Second Lanark

Early Morning Chats - Part 11

"How'd you get on?" he asked, looking me over.

I turned my head to the side, silently questioning him. Get on?

"The swim team thingy?"

I couldn't even imagine what I must look like now: makeup smeared, glassy, drunk eyes, a goofy 'I love you' grin. I have some sort of smiling ailment whenever I'm around him. I should really get it checked out. I looked down at myself, flung out my arms and did a little twirl. Glitter flew everywhere.

He stepped back and laughed. "Can I walk you to your room?"

I looked at him for a moment, wondering if I was drunk enough that whatever happened tonight would feel like a pleasant dream tomorrow, and not like something that would break my heart.

"Sure," I agreed and he fell into step beside me. "Is Trisha back, do you know?" I asked. I wasn't sure how quiet I'd need to be when I opened the door.

"Lark, Jill, and Trisha came back about an hour ago, I think."

Good. It meant her Solitudes CD would still be playing. I'd be able to creep in without waking her. She had a thing about falling asleep to this weird combination of nature sounds and classical music. I was used to it now, but I'd had trouble sleeping the first few nights. I knew I'd adjust; it hadn't seemed like it was worth a fuss. I was right.

When we got to the big common space outside my dorm room, I looked over and saw the wide expanse of lawn through the window and the hint of the canal in the distance. It was completely deserted, and it looked so peaceful. Without saying anything to Rob, I wandered over to the couch and sat down. I patted the seat next to me. He came over and threw himself onto the couch beside me. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and my heart was going a million miles a minute. 

Would he break it? The verdict was still out.

"You didn't feel like going out tonight?" I asked, looking up at him. His brown eyes so unlike my blue ones always fascinated me. 

"It's hard to take you seriously right now." He laughed again.

I grinned. "Who needs to be serious? You wanna teach me some more cocky rhyming slang?"

He laughed again and nudged my shoulder. "It's not cocky, it's Cockney. It's part of London, England."

"They have their own language? They don't speak English?"

I could tell he was highly amused again, and there was a part of me that enjoyed amusing him. I loved that sparkle in his eyes; the way they lit up; the way they danced when he looked at me.

"Not-a-toll," he said, shaking his head.

"Not a toll?" I clarified.

"Not at all," he enunciated each word and then said it again in his terrible version of a Canadian accent, "Not at all."

"So, they don't speak English?"

He laughed and shook his head, putting his head in his hands for dramatic impact. "It's English. Sometimes I feel like all I do is explain the English Language to you."

"I suspect you explain it to everyone. You seem like the type." I hoped my tone was teasing.

"Oh yeah?" He arched his eyebrows. "What type is that?"

The amazing type. The I could lose myself in you type. The I could love you forever type.

"Sure of yourself."

"Ah, we're back to cocky." He laughed.

"What made you decide to come to Canada on exchange?" I asked, slouching more into the couch. I was settling in for the night, too drunk and happy to move.