As she settled in, she pulled the book she had been reading,The Last of the Moon Girls, out of her bag, thinking it might help distract her from the lingering panic that was still coursing through her. However, she gave up quickly after reading the first sentence of chapter six four times. There was just too much going on in her head to concentrate on the words on the page. Instead, she found herself looking around at her fellow passengers. This particular flight was mostly made up of people of retirement age. A handful of middle-aged women in the front looked to be on a business trip, and one teenager traveling alone. Seated beside her was a woman in her late forties with her teenage daughter. They were engaged in a lively conversation about the places they would visit in London, punctuated by the girl’s giggles at her mother’s whispered remarks.
Nora’s thoughts turned to her own mother as she watched the two. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she was a little hurt that her mother hadn’t come to say goodbye this morning. However, she wasn’t completely surprised either. She knew her mother didn’t actually approve of the trip. She was very pragmatic and would have never rushed off on some trip without a year’s worth of planning. In fact, Nora couldn’t remember a time when she and her father had even gone on vacation. The bakery was all shedid. It was her blood and bones, her life, so much so that Nora had sometimes wondered if her mother loved it more than she loved her.
She had really known only the hard-working side of her mother growing up. She was work-driven, and even on the days they closed the bakery, she would be in the kitchen experimenting with new recipes or reading cookbooks. There was no doubt in Nora’s mind that it was her mother’s true passion, and she envied her in a way. She longed to find something in her own life that ignited a sense of purpose like that. Glancing down at the book in her lap, Nora thought about her love of reading. While it was undoubtedly a passion of hers, she doubted it could ever become a career. Instead, she saw it as a means of escaping from the realities of her own life.
Once they were in flight, Nora ordered a drink, hoping it would help curb the anxiety still floating around inside her. However, she quickly regretted the choice, as twenty minutes later the plane hit turbulence, and the booze began doing acrobatics in her stomach. It had taken almost the rest of the flight to Heathrow before her stomach had finally settled down and her nerves had burned themselves out.
As she waited to board her next flight, she pulled up the itinerary on her phone, along with the map of Edinburgh Airport she had screenshot. She had mapped out the route from where the planes departed to the bus terminal. However, the idea of trying to figure her way around the public transportation was nerve-wracking and she wished she had just scheduled a car to pick her up.
She spent her time on the short flight from London to Edinburgh writing lists of places she wanted to visit that were not on the planned schedule. Like the military hospital where her grandparents had met and the spot on the Royal Mile where she couldrecreate the photo of her grandmother. Nora had a fondness for lists. They helped organize her thoughts and provided some semblance of control, which she otherwise felt she didn’t have. She created little boxes next to each item and checked them off when they were complete, which gave her a sense of accomplishment. It was amazing how such a seemingly small thing could help calm her down.
By the time they landed in Edinburgh, she had quelled her anxieties almost completely, replacing them with excitement now that her feet were about to touch down on Scottish soil.
After collecting her luggage and navigating through customs, she made her way to the signs marked “Transportation” and followed them down to the bus terminal. It was buzzing with activity, travelers scurrying to catch their rides into the city or farther out into the countryside. Nora found the queue for her bus and waited alongside a group of Chinese tourists who were also headed into the city’s center.
When the bus finally arrived, Nora felt a surge of excitement course through her, replacing the anxiety she had been feeling all day. She climbed aboard and found a seat by the window this time, not wanting to miss out on seeing the city.
Her pulse quickened as they pulled out of the terminal and the city unfolded before her like a grand tapestry, its streets alive with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The bus navigated its way through the labyrinth of streets, and Nora marveled at how old some of the buildings were, providing a glimpse back in time.
As they passed by Princes Street, with its bustling thoroughfare lined with shops and cafes, the towering spire of the Scott Monument caught her eye. Its dark Gothic steeple pierced the gray sky and reminded her of the tower the evil queen had kept Sleeping Beauty in.
As they turned onto North Bridge, Nora’s breath caught in her throat at the panoramic view of the city spread out before her. To the east, the rugged peaks of Arthur’s Seat rose majestically against the horizon, while to the west, the silhouettes of Edinburgh Castle and the Old Town skyline cast long shadows across the landscape.
When the bus finally made its stop at the head of Cockburn Street, she grabbed her bags and departed. Stepping onto the cobbled street, she stood entranced as she looked out over the lively cityscape surrounding her. The ancient stone buildings with their rich gray stone stood tall with a sort of Gothic magic to them, transporting her to another time. They sat snugly side by side, like giants shoulder to shoulder, with a mixture of times past and a splash of modern development. At the bottom of each building was a wide variety of shops, each adorned with twinkle lights and wreaths hung on almost every storefront window, giving them the warm, inviting charm of the holiday season. The sounds of laughter, along with the aroma of nutmeg, coriander, and allspice drifted out of a pub, accompanied by a lively jig being played on a fiddle. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs and her soul with the magic that hung in the air around her. The view seemed to ignite something deep within her and at that moment all the fear and panic from the day slipped away, replaced with an all-encompassing awe of her surroundings.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture, sending it to Eve and her parents with a simple note:I’ve arrived!Depositing the phone back into her pocket, she stared out into the bustling city once again.
As she stood amidst the rich history that surrounded her in every direction, she thought about the spark of magic her grandmother got in her eyes whenever she spoke about her time inScotland. Now, surrounded by the very essence of that enchanting place, Nora could clearly grasp the allure, as if the city itself whispered stories on the cold wind. Touching the notebook tucked into the side of her bag, she smiled. She couldn’t wait to write them down in verse.
Chapter Seven
Full Scottish Breakfast
Nora walked up three flights of stairs to the small flat she had rented in the large flagstone building adjacent to the nearby hotel, which had been out of her price range. Upon entering the giant blue door, she found a quaint apartment with high ceilings, large windows, and modest furnishings. The main living space was a large room with a small galley kitchen that opened into a living area featuring an impressive old fireplace, now modernized with an inlay gas unit. To the left, a small hallway led to two rooms: a tiny bedroom and a bathroom. The entire place was painted white, accented with colorful furniture, including a large mustard-yellow armchair near the window.
After Nora unpacked her things, her initial excitement fizzled out. Despite her plans to explore the city for a bite to eat, theweariness from the long day of travel began to weigh heavily on her. Before she knew it, she found herself dozing off in the armchair overlooking the street below.
She woke up just as the sun was breaking into a new day. Its rays cast streaks of golden light into the living room and across the chair she had fallen asleep in. She stood and arched her back, trying to rid herself of the stiffness from sleeping in the chair.
She walked over to the large windows overlooking the street below. The sun was just lifting its head above the horizon. Glancing down at her watch, she was surprised to see it was 8:26 a.m. She had slept almost fourteen hours straight. She never slept that much, but the travel, time zone change, and fighting her anxiety all day must have done a number on her.
She walked into the small kitchen, brewed herself a cup of coffee, and returned to the window overlooking the street. The morning rush was in full swing, and people darted about, bundled in their winter attire.
Nora reached for her carry-on, retrieving her small notebook and pen. People-watching had always been a soothing pastime for her, a way to ease her mind and stave off overthinking. It also often sparked inspiration for new poems or short stories. Selecting someone from the bustling street below, she would watch for a few minutes, then put pen to paper and write down what struck her about them.
As she scanned the streets, her eyes fell upon a small group of teenagers gathered near a signpost below her rental. Their laughter and lively chatter filled the air. Among them were two boys and three girls. One of the girls seemed standoffish, positioned on the outskirts of the circle as the other two girls engaged in flirtatious banter with the boys.
Letting her pen glide over the paper, she whipped up a funny little poem.
Oh, how I wish I was not shy. I could flash my boobs and get the guy. But that’s not me. I’m meek and mild, but how I wish I was more wild.
She read her words back to herself and giggled. Nora knew she was no Emily Dickinson or Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but that was perfectly fine by her. Her poems weren’t meant to be serious. She wrote more like Doctor Seuss or Shel Silverstein, whimsical and fun. And anyway, she wrote for herself, not to share with the world.
Looking back to the street, her attention shifted to a mother struggling with a small child who wanted to look in a shop window adorned with toys and Christmas decor. She pulled on the boy’s gloved hand, urging him to hurry along. The boy protested, putting up a good fight until eventually his mother won and hurried him up the street and out of view.
Shiny toys and blinking lights, attract the eyes of little tikes. They look in wonder, their eyes grow wide, and beg and plead to go inside. But Mother has no time for games, there are more important things she claims. With tears and screams, they’re pulled away, with promises to come back, another day.
As Nora finished writing the last words, she realized that she was drawing from her own experiences. There was never a moment for play as her mother was always consumed by work. Nora often wondered if her mother’s habit of overworking was just her way of keeping her mind busy so that the demons of her past didn’t surface. It was always easier to keep yourself busy rather than to deal with the hurt. She knew this firsthand from her experience with Sam. When she was a child, she hadn’t understood,thinking her mother had loved the bakery more than her own daughter. But now, as an adult, she understood that loss and grief made people go inward. In a way, it might have been her way of protecting Nora from the sadness she carried.
