Ithaca

"That was scary." Daisy tells me in a way I can tell she is still thinking about if Spencer the jester of the trip was present somehow he would have assuage the situation with much more virility and aplomb.

"Well, at least you got your scarf back?"

"What?"

"The scarf. The scarf you were wearing as a disguise when you tip-toed out of the hotel."

Daisy nods. She says oh yeah. We are still holding hands as we pass the shadows of the tour buses in the parking lot. She is squeezing my hand tight again. In a way I think she wants to tell me thank you. In a way I think she wants to espouse her gratitude for saving her from the streets of London.

Instead Daisy lets go of my hand as soon as our reflections become visible in the overhead windows of the Gloucester.

"So, you promise to talk to Spencer for me?"

I nod. I am still wielding her suitcase. Daisy steps over to a distance that indicates we might as well be strangers in an elevator. That she doesn't wish to be seen with me because I am not Spencer.

That she really doesn't care that I risked it all to go out and save her,

"Yeah," I tell Daisy.

No problem.

We pass several bus driver's milling outside for what they call popping a quick fag. I wave at Chris as we are swallowed into the carpeted entrance, past the potted hostas that look like sentinels.The automatic door slices open. My vision assays across the lounge momentarily blinded by the light. I am holding her suitcase.  Our reflection is mirrored behind the check-in desk. It look like we are arriving together. It looks like we are on some sort of a honeymoon. It looks like we are almost a couple. Before we are through the second set of glassed windows I look for Rita. I wonder if Rita would understand if I explained to her that it was not my fault.  If I somehow explained to her that I was elated, just elated when I received her digits that night we dined at the George. How I was almost out of control elated. How I was pumped until Baker tackled my back while I was en route to the bus and I dropped my glasses, and her digits and all hope.

I see the gilded Stag. Rita is no longer seated where she was seated all of 45 minutes ago. 

For some reason I don’t know why I figured that Rita would have nothing better to do with her life than to wait for me.

There are few if any Yong Columbusians in the lobby, the majority I surmise are getting ready for the banquet in a couple of hours. I see the John Major tour guide and the doors where the purported Lynn Minton interview was conducted. I see who I am rather sure is Choctawhatchee Heather walking with several members of her group. I see Tarnisha who plays volleyball at Georgetown who ran with us the first day only that was it because she had bad knees.

There is a lull. The muzak emanating over the loudspeaker is some sort of synthetic Farming jazz. 

There is no Rita. My head is oscillating in every direction.

Afternoon light breaks into teary prisms as it ricochets off the gilded stag in the center of the room.

Harmony could pass by and I would somehow fail to notice.

I am still lugging Daisy’s suitcase about ready to hand it back. About ready to tell Daisy that it has been real when I hear a familiar voice.  It is looking down on us. Its shadow looms.

“And just where might I ask what the two of you were doing outside the hotel?”

It is Liz Madigan. She is addressing us with an authoritative lilt. For the first time this entire trip her voice sounds what I would classify as being elegantly pissed. Normally she is always addressing me as the fine young man. Normally she is verbally extolling  my praises. Normally she is telling me what everyone on this trip has been has been saying. That I look exactly like the older brother off of Blossom.  The supporting character. The brother whose name no one can remember yet who is a recovering alcoholic and how we somehow share the same silhouette and angular nose.

I set the suitcase down. 

Liz Madigan says the word well as if she is somehow talking about water.

Daisy is cowering.  She is looking down.  It is obvious that she has been crying. I forget that it is illegal for us to leave the hotel.  Daisy is completely stunned. Liz Madigan actually looks perturbed which she has never looked before. She is not the jovial cheerleader she has been every time she takes the mic and makes a speech after our daily get together rhetorically asking us what we thought of the events of the day.

There is crumpling feeling in my chest. It is swelling and reminiscent to how I felt when I inadvertently flicked the strand of bloke's hair whom I thought was Mark less than 24 hours into this global jaunt.

We are still silent. Liz Madigan clears her throat. She says again.

"Again, why might I ask were the two of you outside, breaking the rules, going off-grounds without a chaperon?"

The last time I spoke with Liz Madigan she seemed to intuit that there was some sort of mix-up and that I should have been chosen to participate in the prestigious FRESH VOICES interview that afternoon.I don't lie to adults especially one who is the head coordinator of our tour. I don't know what to say. She is liable to place both myself and Daisy on the dreaded Discipline Bus for the remainder of the tour.

My trip to England is over.

“We just had to retrieve this…” I hold up Daisy’s suitcase. Liz Madigan is looking at me like she is attending court involving some sort of alimony and an ex-spouse.  

Liz Madigan looks at the suitcase. I wonder if she can tell that Daisy has been crying.

"It was outside and it needed to be brought in."

 Liz stops. Tilts her head as if pondering. She then begins to sniff the air in the manner of a rather sophisticated Hamster.

“ And. why do the two of you smell like smoke, might I ask?”

Without missing a beat Daisy intervenes. 

"The bus drivers'. They were out there smoking. Dave stopped and had a conversation with Chris. We only talked for a second."

"Well, as the  two of you know that according to the rules of the trip you are not allowed to leave the group unattended. Especially venture out into the parking lot. This is a very serious offense. We've had rumors circulating all afternoon about a certain someone running away. Packing up her bags and leaving a note and then running off into the rather dangerous interstices that is downtown London."

Liz Madigan asks us if the two of us wouldn't happen t know anything about that, 

"Somehow it occurs to me that she knows. Somehow I should just fess up that I was having a rather deep and romantically-limned conversation with conversation with the elusive love-of-my-life-killer-black-dress Rita when I saw Daisy clad in what looked like she was going to the local Mosque scuttling out the front door and I felt the unwavering need to haul corporeal-ass after her and somehow save her.  

"This is a very serious offense. I’m afraid I will have to let your counselors know”

Liz Madigan is still looking at me. I think about how cool Simone is. I think about how out of all the Counselors is seems like she is working the hardest because one of the junior high girls in her group always seems to be having their first period. The only person who cries more than the members of Daisy’s group is Nat’s girlfriend Miss Arkansas Sara who cries if you blink at her funny.

“Well. I’m sorry to have been so stringent but there were rumors about how a member of you group ran away and of course, we have to investigate these matter very seriously indeed.”

Liz says that all Young Columbusians were chosen to represent their respective districts and, it most cases, states. She tells me that if a Young Columbus representative would have run away during the discourse of the contest even the state’s senator who likely get involved and the integrity but also the continuity of this fine program would be in jeopardy.

I tell her that I know. I tell her that I am sorry. She swipes her head from shoulder to shoulder and says that sorry is just not going to cut it. 

Liz turns and faces in my direction

“Frankly I’m surprised at you. Young man. We always thought so highly of you. In fact, we were considering.."

Liz pauses. I have no clue what Liz is talking about with her statement that we were considering. She is pausing for no reason. I am pretty much already packed. I have more or less already eerything in my suitcase. I have the Harry Connick Jr. sheet music and the Hard Rock cafe t-shirt for my siblings. I have the miniature Knights for both Tim and Patrick and the souvenir British Tea for Sandy and the giant Clysdale horshoe with the words ENGLAND emblazoned across the top for Hale. 

I have the Depeche Mode tape that you can't find in the states.

I have the  intractable robocop-looking film bag that Aunt Jan let me borrow so that when the film goes through the customs none of the rolls of film is damaged. 

I have souvenir booklets from everywhere of note on this trip.

I have exactly ten dollars worth of random British currency that I plan on taking home and salvaging.

I have the Royal Gardens book for my mom on her birthday. The same day as the Queen.

I have purchased nothing for my English teacher who wrote me a recommendation letter.

I have purchased nothing for Coach Ricca, whose letter my father claimed that he wished to have framed. 

I have purchased nothing for my father.

Somehow I am juggling in my brain that if the Big Ten gets to attend the final extravaganza of the Medieval Banquet I am availing my chest. Part of me wants to state that the reason this child ran-away to begin with was because the BIG TEN, mainly Jim Baker, was tirelessly allowed to berate her non-stop. To Make her feel worthless and feel like shit. That if anyone is reprimanded it shouldn't be Daisy, it should be the Big Ten as a whole. 

Liz Madigan is looking at me again. Several Japanese bossiness with Coach briefcases are having a discussion in Japanese and laughing. Behind Liz the elevators open in a synchronized chorus of blings,

"Again, I'm surprised at you Yong man You were always so considerate and polite."

Again she says that I was being strongly considered as if there was some sort of vote when we are interrupted. 

The voice is familiar. It sounds like the British nanny from fairy tales.   

“Well quite right Young Man and Diasy, there you are..”

The voice is rubicund yet redeeming. The voice is warm and familiar.

I turn around. It is Vivian I swear the light from the gilded stag has enshrined her head so that it looks like a halo.

“That was so very kind of you to go and retrieve my luggage.”

Daisy’s mouth is jarred open in shock. I nod. It takes me all of 2/10^th of a second to discern that Vivian is covering for us. That she is somehow on our side.

Vivian has class. Her ever mannerism teems with Grace. She walks up to the suitcase and picks it up by the handle showing a sense of proprietorship.  

“Liz. I’m sure you remember that there was a mix-up with my luggage and it somehow boarded the wrong bus at Stratford. Instead of heading towards here in London my suitcase somehow was inadvertently chartered on a bus of senior citizens to all the way to Warwickshire. It was quite a nasty arrangement but finally it appears its has arrived.”

I can’t believe Vivian is covering for us. She is an adult. I can’t believe that an adult is covering us. That an adult has out back.

“Thank you again.” Vivian notes holding the luggage up. The manner in which Vivian is holding the suitcase is shrewdly arrayed so that the standard Young Columbus name tag is not visible.

“Is this true, Young Man?” Liz nods in my direction.

I can’t lie. I don’t know how. I don’t know why Liz is not just taking Vivian’s word for it.

Daisy nods her head several times up and down.

“Yes, she asked us. It was just in the parking lot. I know we weren’t supposed to leave the hotel premises but is was just in the hotel parking lot and I knew we would be helping out Vivian.

Liz nods. I am lying to an adult for the first time in my life. I keep going.

“I knew that Vivian has had quite a hard week with her luggage being misplaced and her carpel tunnel and all but I greatly enjoy her insight on the tour bus.  I mean, its so cool just being here in the first place, being having Vivian’s voice narrate is like having a soundtrack for the trip."

Liz is smiling. There is a general consensus between Daisy and myself that we are out of the proverbial hot seat.

“These two youngsters did quite a service I assure you. With my carpal tunnel and all it would have been extremely difficult lug it off the bus.  I’m glad we have such responsible members to assist me.”

Liz looks at the two of us then back to Vivian. 

 “Well Vivian I don’t need to remind you that the safety of our young travelers through this trip is paramount. That it is very dangerous to go outside unchaperoned even if it was only in the parking lot.”

Vivian says she agrees 100 hundred percent which is why she sent only, as Liz surely would agree, the best and the brightest out to retrieve her luggage while Vivian herself sat near the window and carefully assayed their every move.

“And I do thank both these two again for retrieving my luggage as well as their benevolent leader for understanding.”

Liz looks confused. She looks like she is biting her tongue.

“Yes, well, now that Vivian has her luggage the two of you should head back to your hotel room and get ready for the festivities tonight.”

Daisy takes off with out her suitcase entering the nearest elevator that is just blinging close.

I am two steps behind her when I stop and think that Vivian stil has Daisy's luggage. I wonder how we will orchestrate a ransom drop-off sitation where Daisy can retrieve it.

As I walk back Liz face appears to be stern hyphen. She is looking straight at Vivian,

She addresses me again as Young man.

"Thank you again for your assistance in this manner Young man, but right now you need to get dressed for the banquet tonight and I would like to have a word with Vivian in private."

I try to revert to the Fine Young Man.

I wonder if Vivian is in trouble.

I wonder why Vivian felt the need to cover for us.

I wonder why she felt the need to take the fall.