Finley
"You look like hell," I tell Max when he finally gets to the train station. He stares at me through bloodshot eyes and yawns.
"Remind me why we decided to go to London today?" he asks as we get in line to buy tickets.
"Well, we planned it before you got your hangover," I say. He grunts.
We pay for our tickets and join the crowd of people on the platform, waiting for our train to St. Pancras.
"St. Pancras, Max," I say. "The St. Pancras. Harry Potter and the flying car St. Pancras."
"I know. I know," he interrupts, putting up a hand. "And I promise that once I get a little more sleep on the train and some food, I'll freak out with you. Just...stop squealing."
"I'm a man. I don't squeal," I protest.
"Well, it sounded like squealing," he groans, rubbing his temple.
"See," I say. "This is why I don't drink."
"Oh, shut up."
We spend the train ride in silence, Max dozing with his head on his arms on the table between us. I watch the English countryside and tiny stations scroll past while I start writing my second blog post. Not a whole lot has happened since I posted my first one on Tuesday night, but I can at least talk about the first week social last night, hanging out and making plans with Elly and Harlyn. And I can try to describe how much I already love it here.
Halfway through a paragraph, a text pops down from Harlyn himself. We texted for almost half an hour last night before I crashed. I apologized for leaving him hanging when I woke up this morning. It doesn't surprise me that he's getting back to me almost three hours later.
Harlyn:
No don't worry. It really was late. Or...early actually.
Me:
Yeah. And we're on our way to London this morning. Wanted to get some sleep in.
I almost add "after I knew you were home safe," but I don't. I don't need him knowing I stayed up past when I would have gone to bed last night to make sure he didn't call me to help with Elly. It was stupid. I wouldn't have been of any help.
Harlyn:
That's right. Hope you have fun.
We're pulling into what I assume is St. Pancras, so I text back a quick thanks before shaking Max awake. We both exit the train, slowly taking it in. I feel like I'm in an airport hangar, staring at the curved metal beams that soar over our heads and the red brick wall that rises to our left. Max spots a few food places past the platforms, and we stop at a cafe so he can buy some croissants and a bottle of water.
We pickup Oyster cards for the underground and find our way to the front of the station, gawking like idiots at the famous exterior where the flying car scene from Harry Potter was filmed. I take a picture, trying not to look too touristy but definitely failing.
We don't have much of a plan today. Well, that's not entirely true. I always have to have a bit of a plan, for my sanity. We know there's no way we'll cover all of London in a day. I couldn't cover London in a lifetime. And we know we're going to see some of the touristy things on our field trips. So, we decided to just be in London today, take it in. We find the Underground station, and I'm immediately obsessed. There's not much public transportation in rural Illinois, none in Lacon. I've ridden the L train in Chicago, but this is different.
We're spit out by the Tower of London, and we wander around it, taking in the people, the old stone walls, and the moat. Max pouts about wanting a castle and a moat, looking much better after having eaten and hydrated. We walk across Tower Bridge next, and Max lists as many movies as he can that have Tower Bridge in them. I'm sure there are hundreds. As we walk along the Thames, I glimpse bits of iconic buildings and landmarks. St. Pauls' Cathedral. Globe Theater. The London Eye. We've been walking for two hours when we finally hit the massive Ferris wheel - can you even call it a Ferris wheel? - and we're starving. So, we find a cafe after gawking at Big Ben for far too long.
Halfway into a sandwich, I check my phone.
Harlyn:
Say hi to the queen for me.
I grin.
"Who's that?" Max asks, drawing out the words slyly.
I know I won't get anything past him, but I try to hide my smile anyway before answering. "Just Harlyn."
His eyes light up, but I change the subject before he can say anything else, pulling up the last two stops we absolutely want to hit before heading home. It's a much shorter trip than I was hoping for, but my feet already hate me. And I know that the rest of the walking we're going to do today will put me down for the count tomorrow.
"I didn't realize we were so close to Buckingham Palace," I say, zooming in on our location and the Palace, which is just down The Mall, a massive road that leads to the front gates. "It'll only take about fifteen minutes."
"Oh good. My feet are killing me," Max says, sipping the last of his soda noisily.
"Kensington Palace is, like, forty five minutes, though." Max groans. "We could find a Tube station. Or hit it another time."
He sighs. "No, it's ok. We came to see London, so we're going to see London. Let's go."
I finish my soda and follow him outside. It's remarkably not raining today, although it is cloudy and cold. Always cold. We make it to the gates of Buckingham Palace in less than fifteen minutes, probably because we're speed walking to stay warm.
I drink in every inch of black and gold gates and endless windows. And the famous balcony where the royal family does appearances. I snap a picture and send it to Harlyn with the caption She says hi back. He responds almost immediately, and I reread the text twice before poking Max and showing him. "Look at this."
Harlyn:
Actually, see the Union Jack flying? That means the queen isn't there. She's probably at Windsor castle.
"Ok, one, that is so cool," Max says. "And two, look at you flirting."
I roll my eyes. "I am not flirting." I take a picture of the massive statue in front of the gates and send it to Harlyn. "He is a wealth of knowledge. He can tell us cool things. See. I asked him who this lady is." I look up at the statue again, peering at an older lady who I assume must be a former queen. Or the current Queen? Is that what Queen Elizabeth looks like? I don't think so.
Harlyn:
That's queen Victoria. A very interesting lady.
Two links come with the text, one leading to an article about the statue itself and one to an article about Queen Victoria.
"Flirting in history speak," Max mutters, reading over my shoulder.
"Stop." I click into the article about Victoria. "Wow. She became queen at only eighteen after her uncle died. The first queen in a while. Well, like 'Queen' queen, not 'I married a king' queen."
"I got that," Max says.
"She married her first cousin?"
"Ew."
"It was true love, though, apparently. Had nine kids. He died at forty five. She was in mourning for the rest of her life."
Max puts his hands over his heart. "Aw."
He wanders away, but I keep skimming, fascinated by this woman I've only ever heard about in passing. Max eventually drags me away, around the side of the palace and on toward Kensington. I finally pocket my phone when we get about halfway across the sprawling expanse of Hyde Park. This deep into the park, I can't even hear the sounds of the city.
Kensington Palace is smaller, less grand. Well, at least from what we can see as we approach it. It's all red brick instead of tan. There's another statue of Queen Victoria outside, and when we enter, we discover that there's a whole exhibit about her set up. As we walk through the rooms that used to be hers as a child - the room where she was born, the room that holds her dollhouse and one of her dresses, the room where she met the men who told her she was queen - I get that feeling that Harlyn talked so excitedly about. The awe of walking in walls where she walked, where real people have walked for hundreds of years, is so -
Me:
Intoxicating.
Harlyn:
What?
Me:
Walking in the actual house of Queen Victoria. Seeing her actual dress and her actual dollhouse and where she actually stood the first time she saw her husband. Intoxicating.
Harlyn sends back a grinning emoji.
We take a long tube ride back to St. Pancras, standing the whole time. Max sleeps on the train home, too, this time with his head on my shoulder. And I can't help thinking that Mom is so wrong. Well, partly wrong. I did come here to study, to finish my degree. But I also came here to travel. And experience things. I came to be a different person than I was in Illinois. I came to get away from all of that. I think of Queen Victoria, eighteen and suddenly queen and alone in a room for the first time in her entire life. The freedom she must have felt. The fear. The uncertainty. I'm definitely not about to rule a country. But I feel like I'm on the edge of something amazing. I don't know what it is, and my anxiety is trying to convince me that it's too scary. But I push it down. It's not scary. It's exciting.
***
For the next week, I read everything I can about Queen Victoria. And I text Harlyn all of the weird things I learn. I can't help myself. Max gets a deluge, too, but there's something about Harlyn's history geek that comes through in his texts, and it eggs me on. He hasn't seemed bored or annoyed yet. He mentions that there's a new musical in the West End about her life, and I've never looked up tickets so fast. But they're sold out for months. Unless I want to spend a thousand dollars.
Max asks me who I'm texting every time, even though I know he knows who it is. I brush off his teasing, but I don't stop. Harlyn is easy to talk to. And by the time our cathedral trip rolls around on Friday morning, we've basically discussed Queen Victoria's entire life story.
I decide to keep my phone in my pocket the whole time I'm with Max so he can't give me that knowing look he's so good at. I meet him at a cool old clock tower next to a KFC and a Burger King on High Street. We've walked down High Street almost every day for the last two weeks, but I always spot something new. And it happens again as we make our way to the cathedral, when I realize that the post office is inside a bookstore. I almost stop in, but Max pulls me along, ducking onto a smaller street where the buildings seem to lean over us.
It empties into a small square, and there, the cathedral gates stand out against the shops surrounding them, ancient tan stone with elaborate carvings of shields and angels and who I assume is Jesus. We glimpsed the cathedral during our quick tour of the city we did as part of orientation, but I'm looking forward to actually going inside.
"Alright," Pip says once the rest of our class shows up. I turn from inspecting the war memorial in the center of the square, trying to spot her red hair over the heads of our classmates. "Everyone has their passes. We're going to meet the tour guide inside the gates. Let's go."
The group moves forward, streaming through the gates and toward the towering building. We meet a perky blonde guy, who I notice has a very nice face, and he starts the tour, taking us in through the main doors first. The tour guide moves us back toward the massive part of the cathedral. As he talks about the history of the cathedral, all the thousands of stories that have played out here, I stare at the towering columns and the granite memorial plaques and carvings on the walls and the stained glass. We move around the staircase that leads to the quire, and the tour guide stops.
"You learned about Thomas Beckett, right?" he asks. We all nod. It was the main focus of our Sites and Sights class this week, hence the trip to the cathedral. "Great. Well, I'll recap really quick. His fingerprints are all over this place."
He launches into the story. How Beckett was King Henry II's right hand man, his favorite advisor. How Henry thought he could get power over the church, too, by making Beckett the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope's connection in England. How he was made clergy faster than anyone. How Beckett fell in love with church service and told Henry that he couldn't be his advisor and the Archbishop. How he and Henry disagreed a lot. How Henry said offhand that he wanted to get rid of him. How some of his guards overheard, went to Canterbury and killed him in the cathedral. How Thomas Beckett refused to leave the cathedral, accepting his fate. And then he points to a spot at his feet.
"Right here," he says. "This is where he died." I feel a shiver run down my spine, thinking about Harlyn's story about this spot. "Beckett was made a saint. People were fascinated by his story. His body was kept on display for years right through there." He points behind him. "In the crypt, which we'll see next. People made pilgrimages to see him, praying to him for healing. Chaucer's Canterbury Tales is about a group of people traveling to Canterbury to seek healing. Even King Henry II himself came to the cathedral a few years later, walking the last few miles barefoot as penance."
As we move into the crypt, I pull out my phone and type a quick text to Harlyn.
Me:
Thomas Beckett death spot = Intoxicating.
"Who are you texting?" Max whispers, making me jump a bit. Dang it. I barely lasted twenty minutes. "Ah. Harlyn."
"Yeah. He just...he told me about Thomas Beckett when we were at the castle a couple weeks ago. I was just telling him we saw it." I pocket my phone.
Max narrows his eyes at me. "Ok." He pulls me to a stop, a few feet from the back of the group. "Come clean. You've been texting him almost nonstop since Saturday. You don't even text me that much." I start to apologize but he puts his hand up. "Don't. It's ok. We've never been texters. But with Harlyn?" He raises his eyebrows at me.
I let out a breath. "Ok. You're right. I'm in full on crush mode." I can't deny it anymore, not to myself and especially not to Max, who knows me better than anyone.
Max grins. "I knew it!" Pip clears her throat and gives us a glare over her shoulder. We shoot her apologetic looks and move to join the group again. Max bounces on the balls of his feet. "I knew it," he whispers.
"Yeah, shut up, ok?" I say. "I'm not exactly thrilled about this. We're still pretty sure he's super straight. And that's just, you know, a tiny snag."
"Yeah, but like, I'm so happy for you," Max says. "I can tell he makes you happy."
"He does," I admit. "We'll talk more about this later."
We finish in the crypt and move on, through the cloisters and the room with some of the oldest stained glass in the country. We hear the story of King Ethelbert and his wife who were converted to Catholicism. We see the statues of Queen Elizabeth and the current Archbishop, new stone against ancient above massive gates.
The tour ends, and our class goes their separate ways. But I linger in the courtyard, staring at the cathedral. Max stops beside me.
"You all good there, Fin?" he asks.
I nod and try to put into words what I've been trying to put into words all week. "There's just...there's something about this place. I can't put my finger on it."
"The cathedral?"
"Canterbury. England. All of it."
All of it. But all of what? I've always wanted to come to England. I've always wanted to travel. And England has definitely delivered. There's something new to see and do every day. The blog post I started on the way to London? It ended up being so long I almost split it into two parts - or at least made a whole post about Queen Victoria and another about how much I love public transportation.
I've always looked forward to the day I could finally move out of my house, when I could make it through a whole day without worrying about whether I'd told Mom where I was or checked in with Dad to make sure Bridget didn't need a ride somewhere. Two whole weeks of...freedom? But neither of those things feel like they completely encompass everything I feel being here.
As usual, it's like Max can read my mind. "Do you think...being away from your house has anything to do with it?"
"Probably," I say, tearing my eyes from the cathedral to look at him. "But it feels like more. I don't know."
He nudges me with his elbow. "You're thinking too much, Fin."
"I know," I laugh. "I haven't had, like, anxiety - I mean, I have. I have anxiety every day. But it's been calm...er. Calmer. And my brain wants an explanation for that. Why is my anxiety lower? What can I do to feel like this all the time?"
He turns me toward him, hands on my shoulders. "Stop thinking so much. Enjoy it."
I roll my eyes. "Right. Yes. I get it. Be in the moment."
"Good. Now let's get food. I'm starving."
We start walking back toward the center of town.
"By the way, I'm glad you're happy here, too. I'm glad you came along with me."
"Hey, I wanted to come. I didn't just tag along after you like a puppy," he says.
"But I was the one that suggested it," I remind him.
"Yeah, whatever." He smiles at me. "I'm glad you did. It's definitely been an experience."
I slap him on the back. "And we have two and a half more months to go."
He nods emphatically. "Yes. And on that subject, we have got to figure out what you're going to do about Harlyn. You can't exactly avoid him. I live with him. And we have at least the next five Saturdays planned with him and Elly."
"I also have a lecture with him every week," I say as we emerge onto High Street. "Thankfully, we're in different seminar groups, but we've already talked about studying together and comparing notes from the different discussions."
Max rolls his eyes. "You are in so much trouble. You better not mess this up. Harlyn said that he didn't get along with the last student they hosted, and it was awkward. I'd rather not make his life awkward. I like him."
"Thanks for that pressure," I say, trying to sound lighthearted but failing miserably.