened it.
It read, “I looked for you for 10 years but never gave up. We were separated
by thousands of miles, then time itself, and then life spun us in different
directions. As time passed, I only became more in love with you, not less.
Every picture in this box, I took each one of them for you. To share each
moment with you. Because you were there with me for each and every one of
them, and you were also with me for each and every day of my life
afterwards. I could never let you go. I’ve always wondered if you felt the
same way about me. I never knew if you loved me, thought of me often, or had
let me go completely.”
The truth struck her and she sank back heavily upon the blanket. She knew
who this was, this was her high school sweetheart John. And it made sense.
It all made sense now. John had moved away in the middle of 11th grade when
his father took a job in London. They lost touch almost immediately as they
were young, they were children, and they were not allowed to have feelings,
or lives, or directions other than what was mandated by the adults around
them. Her own parents had taken a job transfer to another state at the end
of her 12th grade, and she went to college in another state. There had been
a precious 1-1/2 year gap in their lives without contact, and that’s all it
took to separate them forever.
They had shared everything between them…their first date, their first movie
together, their first kiss…their first everything, almost. They were deeply
in love, as deep as young lovers can be without total physical intimacy.
Marie had never forgot him. She had loved him also and had never let him go.
Every boyfriend, every relationship she had ever had over the years
afterwards was held up against the light of this first love and they failed
miserably. Nothing could stand up to the pure light of such true passion
that they shared and she wept in the knowledge of it.
It came clear to her now. All that she had looked at to be a failure in her
relationships, were not to be described as failures, but as
shortcomings…they just couldn’t measure up to true, innocent, eternal love.
How could they? She felt ashamed at having faulted the men when they didn’t
stand a chance against John.
The emotions she had stifled for so many years came to the surface. She
fought against the feelings and sought to read more of the letter.
It continued, “When I lived over here during high school, I would come out
to Gerrards Cross to visit my best friend Andrew, where he lived with his
parents. A bunch of us would often come out to the woods and run around, and
chase through the fern forest behind you. Those ferns would grow over our
heads and we would chase and have fun running in them.”
She looked behind her, and immediately behind the pathway to her back, was a
wooded area, with large ferns. Before, she had not noticed that this
forested area it was fenced off with a heavy iron fence that showed great
intent in keeping it off limits for some reason.
“Gerrards Cross was a special place for me. I came out here on my own at
times, to sit here at the top of the hill and eat a picnic. I would pour a
glass of wine, and sit, pretending I was here with you. You see… this was
our spot. I can’t explain it other than that. Whenever I missed you the
most, I would come here and pretend you were here with me. I cried here so
many times you just don’t know.”
“I would get myself all worked up about you while sitting here, and then go
down to the station, and jump the next train to Warwick Castle, a stop
further up the line. I would walk through the city center up to the castle
and walk the grounds, eventually finding a spot in front of the Victorian
arboretum and lie beneath the trees, watching peacocks strut on the
grounds.”
“I moved back to the states, and as the years passed, I often fantasized
about meeting you here at “our spot”, sharing a picnic and chasing through
the old fern forest. Then we would jump a train to Warwick Castle.”
“Gerrards Cross in May is my favorite time, right at the end of May when the
rains come and the plant life is coming into its best. The rain only lasts
for a few minutes, just enough to get your feet wet when your walking
through the field, which is about a foot high at that time of year. Going to
Warwick Castle, I would hang my socks out the carriage window to dry,
unfuriating the British, who saw that as most uncouth. It was an act of
rebellion, at my life, and my inability to get to you. I did it on purpose,
I must admit. I felt I did everything for you.”
Marie felt great pride now in never having forgotten John. In her great love
for him, she of course had never let him go either. She held a passion for
him equal to that he held for her.
“I’m writing this letter now because I realize I’ll never see you, my cancer
has progressed and the doctors only give me 6 months. I’ve given
instructions to Andrew to follow an important request, to continue the
search for you, and if he is to ever find you…”
Marie swooned. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. It couldn’t. She felt her
legs like lead weights, pinning her down to the ground. She was slumped
sideways unable to move, and everything was spinning. She wanted to die…
She stared at the letter, fixated through teary lenses to it, and eventually
more words came through to her…impassively she read…
“he is get you to this spot, our spot, to have a glass of wine and treats
ready for you to share picnic with me at least once. I’m here, you see…I’m
here with you. My instructions were to have my ashes scattered at this spot,
so I will always be here waiting on you to come to me. Since I couldn’t come
to you even though I tried, tried so hard to find you. Maybe you can come to
me.”
“My biggest hope would be for you to come to Gerrards Cross in May, at the
end of May is best, have you picnic, and then jump a train to Warwick Castle
and lie near my spot and watch the peacocks strut. It is such a peaceful
place, timeless, outside the pettiness of our lives, this 1000 year old
castle at Warwick. It always diminished me, and made my problems feel small
in the big scheme of things, and to help me to cope with being without you.
My hope is that it would do that for you, to help put life in perspective
for you. This is a gift I would hope to give you.”
The letter was dated 7 years prior. He had been gone for some time…
Almost frozen, in slow motion, Marie fell forward and placed her face down
half into the box of pictures. There was silence for some time.
Then a sound arose which became a continuous, unbroken, mournful wail that
came from deep inside her and carried across the field. It was composed of
all the pain she had stored within her over the years…all the pain of loss,
all the pain of rejection, the pain she had caused others…beyond John, this
had catalyst and now went farther than any one relationship could
presuppose.
When we are born we cry instinctively as fear of a world beyond our control,
cold and hostile, full of people. People we believe bring us happiness, but
certainly with this comes the inherent knowledge of the surety that people
will always bring us more pain than pleasure, because pain is heavier than
pleasure, as water is heavier than oil, which is just how it is… and we
still go on. People go on. Marie felt lost in the moment and could not go
on.
She focused it all onto John, all the pain. She blamed him for moving away.
For not writing. For not finding her after coming back to the states. For
not being with her now, at her most vulnerable moment. She took no
responsibility for this, it was all his fault. She was selfish in these
thoughts, knew it, and didn’t care. This was her emotion, and belonged to
noone else. She felt justified at least in that, and poured out more cries
and tears upon the pictures, staining them with those tears, touching them
with her fingers, but never letting them go.
The emotional upheaval she was experiencing passed through its phases. Marie
went through the full seven stages of grief at this time…Shock, Denial,
Bargaining, Fear, Anger, Despair, …and finally Acceptance.
A man had passed behind her on the path, or must have, because she became
aware of a figure descending the hill in front of her, about to pass out of
the field. She was not alone here. This shocked her. This was her field.
John had given it to her and it belonged to noone else. The oddness of that
thought contracted her sadness, oddly, and helped her to come down from her
extreme emotional level.
This cultivated field belonged to someone, the fenced fern forest belonged
to someone, and she was trespassing. One hour had passed from the time she
began to read the letter to now. It was an eternity to her.
She sat for another eternity, a briefer interlude of perhaps a half hour or
so, and then slowly began to pull herself together. A brief burst of rain,
very light and misty, passed through the field. This sobered her even
further and she gathered the contents of the box together, wrapping the
blanket carefully around it, and then placing the box inside the basket.
Marie felt she had no past to reflect upon, and no future to look forward
to. It had all been taken away from her in the field. She was exempt now
from pain, truly, those tears had been shed, but numb from the experience of
it and facing bleak immediate prospects in this strange land. She was not
just lost, she was non-existent to this world. She was invisible. Still,
there was a comfort to that, and she dwelled on that one thought which now
became necessary for her in her fragile state.
She knew she had to go back to the station, and that was all. That was
enough. And so she picked up the basket and descended the field, passing
directly through it as the shortest route, rather than taking the path. The
magic had gone from this place, and as she looked back, she said she would
never come here again.
The walk to the station was flat and uneventful. The emotions had left her
drained, but she was doing better now. It was more the shock, the setup of
the whole event that made her wonder, “Why had John’s friend Andrew done it
this way?” Why hadn’t he just told me the situation, then I might have come
over here anyway as it was Johns last request for me to do so, and I truly
had loved him.”
She went to the ticket counter to purchase a train ticket down to London,
from where she would be able to find a hotel and plan her next step. She was
in line behind a mother and her daughter, who were quite excited about their
trip. They were locals, from this neighborhood she believed, and watched
them intently as they purchased their tickets. They were going to Warwick,
to the castle, and were honest in their emotions of excitement for a day
trip.
Emboldened, Marie asked them if they had been there before.
The mother laughed, and said, “ Warwick Castle is a wonderful place! Yes, we
have been there many times, and to go there together is very special for us.
We have always shared it.”
The mother asked Marie, “Have you been there?”
Marie replied, “It was a very special place for a dear friend of mine, who
told me I should go there to find perspective for my life, why should he say
that?”
The mother said, “ Your friend is right, to be next to something so old is
humbling. We all pass from this earth, but Warwick Castle will probably
always be there. To visit Warwick is to take you out of time. When I am
gone, I’m hoping my daughter will still go there, to think about her life,
and the times she spent with me there, to find the peace of mind that I
think we all need from time to time.”
That was all Marie needed to hear. She had her new mission, and that new
mission was Warwick. For all that she had been through, the time was only
2:00. She still had time to go to Warwick Castle and then head back to
London before dark. She could do that, if she did nothing else here. She was
compelled to that.
After buying her ticket, she sat down on the bench down from the mother and
daughter, and pulled out the other half of her sandwich and cherished the
bites. It was so refreshing to her now, and she bought another soda to wash
it down with, and this filled her.
Once at Warwick, she would eat properly, and if she was too tired, surely
there would be a hotel to consider. If not, well, she didn’t really care at
this point. She felt an inner strength within her grow, and a knowledge that
this was the right thing to do. It had to be done. And now was the time to
do it.
Following the lead of the family made it easy for her, took some of the
stress away from this part of her trip, knowing that all she had to do was
stay with them and get off when they did, and she would be ok. Being locals,
they knew what they were doing, and would not a mistake such as getting on
the wrong train, or getting off at the wrong destination.
The train came and they headed to the train stop for the town of Warwick.
The day came back in its brilliance, and the sun danced in and out of the
clouds. There was familiarity to this, and she relaxed. Her shoes and socks
had gotten damp, mostly from the last passage out of the field, and she
shyly slipped them off of her feet. There were a few people in the carriage
she was in, other than the family which was facing away from her at the
opposite end.
Marie reached down, picked up the socks, and started to wave her hands to
try to get them to dry out. On such a trip, even a small amount of help here
would benefit, damp feet being a bother, and having nothing else to do,
began to take an interest in this procedure. Having her bare feet exposed
felt exhilarating to her. The feeling was as if she was naked to the people
here in the carriage with her. She knew this was absurd, but there was a
feeling to it she could not deny. She realized she stood out because she was
a tourist, so of course it made sense that she might be under scrutiny for
just about anything she might choose to do.
She began not to care.
A thought passed in her, and she opened up the small window above the main,
large pane of glass. She took the socks, and taking great risk, thrust the
socks to the window opening, and held them both there to dry. An older,
stately Englishman facing towards her but several rows up noticed this, and
was quite amused. In fact, 2 people several rows back further behind him
took notice as well, and stared. It was obvious they had never seen anything
like this before, and found it funny at first. They socks took some time to
dry to her satisfaction, and she had to make repeated attempts to get them
dry. Whenever she would raise them again to the window opening, she would
feel the stares.
She cared even less now, ignored them completely, and when done with the
socks, held her walking shoes up to the window to air out and dry. She
refused to look at the other passengers, and felt her cause worthy and
necessary for her, which it was. Wet feet on travel holiday make for
discomfort. So she had made the capital decision to dry it all out, despite
any consequences, of which, it turned out, there were none.
At Warwick, she alighted from the train quite happy with herself for having
made the trip to the castle, and then reflected on John. This was the first
thought of him she had had since leaving the Gerrards Cross train station,
and the act of hanging her socks and shoes out of the carriage window to dry
had been an independent act: she had not done this because John had
suggested this to her. It was simply necessary in order for her to have dry
feet. And she mused that John had probably felt similar emotions years
before, first feeling the necessity of his actions, and then their
metamorphosis into a rationalization of rebellion.
She saw the family pass into the town and she followed ahead after them,
without any real thoughts of where she was actually going.
Warwick Castle loomed up at the top of the hill. She was on what must have
been the main street in town, the “High Street”, she thought, and it led in
one direction, to the castle.
The castle was not what she expected, but then, she didn’t know what to
expect. At first glance it was a ruin, mostly, with some sights to see, but
not spectacular as she had built up in the short time she had had to do so.
But, it began to grow on her, and she developed some interest for it, and
explored.
It was a thousand years old, and was doing well, she thought, for such a
long history. She had never seen anything older than several hundred before.
She really appreciated the view down into the stream below, and imagined
fair maidens watching down from these heights upon the commoners passing
below. She felt that this place had touched many lives over its history, and
though a relic, was still touching some today.
Marie passed out of the castle onto the grounds, and then saw the Victorian
arboretum. It was a large structure with many glass panes to let the sun in
and trap heat, with large plants inside. Before it, were a series of short
steps that led out onto a large glade with trees way off to either side. It
had not rained here, and the grass being trimmed short, was pleasant to walk
upon.
She had seen the castle, and felt satisfied with herself for having done so
much in such a short time. She found a spot in the glade giving her
sufficient shade from the sun, but still enough in the open to allow her to
feel the grandness of the place, and laid down to rest.
Closing her eyes, Marie found her mind wandering, and was almost in a state
of hallucination in a short time. Half thoughts merged with shades of
emotions from her days events, indistinct… passing before her and then away
from her before she could grasp any one of them. They were fleeting… and
seeking to purge from her any remnants of stress she might have, as dreams
do.
The changing hues generated by the light through the leaves gave them depth,
and had endless variety. She felt tuned into an infinite bandwidth of radio
frequencies. She heard voices, saw fragments of landscapes and cities, and
people from different times and places. She opened up and felt the life
energy of 1000 years of humanity pass through her, illuminating her mind.
She was merely the conduit, and observed them as they passed within and
without her, straying on to their own destinations.
Great peace and calm came over her, as she began to feel her own place in
the world. She was just one part, one cog only…but with a role, a role that
belonged to noone else and could be defined by noone else. Her role was
important. Just as everyones roles are important. It’s just that since this
life was hers, it was for no others to criticize. She defined it as she
went, based on all her experiences before that guided her to new direction.
As we all do. It was living, breathing life, not static, and one that would
continue to change as she grew older.
The one thing that would not change much was Warwick Castle. It had always
been there and would always be there, shepherded through the passing of time
by its caretakers. It would take on new forms, just as the Victorian
arboretum on its premises was one form, but it was really just an addendum.
It’s main story had unfolded many hundreds of years before, and this was now
a shadow of its former self being sustained and worshipped by those who felt
their own reasons to do so.
Grand Warwick Castle took on new meaning for Marie. An overpowering symbol
of time standing still, she knew the castle in its greatness was not
something to overpower us and make us feel weak in our inability to beat it
in the race against time. That would be foolish. That would be impossible to
achieve.
Yes, a part within us that refuses to face our own mortality will touch on
that. Perhaps being next to such a great, old object will allow some of its
talents to rub off on us, and allow us to extend our lifes passage as well.
Subliminal undercurrents? Yes… the possessing of antiques shows the truth of
it within many of us. There was more than just beauty to the castle.
But in its timeless existence that castle had an important flaw. It was not
alive and dynamic, but instead dead and static. Its corpse carried dressings
that belied this status, but its most important asset is in what it was, not
in what it could ever be. It’s chapters were written.
But Marie was alive, and capable of change within her own structure. She was
vital, and was changing here, now on the castle grounds, into a different
person. A person that knew she would continue this change, and that nothing
could stop that. She felt an expansion of herself in the realization of
this. That the castle was just a part of her life… that John had only been a
part of her life… that everything that had ever gone before had only been a
part of her life, never the whole.
To form an opinion of herself, or of her life from those interactions of
people and experiences was not fair. And not complete. She had a lot of
living to do, and more people to meet, and more experiences. They were all
just chapters in her book, emphasis, her book. And her chapters were not all
written.
Going even deeper into her relaxation, lying peacefully in the glade, she
had a vision of a house. Within that house were many rooms. Within each of
those rooms were people that represented each chapter of her life. The
people, decorations and emotion within each of those rooms each formed
unique character, that perhaps the other rooms could not understand.
They existed independently of each other, yet were under the same roof. She
could pass from room to room, and get something important from each room.
Something that had meaning to her, and to noone else.
The house was a totality, and that was what was really important. The house
was her. And as such, it was her house, and belonged to no others. In the
back were empty rooms, waiting to be filled. At the end of her lifes journey
the rooms would be filled, and she would be completed. It was a big house,
magnificent in size. She felt it had limitless capacity to expand to her
challenges.
As she came to, opening her eyes slowly to look up towards the rustling
leaves overhead, she felt first a contraction as reflection of her immediate
circumstances, that reversed and then turned into an expansion, an
empowerment, as she grew beyond those circumstances and sought to embody and
embrace the lessons she had just been learning. She strained to contain
them, they were important, and she did not want to let them go.
All dreams fade, and she was left with an aura…more as impressions of those
mental events, rather than as them existing as literal objects. She smiled
as she knew they were of course a part of her, had come from her, and so she
could never really lose them. She reflected upon the house, she had kept
that. And she knew she would never lose that. Indeed, that analogy had
impacted her so greatly she knew it would provide reference for many years
to come. And she smiled even more.
Her calm was broken by the sound of a child. “There she is dad!”, she heard.
Looking up and then over her left shoulder behind her, she saw a man
walking, holding hands with Colin! This was the young boy who had escorted
her through Gerrards Cross to the field and then disappeared towards town.
The man standing next to Colin she recognized from the pictures.
He introduced himself as Andrew, Johns old friend from high school, and that
this was his son Colin. He said that he knew he would find Marie there, in
the glade. Due to the personal emotions he knew she would be having after
Gerrards Cross, he told her he thought it wise to meet her there after she
had had some time to reflect on everything.
But now seemed like a good time to talk to her, and explain all that he
knew.
Andrew said, “I can’t tell you how close John and I were in high school in
London. We were best friends, and did everything together. All he ever did
was talk about you, about how much you would love everything over here. He
took a lot of pictures, and would talk about how you were there for each one
of them.”
Andrew continued, “Even though you weren’t her with us, you really were a
part of everything we did, everywhere we went. He would take pictures to
capture everything we did, with the rest of us rarely carrying cameras being
so young and living in the moment, and therefore we thought him a bit odd.
He would buy tickets to all there was to see and do, always buying an extra
ticket for you, as if you were there with us. In the beginning, we think it
was almost as a lark… as he laughed when we asked him about what he was
doing. But over time, he became quite serious about it, and determinedly
took pictures and bought tickets and brought your presence to all of us in
the group.”
Marie wanted to ask Andrew why John had never written, and then… thought
better of it. She knew that she could herself have written him even if
calling on the phone was difficult.
When we are young, we feel at the mercy of lifes circumstances and may not
question authority. If we refuse to seize the moment, our best opportunities
for happiness might disappear forever, leaving a lifetime of unresolved
emotions. She was just as guilty as him. So to implicate him was to
implicate herself.
They shared the bliss of the their times spent together and now also they
shared the responsibility for the mutual failure of their unfulfilled love.
There was no guilt to be applied here, no guilt. Serendipity had placed them
together, serendipity had also cast them apart…There would always be
unresolved emotion there, but that was ok.
In the big picture, there was something more important… there was a life
that must go on. Her life. Johns life was over. Johns chapters were written.
Warwick Castles chapters were written. But Maries chapters were not… Maries
life was still an open book.
Marie stood up, and saw a kaleidoscope of colors fanning about a peacocks
tail before her in the middle of the glade as the sun reached its full
force. She reached out and took Colins hand and skipped out of the shade
into the sunlight. Laughing, Andrew chased after them.
To their side, a mother and daughter spread a blanket, shared a picnic and a
promise that they would never stray apart from each other, ever, through the
course of their lives. The sun would set on the castle today, but the lives
sparking within its grounds were hallowed, sacred, and of a greater nature
than the castle…and would continue to unfold beyond its grounds to hopeful,
new horizons.
