28 Rhys
28
Rhys
The cold buffeted us again as we stepped outside. The color of the sky foretold nothing good, but all I had to do to warm up inside was look at her. It had been worth coming here, crazy as it was. Ginger was happy. A smile crossed her face as we walked to the bus stop. She was determined to have us get on one of those red double-decker buses. On the upper floor, we settled down in the very front, enjoying our views of the city.
“You’re serious about giving me a tour?”
“I certainly am. Have you ever been here before?”
“Once, but it was a long time ago; I can barely remember it,” I replied, dredging up a couple of memories. “I was seven or eight, and I came on a trip with my parents. All I remember is the hotel we were in had all these old paintings and furnishings and it scared me. I don’t think I slept one night the whole way through.”
“Oh, poor little Rhys,” she joked.
I got lost in her eyes for a few seconds. They were big and clear, and her smile, graceful but mischievous, made me laugh.
“Where are you taking me?” My curiosity was getting the better of me.
“We’re going to Camden. I think you’ll like it there. The neighborhood, the feeling there. I know a place where they make the best arepas in the world. We can walk around there, then come back on the Tube, and…”
She bit her lower lip. Watching her made me feel faint.
“And…?” I asked.
“We can get on the Ferris wheel. The London Eye.”
“No fucking way.”
“Come on, Rhys! It’ll be fun!”
“ No giant Ferris wheels.”
“Are you really that scared?”
“Ginger…”
“Okay, fine,” she said.
“I’m not scared. I have vertigo.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re scared because of your vertigo.”
“Let’s just leave out the word scared. ”
“We’ll save this argument for later. This is our stop.”
I followed her down the narrow stairway and we got off at Camden Road. We were greeted by garish colors and buildings with crazy statues on their facades. There was a funky atmosphere in the cafés, the shops, and the tattoo studios lining the street. I stood in front of a display window for a second while people milled around me, then I felt her fingers touch mine briefly before grabbing my hand tight.
“You’re not trying to lose me, are you?” She pulled me away.
I held my breath as we crossed the bridge over the canal and entered a narrow street full of food stalls. She was still clasping my hand. Her steps were resolute but calm, as if we walked around there every afternoon. And that made me wonder. What it would be like in an alternate reality where we lived here, sharing a routine, a life…