One solitary girl. A grown up girl, granted, but a girl who feels like a child the majority of the time.
and off I went to the big city. The prospect of the 8 or 9 hour journey wasn't at all daunting. With a very modest bag in hand I arrived ludicrously early for the coach. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach I sensed the churning of nerves but I pushed the fear aside in favour of excitement. Sitting on what seemed to be a refrigerated seat, I clutched at my phone to update every social networking site known to man....this was little me on a big adventure. I've made the same journey a great many times you realise, only this time it was different. Was he going to stand me up and leave me weeping miserably in a packed tube station? Or would he honour his word and kick start the next chapter of my artistry. As expected, the journey had its drama, with broken toilets, broken heaters and crying children to contend with but I just sat in my own little bubble of amazement. I took in every single moment and made sure that every pore absorbed the memory.
On nearing London, the familiar sights and occurrences presented themselves with welcome zest. I read the signs....Baker Street, Oxford Street......anything that would fuel my eagerness and reinforce my decision to go. By the time the coach drew to a halt my heart was racing so fast I thought it might burst through my chest. This is when the 'strut' occurred. The 'strut' would be my casual stroll in an effort to prove that I blend in and to dissipate unwanted attention; it fails horrifically. After circling the same shopping centre three times I realise that the nerves have caused complete disorientation. By the time I make it to the tube I am boiling hot and flustered and wondering how I will get to Brixton without passing out.
This is when it gets exciting...
Suddenly I am there. I'm at Brixton. I'm there - yes I'M AT BRIXTON! So I pause......I pause, light a cigarette with hands that tremble sporadically and I think. By thinking, I mean that my internal voice of reason said 'oh fuck oh fuck'. There was no possible reason for this randomness, only the harsh reality of what I was doing smacked me right in the face. I gingerly picked up the phone and walked as I talked.
Every step I took I felt like the wind was being pumped out of me, pure adrenalin I assume.
and there he was, smiling.
It's at moments like this I'd love to be able to slap myself round the face. How do you react when the unreachable is suddenly in reach? He looked exactly as I recalled. Smiling, friendly, casual, pretty and most importantly, he looked like the sweetheart I had imagined he was. Now don't get me wrong, it may sound pitifully soppy but that's what you do in a blog or a diary right? I have to make everything sound fluffy and sugary! But it is true. I saw his little face standing nervously and immediately decided that any man who didn't let me down after all this must be worth the journey. Just writing this I get goose pimples because it's so damn exciting! The second he put his arms round me and asked me if I was ok I knew the decision was easily justified, this was a friend for life.
I've said this a lot this weekend but the weird thing is that none of it was weird.
We went to his house and I met his flatmate who was very warm and welcoming. To my delight, there was a cat (I don't trust people who dislike animals). We went upstairs and after his many apologies for the 'mess' I sat down on the bed, laid back and closed my eyes. He did the same. That's how time stood still a while - odd isn't it? Lying on strangers' beds! But it didn't feel anything like strange.
Nights pass too soon and before I knew it my eyes were closing without a definitive plan for what to do next - and I needed this performance to happen so much! Then I realised exactly what we needed to do. Then we agreed what we had to do. Then we got excited about what we are going to do and I just might burst I'm so pleased about it. Tess James and Rich Kightley are going to collaborate on a beautiful piece of performance art about the merging of souls. Who'd have thought it? The trouble with this kind of work is the inevitable emotional connections you make to people. I'm not in the habit of showing emotions in public, nor am I soppy or romantic or flighty or anything of that sort. Yet it was me who allowed myself to stand in the coach station sobbing like a baby. It was me who gazed into those piercing eyes like a fool and clutched onto his jacket for dear life. It might have looked stupid but it so did not matter. He cried. I cried. There is no possible explanation I can offer for my behaviour. Goodbyes tear me apart at the best of times but leaving London, especially when I now know that it is home to someone so dear to me, was very hard to take.
I take much comfort in the knowledge that this is an emergence of something fresh and exciting and not at all an end to anything. I feel so blessed that I had the chance to do this. Everyday life has rumbled back in, but this time it has more energy bubbling beneath the surface.
Tess is very happy indeed.
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