I tried to come up with something witty, but my brain was empty.
I will think about it, but I’m too tired right now.
Wait, after all that bringer of happiness stuff, I think I need a cooler name than Marissa.
-Marissa
The reply came before I could close my email.
Marissa is a perfect name. I wouldn’t change it or you for anything. Good night, Marissa. Be safe.
-Hoping you’re happy.
Whoa. Okay . . . that was romantic in all the best ways. Everything in me hoped it was Scott, but that was a bad idea. I was too tired to trust myself, so I did the sensible thing and went to sleep.Best to face these questions when I was rested. I set my phone on the nightstand and lay back on the cool pillow, pulling the comforter to my chin. I was in London. I needed to stop thinking about Hillsdale and enjoy being here.
Day one, I was off and running. I met with the tour guide in the lobby way earlier than I was ready to be awake, and kept hustling all day. We visited Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben. I followed along with a group of tourists in puffy coats and cameras. Over lunch, our group chatted around the table. There were people from all walks of life: grandmas, teens, honeymooners. There was talk of loved ones, death and life, different religions, failed relationships, and work goals. Some had kids, some never wanted kids. Some were successful, some were barely scraping by. Everyone had a different story and goals. Each life was unique. Each path was different. But everyone there was focused on living their lives to the fullest. I joined in the conversation versus always turning it back to others. I talked about Scott, my scars, and how this was the trip I’d planned to take with my parents. I was scared and overwhelmed and knew no one, not even myself. But I was determined to be open and not live in fear. I would hope and dream for the future and honor the pain of my past.
After lunch, we headed to Buckingham Palace. This was it. The same place my parents had taken a picture on their honeymoon. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the small 5X7 framed picture. The picture I always looked at when I thought about going to Europe. Dad with his big goofy grin and Mom making faces at the palace guards to make them laugh. I ran my finger along the glass and wished with every part of me they could be here with me. I used my shoulder to wipe a tear from my cheek.
“Are those your parents?” A teenager from the group looked down at the photo.
“Yep.” I smiled and held it closer to her.
“You look like your mom, but I think you have your dad’s smile.” She studied the picture. “I’m sure they are happy to be taking this trip with you.” She nodded to the picture.
I felt the surety of her words. They were here with me, like Nan said. The ones who leave us are never truly gone. We carry them with us, a part of who we are.
“Want a photo?” The teenager motioned to the area to our left, the same background as my picture.
“I would love that.” I handed her my phone and held the 5X7 in front of me as she took the picture of the three of us in London.
She handed my phone back to me and I stared down at the image. “Thanks,” I whispered.
Carol would love this picture too. Maybe Carol would get to travel now. I thought of Carol’s life. She didn’t have children, but she had a thousand kids. Everyone who walked through her door for cookies, played basketball on her property, or had parties at the B&B became one of her kids. Including me.
I sent the image to Carol.
Marissa: Thanks for all you did to help raise me and so many other kids in Hillsdale. I hope you take the money from selling the B&B and get to go on that cruise you’ve always wanted. The town is better because of you. I’m better because of you. Thanks for being a second mom to me. I love you.
I sent the text with the picture.
Marissa: I can’t express how much this trip means to me and this moment. I have a feeling you had something to do with it all. If so, thank you.
We were dropped off at the hotel.
I ran to my room to freshen up, then hit the streets. I passed by a pub with a rooster above the door and a crowd singing from inside. I stepped inside for dinner. I wanted to have the fullLondon experience, which included fish and chips. Unfortunately, I was allergic to fish, so sandwich and chips it was. The woman who brought my basket set it down on the table. “Can I get you anything else, love?”
“No.” I thought about the rooster. “Well, can you tell me why the pubs have rooster signs above them?”
The woman put her hands on her hips and laughed. “It’s been this way forever. That way people who couldn’t read could still find a pint.” She pointed at me. “We sure got our priorities right.” She winked and walked to the next table.
There were little shops everywhere, and I found the cutest ceramic gnome holding a flower. I knew the moment I saw it, I had to get it for Mrs. Bates. The shopkeeper talked to me about gnomes and how they can bring good luck. That was one thing London seemed to have in common with Hillsdale. The people were happy and wanting to chat, or at least help. I got lost twice and had no problem finding help.
Christmas came and went; I missed Nan and my friends. I people-watched from a shop as couples kissed, a little girl in pigtails chased pigeons the size of chickens, and a bus passed with people drinking and singing “Sweet Caroline.”
The more I saw of London, the more I realized that while I loved every second, I wanted to share it with the people I loved. The people of Hillsdale, although challenging at times, were my home.
Even without Carol’s B&B available to me, maybe I could run a community center of my own.
