Status: Shiny new fanfic!
Carpe Diem
II
February 2017
It only took two weeks for me to decide, beyond any doubt, that I wanted to stay in London. It was beautiful, with its blend of what was old and new. I was happy to be in an unfamiliar place where nobody knew the tragedy I was digging myself out of. Best of all, there was nothing there to remind me of Art.
I had instructed my mother to send me my ukulele. Everything else, I said, could be donated. I didn't care about any of my possessions except my beautiful concert size ukulele. I had bought her with my very first paycheck when I was 15 years old. She had an ornate laser etching of roses around her soundhole. I called her Misty. Of course, when Misty arrived a few months after I made the decision to remain in the UK, she wasn't alone. My mother had also packed up my collection of Shakespeare's sonnets, as well as my shirt from the time I played Juliet in my senior year of high school. The front said "Romeo & Juliet, 2008". The back bore the word "CAST" in all capital letters between the shoulders. I had all of my castmates sign it. I wasn't sure if Mom sent it because she knew it was sentimental, or because it was scribbled all over with people's signatures. Probably both.
On this particular February day, almost five years after my arrival in London, I was sitting on my bed in the small bedroom in my tiny, cheap flat, enjoying a day off from the bustle of the restaurant where I worked. Over my first two years in the country, I lived with Tara and Maggie at their house. They let me stay, rent-free, until I could afford my own housing. We made a quilt together while I was there, and it was that quilt that I sat on with my ukulele. I absently strummed out Bon Iver's Skinny Love, singing along quietly as I watched the cold drizzle outside gently caress my windowpane. I finished the song and set Misty up against my pillows. I made a box with my fingers and thumbs and framed her, staring intently at her pose. Her dark stained wood looked lovely against my rainbow colored quilt. I stood up and grabbed my Polaroid off my dresser, aimed at Misty, and pressed the shutter button. The camera whirred as it spat out the photograph. I shook the exposure as the image faded into being. I wondered if I was a hipster. "You look gorgeous," I whispered to the ukulele on my bed, turning the photo to show her. No, she couldn't see it, but after 12 years, I considered Misty my best friend. I set my camera back down on top of the dresser and decided I wanted coffee. There was a coffee shop within walking distance of my flat. I pulled my black coat on over my Romeo & Juliet shirt and added a dusty rose scarf. I slipped my feet inside my black leather boots, and took my purse off the doorknob where it hung. "I'll be back in a while," I said, waving to Misty. She would have waved back if she had hands.
The wind spat cold droplets of water in my face the moment I stepped outside onto the footpath. I pulled my scarf up over my nose and hugged my coat tighter around myself, and then began my trek for coffee. Despite the weather, the city was still lively. It was one of the things I liked most about London. Londoners still went for walks in cold, sloppy weather. People where I came from preferred to drive, even on beautiful days.
As I reached the entrance of the coffee shop, the door swung open fast. I stopped short, but not short enough. "Ouch!" I yelped. The edge of the door had caught me on the front of my right shoulder.
"My apologies!" said a blond-haired man. "I didn't see you there, dear. Are you alright?" I nodded. "Yes? Good? No damage done?"
"I don't think so," I said, rubbing my shoulder. My brown eyes met his blue ones. He was handsome, for an older man. Oddly, he looked a lot like... a short-haired Gilderoy Lockhart. "At worst, I might have a bruise tomorrow."
"I am very sorry about that," he apologized again. "I'd pay for your coffee if I wasn't in such a hurry." Before I could say another word, he was speeding away across the street.
~
After having my coffee and making it home safely (with no more attacks from wild doors), I sent a text to Aunt Tara. We checked in every day, whether in person or via our phones. "I think Sir Kenneth Branagh opened a door on me today," I typed.
After a few minutes, she responded. "LOL! What an honor!"
It only took two weeks for me to decide, beyond any doubt, that I wanted to stay in London. It was beautiful, with its blend of what was old and new. I was happy to be in an unfamiliar place where nobody knew the tragedy I was digging myself out of. Best of all, there was nothing there to remind me of Art.
I had instructed my mother to send me my ukulele. Everything else, I said, could be donated. I didn't care about any of my possessions except my beautiful concert size ukulele. I had bought her with my very first paycheck when I was 15 years old. She had an ornate laser etching of roses around her soundhole. I called her Misty. Of course, when Misty arrived a few months after I made the decision to remain in the UK, she wasn't alone. My mother had also packed up my collection of Shakespeare's sonnets, as well as my shirt from the time I played Juliet in my senior year of high school. The front said "Romeo & Juliet, 2008". The back bore the word "CAST" in all capital letters between the shoulders. I had all of my castmates sign it. I wasn't sure if Mom sent it because she knew it was sentimental, or because it was scribbled all over with people's signatures. Probably both.
On this particular February day, almost five years after my arrival in London, I was sitting on my bed in the small bedroom in my tiny, cheap flat, enjoying a day off from the bustle of the restaurant where I worked. Over my first two years in the country, I lived with Tara and Maggie at their house. They let me stay, rent-free, until I could afford my own housing. We made a quilt together while I was there, and it was that quilt that I sat on with my ukulele. I absently strummed out Bon Iver's Skinny Love, singing along quietly as I watched the cold drizzle outside gently caress my windowpane. I finished the song and set Misty up against my pillows. I made a box with my fingers and thumbs and framed her, staring intently at her pose. Her dark stained wood looked lovely against my rainbow colored quilt. I stood up and grabbed my Polaroid off my dresser, aimed at Misty, and pressed the shutter button. The camera whirred as it spat out the photograph. I shook the exposure as the image faded into being. I wondered if I was a hipster. "You look gorgeous," I whispered to the ukulele on my bed, turning the photo to show her. No, she couldn't see it, but after 12 years, I considered Misty my best friend. I set my camera back down on top of the dresser and decided I wanted coffee. There was a coffee shop within walking distance of my flat. I pulled my black coat on over my Romeo & Juliet shirt and added a dusty rose scarf. I slipped my feet inside my black leather boots, and took my purse off the doorknob where it hung. "I'll be back in a while," I said, waving to Misty. She would have waved back if she had hands.
The wind spat cold droplets of water in my face the moment I stepped outside onto the footpath. I pulled my scarf up over my nose and hugged my coat tighter around myself, and then began my trek for coffee. Despite the weather, the city was still lively. It was one of the things I liked most about London. Londoners still went for walks in cold, sloppy weather. People where I came from preferred to drive, even on beautiful days.
As I reached the entrance of the coffee shop, the door swung open fast. I stopped short, but not short enough. "Ouch!" I yelped. The edge of the door had caught me on the front of my right shoulder.
"My apologies!" said a blond-haired man. "I didn't see you there, dear. Are you alright?" I nodded. "Yes? Good? No damage done?"
"I don't think so," I said, rubbing my shoulder. My brown eyes met his blue ones. He was handsome, for an older man. Oddly, he looked a lot like... a short-haired Gilderoy Lockhart. "At worst, I might have a bruise tomorrow."
"I am very sorry about that," he apologized again. "I'd pay for your coffee if I wasn't in such a hurry." Before I could say another word, he was speeding away across the street.
~
After having my coffee and making it home safely (with no more attacks from wild doors), I sent a text to Aunt Tara. We checked in every day, whether in person or via our phones. "I think Sir Kenneth Branagh opened a door on me today," I typed.
After a few minutes, she responded. "LOL! What an honor!"
♠ ♠ ♠
Whoa, subscribers! Hi, subscribers!This chapter is very short. I almost broke my finger at work today and it's very difficult to type, so this chapter is very short. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
Thank you so much for reading!
~ Rachel