Dinner at the George...

The Big Ten has started doing something called Smurfing it up. Smurfing it up means putting on your red jacket and tying the hood on the top tight so it looks like you are bald and red and then protruding your ears out the side of the hood so that one slightly resembles a smurf if Alred E. Neuman were a smurf. It is inane Instead of saying Big Ten give it up they say Big Ten SMURF it up form a conga line and start humming the smurf theme song. Everything is in truncated La’s  It was cute in Hyde park when Spencer thought of it before  mediating over his theology but  its getting stale. Everything is either BIG TEN give it up when Trevor is looking of OPEN JEWELS when he is not.  Jim says that we can’t forget about jumping on the Daisy Train, making a comment how Daisy will probably end up harvesting all of her poached jewels so that she can pay for college someday.

Vivian discusses how we have quite a treat that awaits us now don't we?  She tells us that we will be dining in the oldest Coach Inn/pub in all of London. She states that the date of the George dates back to the 16-century. 

"It is recorded that both William Shakespeare and Charles Dickins used to enjoy a pint or two here back in the day so it is somewhat of a literary establishment, now isn't it.

From the outside there are several white terraces reminiscent of an antebellum ice cream social.  We pass a gate withe the words the George followed by the numbers 77 trapped in a lighting apparatus, which makes me think of the year I was born and the band I discovered last month while in Chicago. 

 Vivian states also that the originally establishment was burnt down in the fire of London but rebuilt on the same spot. After inquiring apparently no on in our group has perused Little Dorrit. Vivian makes reference that one can easily William Shakespeare congregating here since the Globe is only just down the street.  

I place my glasses in the side of my Crimson pocket. The Big ten is still humming the theme song to the smurfs. Everything is blurry, a fractaled thumbprint. I am walking in we are being directed to sit on the far off room of the George.

From up ahead I can make out Vinny with his camcorder.  Several of the college chaperons are answering questions about where to sit. I can make our several members Bus #4. The kid with the moustache and the beige trenchant who resembles a white trash Paul McCartney always appears to be everywhere at the same time.  For a second, with my glasses off I swear I hear Jennifer Flood. Harmony is nowhere. She has been nowhere all day. Nat is still walking around with one hand around the girl, acting like he just found out he was the heir to the Onassis fortune.  Behind them, with my glasses off, I see Meg Weaver. Even near-sighted I can make out the lashes of her smile. I wonder if anyone has heard from Harmony. As I walk in her direction I hear a voice.

“Hey use.” It is Rose from Greta’s and Sheila’s group. She is wearing sunglasses even though we are indoors.

I tell her hello. Even though she is southern and sweet and on the bus I for some inexplicable reason yearn to be a part of my thoughts are fumbling over Harmony.  I tell Rose hi without looking her directly I the face. The group as a whole is being shepherded in different directions.  From ahead I swear I hear Our Wendy offering her Dear Abby opinions on life to anyone who will listen. Purportedly Lynn Minton met with 20 kids this afternoon so I am somewhat surmising that is where Harmony was when I called her. Vivian is holding up her umbrella referencing the dining area upstairs once serving as the actual lodging facility. As I following the Big Ten a sit of shoulders appears in front of me causing me to fortuitously slam into them. It is someone from the older buses.

“Hey, sorry man.”

I look up. It is Ezekiel Bosh-Midden. .

“You asshole. Watch w\here you are walking.”

Zeke stakes the name of the Lord in vain. He says Jesus. His lip continues to scowl at me. There is no need for him to belittle me. I didn’t bump into him that hard. His girlfriend, the other YC winner from Arkansas is looking at Zeke like she wants him to clobber me.

“Hey, real sorry man. I didn’t see you in front of me. I Apollo…”

“Well for crissakes watch were you are going. Jesus don’t you people just don't haVE any respect for anyone.”

Zeke says the word Jesus again like Roman senator just gave him a choice between the messiah and Barabbas. Behind him I can see Meg Weaver looking at me with an upside-down smile. I don’t know what I did wrong. I have been nothing but civil for him the entire trip. I don’t know why he has decided to loathe me from the outset.

I wonder what Zeke meant when he referred to me collectively as you people. 

“Jesus,” Zeke states again, as I am following the Big Ten to my place.

Jesus.  

                                                                      ***

The Big Ten is seated at the far back of the George. We pass nearly every other group to get to our table. I see no Mark. I see no Harmony. When  I pass Dandelion’s table she points in my direction as if she is pushing an elevator button.

even a Dandelion can blossom inside the George

“ You. You, I don’t like you.”

I point and say what.

“Yeah, I don’t like you. You kicked Spencer in the you-know-where. You really wounded him. He couldn’t talk for like an hour. I don’t like you.”

I want to tell her that it was retaliation for a puerile game. I want to tell her that I didn’t exactly emasculate him.

Instead I am more sarcastic.

.

“I was just trying to turn him into the Fisher King.”

She doesn’t glean the mythological reference. She says what, Robin Williams.

"Yeah, Robin Williams," I say, demeaning, wanting to say that Spencer was talking about harvesting her ovaries like Faberge eggs only minutes earlier. 

At dinner entire Big Ten with the exception of Josh and Myself are wearing their YC’ 93 jackets like smurfs until Liz gives them the look. They are seated as the table with their hands on their lap per the rules of OPEN JEWELS. Occasionally when one of the BIG TEN s cutting into his again this time Shepherd’s pie or taking a swig of his Sprite the peer next to him will pummel his lap and the table will end up in stitches.Harmony never called me back.  In the aperture of rooms leading to the left and my right I am surrounded by Strangers. Spencer is stating that he is never going to eat beef again when he gets back to the states.  Josh is constantly reminded all smurf-it-up Big Tenners about the Skit rehearsal tonight by using the words top secret and awesome in the same sentence.

Jim points and says what’s that Trevor saying Kenny's head turns and he gets hammered in the nads.

Again I don’t want to be here. Again I feel ostracized by my own group. Sir Charles comes over and gives a little league Coach slap on the back looking at me as if I just struck out with the bases loaded. I don’t get along with anyone in my group. The otherwinner from my area code completely reviles me and purportedly has some sort of vitriolic vendetta against me. Harmony is cool one second and the elusive the next.

Spencer is correlating our daily serving of Shepherds pie to that of a fecal sample.

I don’t want to be here.

There are no announcements after dinner because the George is so spread out but Liz Madigan has the counselors go to table to table stating, remember, tomorrow we are meeting the US ambassador to the United Kingdom so wear your ties. There is a Big Ten give it up. Everyone again forms smurf hats wit their hoodies.  Daisy points her finger as if she is casting a spell on me as I pass her by.

 In the beer garden Sir Charles is counting heads. I see the mustached trench-coat lad and the southern boy from Alabama who is always polite. I am in dire need of conversation so I step up and ask him how its hanging.  Before he answers me back in his molasses-drawl

 I swear I can feel her smile on the back of my neck. I have been waiting to see her all day and can feel her scent attacking me. I swear it is Harmony.

As I turn around I see her.

It is Rita.

As always she is by herself.

“Hey you,.We saw and you your friend, what’s his name, Mark, walking around Hyde park today. It looks like you guys were involved in some pretty heavy conversation.”

not Rita but Dreamily reminiscent....

I tell her that yeah, Mark’s a good guy. The Big Ten are completely out of control. I am trying not to be sullen.

I can tell Rita is trying to make conversation with me

“Can you believe that William Shakespeare used to dine here. And Charles Dickens. That’s pretty crazy that a monument would still be functioning from three hundred years ago.

“Yeah, he was drinking  beer and soliciting the services of prostitutes probably in the same exact area where I just consumed my third consecutive Shpeherd’s pie this week.”

“Harry!!” She says, almost admonishing. I don’t know how she started calling me Harry.

I look down.

“Sorry about the sarcastic. It’s just been a long day.”

 Rita smiles.

“Yeah, it’s been a crazy day too. I really enjoyed London but it seems like the bulk of my group is the busy coordinating this meeting with the British kids thing and the person who is Lynn Minton’s toady didn’t ask me.”

“She didn’t ask me either,” I reply, knowing that Rita is talking about Harmony.

“Really, I figured since you guys were so close and everything she would have invited you?”

I tell her no. I tell her that everyone on this trip has pretty much written off the Big Ten as being a bunch of sophomoric imbeciles.

“I’m so blessed to be here but sometimes when I’m with my group I feel like I’m stranded in the locker room back home.” 

Rita smiles. She is standing close to me. All day long I have been musing over witticisms to use on Harmony on the phone. Rita seems like she wants more.  The female Counselors are marshaling the groups together. I don’t know when I will see Rita next. Although we seemed to have clicked on the phone last night it seems like Harmony wants nothing to do with me.

On a quantum whim I decide to flirt with Rita instead. I ask her if she enjoyed the Hard Rock Café and the Tower of London.  I ask her if she is excited getting ready to meet with her group to decide about the skit tonight.  When Rita replies that she really enjoyed Madame Tussuads I use a line that I was saving for Harmony and tell her that I was looking for her statue but apparently the proprietor of Madame Tussuads keeps the wax angels on a different floor higher to heaven.

Rita looks down and blushes.

Something is cutting open inside of me. Something cathartic is transpiring.

I can hear Charles say Big Ten give it up. It is now or never.

“Hey, you don’t mind if I call you tonight, do you?”

I add if she’s not busy or anything. Rita looks down and says no. I turn around and see the neatly trimmed southern Baptist lad from Alabama. He is wearing a white shirt with several pens visible in the top corner.

I ask if I can borrow a pen. Before I finish thanking him I turn around and hand the pen plus a ripped portion of a napkin to Rita.

“Write down your number. I’ll call you around say midnight or so.”

A smile is rising like the sun over the Thames across her lips. 

She says yeah. On the napkin she writes her number. When she writes her name I can see where in lieu of a dot she adorns the top of her lower case i with a little heart

I take the folded napkin without looking at it and place it in my side pocket.

“Great, I’ll call you around midnight and we can look at the moon together.”

There is a smile welded on to her lips. It is like Harmony never existed. I feel a push. Jim Baker is telling me to comeon’ loverboy.

I look back at Rita. For the first time on this trip she is talking to a girl in her group. I give her a wave goodbye.