“I like your sense of humor, Lily. And your way with a dog.” We crossed the busy road to a path along a park that ran beside a river. “I’ve told you the not-lovely parts about Twickenham. Here are the wonderful ones. Parks. The Thames. It’s not the quaint version of England you might have imagined. But Twickenham has its quirks.”
One of those quirks was sitting on a park bench. “Who’s that?” I asked.
It was a disarmingly lifelike statue of a lady, seated with a book on her lap and a hat by her side. “Poor dear Virginia Woolf,” said Jane Douglas. “She was hospitalized at a nursing home for women with mental disorders here in Twickenham. There’s a proposal for a permanent statue of her to be erected here, but the funds haven’t been approved. A local artist made this mock statue from Styrofoam, to show what the statue could look like.” Quotes from Virginia Woolf were painted on large rocks situated on the pavement below her feet.
Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
Books are the mirrors of the soul.
I thought, of course, of Dash. I thought of how lost he seemed to have felt lately.
And I thought, I know exactly what I’m doing with my life. I don’t know how I’m going to do it—or if Pembroke will be the place—but I know with certainty: I want a career working with dogs. I didn’t want to go to Barnard.
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
What could be a more wild and precious life than one working with dogs and living near Dash? Why should I wait on that until I finished college? That was the life I wanted, now. So what if the school was in someone’s living room? I didn’t need to be rich or famous or fabulous and I didn’t need a prestigious education to please my parents. I needed to please myself.
Life is so hard. I see it everywhere. I see the homeless people on the street. I see how tragically humans have hurt the earth. How terribly they hurt each other. I also knew how lucky I was. I wouldn’t take my privilege for granted.
Truth be told, my parents would prefer me to break up with Dash, even though they like him well enough. You’re too young to know what you want, they’re always saying. To which I say … Really? Over his parents’ objections, my great-uncle Sal married his high school sweetheart when they were just eighteen, and they’ve been together for over fifty years now, and they have four children, nine grandchildren, great-grand-twins on the way, and a house on the Jersey shore that’s always too crowded but also always brimming with love and laughter. I think they knew exactly what they were doing when they were eighteen.
And suddenly, as I looked at Styrofoam Virginia Woolf, I had a vision of what my future could be. It was just a flash, but it was a certainty. My future, at least right now, was here in England. Dreary, odd, wonderful Britain. With my dreary, odd, wonderful Dash.
And the Pembroke Canine Facilitator Institute was quite possibly where I’d forge that future. On the train back to London, I composed that Christmas present Mom requested, and CC’d her on the email.
Dear Professor Garvey:
Thank you for your kind invitation to meet me and talk about my courses at Barnard. I’m sure you have amazing insights and I’m truly grateful for your offer. However, I have decided not to go to Barnard after all. I hope someone who really wants to go there will get my place instead. That’s who should have it: someone who actually wants it. Turns out, what I want right now is not in New York at all.
Yours sincerely,
Lily
After I hit Send, I made a hotel reservation for the rest of my stay in London. Like an Actual Adult.
I couldn’t wait to return to the city and see Dash and tell him the news. Him! Me! Together in England! But just as I was about to text him, he texted me a photo of a Christmas tree standing in snow-covered Central Park and this message: I can’t wait to go home to New York.
eight
December 21st and December 22th
I wandered for hours until I found my way home.
I plunged headlong into the streets without a phone to guide me. I was no longer in the forest, but I was in a different kind of forest, weaving through the canopy of concrete and glass, largely silent as the night narrowed into sleeping hours.
This was something I loved to do in New York; I’d much rather walk fifty blocks home than entrap myself in the sweaty subway. But in Manhattan I had mastery of the grid, whereas in London I was confounded. I knew the sensation of wandering in the city but not the city itself; I was in a different version of the familiar world, geography in an idiosyncratic translation. Instead of going into a pub and asking for a bit of charge, I decided to feel my way, consulting the rare map that appeared along the side of the road, more for daytime tourists than nighttime wanderers. I knew I had to make it to the river, and eventually I did. Then all I needed to do was make my way to the other side.
By the time I got to the Millennium Bridge, there were still a few late-night carousers around—drunkards wobbling from their ale-ments, couples huddling close to keep their relationships warm, every now and then a fellow fellow dressed to the nines well after twelve. I let them all drift past me like ghosts while I focused on my own materiality, on feeling that I could anchor myself amidst the wideness of this world. On the larger scale, I had no idea where I was going. So best to focus smaller-scale, to know that Gem’s town house was my next and best destination.
Still, I didn’t go there directly. Even as I made it to the southern side of the Thames, I let my path diverge so I could stay solitary for a little bit longer. What better way is there to clear your head than to stroll in a normally crowded space that’s now empty of all people?
I needed that aloneness … and then I needed to return from it.
I texted Lily as soon as my phone’s charge had returned, and I left a note of apology for Gem on the kitchen table before crashing to a largely dreamless slumber. I awoke the next morning to Gem in my doorway, saying, “Dash, I think we need to have a conversation about manners.”
“I’m sorry,” I said before opening my eyes. “My spirits died, and my phone followed suit. So I went for a wander.”
“I certainly admire the impulse, but I have some quibbles with the methodology.” I opened my eyes and saw her looking around my room. “But at least you hung up your suit rather than sleep in it. This speaks to a certain sobriety.”
“The only elixir to pass my lips was solitude,” I assured her.
“Be careful you don’t drink too much of that,” Gem warned. “It needs to be balanced by a rich diet of fine company. Otherwise, the benders can be cruel.”
“Today shall be dedicated to fine company,” I promised. “Starting, ending, and in-betweening with Lily.”
“Is she up?”
“I haven’t sent my owl over to check.” In truth, I didn’t even know where she was staying, although I assumed it was with despicable Mark.
“Well, if she is, invite her over for breakfast. The British have done this wonderful thing where they’ve taken guacamole out of the realm of corn chips and put it on toast.”
“It’s also beloved by young Americans, I’m told.”