"Do you think if I pushed Professor Collins off the roof of the psychology building, I'd still be able to walk at graduation?"
"I'm fairly certain that would earn you some type of disqualification, unfortunately. Points for creativity, though!" I smiled at my flatmate, watching as her dark eyebrows connected together, directing furious thoughts at her laptop screen. "He's an ugly old goat who hates me and just wants me to suffer," she said viciously.
"I thought you said he hated everyone?" I asked conversationally, shifting my own position amid books and various documents on the couch.
"Well, he does," she affirmed, gathering her black corkscrew curls at the base of her neck and securing them with an extra-jumbo binder clip, albeit haphazardly. "Who else would set an end of term reflection this difficult? If he doesn't pass me, I might have to light his toupee on fire."
I smirked, returning my focus back to my own computer, "Go get 'em, Ellen. Make sure you eat breakfast first though; I don't know about the food in prison."
"With you as my legal counsel, I'll be out of there before they could say cockles and laverbread." I snorted, "Sure."
Ellen launched a pillow at me from her spot behind the coffee table. It missed my head, but only just. "Moo, I swear, if you don't think after all of this work that you'll be the most kickass lawyer,I'll beat you over the head with a stick myself."
I sighed, saved my work, and ran a hand over my face. "It's not me you'd have to aim the stick at."
"I'll hit them too, one at a time."
Months of pressure and uneasy feelings left in a raucous laugh."That, that I would pay to see!"
Both chuckling heartily, we returned to our respective laptops, each attempting to beat the clock on our nine a.m. deadlines.
Ellen had been my rock for the last 3.5 years. She knew when I needed a laugh, when I needed to be reminded to live a little (which was all the time). She was wild, outspoken, and one of the least judgmental people I'd ever met. The two of us had crossed paths in the dining hall of all places, the first week of classes. I'd walked in, constantly looking over my shoulder and skittish. Miraculously, I didn't drop my tray when I sat down by myself, closest to the exit. Ellen had appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to me. "You look like you need a friend," was all she'd said. It was as simple as that for her: see a need, fill it. I didn't know what I'd do without her after graduation. My time in Cardiff was coming to a close so quickly, and I was terrified that with it came the end of the first friend that had ever loved me for who I truly was.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to refocus on my paper, fixing a few typos before reading it over one last time. I sighed, this would have to do.Pressing submit, I watched my last vestige of freedom float off into the netherspace. Mouth pressed in a thin line at the thought, I snapped my computer closed and stood. "Coffee, El?"
"Yes, please," she intoned, not glancing up from whatever diatribe she was on.
In the kitchen, I took a few deep breaths and turned on the coffee pot. I could do this. I could leave Cardiff, leave Ellen, and do what I had promised. Couldn't I?
My phone's ringer jarred me free of those consuming thoughts. Leaning against the counter, I fished it out of my jumper pocket.
"Yes, Louise?"
"Mum says I can't come tomorrow. James can't either."
"I shouldn't expect so, they're just looking out for you." My ten-year old sister heaved a heavy sigh, " I just want to see you, you've been away so long."
"I know, I know," I muttered, frowning. "But I'll be home soon. I promise we'll go and do something when I'm back,okay?"
She laughed, and I could hear piano keys tinkling in the music room. My heart gave a painful squeeze; she had to truly miss me to spend time with the piano. Usually, given the choice, she would be outside running, or playing some sport. That is, if mother would let her. I moved around the kitchen while she played whatever discordant melody that came to mind.Knowing that she needed me, I'd stay on the line as long as I could. Using the time, I filled two mugs full of coffee, and fixed Ellen's just how she liked it: black, two spoons raw sugar. Mine, on the other hand, was steamed milk and no sugar.
"Are you scared?" Louise finally asked, keys silencing. I thought about lying to her, telling her that no, I was I was perfectly fine. But then, I thought about the pact we six had made five years ago: to always be transparent with one another. Always, no matter what.
"I am terrified, Louise. But my feelings don't matter, you know that."
She grunted, low and dissatisfied. "Promise me we'll eat ice cream in daddy's study when you get back."
"I promise," I answered, cutting a laugh down swiftly as it bubbled forth. Father would have a cow.
My thoughts occupied, a scream tore from my lungs at deafening pops and bangs outside the kitchenette window. I felt, rather than saw the mugs clatter to the tile floor. Hot liquid pooled at my feet, but I didn't care. Instead, I skid down the cabinets, heartbeat going ten thousand miles an hour, eyes unfocused.
Almost instantly, the bathroom door was wrenched open, and my second flat mate emerged. He took one glance at me, then over to my right , and promptly steamrolled out the front door.
"Rose..Rosie.." Someone's cool hands were smoothing the hair back from my slick forehead. "Moo,you're okay. Everything is alright." Slowly, my eyes focused again, and Ellen appeared, her worried gaze scanning my face for anything, anything at all.
"I'm sorry about the coffees," I murmured, sucking in air through my teeth. My friend snorted gaily, "Well, I'm awake now,so no worries!"
She waited patiently, breathing in measure with me until the front door slammed again.
" We're clear, just some happy graduates shooting firecrackers off." Running a hard through his wet hair, our third roommate inclined his head towards us, and then left to return to his bathroom, where, by the looks of things, he had been brushing his teeth.
"You know, in four years, he hasn't gotten any less stony," Ellen commented, heaving me from the floor. "You'd think my rousing wit would have made some impact."
Laughing, I glanced in the direction he had left. "I don't think rousing is in his vocabulary, El."
"One can hope."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I believe a place knows when you are leaving it. There's a mournful, heavy silence from the walls, dust gathering, glittering in the corner of you eye. The photos, the mementos shine with just a hint of sadness that you can't quite put your finger on. My room didn't feel like mine anymore, just a space where someone like me might once have lived, and someone like me might live again. The thought was sobering, creeping up my spine like a snake. Packing wasn't meant to be this dreadful, was it? Feeling like a stranger in a place you had called home? I moved slowly, unpinning the photographs from the walls, packaging them lovingly inside a box of their own. Memories for another time, a later time.
A voice called from the doorway. "Alright, Madame Mopey, stow the mood and get dressed!"
I turned, finding Ellen standing with her hands on her hips, eyeing me sternly.
"For...?"
"We're going out. It's your last night in Wales, and I'll be damned if you sit up here resigning yourself to the future. We're going to dinner, and then meeting the boys down at The Ernest Willows for a few pints."
I gaped, "When did you... did you ask..?"
"Yes," she cut me off, striding to my wardrobe and flinging the doors open. "I can be quite sneaky when I choose. Now, pick something to wear, something that says 'I have arrived, and I'm magical'."
The early evening atmosphere around the university was my favorite. Students laughing, lovers cavorting, brisk sea air floating in from off the bay. Warmth radiated from open pubs and shops like a beating heart, dancing to a samba. You could inhale grit, and exhale comfort. That was Cardiff, for me. It was, almost, like home. A home I had chosen for myself, not one decided by others.
Carefully,I steered out of the path of two giggling, half-drunk friends, crossing unevenly down the sidewalk.
Not surprisingly, Ellen had booked dinner at my favorite restaurant in the city. It was a bit further from the campus, and made the most wonderful Welsh food I had ever tasted. The owner welcomed us in with a smile, and showed us to our usual table, one looking out at the happy, hazy streets, furthest from the front entrance. Ellen had picked this table out on one of our first visit here, calling it the "best view of the downtown block". She was right, subjectively of course, about the view. I also knew she had chosen the table for me. It was far in the back, for when I had been fidgety, anxious and panicked, four long years ago.
Now, it served as more of a habit than anything else. We'd been here so many times that the host had taken to immediately leading us back to the table when we entered with out a word, provided it was available.
"You know," Ellen mentioned conversationally, cutting into her sausage, "if you really think about it, there's nothing stopping me from stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you home with me after graduation."
I snorted, and felt the wine in my mouth travel upward into my nasal passage. Coughing, I gingerly placed the glass back down and wiped my mouth self-consciously. "Ellen, that is quite possibly the sweetest, yet stupidest thing I have ever heard you say."
"Miss Roberts, that would be extremely unwise," McTavish intoned softly from the set across from me. He was like this all the time, decidedly stoic, stern and unfazed. My best friend just grinned. "What? You think I haven't learned some serious ninja skills over the past few years, Spook Man? I do live with you, you know."
McTavish just shook his head, and for a rare moment, the edges of his mouth quirked up. "I'd really hate to put you in a headlock."
"That sounds like fun," Ellen responded, blinking her eyes heavily at him. She could do so only a few moments before she and I both exploded in hysterics. I knew this was her way of needling him a few final times, her seemingly favorite pastime.
We had been in the restaurant for about an hour or so, chatting and laughing, when the front door to the establishment opened and someone walked in, accompanied by a ruckus of noise and movement from the pavement outside. Curious, all three of us paused and peeked around the booth to see what was going on. Four gentlemen were speaking to the host, and I knew them in an instant. Of course I did. After all, it was difficult not to, seeing as how their faces were plastered all over magazines, billboards and the internet. Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Harry Styles and Liam Payne (better know together as One Direction) were laughing, but also looking behind them at the crowd on the street somewhat unsettlingly. It clicked after a moment that they must have a concert in Cardiff at some point, either tonight or otherwise. There could be no other reason for them to be in the city. Sighing, I put down my fork and folded my napkin. "Shit," I mumbled.
Ellen was already gathering her purse, and hoisting on her shoulder, and walking the distance to our waiter to pay the check in person, saving him the trip to our table. McTavish's hands was at my elbow, directing me to stand. "Come on," he whispered, his tone steely. "We've got to go, right now."
"And I was so hoping to finish my potatoes," I stated, rising. McTavish just looked exasperated at my small attempt of humor. "Now," he repeated, terser than before.
I could see why with one glance towards the front of the restaurant. The members of the band were following their waiter further into the restaurant, and closer our table. Great. I turned to follow McTavish letting him shield my view of the front of the restaurant, and thus blocking anyone else's view of me. It was a good thing too, because as the boys got closer, I could swear the windows were ablaze with camera flashes, or the red blink of a recording device. Together, McTavish and I navigated around the tables of diners, and toward the kitchen doors. He moved briskly, assured of every step. Occasionally, he would glance down at me, but his focus was on the best, most efficient way out of the restaurant and away from the commotion. I, on the other hand, moved mechanically, sadly. How many times had I had to do this while at university? I had been pleased to count less than ten, with the last incident at least a year in the past. This just seemed like a harbinger of the future, reminding me just how much my life wasn't my own. We made it to the kitchen doors when I chanced a look underneath McTavish's arms towards the new arrivals. Their gazes were trained on our moving form, curiosity evident in their eyes. I could guess that they knew when someone was being secreted out, being accustomed to such security procedures themselves at one time or another. I caught eyes with them for a moment, shooting the group a small, tight smile before my view was obscured and my living wall and I went through to the kitchen.
Swiftly, I was guided through the bustling kitchen. McTavish ignored all the strange looks shot his way by the staff, and cleared a path to the emergency exit door at the other end of the stoves, his hand a mere breath from the small of my back. In less than fifteen seconds, Welsh sea air hit my face, and we were out on the street. After a breath, McTavish asked, "Ernest Willow, right?"
I turned, tucking a stray blonde hair from my face, ignoring the movement of McTavish's right hand from the back of his waistband. "Yep."
It took us maybe ten minutes to get to the pub, taking back paths away from the restaurant, neither of us speaking, McTavish was to busy scanning the surroundings and mutely directing our route. When the varnished wood of the pub came into view, I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated feeling like I was sneaking around. It was unnerving and made me feel like a curiosity rather than a person. Ellen was waiting for us at the edge of the door, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked like she had been waiting on us all night. "Good job on the escape route, the front was so packed, I felt like a salmon swimming the wrong way up the river. Plus, I think my eardrums are busted from all that screaming." She stepped forward when I reached her, and enveloped me in a hug. "Cute, though..huh, Moo?' she said into my ear, and came away grinning. I smacked her arm, "Shut up. We'd better get in there or Trent and Michael will give us hell for being late."
We entered the pub arm in arm, with McTavish taking his usual seat at the bar and falling into conversation with a graduate student friend of his. "Hey, the Trouble Twins are here!" someone called, and a small localized cheer came up from our friends, from a few round tables that they had commandeered. Ellen just rolled her eyes and plopped down on an empty stool next to Trent. "Shut up, stupid," she retorted, fondly.
"For Miss Rose Wesse, lawyer extraordinaire," Michael said, pushing a pint of beer across the table toward me, "and one for Ellen Roberts, psychological pain in my ass." I laughed, taking a swig. "Brave man, Michael West, she will kill you."
Ellen smiled deviously, "Slowly and deliberately, of course."