The Little Blue Pitcher

Coming Home

The next morning, I woke up, checking my apartment to make sure that crazy guy didn't break in again. I was satisfied to know that I was alone. That's how I've been since my freshman year of high school. I liked to be alone. I walked into the kitchen and tidied up before grabbing my two suitcases and walking out, leaving the money for rent on the table. 

I walked to the little parking lot and saw my cab waiting for me, and I hopped in. He was a cheery little man with grey hair and blue eyes. "Yer not from 'round here, are ya?" The man asked, with his thick accent. "No, I'm not. I'm leaving today, actually." I replied with a sad smile.

"Aww that's a sorry tale, lass."

"I spent a whole month here, and I'm pretty satisfied with the amount of the country I got to see." I laughed.

"A month! Jesus even I can't bear to be 'round these bastards fer more than an hour! And that's while I'm drunk!" he giggled, and I giggled along.

"I was in a pub in Blackford and it was the quietest thing ever. But my first pub here was one in Ayr, and it was the jolliest thing I've seen in my life!"

"That's because those cheeky specs in Ayr are full-time drunk off their tits. So drunk, lass, they'd marry each other if they didn't have their own lasses to go home to!" He laughed up front.

"I really loved it here...I hope I can come back some day."

"Scotland would love to have ya, lass. Me name's Cuddy, and if you're ever again in Inverness, come to me pub "Stained Beards" and I'll show ye a real party!"

"My name is Allie, and I'd love to!"

I smiled as I got out of the cab. I thanked Cuddy for the ride and I shut the door, walking to the airport doors. Going through the airport business was a bore, but I got through it with music and fudge, which I bought at a shop in Glasgow. As soon as I sat in my seat on the plane, I felt a pair of eyes burning into my back. I was confused and turned around, but people only looked up at me from their business in equal confusion. I mumbled my apologies and turned around.

That feeling never left me throughout the whole flight. I tried to distract myself by thinking about my talent show performance, which would happen in a month. I was going to do a dance routine with three songs, hoping it would do well. It was really basic, but it was worth a shot.

When our plane landed in New York City, I rushed off, ran to buy some more fudge from a little shop in the airport, and ran to my next flight, which would take me to Salt Lake. That burning feeling on the back of my head followed me everywhere, and seemed to rest on my hair when I got on my next flight. I wrote an article that would never be published about the joy that lives in Scotland. Since I was an editor, I didn't write the articles, I edited them. I still write articles in my spare time, but I never try to send them in.

The plane finally landed and I tried to get out as soon as possible, hoping to escape that feeling of being watched. I grabbed my luggage and as I exited the doors of the airport, the feeling vanished. I felt relieved as I felt the cool air seep into my hair again. I grabbed a cab, and this cab driver was much less talkative or happy. I told the driver to take me home, but the only home I could think about was my apartment in Scotland.