Day 7: April 19th, 1993: running in London

The sun seems to squint in a beam of minted gold, twin parallelograms of light drip through the curtains, a splash of spring air enters the room in treacle’s, and the sound of traffic, sputtering of horns, the gaseous pause of buses, the smell of exhaust and the feeling of something more to come as I reel my pillow into my chin.

From the antipodal corner of the room Justin gives a little snort indicative that he is not a happy camper. 

I look at the clock. It is 5:30 am. I just got off the phone with Harmony all of an hour ago.

This morning I am going running.

I am going running in London.

Everyone is stretching in the lobby in the Gloucester next to the statue of the gilded stag. Again I feel compelled to thank counselor Dan for taking us running. Meg Weaver is next to me wearing shorts that seem to periodically stick in a Tupperware fashion to her mid- thighs. Josh seems disgruntled that we have decided not to use his skit.

“It was really a good idea. I’ve seen people perform that skit before and it is just hilarious. Too bad Jim and the other guys just thought it would be plain gay, you know, guys contorted in supine positions over each other. In a way I guess I can almost see his point.”

Josh nods in a gruff way before giving me a look insinuating that if I really am serious about being a world class athlete I should have run the first morning in London.

There is nine of us. Tarnisha is not with us Meg’s smile is pasty and somehow homely.

“I haven’t seen you around. Harmony hasn’t seen you around.”

“I talked to her last night. Only for a little bit.”I say.

She gives me a little slap with the back of her wrist. She then smiles again. No one has a smile like Meg weaver, it is like she is reeling my entire chest into her forehead with her smile.

There are several younger runners with us notably from Dan’s group. Dan is beginning to sound like a park marshal telling us that running in London is different from running in Startford so that we all need to stay as one herd no matter what the pace. Josh’s girlfriend is doing stretches that looks like she should be wearing mid-80’s lag-warmers

It feels like I am doing a cool down run via the pace we are going.

The group pedals and clops throughout London, some thinking about the Marathon yesterday. Dan is at the helm, is legs running as if he is cautiously side stepping over something that had a pulse an hour earlier.

Boy scout Josh still seems peeved that the Big ten consensus as a whole. I run next to Meg Weaver the entire time. Black taxis zip past. Occasionally we seem to see a double-decker bus but they appear to be mostly used in tours of the city. Dan tells us to remember to stop when the traffic signs says don’t walk and not to try to be a hot shot because in a race between a car and a human the cars always win especially if the wheel is located on the wrong side of the dashboard.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I say to Meg Weaver. She looks down and smiles.

“I can’t get over how remote Stratford was and how industrial and metropolitan London is. It’s like New York. A deluge of humanity swarming around us at all times.”

Meg smiles. The group of nine stops at once when crossing at Queens gate road.  Dan points out that those building to our left constitute the Victoria Albert Museum and the British museum which we are not scheduled to see on this trip. Our bodies form a cluster whirling down Brompton Rd. Up ahead as we have already seen is Harrods, less than a half-mile from our hotel. Dan has already said for us serious athletes in training if we like we are free to run ahead of the group as soon as we get to the park up ahead.

We step briefly on to Knightsbridge and then enter a gate into Hyde’s park. We are allowed to push ahead but none of us really do. Josh is still running next to the blushed-countenanced vixen. I am still running next to Meg Weaver. We pass a nest of Hydrangeas. She says that spring is her favorite season because everything smells brand new. I tell her that autumn is mine because everything is dying and golden.

“Aren’t you going to run ahead.”                                     

I tell her no. I tell her I am content and that I like running next to her.

Meg looks back at me and smiles. She then inquires about Harmony.

I look down. I want to tell her how sociologically taciturn Harmony has been at times. I want to tell her that we bonded on the phone last night but it still ended kind of funny. I want to ask her why the autumn haired lass from her group is always so standoffish and looks like she wants to be somewhere else every time I try to talk.

I tell Meg that Harmony is fine.

“I can tell she really likes you a lot.”

I want to ask Meg if Harmony ever mentions me to her group. Instead I digress. Part of me doesn’t care what Harmony thinks about me. Part of me wants to know everything about Meg Weaver. Wants to watch her spill narratives out of her anatomy and know everything about her. Want to inquire if she is excited about going to the dance later on tonight. Want to inquire what her favorite part of the trip is so far. What to know what music she listens to. What life is like in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania I want to know if she runs track and cross-country. I want to know what her high school is like. What her bed looks like. What posters she has on her wall on her bedroom back home. 

What she lives for.

\She looks back at me and tells me that we seem to be getting ahead of the group. I wonder what her forehead tastes like.

“There’s a dance tonight. You’ll probably be seeing Harmony a lot at the dance.”

We head back towards the Gloucester Dan says if we want we can run faster as long as we look both ways before crossing intersections since traffic runs the opposing flow from what we are accustomed to here.

Again Meg looks at me thinking if I am going to go running ahead.

“I’m content,” I turn to her and say, thinking about my three days left in the sojourn.

“Let’s finish this race t’gether.”

Meg smiles. She says the pleasure would be all hers.