Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Seven

November 11, 2016

Nighttime

Barbican Conservatory, Barbican Estate

"We're not even down there yet," Harry said, I could just imagine the amusement in his face.

I have been frozen in my tracks for a few minutes. From this view, you could see everything. The tall trees, ponds, plants. They're lit with neon so that they shine even at night.

The palm trees and orchids stand out to me. Without context, one would probably assume we were somewhere in Hawaii, California, or maybe even in South Carolina or Philippines. But no, we were in Barbican. We're still in London.

"You can see everything from here," I managed in faded tone.

He didn't reply after, picking up on the silence that the Barbican Conservatory had put me in. I then realized that my breath was hitched and that the words are at the tip of my tongue, waiting to spill. But I held them back knowing I held a rather loose grip on my understanding of anything right now. I just decided to continue rolling with it all.

"Okay," I breathed, "shall we?"

"After you," he said.

I walked ahead of him, towards the stairs that led us to the ground level of place. At the last step, I feel Harry's hand find its way to mine. At the same time, my chest tightens at the gesture again, like it's never happened many times a few times hours ago.

Wandering around, I sometimes forget we weren't in a forest park. The sight of buildings outside would remind me of that. I was, however, in constant, intensifying awe. Even more now that we're seeing everything closer.

Despite the party spirit—suggested by the lights that brighten the surroundings and the faint beat of music in the background—it felt oddly serene to be in there. The familiarity of the plants, the trees, and the fishes in the little ponds puts something in my heart to peace. Sure, I'm not great with taxonomy or biology in general, but in some other way I feel that I know I've seen those plants and fishes somewhere in my lifetime.

"You like it, don't you?" Harry asked even though I could see it in him that he already knew I very much do.

"I love it," I gushed. We both take a sit by a homely bench, further fulfilling the illusion of being in a forest park. "How'd you find this place?"

"It was very random really," he began, "I was enjoying my break from touring. It was, in 2012, I think. I drove around and saw Titanic was being shown in the cinemas here—"

"Titanic?" I chipped in, raising my eyebrows in curiosity. I realize though that this man could quote The Notebook by the script so I shouldn't be too surprised about another film along the same genre in his list.

"What," he said with a playful rise in his voice. "Apparently it was the hundredth anniversary of the sinking of the actual ship."

I tilt my head in the process of thinking, mouth shaping into an 'oh' after piecing the facts together, "Oh, yeah, 1912, 2012."

"See," he spoke to show that he's made his point. "And also I really love cheesy romantic flicks."

"There you go." I smiled in gratification. "To be fair, a life without cheese is boring. We kinda need it."

"Oh we do. We're all stacked up on that right now though so that's not a problem," he beamed.

Giving it much thought, we're kind of living in a scene from a cheesy romantic flick ourselves. Like that one night Margo and Quentin spends in a building overlooking the 'paper town' as she called it. A little bit like when Landon takes Jamie to her first date. Heck, a little bit like Titanic too and the adventure that Jack and Rose had in the ship. Barbican is our Titanic. I'm just afraid after all of this, the night will end and sink for us as well.