The new kid in town
The summer after I graduated high school, I moved to the UK. I was eighteen and undecided about the details of my 5-year plan. So, I signed up to take a GAP year: a year abroad to volunteer and travel.
I accepted a position at an all-girls boarding school an hour outside London. I was a teacher’s assistant during the school day and a houseparent during the hours in between. I had a good relationship with my direct boss, Head of the Primary House for the girls aged 7–12, and had friends among the other volunteers.
Having only Wednesdays for myself left me little time to do everything I wanted to with my days off. So, I made a point of going somewhere new as often as possible. Wandering farther out distances with the more stations I memorized, I quickly mapped out the tube system.
One afternoon, I was coming off the train when I was approached by a man asking for directions. He said his name was Henry.
Henry claimed to need help searching for the address of a specific print shop. Not knowing where he had to go, I guessed a general direction. I pointed him down a nearby road that would take him to somewhere more central and wished him luck. Pausing me, he asked if I was in a hurry for wherever I was headed.
I smiled and said that I was. Why?
Henry asked me out for a coffee, but before he let me answer, he began reciting a poem. When he finished, I declined his offer. He laughed and asked how else he could try to impress me. I smiled and shrugged, then kept walking. When Henry tried to walk away with me, I stopped. He laughed again and asked if it was alright that he joined me. I told him, no, it was not.
Pretending to be shot down, he exaggerated having chest pain. I cringed. Then he scribbled his number down on a piece of paper and asked me to call him for a coffee some other time. I took the paper and walked away, never thinking of it or him again.
…
Soon, midterms were underway. Everyone was preparing for two weeks of holiday. I was planning on going to Scotland. I wanted to stroll through Edinburgh and lose myself to its many cafes and blues bars. I also had to go to Stirling to see the Wallace Monument. That was all very high on my list. Must-sees and dos.
It was the last Wednesday before the break, my day off. My trip was just days away, and I was doing some last-minute running around. I had a to-do list halfway finished when it started downpouring. Welcoming the intermission, I stopped at a nearby cafe to read my book.
That was when I noticed Henry walk in. Before I could think better of it (to pack up and go,) he saw me. He walked over, smiling warmly, and tried offering me a hug. I stood up to greet him but sheepishly put out my hand to shake instead. Panicking as he held it, I invited him to join me at my table. Wait, what? Shit. He nodded and said he would be right over.
Sitting back down, I put my things away and cleared some space. Henry ordered a coffee to-go and turned to face me while he waited. A manila envelope was held close to his chest. When I looked up again to acknowledge him, his gaze was steady. He sat down, relaxing into his chair with a big sigh. He placed the envelope on the table and began tapping it lightly. It seemed he was working on what to say.
I tried on my small talk, telling him I found the cafe randomly but thought it seemed cozy. Asking if it was a regular spot for him, he ignored my question. His gaze was still intense. I adjusted myself and forgot what I had asked or why I cared.
Leaning back in his chair, Henry said he had a surprise prepared for me and wanted to know if I was ready. He quickly corrected himself, saying he couldn’t have known when we would see each other but had something made for if we met again. Overselling how it was merely a coincidence that he saw me now. Meant to be.
I smiled uneasily, not sure what to think.
Interrupting himself, he asked me what I was doing later that night. Caught off guard, I successfully blurted out I was busy. He asked if I was free for the weekend. The whole weekend? I was due to leave that weekend for Scotland, but I didn’t want to share details about my plans with him. Something was telling me not to.
Before I could answer, he asked again if I was free, jesting that I owed him a coffee date for turning him down once already. What is happening right now? I pointed to the table and asked if this didn’t count as coffee. Had I not invited him to join me? He said it wasn’t planned, so no. It didn’t count.
Curious about what plans he had in mind, I asked. He told me he hoped we could go out together as friends sometime, that was all. Without wasting more time, Henry said there was somewhere he had to be. When he mentioned how nice it was to run into me, I nodded and stood up.
Telling me he didn’t believe I would text him to make plans, Henry asked again for my number before he left. I just wanted him to leave. So, I did the stupid thing and accepted defeat. Agreeing to go out some other time, I gave him my number.
Henry seemed pleased with himself and went in for another hug. This time, placing his hands on my shoulders, holding me where I stood. As he backed off, he could see I was not impressed. He didn’t apologize. He was too busy going on about how it had been such a coincidence to run into each other, dropping the ‘meant to be’ crap on me again.
I nodded. Suggesting, “Yeah. It is pretty crazy.”
I didn’t live in that area or go to that part of town often. So, it was kind of weird… Caught up in a thought, Henry re-emphasized he had to be going and started backing away, waving.
I looked down and noticed his manila envelope still on the table. Holding it up for him to see, he smiled and said it was my surprise. A puzzle. What the — ? Walking out the door, he said I needed to solve it by the time we saw each other next.
…
Henry was weird. That was for sure. And for that, it wasn’t surprising that I got his attention. I had a knack for attracting oddball personalities. Combined with my soft spot for the strange, it sometimes mixed well.
However, if I didn’t feel like being entertained (or doing the entertaining,) I could also be pretty gristly. I was trying not to judge the guy too harshly. Reminding myself that the conversation was more intriguing when a few weirdos were around.
Besides, he didn’t seem dangerous so much as he seemed eager. Which was a shade of flattering when I didn’t think of it as off-putting.
Before I left the cafe to go home that evening, Henry was already texting me, asking about the weekend. I shut down most of what he suggested right away. I didn’t have my tickets for Scotland, but as far as he knew, only Friday would work for me. That didn’t seem to matter. He wanted to do brunch, a walk through the park, the art museum, and other time-consuming, all-day things.
My tourist status was still green, so it seemed affordable for me to be a good sport (within reason). But I hadn’t figured on spending the entire day together, and I told him that much. Already, it was more than I wanted to deal with. Cancel. Don’t go. Luckily, I had to work the first half of the day. So, we agreed on a drink and doing the London Eye once it was all lit up.
As Friday approached, my friends were sharing their concerns. Telling me it all seemed just too weird. I thought that was why it was funny. But was it threatening? That, I didn’t know.
…
Friday, the Day of Dates
I got off the train while Henry waited in a car outside the station. He stepped out and held the door open for me. Climbing in, I couldn’t help but notice the windows were all severely tinted. I moved over to the far side. Henry got in behind me, closing the door while telling his driver to get going.
I questioned him about the driver and fancy car. I was not enjoying the charade. It made me feel uneasy. Saying he had planned everything; he wanted to know that I was ready. Unsure of what that meant, I asked. He smiled silently. Posturing himself to get a good look at me, he gave me the up-and-down and asked me to confirm my age.
I felt the air get thinner. My left hand inched toward the door handle while I coached myself to maintain eye contact. It’s okay. You’re okay.
I straightened my spine and asked him about his accusatory tone. He smiled, saying it was a dangerous game for a man like himself. Uh-huh. Mmk, don’t like that. I shook my head, rejecting what he said. Bluntly telling him to relax, we would only be friends. He found that funny.
It had been a mere few minutes, but I didn’t know where we were anymore. It wasn’t quite downtown, that much, I could tell. We started going downhill when I recognized it as an underground parking lot. Asking Henry where we were, he reached for my hand and told me to ‘relax, friend.’ Ha — stop it. Stop it now.
We parked, and my door opened. The driver: waiting for me to get out.
Henry stepped out on his side and walked around to meet me. I got out and looked up at the driver for reassurance. Asking him with my eyes if it was all good. He kept a blank stare, facing straight ahead. I walked away slowly, waiting for him to break the act and look me in the eye. No such luck.
I came around the car to find Henry with his arm extended to the side. He was signaling me to walk in front of him toward the far left corner of the lot. Leading us down a corridor, I came to the end and saw someone behind the wall to my right. I took it wide, hoping to confirm more details. It was a liftman standing out front of an open elevator.
Henry palmed my back as he caught up, introducing us without sharing our names. The man nodded and tipped his hat to me silently. We got in, and the elevator doors closed.
…
We arrived at a crowded parlor. I stepped out into a lobby filled with people in fancy dress-up. Corsets, floor-length dresses, penguin suits, white gloves, top hats; even the curtains had ruffles and underskirts. It was a shindig for the wealthy of the wealthy, the Somebodies of Society.
I was not meant to be in a place like that.
I told Henry I was not dressed appropriately, and he smiled, instructing me to follow him. I smoothed my hair, readjusted my slouchy faux suede boots, and tried to override my reluctance. Showcasing a polyester Primark get-up, I walked my insult of an appearance through everybody’s decadent cocktail hour.
As we sat down, the empty china rattled while I tried not to kick anything over. Casually horrified by how the night was going, I asked what part of town we were in. Henry brushed it off by telling me not to worry. Hm. Hating that. Curious that he didn’t want me to know, I scanned my surroundings for all potential exits.
A few seconds after being shown our table, the driver reappeared. Letting Henry know there was an important call, Henry excused himself and left the table. His driver stood watch, hovering over me in his absence. I winced while trying to pretend to be entertained by it all. Run.
After a tense and awkward twenty minutes wore out, I got up to find the bathroom. Walking out of view, I signaled a hostess and asked for a business card. Grateful to have a name and address to reference, I continued to the bathroom with my phone in hand. I began texting my girlfriends my 9–1–1 update, and we agreed to meet once I could get downtown. I would check in then and join them as soon as possible.
Henry was still on his call when I came out of the bathroom. I thought about sitting back down but instead decided to look for where he had gone. The driver showed up again, asking if everything was okay.
Seeing us out in the lobby, Henry got off the phone and walked over. Urging me to sit down and wait for him when I refused. The place was beautiful and extravagant, but I wasn’t dressed appropriately to hang out drinking there.
Teasing me that it wasn’t a big deal, Henry said his call presented a needed change in plans anyway. We would have to decide if we stayed for dinner or did the London Eye, but there was no longer time for both. Dinner? Saying he hoped he could make it up to me, I assured him I wanted to go. With that, we made our way back down to the car.
Sitting in the car, nobody had said anything. I was angry that I had given this guy a chance and was trying to navigate my safest move out of there. Henry kept cool. A soft smile formed in the corner of his mouth while he watched me squirm.
Then, the car stopped, and my door opened.
Standing off to the side, the driver still said nothing. I glared at him this time as I walked around the car. It seemed appropriate that he should feel guilty. Thanks, bud. You’re doing a great job. Coming up to the sidewalk, Henry stood waiting for me to walk arm-in-arm with him.
I shook my head no. Telling him I needed to use the bathroom, I started walking ahead. He nodded and said he would grab the tickets and wait for me in line.
It was cold out and still soggy from the previous rain. So, nobody was outside lining up. That wasn’t a great deal for me. There were no crowds to get lost in or accidentally get separated by. I was out in the open. With nobody else there, it appeared that I would have to get on the stupid thing.
Unless I make a run for it?
I waited a minute before I peeked out of the bathroom, thinking I could sneak away. Quietly side-stepping over puddles. I had one eye on Henry’s back at the ticket booth, my other on the bridge, as my peripherals built an exit path for me. Then, I went to make my move.
Turning to run, I came up against Henry’s driver. He stared me down with a heavy look in his eye. I was speechless. All he said was that Henry would be waiting for me. I thanked him and quickly turned around. I walked back towards the lineup, then dipped into the bathroom again.
I had to stall somehow. I was pacing around the bathroom, waiting for someone else, another woman, to come in. Finally, someone did. Running over to her, I confessed that I had signed up for a date from hell and was in over my head. I was at her mercy.
She was there with her boyfriend for Date Night. Coming up with the idea that we pretend to be friends who just ran into each other, I was happy to try. Telling me it would be okay, she said we would stick together as long as necessary. Besides, what would Henry know if it was a lie or not?
We came out of the bathroom together in deeply-staged chit-chat. I was genuinely elated. Convincing myself of our lie, that we just ran into each other, and how it was such a coincidence. Henry didn’t seem amused. He carefully watched me elaborate on how it all happened.
With nobody else in line but the four of us, the general vibe was still too intimate. But without any other ideas to delay, up we went.
…
Until then, I had been able to soothe myself with how my friends would handle the retelling of this story. Laughably bad. It helped to make light of it because I was scared. But now that I had involved people to witness our date, Henry seemed even more intense. Hands-on.
At one point, I had my arms up to block him, telling him to stop grabbing me. To that, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my arms down. The heat of his breath on my face as he told me to stop being so weird. Peeling his fingers off my arm, I took a step back and again told him to stop grabbing me.
My new friends, the couple, were calling me over. The cabin was going to be passing by the camera soon. They were posed and ready for it. Henry and I were in a stand-off when I caught the flash over my shoulder. Great memories. When we reached the pinnacle of our revolution, Henry grabbed me by the wrist again, trying to pull me in for a kiss. I pushed him off, hard to his chest.
“Don’t you feel like we’re on top of the world right now?”
“Uh, no? I feel like we’re really high up and really enclosed.”
I could hear the couple laugh over my shoulder. Henry told me again to stop being so weird that there was nothing to worry about. Especially if I was as old as I said. Gross. What? No. Trying again to pull me in, he said he felt we connected and didn’t understand why I was being so difficult.
I pulled away. I wasn’t being difficult. I just wasn’t interested. Saying it plainly, I felt no such connection. The couple began moving closer, sensing my desperation. It wasn’t fun. I needed help.
Glossing over what must’ve been heard, my new friend came tiptoeing to my side. Taking my hand, she offered me a warm smile and asked if I wanted a ride home after we were done. Her boyfriend joined her and emphasized that it was on their way, so it wouldn’t be a problem. I accepted.
Henry stayed quiet.
We were almost finished with the descent when Henry asked me if I had solved the puzzle yet. Oh, right, the mystery puzzle. I told him, no, not yet.
A minute later (still going on about the puzzle), he volunteered that the picture was of one of his favorite places. Somewhere, he liked to ponder his big questions. Cool. He said he felt that I was smart enough to figure it out. I struggled with the idea of that being a compliment but said nothing.
Nodding carelessly, I didn’t want to absorb another word. The cabin reached the ground, and I dropped the conversation, revving up the goodbyes.
Henry said he preferred to be the one to drive me home if I would let him. I told him not to worry about it. Having no choice but to accept my decision, he nodded once and left it alone. When the doors opened, the couple led the way, chatting to themselves quietly. Henry held his arm out, inviting me to (once again) walk in front of him. I shuddered at having to entertain the walk to the street, but at least it was over now.
Reaching the sidewalk, Henry’s driver was waiting outside their car. I turned to Henry and said goodnight when he asked for my hand. I negotiated with myself to offer a handshake, but he turned my wrist around and kissed my knuckles. Jerking my hand back, I eagerly waited for him to leave.
When Henry’s car finally drove off, I turned to the couple, thanking them profusely. They hugged me, and we exchanged numbers, proposing to go for a drink sometime. Then, I left. Searching for whatever bar my friends were stumbling around in.
…
The Pond
It wasn’t until after Scotland that I remembered the manila envelope. I had it on my fridge, collecting dust. One day, I opened it on my kitchen floor, my morning coffee in hand.
I was looking at some twenty-odd pages of A4 paper printed with a single image. As I laid them out, I rearranged them until they made sense. It was a picture of a pond. I studied it and tried to get the joke. Henry’s favorite place was this pond. Okay? With that sorted, I stacked the pages, put them in their envelope, and left them on my fridge until a few days later.
It was the Sunday before classes were back. By now, most of the girls had returned from holiday and were settling into their rooms at the boarding houses. Regular schedules were set to resume the following week. We had just finished lunch, and everyone voted to play on the far field at the back of the school grounds. It wasn’t a far walk, but still far enough that they needed a chaperone.
I was helping everyone get ready to go when a few girls asked if they could bring birdseed for the ducks.
“What ducks? There are no ducks. It’s too cold.”
“There are!”
“Where?”
“On the pond!”
Pond? What pond?
I told the girls to grab whatever they wanted and urged everyone to hurry up. The grounds are closed to the public. There’s no way. Taking the tail end of the line, I kept an eye on the group while picking up the pace. The path curled around a grassy knoll, some unkempt brush, a few scraggly trees, and then… there it was.
The girls were skipping around, squawking at the ducks, giggling how happy kids do. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. My bones went stiff as fear slid up my spine, leaving a cold trail of sweat in its place. All remnants of joy were gone. I wanted to scream.
Henry was right: I was smart enough to solve it. I even figured out where he stood when he took the photo.
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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