Lyrics that keep hitting me with blissful pain and nostalgia: This dream is in a telescope now. Happiness, it won’t last long.
Today is Thursday, May 5th. Two weeks ago +:
Friday, the 22nd I don’t sleep very well, cuz I’m on the floor with only a pillow, and a tiny blanket on me in my clothes. Even so, two long days of travel catch up to me, so Amanda and I sleep until almost noon. She tells me later that this is how England lives: late to sleep, late to wake. We drag ourselves into some clothes, stumble to the kitchen for some “wraps” (a tortilla with sandwich meat, cheese, and lettuce), and figure out what we’re doing for the day. The plan so far: procure a mattress for me, go down to The Mock Turtle in the Lanes for tea and scones, and then whatever! A sound plan we decide.
We walk over to the office, but poop and more poop, the office is under Spring Break hours, so we’ll have to wait until 4. Okay, next order of business. We dash back to the flat, tell Laura to meet us down there, and bust out, taking the 25 down the hill to the shore. Amanda and Mark text each other, to figure out meeting plans, cuz we want him there for tea as well. He’s already in the Lanes, but doesn’t know where the shop is. She gives him directions as we step off the bus and head down. As we wait, I decide I want some gelato from the cute gelato shop next to the Mock Turtle. I make the mistake of ordering chile chocolate, though, and it tastes horrible. Laura shows up and saves the day, tasting it also to agree that it’s terrible. We hold onto it just long enough for Mark to try it when he appears, but he likewise hates it. Glorious choice, Noah. Into the tea shop we go.
It’s fucking adorable. Tiny, with a downstairs I never did get to experience, the walls and from window are covered in pastries and tea sets. The walls are a baby cyan blue, and all of the tables and chairs are creaky wood. We botch the order, so the waitress decides for us. After a surprisingly brief wait, she brings out our food: boiling water in a teapot, a strainer, two tea cups with saucers, and a plate with three scones, butter cream and jam. I almost die. The scones are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re practically bread chunks, being tall and thick and warm and so very delicious. And the tea is traditional strong British black tea. We all feast our faces off, taking many pictures and sharing much love. We finish, satisfied, and exit back out into the Lanes, looking for adventure.
Through them we wander, looking in the various shop fronts, giggling and chatting, breaking off into two groups organically, as the other two suspect Amanda and I want to walk together. They are so very cute together, Mark and Laura. Like best friends they never knew they had until England. I see them laughing together, and I want them to get married and grow old together, being this happy forever. We end up at the edge of the Royal Pavilion, and decide to walk through it. The grounds are gorgeous and lush, people are playing or lounging in the grass, flowers have bloomed. It feels like a movie. I’m floating.
We walk to the edge, finding ourselves trapped, and backtrack out to the street, where we hop on the bus and head back up to Falmer. We’ve got 35 minutes before the office opens, so we lay around, chitchatting and wasting time. FIIIIINALLY, it’s time, so we run down, chat with the very nice gentleman working, and walk away with a very generic mattress. Victory tastes sweet. Back in the room, we cover it, blanket it, and get back to our chilling and chatting. Shortly after, a number of the others invite us to go on a walk with them. I give Amanda my puppy eyes, so we pull our shoes back on, and head out the door. Everyone meets at the edge of the flats, next to the tennis courts, where we hear about the fabled sheep that live on the hill behind the campus.
We head out, all of us walking and stumbling and trudging our way through the little bit of woodlands between the campus and the hills. The group includes Matt, Mark, Megan, Carli, Jen, Laura, Amanda, and myself. This group of kids is beautiful. Every single one of them is wonderful. They’re playful and kind and silly and they’ve made me feel welcome and a part of their group without reservation. I wish I could stay longer. We break from the trees to a fence and gate, which we step through, out onto a massive hill, stretching from my feet greenly towards the stark blue cloudless sky high above. I take a minute, caught in awe, but quickly dash back to Amanda, so as to not be left behind.
We climb to the top of the hill. Someone has taken some bigger rocks from around and spelled out SOS on the ground next to the solitary tree near the apex. For fun, I run around a bit like a biplane in World War 1. We get to the far end of this hill, and go through the gate to the next square of land, where a bunch of people are hanging out with their dogs and walking around. Amanda and I get tired, though, so we head back. We later find out they walk for five more hours, eventually making their way to downtown Brighton, before taking the bus home. Amanda and I walk back to the first hill, next to the tree, and we sit for a bit, soaking in the view. It’s breathtaking, and the more I look, the more emotional I become. I don’t know that I can accurately describe it through text, as a moment like this usually requires me rambling through broken metaphors and botched descriptions at length, but suffice to say, I cry. I look out over the valley, and Does Not Suffice floats softly through my brain. Amanda, who words cannot encompass, understands, and doesn’t say anything.
We just sit, and look, and know this will last forever, and then end forever.
After a while, we talk briefly and begin walking back. I consider hugging her, but I know that if I do, my tears will drown me, so we walk in silence until we reach the first gate, and walk back through the woods. We discuss, within, how we want to raise our kids, and what kind of environment would be suitable. Through all the shit the two of us have been through, which, admittedly, is not a lot, I find myself continually shocked that we’ve ended up together. Our happenchance meeting online, our rough first relationship, my horrible double-dealings with Emma, the subsequent period of no contact, and now this: a sharing of purpose like my biology tells me it should be. A whole comfort within the vastly complex and infinitely subtle life and mind of another person. I can dig it.
Back at the flat, we eat some digestives, watch some Arrested Development, and enjoy the setting sun from her window.
Later, we cuddle. A simple bit of movement, a natural combination of bodies, a mirroring I’ve participated in my whole life. It’s not so much different with Amanda, physically, but it means something different. “A cup of kindess that we share with another. / A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother. / In all the places you find love it feels like Christmas.” Like that. We try sex, but it’s been a while, so the mechanics don’t work out quite right. It ends in laughter, though, laughter and groaning.
I know, as I fall asleep on the mattress on the floor next to Amanda. But I don’t mind. I pull the corner of the blanket a little farther towards my head, and go to sleep happy.
