3. Makenna
Makenna
One good thing about traveling solo when a friend has to cancel at the last minute is the extra space on the plane. She couldn’t cancel her flight, so for the ten or so hours I’d spend in the air between Atlanta and London, and London and Inverness, I’d get to stretch out across two seats.
Except that, no. When she didn’t check in, they gave away her seat.
I spent the first flight squished between a snoring, football-player-sized man and a larger woman who spent the entire eight hours doing Sudoku puzzles.
And I mean the entire eight hours. I know she never stopped because I couldn’t sleep sitting up if my life depended on it.
When we land in London, I can’t get up fast enough.
Unfortunately, the woman wants to sit until everyone in front of her gets up and heads down the aisle, and as a tall woman, I can’t stand under the overhead storage, so here I remain.
What’s another twenty minutes when your butt is already numb? I close my burning eyes and wait.
When it’s finally our turn, I stand, pull on my backpack, and slide my carry-on from overhead.
I’m pulling out the handle to drag it when I’m knocked in my side by someone’s luggage.
I get tripped up by my luggage and land face-first in the aisle of an airplane that has seen the bottoms of no less than a hundred and twenty-five million shoes.
While embarrassment—or, more likely, pain—should be at the forefront of my mind, I can’t get over the germs that must be all over my face right now.
“I’m so sorry, Miss.”
I have to work to keep from scowling as I look into the mortified eyes of the young Englishman who knocked me down. I’m not an easygoing traveler, and it’s been rough so far.
I eye the spindly arm he’s offering to me. No wonder he lost control of his suitcase. I’m not petite, and I’ll not be taking his hand and embarrassing us both again. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
I stand and straighten my shoulders, then grab my luggage and turn toward the front of the plane. I make my way down the aisle as quickly as possible, holding back tears until I can get to a bathroom.
After I’ve cleaned my face to the best of my ability in an airport bathroom, I go in search of food.
I have celiac disease and when I travel I have to have a plan if I want to eat.
I researched the celiac-safe, gluten-free food at Heathrow and found a restaurant where I could get a burger and fries.
I rarely get to have fries because they are so often cooked in a shared fryer.
That’s not the case here! Thank you, random airport restaurant!
My two-hour layover passes quickly, and before I know it, I’m back on a plane.
Thankfully, the flight to Inverness is much less traumatic.
I have an aisle seat beside an Englishman heading north for business.
At least, that’s what I assume given his dress and the use of his laptop.
He doesn’t speak, which is fine by me because, A, I’m sure I look like a troll, and B, I don’t have the energy to speak to anyone.
After the travel and the extreme focus required to drive on the wrong side of the road, my mind and body are at about two percent battery by the time I pull up in front of the cottage I’ll be staying at for the next couple of days.
The faint scent of what I know to be the River Ness perfumes the air as I drag myself and my suitcase up the sidewalk and through the front door.
I can’t take in the space around me. I barely manage to make it to the bed, set an alarm and get the covers pulled down before I’m asleep.
The stupid woman that thought a two-hour nap was a great idea; I’ll never listen to her again.
Except I know I will, because it was me.
How is it possible that I feel worse? I feel like crying and wallowing in regret over all my life choices until I look out the window and remember where I am.
I mean, I only see a line of other cottages across the street, but Inverness is out there. Scotland is out there!
Excitement gives me just enough energy to walk to Aldi for a few groceries. I decided to eat from grocery stores for breakfast and lunch, and go all out for dinner. Just call me Frugal McDougal.
I eat quickly, then I’m off to explore Inverness.
I plan to hike tomorrow, but today is all about history and architecture.
I love old things. Buildings, monuments, antiques, people, hobbies, and ways of life.
It was calligraphy that led me to wedding planning.
I taught myself in high school because I love the romantic look of the script.
I love the care that was once put into letters and invitations.
Eventually, my invitations became a big deal for weddings in Atlanta.
My heart seizes remembering the couples I had begun working with before I was let go.
They were so sweet, and so excited. I had tons of ideas for them that I’ve had to tuck away for another day.
I hope they will be happy with their weddings, even if I’m not the one planning them.
I begin my adventure with a walk along the River Ness. Loads of people are out enjoying what is, for them, a warm Saturday. My phone tells me it’s in the mid-sixties, but the sun is warm, so I pull off my jacket, and tie it around my waist.
Inverness is clearly a city that enjoys the summer.
Cheerful flowers hang from baskets, café tables spill out onto the sidewalks, and music drifts from many of the restaurants and pubs I pass.
The bright rays sparkle off the water and create a warm glow on the stone buildings to my left.
I scan the buildings in the distance, both along my path and across the river, and there are several church steeples jutting out into the blue.
I hope one of them is open for me to explore.
I miss Mai, but I’m so glad I’m here.