Downstairs, off the large lounge, was a snack shop. I ordered a burger and fries with a Coke. And sat at a table wishing I had a phone to—I don’t know—check Instagram, look at a map, anything—know what the date was.
Did I mention how badly this sucked?
I ate by myself and then remembered about the copy of my passport. I went to the lobby and waited in a queue of three travelers who stared and whispered.
A young woman with long dreadlocks was working the counter. Her brows furrowed when it was my turn. “Honey, you are a terrible mess,” she said in a thick French accent, emphasizing every word as if I hadn’t known. “A boy did this to you?”
“Um yeah, I’m a guest and—”
“It couldn’t have been a French boy, they would never. It was what kind of boy?”
“British.”
She said, “Of course.” She shook her head sadly, a little knowingly.
“I wanted to make sure that a copy of my passport was emailed last night?”
The girl held up a piece of paper, studied it and then me. “I can not believe it, this is you?”
I nodded.
She raised her brows and exhaled slowly. “A nice boy will not make your face this way.” She squinted, as if that was Wise and Important and I needed to Let it Sink In. Sunk, thank you. She added, “This note came with it.”
It was a hand-scratched in Dad’s familiar scrawl:
Sid,
We’re working on a solution, hold tight.
Love you, Dad
I read it again and again. Tears rolling down my cheek.
One Hundred Ten
Sid
I tried to sit tight. The lounge was bustling with activity. Plenty of distractions, but the more I thought about it the more I knew—I had to go get my stuff. I knew it. But I was scared.
So instead I read a magazine article about the pros and cons of the UK leaving the EU and then stared into space. The day was almost done, the windows were darkening. Sunset. I had let the day go by without coming up with a solution, but that was because there wasn’t one.
Except going to Gavin’s.
He would probably apologize. I could get my things and bring them here. That was the only thing that made sense. What else was I waiting for, because what could Teddy do, what could my dad do? I was halfway around the world, by myself, and I had to fix this mess I was in.
I had to go to Gavin’s. Deal with—
My attention was drawn to the lobby.
I listened, there was a voice that—
I cocked my head. That voice sounded just like Teddy. Weird.
I stood up and picked my way around the furniture and pillows and suitcases and sprawled people to the doorway of the lobby. It was full. Travelers stood and milled and queued, but through the crowd, across the room, there was someone at the counter—pulling his wallet from his pocket—from the back he looked just like Teddy and—
“Teddy?”
He tossed his passport to the counter and turned, “Sid! Oh God.”
He pushed through the crowd to get to me. “Oh no, Sid.” He put hands on both sides of my face, “Oh no.”
I fell to his chest and his arms went around. I cried. I cried hard. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by strangers, with absolutely no dignity, I sobbed into the front of Teddy’s shirt.
He ran his hand down the back of my hair. “God, I didn’t know it was so bad Sid, I didn’t know.” He peeled my head off his chest and studied my wounds. “Shit Sid, that’s bad, I’m so sorry. What did the doctors say?”
I sniffled. “They said I would get better, so that’s good.”
His arms tightened around me. “Yeah, that’s good. Yeah, it’s going to be okay.” He nodded, his jaw rubbing up and down in my hair and for the first time in hours and hours I thought maybe it was going to be okay. Using the bottom hem of my giant green shirt I wiped my tears and then my nose.
Teddy asked, “Um, can you tell this room full of glaring strangers I wasn’t the one who did this to you?”
I laughed a tearful laugh, nodded and said loudly, “Everybody, this is not the guy who kicked my ass, this is my friend from home.”
That seemed to suffice, the glares stopped, a few people looked relieved. Most everyone pretended like I wasn’t the biggest train wreck they’d seen today.
Teddy said, “Look I need to finish checking in, give me a second, okay?”
“Yes.” I stood at the edge of the lobby while Teddy checked into my hostel in London, England, trying to understand how he was here and why, but also, knowing and understanding and being so overwhelmingly grateful. My arms hugged around my middle and for the first time in days I felt warm.
Teddy finished finally and followed me into the lounge. “Home sweet home?”
“Yep, I’ve been ‘staying put’ waiting for further instructions. I didn’t know I was waiting for you.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t even figure out the steps. I just packed my bag, drove to LA, and told Mom to buy me a plane ticket. She did, without hesitation, so I guess I wasn’t wrong.” He sat down on the only empty couch and leafed through his bag. “Here’s a copy of your passport, a stack of IDs, a bank card, and here’s my phone, call your dad.”
So I did, I called Dad, while Teddy dropped his head back on the cushions and closed his eyes for a nap.
One Hundred Eleven
How far Teddy traveled
Santa Barbara to Teddy’s house- 117.5 miles 2 hours 35 minutes with traffic
Teddy’s house to LAX- 2.75 miles 14 minutes through security checkpoints
LAX to LHR, London- 5449 miles 10 hours 49 minutes
LHR to Camden Backpacking Hostel- 15 miles 57 minutes
____________
5584.25 miles 16 hours 25 minutes
One Hundred Twelve
Teddy
I woke up to Sid whispering, “Teddy?”
I opened one eye and looked at her. Blue skin, swollen eye, bloody cuts, bandages, tear stains—she looked like hell. Like I wanted to kill the guy who did it. Kill. Him.
I had been sleeping on a couch in front of lots of people, like an old man at a bus stop. I ran my hands briskly up and down on my face. “Your dad cool?”
“He said to tell you thank you, and he owes you, and me too Teddy. Thank you. I would have talked you out of it—”
“No, you wouldn’t have. You might have tried, but you wouldn’t have.”
She nodded, “Well I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s dark, what time is it?”
“Five.”
“I have clothes for you. I’m sure you want to change out of that, whatever that is.”
She smiled. “Ow.” Her hand reflexively went to her cheekbone. Then she said, “This shirt? My nightshirt, bandage, snot rag? Yeah, I probably need a cleaner one. Got any deodorant?”
I nodded and passed her the bag her dad had packed for her. Then she carried a small stack of fresh clothes to the shower to get cleaned up. Forty-five minutes later she returned—clean bandages, the caked and dried blood gone, her hair clean. A huge improvement, because she looked less like someone in the middle of an emergency, but also worse, the vivid blue and red and purple bruises contrasted with her cleanness. Now she was somebody who had lived through some kind of extreme violence. She had lived through it, but ouch, those wounds were real. Fresh. Jarring.
Sid was hard to look at. I averted my eyes. It must be painful because it was painful to see. I sat at one end of the couch, she sat on the other, and tucked up her feet into a curl.
Cassie walked up and introduced herself and dropped into a chair across from us. She said, “So right off the bat Teddy, you never hit Sid, right?”
“God no.”
Sid looked at me, “What about at Park Day that time? Remember the playground with the rocket-ship slide? You totally hit me!”
“Yeah, but I was seven, and you were being a total ass.”
Sid started to smil
e, but grabbed her cheek with a wince. “I was and then remember Mom came over and got all NVC on us?”
Cassie looked confused, so I explained, “It stands for Non-Violent Communication. Sid’s mom was a True Believer. She talked to me about hitting for so long I swore I would be a pacifist until the day I died.”
Sid said, “She knew how to talk a problem to death.”
“She was a master.”
Cassie squinted her eyes. “So I guess she’d be freaking about your present circumstances. Being nonviolent and all.”
“Yeah definitely.” Sid gazed off into space.
Cassie turned to me, “You going to go out, see anything, do anything this evening? There’s a pub up the street for food and a club that gets super fun later.”
My attention was on Sid, blinking, color rising, on the edge of tears. “I think I’ll stay here. I’m tired from the trip. Where can I get food to bring in? Also, another coat, this is not warm enough. Are there surf shops in London?”
“Probably, but you’re on your own there. Sid, I suppose you’re staying in?”
“What? Oh um, yeah, I need to get dinner I guess . . .”
Cassie said, “You’re not paying attention. Your friend Teddy just said he would bring food in. The answer you’re looking for is ‘hell yeah’ like a true American. Also he needs a coat, you should go help him pick out a coat.”
Sid turned her swollen, misty eyes to me, “You need a coat?”
I nodded and leaned forward pulling my phone out of my pocket to Google a surf shop, “I read the weather, but I did not compute that it would be this cold.”
Sid chewed her lip and quietly said, “It’s one of the reasons Gavin was so mad at me.”
I stopped mid-type.
Cassie said, “He hit you because—what?”
“It all started when I didn’t have the right coat.”
Cassie said, “Oh no you don’t. It wasn’t because you didn’t pack right. It was because he is an asshole. A You-Aren’t-Ever-Going-Over-There-Again Asshole. Am I right Teddy?”
I nodded, “Yep,” but glanced over to see a tear rolling down Sid’s cheek. Crap, that had been too harsh. Way too harsh for someone with a battered face, but it had also been totally true. I couldn’t think of how to walk it back—thankfully Cassie’s friends came giggling into the lounge. Sid quickly wiped her cheeks while I was introduced to everyone. I explained again why I couldn’t go clubbing with them, then Cassie waved goodbye, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t wait up!”
Sid and I sat quietly for a second. Then I returned to my phone and the surf shop search. “It doesn’t look like a surf shop is open now, but there is one. In the morning I can go buy another coat. Right now we need food though—I saw a shawarma place a few doors down, want some? If I hustle I won’t get too cold.”
Sid nodded and so I went out in the streets of London and located and paid for dinner on my own. I was proud of that, and very cold. Even though I hustled.
I spread our food out on the coffee table in front of the couch and while we ate Sid told me about the Tower of London.
I asked, “You went by yourself? Like the metro, the money, the tours, the whole thing? I was just giving myself mental high-fives for walking two doors down and buying middle eastern food. From a guy with perfect English.”
She looked down. “Yeah. I was by myself. First day in London and I was by myself.”
She wrapped her trash up into a ball. “I’m exhausted. Thank you Teddy. For coming. For dinner, for everything. I just, I’m so sorry, and I’m tired and . . .”
“Of course Sid, get rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I cleaned up our dinner trash, and then slid into one of the lounge’s corner booths, opened my laptop on the table, and stacked my books all around, hopeful that work would happen. A lot of people were in the lounge, but it was quiet, people spoke in hushed tones—I was exhausted. I needed to write, but I didn’t even get one sentence out. I jerked awake, who knows how much time had passed, with a zipper mark pressed into my cheek.
I packed my books and laptop and dragged myself up to the dark bunk room. There were already about ten people asleep. Sid was on the bunk above me. I passed her as I went to the bathrooms, her body curled into a ball, her head down, almost inside her covers.
I had forgotten to buy a toothbrush, so I used my finger.
When I lay down on the bottom bunk, I listened to the soft shifts and turns of so many strangers—how odd to sleep in a communal space. When did someone come up with this, twenty people all sleeping piled up in rooms? I decided that it would be impossible to sleep and then jet lag forced me to reconsider.
I woke up later to a sound—whimpering, a moan, another whimper.
I felt disoriented as my eyes adjusted to the total blackness and shapes. I had to remind myself this was a bunk room. Someone shifted at the other end and through the darkness someone said, “Shhhh.”
Another whimper, from right above me. Sid.
I slid out of my bag. My feet hit the floor, ice cold. I stepped onto the bottom rung of her steps and raised myself to her level. Was she awake? Her shoulder heaved in a sob. I groped around, found her hand, and gripped it, wrapping my other arm around her head. Quietly I asked, “Sid?”
She seemed startled, her body tensed, awake, scared.
I whispered, “You’re okay.”
Two people from different parts of the room said, “Shhhh.”
“I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”
I felt her nod. She gripped my hand tighter and then released it and curled into a ball on her other side.
I stepped to the floor, cold, cold, cold, and climbed into my bag, and stared up at her bunk, alert and not able to sleep at all.
One Hundred Thirteen
Sid
The next morning it was drizzling and promised to get worse. I padded downstairs in stupid clothes that Dad had packed, because somehow he had picked all the wrong stuff, too big t-shirts, a pair of yoga pants with a hole in the inseam, an ugly pair of sneakers I didn’t wear anymore. The coat was from last year.
Teddy was in the snack shop and brightened when I entered before his expression changed to dismayed and concerned. I understood. I had looked in the mirror. My face still looked terrible, but like a whole ‘nother level, not fresh anymore, settling into old, tired, blue-swollen damaged. I wouldn’t look at it again, except to change the bandages. He had to look at it all the time. He deserved better.
I kind of felt like I deserved worse.
What kind of girl goes to London to meet an asshole that beats her the first day? I kind of felt like I should stare at myself. Get used to the idea that this was it. Beaten. Deserved it for stupid. I should cry, like all day.
I figured I should also tell Teddy he could go home now. This was too much for him to do, and I couldn’t stand the indebtedness.
I sat across him at the table. He said, “They have cereal and milk, want one, coffee?
I nodded and he jumped up and returned with two cups of coffee. Then jumped up again for two bowls with Frosted Flakes and a pitcher of milk. Then left again for a small plate of toast.
“Thanks Teddy.”
He poured milk in his cereal and dug in.
I asked, “When do you go home? I mean, now that you rescued me, are you planning to go home?”
He looked up from his cereal, “Yeah, my ticket returns in a couple days. We’ll get your passport situation fixed this afternoon, and then you should get your return flight booked, maybe the same time as mine.”
I poured milk in my cereal and ate a spoonful.
He continued, “I’d love to see some sights though—” The window darkened and rain poured. It was so loud it was hard to hear each other. He joked, “What is that stuff coming out of the sky over there?”
“I’m choosing to ignore it. If I don’t notice it, it can’t be real.”
“I need a coat, there’s a surf shop near the Covent Garden Tube st
op. Will you go with me? We’ll run between the raindrops. Then we can lie around here all day drying off.”
“Sure.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to—going would interfere with my cry-all-day-feel-ashamed-of-myself schedule, but Teddy did rescue me. And he brought the wrong coat. It was the least I could do.
After lunch we took off into the streets of London without the right coats, freezing wet, and by the time we entered the surf shop, completely bedraggled. There was a bench near the front door for visitors to leave their umbrellas. We dropped our coats because by this time they were soggy. I stamped my feet trying to get heat to them, trying to ignore that everyone was staring at me nervously. Then we fanned out through the store looking for coats.
I found a rack of wool sweaters, stylish and thick and rifled through the hangers when someone cleared her throat behind me and quietly asked, “Do you need help—I mean, are you okay?”
Her peer was intense and made it clear she wasn’t asking if I needed help shopping. Here was another stranger, other side of the world, asking if I was okay.
No, not, but better, thank you.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “This isn’t the guy who did this.” I thought about adding, “Not that it’s any business of yours,” but then again—wasn’t it kind of awesome that women were offering help, because if this was the guy, wouldn’t I need it?
But what I really needed right now was a sign that read:
This is Teddy.
He didn’t do this to my face.
Teddy was across the store smiling and holding up a coat. He gestured a question: thumb up, thumb down, or a shrug? I mimed that he should put it on. He did and it looked excellent, an indigo blue, he always looked good in blue. He rubbed the interior fleece lining on his cheek to show how soft it was. I thumbed up and his smiled widened and he headed to the counter.
Sid and Teddy Page 17