Finding Breath

They were the worst months of my life. I finally admitted defeat and that was the hardest part. I wasn't breaking down. I broke down. I was barely surviving the arduous effort of my university. I was barely surviving severe loneliness and barely surviving unyielding rain. I was barely surviving life.I begged Heavenly Father for help. I begged over and over for help. And then, you were there.

I showed up at Institute. I wore a bulky red hoodie which Americans only sport when the pressures of comfort or homesickness outweigh the pressure to defy the British notion of an unkempt overseas people. I hid behind a pair of glasses and no make-up. I personified the untidy and disheveled mess my life had become.

My exhausted brain was never more worn out in my life than that moment during finals week. I struggled to put another piece of information into my head and struggled even more to download any intelligence into written or spoken word. I will never understand why I was in that classroom that night.

I sat in the back of the room tucked against the wall. You sat poised like a sculpture in the front row across the aisle dividing us. Your hair appeared neat and flawless. Your clothing was clean and smart so much so that I thought you were a posh visitor from London. Your button up shirt was crisp and your pants were fitted. The brogues on your feet communicated that even the article separating man from earth was worth consideration. Every feature, every detail… effortlessly intentional.

The evening concluded and your American accent spilled from your mouth as you socialized with subtle exertion. No one noticed but me. In that brief instance, I saw you - an introvert posing temporarily as an extrovert among a guardedly stoic people. I felt like I was the last person you acknowledged that evening. And why would you? I looked repellent.

I don’t remember one word from that conversation. Still, at some point I remember giving you my cell phone whereupon you added yourself to my list of Facebook friends. It was for messenger purposes and I remember offering you my assistance in the city should you need it. I didn’t expect to hear from you again. Surprisingly, a couple of hours later, we conversed about Christmas Markets in Europe concluding with plans to see Edinburgh’s the following evening.

The next night, a cold Scottish drizzle began to slowly fall making every piece of my skin feel as though it had been pinched. I ran late and ignored the biting weather as I trudged into City Centre. I arrived at the café as the sprinkle transitioned into an unforgiving winter downpour. You were running late so I claimed a stool at the bar facing the street while I waited. The small bell on the door chimed multiple times indicating a new patron until one of the chimes was you.

We were seated at a small wooden circular table in the back shortly after 4PM. We unabashedly dove into the business of acquainting ourselves with each other. I remember I laughed… a lot. From the moment you opened your ridiculous mouth about Mormon royalty, I laughed.

We shared… unrestrained. That is what I remember the most. We spoke of our families and our siblings with cancer. We spoke of our histories, some of our past transgressions, our scars, and our emerging understanding of the human condition according to our experiences. We would never see each other again so why deceive or even embellish our reality. It was truth unfettered. But I’m learning that is you. You are truth it seems… at least with me.

Outside, icy rain drowned a dank stone city in sapphire and onyx. Inside, enveloped by a fiery golden glow of camaraderie and familiarity, I sank into soulful warmth. And in a blink, three hours were gone.

You suggested we journey to the Christmas Market. Immediately after exiting, we waged war on the elements in the open air. Bitter precipitation lashed against us and you quickly opened your umbrella as a shield. Without hesitation, you reached your arm around me to pull me in close to you as we shared the small shelter from the rain.

Glued to one another, we marched around the city. I intended to lead us straight to our destination, but the adventurer in you paraded us through the city exploring colorful side streets and open marketplaces. When I was misplaced in my city, your confidence guided us to a set of stairs where we climbed up the back side of the mighty Edinburgh castle and rambled down the main street of the city.

The cobbled Royal Mile led to North Bridge spanning across the prominent Waverly Train Station. We slogged over North Bridge to Princes Street whose road was inlayed with the metallic rails steering the city trams. And there in front of our faces shined the Apple Store. Even a senseless traveler could discern the immediate relief the shelter would provide and so we dashed across the threshold.

We killed time as I watched you dink around on the newly released iPad. Among your doodling, you wrote your last night behind my first name like a school aged, love-struck kid. But you weren’t school aged or love-struck and definitely not a kid. Still, your playfulness was one of the traits which immediately won me over. You tossed low-grade comedy and cheap puns at me with the delivery of one of the most sapient minded individuals I ever met. I let it slide and even laughed because well, clever as you are, you earned that careless laughter.

Headed toward the Christmas market, I joked about your inability to love anything except Nike. In sheer awe, you harassed me about my psychic abilities. I’m not psychic rather I’m extremely observant. I watched you and for whatever reason, that night, you made no attempt to wall me out of your identity. Reading you was as simple as turning a page. Maybe that’s another reason I took to you so easily. You went down smooth and easy then.

Once at the Christmas Market, we investigated a handful of wooden booths before pausing in front of a vendor selling celtic stamped leather bound journals. I watched you sharply, eagle-eyeing your every move. I collect journals… which I fill… with shoddy words upon shoddy words. And in this moment, everything about you felt… familiar. It was as though I was remembering you instead of learning about you. I coyly inquired into your interest. You simply stated that you collected journals and that you enjoyed writing. “Me too,” I thought.

Hunger claimed the moment and with a declaration to return to “100%” purchase one of these journals, we headed to my favorite pub. The precipitation ebbed and flowed throughout the evening and we temporarily found some ease as we walked down streets dressed in white glittering twinkle lights and shiny red bows of Christmas.

After the fish and chips were delivered to our table, you made fry sauce in Scotland and once more, I was just happy to have someone bring a familiar piece of home into my foreign world. But again, that was what you were, over and over. You spoke familiarly and brought familiarity and you were familiar.

We left the pub and made our way back to the Christmas market where we found the food area and gravitated to the German donuts. I wanted to share and upon voicing this sentiment I was quickly met with the notion that you are a germaphobe. You explained that you didn’t make a habit of sharing food or drinks with just anyone. And even as I was entirely put off by this notion of you, I still found myself amused by it, by you.

Your tone shifted from explanatory to defensive when you sensed what could only be skepticism on my face. Because you, my friend, felt the need to relate, that in spite of this fact, that you enjoyed kissing and declared yourself to be a great kisser. I laughed. I laughed while you conceded to sharing those donuts insofar as nothing about me touched anything of yours.

The winter rain was pouring again and once more we were on the move to find shelter. While walking the city you suggested that maybe we find a Starbucks where we could warm up and possible dry off. But I mentioned my flat wasn’t that far away and so you followed me block after block until the cobbled cement city yielded to a sprawling grass field. A small stone flat with aquamarine shudders marked the intersection of the city buildings to The Meadows.

Once inside, I changed out of my wet clothes while you checked your email. You sang Justin Bieber lyrics track after track until you transitioned into Kanye. We spent hours as though they were minutes. We seamlessly went from playing ‘Heads Up’ to talking about the gospel. I burrowed my way into your side as you lay in my bed and answered my rapid-fire questions. You narrated stories about your dad & mom and every account about your parents communicated a reverence with which you esteem them.

I loved your Frye scarf. I loved when you told me it was cool that I could entertain ideas that I didn’t believe. I loved when you told me I was a one-of-a-kind girl. Slowly, we melted into silence. I loved feeling entirely insulated for a few hours after months of mounting darkness. I loved that you were a light. You were my light.

The city was quiet, still, calm, and dark. The sky uncannily cleared. I sent you away as a hundred glass stars sparkled against the silky black ink sky after a night of the coldest, wettest Scottish weather. I felt a bit embarrassed at how hard I hugged you when we said goodbye. I loved how when I said I was sad I would never see you again, you never flinched for even a second.

You countered confidently that we absolutely would.