1. Ivy
IVY
I t was the architecture that brought me to Edinburgh. I thought I could learn from the old buildings that have housed so many stories and all the places where so many lives have lived. The texture of the walls and the plants that have overgrown fallen castles. The romantic side of me was pulled to the fantasy of it all. My love of history is one thing, my desire for stories is another.
I thought my life in Scotland would be picturesque like the photos they show to prospective students to help them make their decision. My sabbatical only lasts so long and it’s time for me to make a hard decision on what to do after my master’s program is over. Real life as some would say, but I wasn’t ready.
I’m not naive enough to believe that real life always turns out like a dream or a glossy photograph in a brochure.
I didn’t expect everything to be so different. I could have never imagined what was to come. The unsettling feelings deep in the marrow of my bones. The chills that would come without warning. And yet…how it all would still call to me.
I pull my hood tighter over my head as I walk down the wet sidewalk. It’s been raining most of the day. The pitter-patter and the harsh cold have been near constants. At first, they were soothing, nearly cleansing, but the gray skies have drained me almost as much as the nightmares have. I dare to peer up… The rain isn’t quite rain right now. It’s spitting, like it could become heavy fog any second.
The wind bites the tip of my nose. The rain is the kind that chills me to the bone.
The murky light reflects how I feel about this street and the sun, which is already mostly set. My boots click on the uneven stone walk as I pass the street as quickly as I can. Edinburgh looks older in the dark, as if the buildings are hiding secrets behind their doors and windows.
Some of those buildings are hiding secrets.
But I still find myself desperate to reach the café and go inside. The chill deepens despite the hood of my rain jacket, and I know it’s him . Swallowing thickly, I quicken my pace.
He’s stalking me. If he’s even real… This city is making me think I’m losing my mind.
When I first came to Edinburgh, I thought I felt that way because I was alone in a new city without many friends. I’ve always been a loner, but I’ve never felt the loneliness that’s haunted me here.
It was harder than I thought to find people to talk to. I had imagined forming a group of friends who would walk with me to the café and spread their notebooks and books out on the table with mine. I thought maybe we’d have so much to talk about that the barista might give us a look or two warning us to quiet down.
In my imagination, the barista would actually be fond of our meetings and might even sit down for tea or coffee with us, and we’d find out we had things in common and they would become part of our group.
I had so many fantasies of what these three months would become and not a damn one has come true.
The rain gets heavier as I reach the door of the café. The glass is clouded with the heat from the inside, and a quiet bell tinkles as I enter. Rain splashes as I take off my jacket and try to shake it over the threshold without letting any more rain in, but a spray of droplets falls to the floor.
I shoot an apologetic look at the barista, but she’s looking down at something behind the counter and doesn’t notice. It’s a slight reprieve. Although the pit in my stomach has settled in with what feels like cement.
I take another peek over my shoulder as the warmth wraps around me and I realize she’s new. I had at least learned the name of the young woman who’s been here the majority of the time I’ve come: Tammy.
This woman though? I have no idea.
She’s still looking down as I approach to order. For a few seconds, as I wait for my mug of hot water, I think about introducing myself to her.
That’s probably asking too much of a barista. I come here because it’s the place that’s most familiar to me in Edinburgh, close to the lease I’m staying in, and maybe because I’m still holding out hope that I’ll get a group of friends and I’ll be able to say, there’s a place I always visit—it’s small and cozy and I think you’d like it too.
Maybe that would be a good time to introduce myself. I’m cold and my hair is damp, so I can’t exactly put my best foot forward.
The steeps slowly rise in the mug, and I stand on the other side of the counter trying my best to warm up, but a chill runs over me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand.
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of coffee grounds and cinnamon. I can even smell the aroma of my tea starting to rise.
When I open my eyes, the barista is sliding the teacup across the counter to me on a coaster.
“Sugar is over on that table.” The barista tilts her head to the side with a tight smile. “Enjoy.”
I smile back at her although it wavers. She tells me the same phrase I hear every time I’m here.
With my hands mostly warmed, I doctor my tea with sugar and a little milk and take it to a table on the center wall.
I used to sit by the window, but a shiver deep in my spine warns me away.
It’s him. The crazy thought seeps into my mind. My breath catches and I hope the barista doesn’t see. It’s all consuming.
The chill haunts me wherever I go. Even on the rare sunny days, I feel it. I feel him . There have been days of this. Sleepless nights and long days of pretending I’m not crazy.
I wrap my hands around the cup of tea and try to convince myself I’m just overreacting.
My tote hangs heavier on my shoulder. The notebooks are there. Two of them. One for what I came for and the other for him. The sketches. The feelings. The nightmare that I’m terrified will return.
A shadow passes in front of the café window.
I can’t help following it as it moves along. The shadow has a tall, wide shape of a person, but I can’t see any features. The window is too fogged. The difference between the heat of the café and the cold of the rainy air outside is too great.
My heart pounds as the shadow slows down and pauses, like he can feel my eyes on him. Thump. Thump. My heart seems to slow, as does time.
I steal another glance at the barista. As quickly as I can, praying she sees it too. With one more thump of my heart I turn back, and he’s gone, but the chill remains.
Another moment passes and it’s then I realize my hands are shaking, my knuckles are white from gripping the mug so tightly. With effort, I relax my stance and tell myself it’s nothing.
It’s nothing but a nightmare.
These thoughts are only make-believe.
I sip my tea. It’s still a bit too hot, burning my tongue mildly as it goes down, but the heat makes the chill a little less harsh. I focus on it. Focus on breathing deeply and grounding myself. Keep my feet here, in the present, in this moment.
A hot cup of tea, a quaint café, and a beautiful city filled with so much history.
Movement catches my eye and my entire body stiffens.
A couple of people walk by, just as blurry through the fogged-up window, moving fast.
It’s nothing. There’s nothing to worry about.
When I finally manage to relax into my chair, my face is hot. I fish my phone out of my pocket on instinct. I should call a friend just to hear another person’s voice. Someone who could bring me back to reality.
But as I scroll through my contacts, another kind of chill sets in.
It had been hard to meet people when I first came here, but I had met a few people I’ve seen every so often and recognized.
I did have a group of friends back at home, but with the time difference and them moving and applying for jobs and internships and…moving on to the next phase, the messages have slowed.
Somehow, between now and the moment I set foot in this city, those people have faded out of my life. I’ve just felt so cold and isolated here. All the texts I’ve exchanged with people are from months ago. Those months flew by, despite the cold that seems to make every hour drag. It’s been months, I realize. Months since I’ve had anything close to a social life.
Months I’ve spent alone under skies that always seem to be gray.
I hover over my friend Emily’s name in my contacts list.
She’d answer, wouldn’t she? I'm sure she’d accept an explanation about how I’d lost track of time studying and how I’d thought about texting her so many times and then got busy or tired, but now I could talk, and…did she want to?
With a reluctant breath, I put my phone away, snapping my jacket pocket shut over it.
I came here for hot tea on a rainy day and to do some studying, and that’s what I’ll do.
I get out one of my textbooks and the appropriate notebook. The words fade to gray and I find myself rereading the same paragraphs. I order another tea. While it steeps, I clear my throat and introduce myself to the barista.
Her name is Cara, and she’s taking a semester off. She doesn’t say what she’s studying, but she smiles when she talks about her routine, and I get through the conversation without bringing up the shadow outside the window or the chill I feel all over the city. I don’t ask her if she’s heard of anyone else experiencing anything similar. There’s no way to slip a potential stalker into the conversation without freaking her out.
This time, when she pushes the fresh cup and saucer over to me, she says, “Enjoy, Ivy.”
I thank her and take my tea back to the table.
Small steps. Progress. But it’s quickly lost.
As soon as I sit down, I feel another chill.
I can’t pretend I haven’t felt it. I’ve been in the café long enough to warm up from the rain, and I haven’t felt a draft. Nobody’s even come in.