Because You're Different ✔

45. Suits

Nathan

Do you remember

laces tied

lights reduced to lines

looking at what you lost

How we fled, and how alive you seemed

The first time I met Lena?

I wonder

when school starts again,

will the eagles be there?

I almost expect an empty wall,

both birds finally flown away

June had to stop sending me poetry. She said they weren't that great, that they were experiments, ideas written down in only a couple of minutes. Well, if that was true, I didn't want to know what she could come up with if she actually took her time. Didn't she realize she was making the whole thing even harder than it already was?

Every poem I read made me worry about her, but every evening we called, she sounded fine, cheerful even, a whole different reality than the words she put down on paper.

One thing had become clear to me very fast after leaving home. I was too damn attached to her, and it wasn't healthy. You'd think you'd miss your brother more than anyone else, considering you'd known him your whole life — think again. I was thankful my days were so busy, that there were enough distractions to keep me sane.

Getting used to the new apartment. Meeting Charlotte's friends and family. Trying to tone down your accent to prevent people from hating on the ignorant American. Going out to dinner. Exploring the city. Switching to corporate law after doing family all this time. Getting familiar with the caseload. Failing to impress your mostly a lot older colleagues. Being dumbfounded by the common politeness. Braving the strange weather.

I really couldn't believe those girls in shorts weren't freezing to death. It was only around seventy degrees. Winter temperatures. Not to mention the constant rain. Charlotte said this was nothing, wait till September, then you'll know what too much rain means. I didn't know if I wanted to know.

The first morning that I went to work by myself, taking the Tube like a real Londoner, I arrived soaked to the bone, hair dripping on the carpet, jacket heavy with water, shirt clinging to my body. I hurried into the break room, or whatever they called it, making a mental note to keep an extra suit in the office for when this happened again. The room was empty except for someone reading a newspaper, one of those big ones that effectively hid a lot of grumpy faces. It meant a person didn't want to be disturbed, and I was glad about it because I didn't need more people gloating at the 'silly American'.

I shivered, wondering if it'd be too strange to put my head under the blow dryer in the men's room.

"You need a haircut."

I stopped. Had the guy actually been talking to me, or had that all been in my head? I looked up, seeing the man stare at me from over his issue of The Guardian.

Albert Kip. One of the senior partners. When I'd first heard his name, I'd chuckled — Kip. Not very intimidating. I'd found out very quickly he made up for that with his personality. He didn't mingle; he didn't show up for Friday afternoon drinks or dinners, and small-talk wasn't a part of his vocabulary. Charlotte didn't like him, said he "gave her the chills". Wonder why.

"Err, yeah, maybe."

Satisfied with my short answer, he focused on his paper again. I stood there for a while, in silence, cursing my own foolishness, when he said, without acknowledging me in any other way: "Got a spare suit in my office." Yeah, well, thanks man. I didn't need someone to tell me that was the smart thing to do. "You can borrow it. Send it to the cleaners after. Anne knows the address."