Grey's Journal:
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I was terribly nervous waiting for the plane bringing my girlfriend from the U.S. We hadn't seen each other in three months. Perhaps even more importantly, we had both acquired new glasses during our time apart. New glasses are a big event for a geek couple. I had a list of worries I kept running over. I worried she wouldn't recognize me. I worried we wouldn't find each other at the airport. I worried she wasn't on the plane. Everyone coming through customs who was short and carrying a great deal of luggage set off my girlfriend detector. I had fifty false positives before I found the real thing. I chose a seat behind the entrance so she didn't see me when she came in. I don't know why, but after all the time apart, I wanted a moment to see her unobserved. I took my pink roses and headed to the meeting area. She stopped and scanned the crowd. Our eyes met. I smiled. And then... She continued searching the crowd. I had a moment where I wasn't sure if she failed to identify me... or vice versa. Eventually her eyes returned to me. She smiled back. We embraced, and there was much snogging. Our first words after months apart were “I like your glasses.” * * *
`Darby' and I follow the couple ideal that the female must be one academic year younger than the male. I know not why the universe works this way, I just follow the rules. That being so, she is still in college. I'm now dating 'a college girl', the phrase makes me feel that we are much farther apart. Darby wasn't stopping by Europe just to see me. London was on her way to a semester abroad in Prague. She brought along a Lonely Planet phrase book to help her learn Czech. Lonely Planet covers every conceivable contingency. It include useful phrases like: “I'm a heroine addict. Can you tell me where to find clean needles?” and “What do you think of the current government's policy on nuclear power?” She was delighted. By the way, her name isn't Darby. It's Sarah. I never liked the way her name sounded coming out of my mouth. Growing up on Long Island, I developed more of a nasal accent than I cared to. The double-flat `a' sounds in Sarah, I felt, brought out the worst. One day, for no particular reason, I rechristened her Darby. She wasn't pleased with the name, but I had made a decision. There was no turning back. Incidentally, she doesn't call me Grey, but I'm not sharing her pet name for me with you. It's from Harry Potter, and that's all you're getting. * * *
Right off the plane, Darby's
voice changed.
She had been preparing for this moment. Knowing that British accents give women a +50% attractive modifier in my book, she set herself to the task of acquiring one. Unbeknownst to me, she spent her summer listening to BBC international radio broadcasts. Unbeknownst to her, it was BBC Ireland. So for the extent of her stay, I was treated to what sounded like a mixture of American, Irish, British, and Cockney. It was really quite horrifying, but the effort was endearing. In addition, words that had been perfectly acceptable for the first twenty-one years of her life, she threw away with reckless abandon. Gone were “bathroom, excuse me, elevator, and pants.” In were “loo, pardon, lift, and trousers.” She didn't stop there. Not satisfied to use the standard British names for money, she switched from 'pounds' and 'pence' to their slangy equivalents, 'quid' and 'p', as soon as she heard them. In two days, she was using more British-isms than I will in two years. However, I did have her beat in one linguistical area: volume. She hadn't yet acquired the natural quietness of the Europeans. I spent the first month in London feeling like I was yelling at everyone. The natural volume of my Long Island voice was several times louder than the Brits. But I eventually got the habit of removing the projection from my voice and speaking in a civilized tone. Darby hadn't gotten it yet. When I went to college in upstate New York, I thought all the locals (Girlfriend included) were a quiet bunch. They never seemed to get loud like the Long Islanders. Now, this girl who I had previously regarded as soft spoken, seemed to be the loudest person for miles around. * * * I hate being a tourist. I feel like I'm wearing a shirt that says “I'm here to look at YOU.” I've always done my best to fit in even when the odds were stacked against me. I think I've done a good job acculturating in London. But when Darby was around, I stuck out again. “Would you stop pointing at everything?” she begged on more than one occasion. According to Darby, my pointing is no subtle act. It's a huge, arm-fully-extended, sweeping gesture. The kind where people duck out of the way. I had no idea I was even doing it. It embarrassed her, but she might as well have asked me to 'stop blinking like that' for all the power I had to control it. But, as Rita Rudner says, love is finding that special someone you like to annoy. She got me back by breaking the prime male commandment: Thou Shalt Not Ask For Directions. “I want to have some tea,” she said while we were in the London Tower. “Do you know any good local places?” She forgot for a moment who I am. When I failed to give a satisfactory answer by responding "Does Pizza Hut have tea?", she asked a man dressed in medieval armor to suggest a place. I, filled with embarrassment, walked as far away as reasonably possible, pretended I had nothing to do with the cute brunette I was just talking to, and became immensely interested in fixing the straps on my backpack. “Grey!” she yelled after a few moments, “Wellington Alexander Grey from the United States of America! Stop pretending you don't know me and come get directions to a tea shop!” Well, that might not be exactly what she said, but that's sure what it felt like. To her credit, we did have tea that afternoon. * * *
I have a habit of making bets with Darby on just about everything. For example, she was talking about how the European Union money is different sizes so the blind can tell the bills apart. “Just like the British money,” she added. “No it's not,” I said. I have been living in London for two months now and I was sure that the notes were uniform in size. “British bills are different sizes” she reiterated. “No way.” And then I added, “Wanna bet?” Darby and I have been through this many, many times. Nonetheless, I have yet to learn that when I disagree with her I should take the confidence in my answer as evidence I'm completely wrong. She always wins. I pulled out my wallet, but I don't need to tell you the results. * * *
Overall, Darby liked London, but she was disappointed when it didn't match up with the Paddington Bear books. I didn't know how to respond to that. After five days that were far too short, I took her to the Stansted Express to start her own adventures in Prague. Leave a comment, send an email or join my
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Copyright © 2003 Wellington Grey  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License. |
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