Supine 'til Aurora • Dan Howell

• Chapter 20 •

Before I had time to blink, I was back at home, hastily instructing 10 people, all dressed in thick green polo shirts and brown khaki pants, on what to carry to where and how to stack things into their massive green lorry with a white house pasted on the side of it. They were the moving company I'd hired to transport my belongings to London.

They bustled around my small apartment, hoisting heavy boxes down the 3 flights of stairs, 4 people attempting to wrangle my bed frame down there, too, clunking it's heavy metal into the walls, and scraping it down the paintwork.

The apartment was being cleared little by little, leaving almost no remnants of any previous tenant having lived with these walls, except the blue stain left on the living room carpet that had splurged across it when I had accidentally dropped a tube of paint when doing an art project (I soon learn to do my homework outside), and the left over food objects in the kitchen; these were the few remaining items of my life here.

"So you're moving to London?" One of the men tried to strike up conversation with me, much to my dismay. I was exhausted, not just from a previously awful nights sleep, but from conducting everyone around like they were a clueless orchestra for 2 hours, and I wasn't in the mood to attempt to uphold a conversation with this stranger.

"Yeah," I sighed, watching him take hold of another wooden box, "-yeah, I got a job out there."

Quickly, I adjusted myself against the wall where I was leaning as he turned to face me.
"Oh that's cool, what's the job?" He grinned, widely, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

"Im joining a design team- for magazine covers and modelling work, and stuff like that." I smiled, wearily.

"That's amazing." He beamed again, placing the box down onto a separate pile, then standing back up and running his hands through his hair.
A pang of excitement shot through my stomach as I thought about Dan, and how much he also ran his hands through his hair; and how soon I'd be seeing him. Time seemed to slip away so quickly, it didn't feel like the days had gone by at all. The fact that the day I was leaving was coming up this quickly seemed like such a foreign and terrifying idea.

"Yeah, I think so too." I shot him an awkward half smile as he continued the obviously tense and uncomfortable conversation.

"I'm originally from London, but I moved here for university, and now I'm fluent in Finnish."

"That's cool."

"So; I'm guessing you're from London?"

I raised my eyebrows, slightly taken aback at the assumption he'd made.

I hummed, "Uh- no. I'm from Finland. My mother was English so she ensured that I knew how to speak it fluently; but my father is Finnish, so I was around both languages growing up."

He nodded, "That's awesome. I wish my parents had spoken another language around me, too. I had to learn it before I moved here."

Slowly, I broke out into a grin, trying not to be awkward. He spoke to me for a few minutes more, then, sensing that the conversation was pretty much over, I padded into my bedroom, deciding to check through my suitcase, as something productive to do.

Obviously, I wanted to pack minimally, mainly just toiletries, electronics and chargers, and an extra set of clothes, just in case.
When I was 12, I went to Florida with my family, and before reaching the airport, we got caught in a horrific storm that pelted down for 5 minutes before ceasing, leaving us all drenched. Long story short, we had to sit on the plane, soaking wet. Since then, I've always carried a spare set of clothes to the airport.

Quickly, I shifted through the the various items in my bags, checking and double checking that I had absolutely everything that I needed. I didn't want to arrive and find out I had lost something.
Slotting my passport into the zip up pocket on the inside of my bag, I stood back up, patting myself off, and turning around, glancing at a man who was trying to lift my set of wooden drawers on his own.