Love at Spain's Iron Cross

1 - Jordan

1

Jordan

Sunday, May 2, 2010 - London

"Vat are you writing?"

Jordan blinked awake in response to the German-sounding accent. He gazed at the woman as she set down her glass of white wine. She had moved onto the empty barstool next to him. She looked overdressed, with a tasteful black silk blouse and matching skirt cut above the knees, spaghetti straps showing bare shoulders, and just a hint of cleavage. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, parted down the middle, and framed deep brown eyes on a face so white it was like she had never felt the sun. No freckles, yet fit. He was too dazzled to think that she probably got her exercise indoors. She wore lots of gold: large hoops on each ear, several bracelets on both arms, and a tasteful necklace, but no rings.

He felt a jolt. This woman was drop-dead gorgeous.

*****

Just an hour before, Jordan Everest had entered the London restaurant near his tourist hotel. He'd sat at its bar, wishing he was still taking Prozac. While he sipped a mug of beer, Jordan worried about his knee, his book, and his mental health. He faced writer's block, unsure how to begin his novel.

Soon he was due to start a two months-long walking pilgrimage, concerned if his knee had healed from last month's minor surgery. A recent soccer mishap caused the problem. The procedure was a tiny arthroscopic repair to the meniscus, the surface that acted as a shock absorber, but left him with some doubt about its strength. And when he pondered those concerns he felt the recurring urge to swallow some anti-depressants.

I could tell my doctor that I just need another prescription to get me started on the trip. A short-term fix would make this pain go away, even for one day, but Prozac takes some time before it kicks in. Should I start using it again?

Jordan was tempted but had promised that he would not do so. The pills had gone from being a useful treatment to becoming a dangerous crutch.

He glanced at the plastic menu with bright blue eyes above a nose that was scarred and slightly misshapen, an imperfection that raised a question about his past, but didn't reduce his overall looks much. He had the slender form of an endurance athlete and was tall, maybe 6' 3", perhaps 180 pounds. Some who saw him wondered about his ancestry, thinking Brazilian, Greek, or Arab, but none of those was close to being accurate. Jordan looked like he was daydreaming, but internally he felt overwhelmed.

"Something to eat, mate?" The server, whose name tag said Mitch, seemed friendly enough but busy, hovering in a way that indicated he wouldn't wait long for an answer. The restaurant's bar, a large enclosed rectangle, was nearly full. Plenty of other customers wanted a refill or a bite.

Some protein and fries would go well with a pint, and I hear Mom's voice telling me to eat some greens.

"Fish and chips, Mitch, with the side salad. Thanks." Having left his laptop at home to reduce his backpack's weight, Jordan pulled a notebook from his pocket, ready if he became inspired. I don't know what to write. He hadn't expected to just get back in the swing of things like nothing had happened, but this...

It's like I've no clue. Dammit, why doesn't it come to me?

He winced, showing the anguish he felt within.

Mitch brought the food. Jordan took a bite of the fried fish and munched some chips, noting how much he preferred their thickness to American fries. The batter flaked off of the fish in his mouth, practically melting on his tongue, tasting much better than he had hoped. He washed it all down with another swig of beer. No ideas emerged, but at least the food tasted good. He touched the scar on his nose, feeling the bend in the cartilage beneath the stitched skin, remembering the soccer collision that simultaneously caused his first knee injury in college. Now he had another knee problem, a more recent one but also from soccer. He rubbed just below his knee, feeling the tenderness at the point of the incision. It felt like that of an old man, even though he was but 29. Jordan rolled his neck, stretched his back, and yawned.