The Look in Your Eyes

Chapter 11

I had my wish and the weather was fine and promising to be hot just as a day in August ought. We spent the morning playing in the waves and then, after finishing off Mrs. Campbell's sandwiches, we were back on the road heading up one of the deep coastal inlets to Portnacroish. It seems that the Scots loved to build castles on remote islets -- in those days it must have spelled safety and security, but now they added to the romantic beauty of the countryside just by way of their remarkable settings. Unlike most of the castles I'd seen, the one opposite Portnacroish wasn't a ruin. It was a four-story tower house built in the sixteenth century and according to Euan the owners still lived in it, though not year-round.

At the south end of Glen Coe near the head of Loch Leven, we came to the town of Glencoe and stopped for ices and a tour of the folk museum. Here the mountains rose up more steeply from the valley we were driving through. Just beyond Fort William we pulled over for a view of Ben Nevis, Scotland's highest mountain. For me it wasn't all that impressive, used as I was to the coastal range of BC, but Euan and Douglas were terribly proud of it -- and I have to admit that it hides its height by being rounded on top rather than peaked.

We cut towards the coast again, to the port of Mallaig, on the shore of the Sound of Sleat. The harbour was teaming with fishing boats and the ever-present gulls flew above wailing their fire cry across the sky. We walked among the docks as Euan told me the story of Bonny Prince Charlie who had landed in Mallaig on his flight from Skye. Rumour had it that even the boat that was carrying him was searched, but he hid on the bottom under some tartan and was safe -- that time at least. I couldn't help but think of the song -- but in the song he was going as a child to Skye to find safe haven, not from it. I stared out across the sound where I could barely make out the island, masked in hazy fog. I leaned on the railing and was just far enough away from the others to risk singing quietly. Speed Bonny boat like a bird on the wing, onward the sailors cry. Carry the lad that's born to be king over the sea to Skye Suddenly I noticed Euan standing directly beside me and I stopped abruptly.

"You don't have to stop," he said. "I liked it."

"You sing it then," I said, completely embarrassed. And he did. He perched Lucius up on the railing and sang it to him as they joined me to look out to Skye.

We backtracked a bit to Portnalachaig where we camped beside long sandy beaches. Another morning was spent paddling in pools and lying on towels in the sun. I wore my bathing suit under my shorts and t-shirt but the water was cold so I never did more than play up to my knees in the waves. I was hesitant to strip down to my bikini, being the only girl in the group, but of course they didn't give a thought to ripping off their shirts and running into the water in their cut-offs. That kind of thing is just so much easier for guys.

After we'd had enough of the beach, we headed back to Fort William and turned Northeast to follow the Caledonian Canal up to Fort Augustus on the tip of Loch Ness. We got out of the caravan at Castle Uruquart, where it is possible to get a great view of the famous loch. I held one of Lucius' hands and Euan held the other as we hopped him across the thick grass to the lookout at the edge of the promontory.

Loch Ness was another huge, long lake like Loch Lomond, but much deeper.

"Did you know that this loch has more water in it than all the lakes of England and Wales combined?" asked Douglas.

I looked at him skeptically, knowing how he liked to boast about everything Scottish, but Euan backed him one hundred percent. "It's about 600 feet deep -- it needs to be to give Nessie room to play."

"I want to see monster!" said Lucius.

"Not much of a chance of that, lad," said Euan. "She's shyer than the haggis. No one ever sees her."

"Not true," said Douglas. "St Columba saw the monster right from this very spot in the sixth century. You have to watch carefully for a long time, is all."

"Now you've done it," said Euan. "Lucius won't want to leave till he spies something."

We stared at the water for a good fifteen minutes, all the time trying to convince Lucius that every sudden wave was the monster's fin. But no shy plesiosaur emerged from the depths during that time and finally Lucius became bored enough that we could go.

At Invermoriston we left Loch Ness behind and took the long road to Kyle of Lochalsh. I had drifted off to sleep but woke when we stopped moving. The road was so narrow it was only one lane and we had to pull over into a little duck-in to let an oncoming car pass.

"I don't believe it," I said. "Do you really have one lane roads? How do people decide who gets to go?"

"Whoever is closer to the duck-in pulls over," said Euan.

"Crazy! What if someone forces you to back up all the way?"

"People are generally polite about it, but sometimes backing up is unavoidable."

"You'd never find anything like this in Canada."

"It's part of our ancient heritage. Some of these roads are Roman."

"Didn't you know roads were invented in Scotland?" asked Douglas.

"Well, they didn't invent very good ones."

"Have you not heard of Tar Macadam, lass?" asked Douglas.

I looked at him dubiously -- I couldn't tell if he was making it up or if there really was someone by that name.

"The inventor of tarmac," he said. "Why do you think they call it that?"

I had no idea. We didn't call it that at home -- we said asphalt. For all I knew it was true so I went along with it. Who was I to question a Scot's heritage, after all -- especially on his own turf. "Makes sense," I said in such a way that he could interpret it however he wanted to. I wasn't going to let on that I didn't have a clue one way or the other.

There weren't many cars on the road, but still it was slow going over that long one lane stretch. It was suppertime when we arrived to Kyle of Lochalsh. We treated ourselves at a chip van again. This time I had fish with my chips and I shared it with Lucius but the two Scots had their haggis like loyal sons of the land. This was another harbour town, another ferry to Skye, and there were plenty more seagulls to gather around us and share our meal.

One day was beginning to roll into the next. I was having a hard time remembering the names of all the places I had been and all the places I was going to. It was becoming a bit of a blur -- get up -- drive here -- stop there -- see some sites -- drive some more - camp -- get up -- and I was beginning to feel like I needed a couple of days just doing nothing on my very own. As much as I enjoyed Lucius he was always there, climbing on me, wanting to play, spilling things on me, throwing tantrums at my feet. I wondered if mothers ever felt like they needed a break from their own children -- or was that a terrible thing that no good mother should feel? I knew that I wanted to be a mother one day, but I was seriously beginning to have my doubts as to whether or not I would be any good at it at all.

And Euan just continued to be more of a mystery than ever. I had thought that being together all day, every day would bring us closer together. That those little inklings of interest I saw in him would become expressed. Occasionally when we were out walking or sitting by the fire in the evenings he would put his arm around me, but it appeared to be more to keep me warm than for any other reason. He never progressed beyond that, even though sometimes he made cryptic comments that could be interpreted to have much deeper meanings, or looked at me in a certain way that made me feel weak. There was no way I was going to ask, say, or do anything leading. I didn't want the embarrassment of discovering that I had totally misinterpreted him and he was only ‘being nice to cousin.'

With Douglas I always knew exactly where I stood. We got along very well -- teasing each other and having light conversations without much meaning. There had never been the concern on either side of any other sort of interest and for that reason he was comfortable to be around. Euan still made me tongue-tied with his presence, afraid to say something stupid that would reveal my general ignorance. If that was anything akin to love it was the pits. I decided it was best to quit while I was ahead. I'd forget about obsessing over him -- ignore all the things about him that I found attractive -- and just go about thinking of him the same way I thought of Douglas.

The next day we followed Loch Carron until it became River Carron and we took the river valley up all the way to the small village of Achnasheen. From there we headed back towards the jagged coastline once more, to Gairloch where we had an early and hurried lunch. Euan said he had a surprise for us that we would need all the time that was available for, but he wouldn't give it away -- even to Douglas who wasn't familiar with this corner of Scotland. About ten minutes later, Euan pulled the caravan over to the roadside and parked.

"Make sure you're wearing walking shoes," he said as he grabbed a daypack from behind his seat.

"Our big treat is a hike?" I asked.

"You'll see." His expression was very smug.

"It had better be worth it," I said as I tied up my runners. I wasn't much of a hiker -- I liked going for walks, but not for hours and hours.

"It will be," he said. "But after the first half mile Lucius is going to need carrying for a bit. Will you be up to it?"

"How many half miles are there?" I asked warily.

"No more than you can handle -- not to worry."

We walked alongside farmers' fields, over rock walls, stiles and ditches, sometimes cutting across bare tracts of land. The ground rose and we scrambled through rough little low hills covered with gorse and scrub, following sheep trails. There were no markers but Euan seemed to know the way unerringly. That is unless he was just as lost as the rest of us, and not admitting it. I had a feeling that we were heading towards the sea -- though the way the coastline was cut with such deep inlets everywhere, almost every direction led to the sea. Lucius had taken rides from all three of us and was back on my shoulders again as I trudged up a particularly steep hill. That was probably the treat -- getting us all in shape. I was having trouble breathing when I neared the top and my feet were slipping in the soil that had become quite sandy. Euan stretched a hand out from above to help me up the last few feet.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Ever obedient, I did so without question. He took Lucius off my back and then led me a few paces, put his hands on my shoulders, and placed me just where he wanted me.

"You can open them now."

Dunes of golden sand spread as far as I could see. Here and there dark green grasses swayed amid the rippled sand. It was the very last thing I could possibly have expected. I never knew Scotland had sand like that.

"Incredible. It's like Oregon."

"No," said Douglas. "This is like nowhere on earth."

"We call it machair," said Euan.

"It's absolutely beautiful." I said. "I want to run all over it and roll in the sand."

"Do it."

And I did -- with no inhibitions. I took my shoes and socks off and stuffed them into the daypack that Euan carried, ran down with my arms stretched out wide and then, halfway down the hill, lay on the ground and rolled the rest of the way. They all ran following after me, Douglas with his rendition of a Scottish war cry. I ran up over the next rise and was finally able to see the sea, a vibrant blue in the distance. I acted like a child for the rest of the afternoon -- we all did. I made tracks in the sand and then fell down, pretending to die in a desert. Lucius flopped on top of my stomach, and Euan fell onto both of us, grabbing Lucius and rolling around with him. We finally made it to the water's edge, hot and tired and ready for a swim.

The guys ran into the water like they usually did and I, for the first time, took off my clothes and appeared in my bikini. I stayed in the shallow water with Lucius, but I was able to lie down and submerge my whole body in it. At first it was cold but, splashing about with Lucius, I got accustomed to it quickly.

When I got out I was a little chilly without a towel to dry myself, but the hot sun soon warmed me until I was dry and slightly sticky from the salt. When Euan came out of the water he sat down beside Lucius and me.

"Was it good to swim, finally?"

"Yes," I admitted. He had teased me regularly about not swimming whenever we'd gone to the beach before.

"You should wear that more often. Looks good."

I thought how stupid it was that he couldn't say something as innocuous as that without me getting all flustered. He got that look in his eyes and I thought he was about to say something more, but he stood up instead and went over to the daypack.

"Water?"

We all had a drink and then he looked at his watch. "Better get going. The way back will take longer and we still have to get to a camping spot in time to cook supper before it's dark."

As he reorganised his pack, I picked up my clothes and began putting them on again.

"Do you really have to do that?" Euan asked.

Douglas laughed and I blushed and then turned my back on them and finished dressing.

I started walking up the dunes alone, wishing that I wasn't acting like such a silly little idiot. Euan came running up from behind and held my shoes out to me.

"Here," he said. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

I took the shoes. "You've got nothing to be sorry about." I couldn't manage any more than that so we walked in silence beside each other, me carrying my shoes by the laces. Douglas and Lucius made no effort to catch up.

"Aren't you going to put them on?" he said, finally.

"When we get to the end of the machair," I said, and he smiled at my use of the word.

Chapter 12

The following day, a drive of a little over two hours brought us to Strathpeffer, a Spa village. Its waters are piped in from several local springs. As we cruised the narrow streets a sign on a building that read Upper Pump Room took me straight back to the Regency period. I had visions of all the local gentry mingling, while a brave few actually took the waters. Euan drove up to a tall building of the distinctive grey metamorphic stone that predominated in the architecture of the town, and parked.

"We can get baths here," he said.

After yesterday's swim I needed a bath more than ever. We'd stayed the night at a campsite that barely had toilet facilities so I hadn't been able to do much more than wash my face with our dwindling stock of drinking water. The salt and sand still on my body felt sticky and itchy. We went inside and signed up, then waited for our rooms to be ready.

In about fifteen minutes I was led up three flights of stairs to a steamy bathroom. It was small, high ceilinged with cream coloured walls and the only thing in it, besides a painted bench, was a huge claw footed tub with a very old fashioned looking faucet. It was filled with piping hot water that had a sort of chemical smell. I was given a towel and washcloth and a slim bar of soap and, after being told that the time limit was half an hour, left to my own devices.

The water was so hot that I had to get into it by degrees -- first acclimatise my feet, then my legs, and then inch down in until I was lying up to my neck, relishing the muscle relaxing heat. After just soaking for a long time I scrubbed myself with the washcloth and slightly medicinal fragranced soap. It didn't lather at all, but I could feel it doing the job. I even attempted to wash my hair with it knowing that even if the soap dried it out completely it couldn't be made to look much worse.

When I pulled the plug and got out my body was all red and mottled with heat. I dried myself off, put on the clean clothes I had brought and tried to pull a comb through my tangled hair. There was a rap on the door -- my two minute warning. I gave up on my hair and bundled my things up and went downstairs. The guys weren't finished yet so I sat in the lobby and kept working on my hair until they arrived, Euan looking very clean and fresh and much too handsome.

My hair dried like straw and stuck out at strange angles all over my head, but it was clean, at least. I was wishing for an elastic to tame it; the wind from the half opened window wasn't helping too much either. We drove through flat, patchwork countryside, past Dingwall and along the Cromarty Firth to Arlness, where we cut across country to Bonar Bridge. We had lunched after our baths in Strathpeffer so now we were ready for desert and searched out a sweet shop.

I was sucking on a sherbet fountain as we drove the rest of the way to Dornoch, a town at the mouth of the Dornoch Firth. Douglas had laughed at my choice but I've always loved the way effervescent powder melts in your mouth, though the liquorice straw doesn't last too long and I usually end up dumping the sherbet out of the yellow tube onto my palm and licking it off. Lucius had copied me and chosen one too, so soon we were covered in the white powder. So much for staying clean after my bath.

We drove past Skebo Castle and then back over the bridge and along the other side of the firth right to the southern tip, where there was one of the tallest lighthouses in Britain. This wasn't what we had come for, however.

"Here," said Euan, taking my hand and pulling me to a trail. "It's the rocks that I want you to see. Douglas, you keep Lucius up top with you -- see if the lighthouse keeper will let you in."

We wound down through the scrubby incline and came out to a ledge where giant buttresses of red rock rode out into the waves. We went out on the largest that was just wide enough for us to walk abreast. On either side the rock sheered down and I was reminded of standing on similar rock formations on the edge of the Grand Canyon. The wind whipped about us and Euan pulled me close to him, for safety I told myself.

"What do you think?"

I was speechless. Not only because of the jagged rocks, the height, and the awe inspiring drop to the ocean, but also because I was out there with Euan. I could tell that this was a special place for him and I sensed that it was important for him to share it with me. "Incredible," I finally said.

"I thought you would like it."

It was a powerful feeling, being out on that spur of rock. Powerful and frightening. I wished I could say something to do it justice but I felt that words were inadequate. "Thank you." My hair was whipping around and slapping me in the face. I brought my free hand up to pull it back and twist it into a knot behind my head, but I had nothing to keep it there.

"Just a mo'," said Euan, and he let go of my hand. I could hear him rummaging around in his pocket and then felt his hands on my hair as he tied it back for me. "Shoelace -- hope you don't mind."

I turned my head to smile at him to show that I didn't, then faced back out to the choppy slate coloured water. His hand found mine again and we just stood there. I thought that he might pull me back against him and hold me close with both arms, but he didn't. In fact neither of us even spoke until he whispered, "We should go now," and whatever spell had been binding us was broken.

We talked as we walked back up the hill -- about rock formations, stratification, erosion, volcanism and glacial action. He seemed to know a lot about it and I faked it the best I could.

We camped in Portmahomach, and I fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing against the rocky coast. In the morning I woke before everyone and pulled on a sweater to walk down by the water. The tide had gone out and sand now spread beyond the rocks, pitted with tidal pools, shorebirds investigating their nooks and crannies. I imagined they were hunting small crabs, mussels, or limpets, and I sat on the rocks and watched one of the long legged little birds as it went about its task. Euan came out to me with a bowl of rolled oats prepared just how I like them. He had his own porridge with him and he sat down beside me to eat it.

"Industrious little blighters," he said.

"Do you know what kind of birds they are?"

"I'm not so strong on my birds." He watched them for a moment and then continued. "We'll be going to Inverness today, and then up along the Moray coast. There's an art settlement out Cullen way I thought you might like to see."

I considered this for a moment. "Have you changed your trip because of me? Would you have gone somewhere else otherwise?"

"Don't be thinking that. It's something I'd like to see too."

"And Douglas?"

"The lad is so happy just to be in Scotland we could take him to the scurviest place imaginable and he'd find something worth looking at. And don't worry about Lucius either, he's happy as a clam."

The artist's commune was a well-developed complex with galleries and studios built all about the front of the property and cottages set further back. We were able to walk through most of the buildings, see painters at work on huge landscapes or abstracts, potters at their wheels with kilns blazing behind them, weavers at frame and floor looms, and jewellery makers doing their fine, intricate work. I bought a silver cairngorm brooch that was designed in a meld of styles, old and new.

We stayed at Cullen, a resort town that had been a fishing village in the past. The older part of the town was all one-story cottages, painted colourfully to catch the tourist trade. We relaxed there for two whole days, swimming on the beach and going for walks along the harbour to show Lucius all the fishing boats, which he never tired of seeing. It was a much-needed rest, especially for Euan who had been driving for at least a few hours every day since we'd left England. Actually it was like the eye of a storm. At Cullen we left the hectic running from one place to the next -- it was almost idyllic -- and afterwards we rushed headlong into the trip back down the east coast of Scotland.

The rest of the trip passed by me in a blur of Scottish names that were almost unpronounceable, winding roads, seaside villages, big ports, rivers, forests, and castles. I remembered Aberdeen because of its size, the grey granite architecture and abundant parks, and its location between the mouths of the River Dee and the River Don that made me think inconsequentially of Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. We passed through towns with names like Inverbervie, Arbroath, Auchtermuchty, Dunfermline, and Kirkliston. Names that I knew I would never remember without writing down because it was like speaking a foreign language.

And the closer we came to Edinburgh, the quieter and more distant Euan became. I don't know the cause of it -- whether he was tired, regretting that the journey to his homeland was nearing an end, or just bored with his company. My resolve to give up on the idea of anything ever happening between us was strengthened -- it was evident he was not interested and it had all been in my mind. What was the sense of being interested in someone who was not the slightest bit interested in you? The trip was coming to an end and I'd be going home soon -- time was against us -- me. I accepted it and I shut any thoughts about him that were not cousinly completely out of my mind. What was the point, after all?

With our slow driving speed and frequent stops it was the morning of the second day when we reached Edinburgh. The city is set on the Firth of Forth, with the Pentland Hills to the south of it. It is a beautiful city, not only for its architecture and scenery, but for the history that imbues it and all the many cultural attractions. We spent the day touring it and then, after an early meal, drove to Dalkeith where we camped for our final night in Scotland. The mood was melancholy. Douglas and Euan made a fire and sat by it for hours till it was very late -- Douglas reminiscing while Euan strummed softy on his guitar. Lucius had fallen asleep almost upon arrival to the campsite and had missed the fire completely.

I was restless and got up a few times from the fire to walk along the river we were camped beside -- the moon was full and it was bright enough for me to see without using a flashlight. No one followed me and disturbed my solitude, not that I'd expected it. The stars were dimmed a bit by the brightness of the moon, but still visible -- looking down at me almost tauntingly and reminding me of the wishes that I had been too hesitant to take. Well, that was all over and done with and I wasn't going to let it bother me. I was actually glad that I'd got everything into perspective finally. I had reached a balance, and though it wasn't fulfilling, it sure beat my earlier confusion. I had nothing to be shy about now and no reason to get all flustered -- the concept gave me a sense of freedom.

Instead of going back to the fire I went into the caravan and got ready for bed. I climbed into my sleeping bag, pulling it all the way over my head, got out my notebook and turned on the flashlight. If nothing else, this epiphany ought at least to give me a poem. It came slowly, but it came and was written before the murmur of voices outside stopped and the sparks had ceased their attempts to join their sisters in the sky.

Who calls the dawn to stare

And spread the word

Of atrocities that hang upon the land?

The flight of the bird

Is arrested in midair.

And as the sound of it shatters the distance

A shoal of fish

Tread water silently in wonder

And then move on.

And I don't see you

As you walk down that street alone.

The world has not stopped

It's only turning.

The sand's not on fire

It's only burning.

Maybe an odd sort of goodbye -- but for me that is ultimately what it was -- and it freed me to move on.

Chapter 13

It was to be an intense day of driving. First, it would take over two hours to get to Gretna Green, and then there was the trip back through England to Frampton Cotterell. That was another two hundred and eighty miles. The most Euan was willing to push the van was fifty miles per hour and that was only for short distances on the best roads, and there were all the breaks for eating, stretching, and using the loo that had to be factored in. But Euan was determined to arrive home that day, even if it meant forcing himself to drive until quite late. His mood was a little lighter and he was smiling more, so the late night by the fire must have done him some good. I had woken up feeling a great sense of release and was looking forward to getting back and moving on with my life. I would be starting school in a little over a week and I was beginning to adjust myself from the mode of traveller to the mode of student.

We stopped for lunch somewhere in England. I had no idea where we were and I didn't really care. I wanted to get out of the van, have a pee, and get something to eat. Lucius' feet had been poking into my bladder for the last fifteen minutes as he had clambered all over me, restless with the long drive and wanting to do something active. I didn't blame him, but I also didn't appreciate his treatment of my abdomen. When I got back from the washroom I joined the guys in the line-up at the take out window.

Euan ran his hand through his hair and looked at me. "I guess I should have stopped earlier but I know the food is good here. Sorry that Lucius was such a little pest."

"That's okay."

"You put up with a lot," he said.

"He gets a bit wild but he's a good kid. I really like him."

"I didn't mean only Lucius -- you put up with the lot of us very well."

"Yeah . . . well . . . you guys are okay too."

"So, what are you going to order?"

"Um -- a sandwich and chips?"

"Sounds good. Do you want to go to bed with me?"

I thought I must be hearing things. "Pardon?"

"Do you want to go to bed with me?"

No, he'd really said it -- here -- in a take out line in the middle of a conversation about lunch, with his friend and son standing not too far away and the sun shining brightly. I said the only thing I could say as my mind shut down. It was a knee jerk reaction, and given the situation again I hope I would have the nerve to ask a question in return, rather than giving the uncompromising answer I gave. "No," I said as distinctly as I could before my voice gave way completely.

And he nodded his head slowly and then said, "I'm thinking of having a sandwich and chips too," as if he hadn't just asked me that question and I hadn't just turned him down. After that he picked up Lucius and chatted with him and Douglas, directing comments to me as well, apparently completely unfazed by his question or my answer as if it was the most natural thing in the world to bring something like that up while waiting for lunch. I mean -- he hadn't so much as even tried to kiss me before this and he'd practically ignored my existence the past two days. What had he been thinking?

I wished I'd been able to ask him what exactly he'd meant or why he had asked me such a question when there was nothing going on between us and it was so completely out of context, but talking about things like that was, for me, as impossible as flapping my arms and flying. I ate my lunch at the picnic table, trying to act normal like Euan was doing but I couldn't attend to the conversation, I could only run his question over and over in my head. He had asked me much too late, and besides -- it was the wrong question. I'd wanted something more -- something different from that. I knew that if we'd ever started anything it would have had to be more serious than just a bit of fun -- he had a kid and was practically my cousin -- but his question seemed to infer that he felt otherwise. I walked to the garbage can to dump my trash and sighed. Why couldn't he have used those evenings at the campsites to hold me close and work his way up to kissing me a bit, like it was supposed to be done, and let the situation develop naturally? Who knows what would have happened if he'd done that. What he had done didn't make any sense.

I was leaving in two days and I had given up on him already and this new development had jarred me to my bones. It had thrown me right back into that whirlwind of confusion that I'd freed myself from. Had he liked me all along but not wanted to face it? Or was he a completely different person than I thought him to be? Was he teasing me or did he just want to get it on? And what did he think -- that I would join him in his bed at my aunt's house tonight just because he asked me? The more questions I asked myself the less sure I was of what the answers might be, and of course that was because I was asking the wrong person. But I could never ask him.

We arrived home at about eight in the evening -- the darkening sky was streaked weakly with watery orange. Euan looked beat as he lifted Lucius from my arms and carried him up to his bed. He came back a few minutes later to help unload the caravan.

"You should go lie down and leave it to us," I said.

He looked at me and I could almost read what his eyes were saying -- no point in that now, is there? -- but I know I was only projecting my own thoughts. He was probably wishing for his bed but too stubborn to admit it when there was work to be done that he felt was his responsibility.

I didn't see him again that evening. I sat and talked with my aunt about the trip for a while then went to bed in my little room and tried to sleep. By morning I knew exactly how many bottles of each kind of wine were on the shelves but sleep had completely eluded me. I had dark, sooty circles under my eyes and a dull ache in my head. I took a hot bath and soaked myself into a slumber that I awoke from when the water cooled. I added more hot water and shampooed my hair -- finally. There was even crème rinse and I was able to remove all the tangles I'd got during the trip.

When I went to the kitchen for breakfast I found out that Euan had already gone into town to work even though I hadn't thought he was supposed to start until the following day. It was as if he were avoiding me.

I spent the day playing with Lucius out in the garden. Okon joined us and it was just like old times. I know that I held and hugged Lucius more than I should have, but I was going the next day and I couldn't bear to part with him.

That night, as I was folding all my laundry that had been done that day and packing it away in my knapsack, I looked up to see Euan standing in my doorway. His eyes were brittle and bright and cut right through me. I couldn't deny that he still affected me, but I wasn't going to change my answer to his question, if that was what he was there for.

"Packing?" he said, unnecessarily. I was obviously packing. He was uncharacteristically tense.

"Yes."

"I just came to say goodnight and . . . goodbye. I'll not see you in the morning."

"No?" I said, suddenly feeling like I was about to cry.

"No. You have a good trip home."

"I will," I said, blinking. I wasn't going to let him see the tears that were stupidly forming in my eyes without my consent.

He sighed. "It's not easy, is it, saying goodbye?" He stood and looked at me for a moment longer, then he slowly walked away.

I got up and closed the door, then I lay on the bed and pulled the pillow hard down over my head.

"So tell me what happened with this guy you went to Scotland with," said Kim as he took his noodles with his chopsticks and lifted them up to his mouth.

"He's not a guy - he's my cousin," I said, trying to avoid the question.

"The way I heard it," said Kim, looking at me speculatively, "he's not any kind of blood relation and you had a crush on him."

"Had's the operative word."

"So nothing happened?" said Kim. "Sorry about that. Is this guy blind or what?"

"No -- he's not blind. It's just . . . oh! I don't want to talk about it."

"Yes you do. Whatever is bugging you will just stew inside unless you let it out."

"It's all so confusing," I said and then I gave him an abridged version of everything that had - and hadn't -- gone on between Euan and me. "You're a guy -- explain it to me."

"Usually when a guy asks you if you want to go to bed with him it's because he wants to go to bed with you," said Kim.

"You're a great help! That was incredibly insightful."

"Thanks." Kim grinned and waved his chopsticks at me.

"But isn't there some kind of lead up - you know -- he says ‘I like you,' you make out for a bit? That sort of thing." I knew I was blushing.

"True -- you say he was really casual about it, and didn't even seem to react when you said no?"

"It was just like he had said, ‘Do you think it will rain?' and I'd said ‘No.'"

"Did you ever think that maybe this cousin of yours is just as incoherent as you? Maybe what he meant by Do you want to go to bed with me? was really Do you like me? I like you but you're leaving soon and I have no idea what to do about it." Kim sat back and held my eyes with his. "Think about it."

I did. Euan had always seemed so sure of himself -- could he really be a blithering idiot on the inside like me? "He's got a lot of self confidence," I said, shaking my head.

"That could be, but maybe he has trouble expressing his emotions. He is British, after all."

"Thanks," I said. "That's much better than thinking all he wanted to do was get me in the sack."

"He probably wanted that too," said Kim with a wink, "After all he is a man."

So where did that leave me? Sitting in a plane bound for Vancouver and wondering about missed opportunities. Wishing I could hear his voice again, one more time. Replaying over and over again his last words to me It's not easy, is it, saying goodbye? Not easy at all, especially when you are not quite sure what exactly you are leaving behind. I know that I liked him and I know that, to a certain extent, he liked me. But was that all it was? Or was there something more that we hadn't managed to capture? Were we too tentative? Too worried about trying to discover what the other wanted without projecting enough of what we wanted from each other? When he showed me things and places that were special to him, was he trying to tell me something more in some kind of faltering way? Was he trying to let me see into his soul and did I just not know what I was looking at? Or was that only his way - that he simply enjoyed sharing his delight in the world with other people, and nothing more. No hidden meanings. No secret smiles.

What did he mean when he talked with his eyes? And what did I really want it all to mean? I read the poem I had just written over again, barely needing to look at the page.

You don't see the look in your eyes, but it's yours.
You don't hear the sound in your voice
but it tears in my ears
and it whispers its fears
and it hints what it's trying to do.
Is it for me or for you
that you wonder about the dew
and gaze in the trees as they reflect in you?

You don't see the sweetness in your smile hovering
showing the depths in you it is covering.

You don't know the look in your eyes
but it's you,
wondering if you really should do what you do
wondering what it is I want you to.
Is it for me and for you?

Or is it just a vision you are making
a lovely story I am faking.

I looked out the window at the blazing sunset and did up my seatbelt for the landing. I would never know. It was over and done. Life was a puzzle -- a maze that I was groping my way through. Had I lost my ventures, or did more than one path lead to the centre? I rested my forehead against the cold windowpane and let the chill creep through me. The sky was red and I was home. I would have to be content with that.

I put my hand in my sweater pocket, pulled out an old, broken shoelace, and tied my hair back, then reached my pack down from the overhead and waited for a space before I stepped out into the aisle. I wondered if anyone would be at the airport to meet me.

Chapter 14

I met Clyde my second semester. I'd seen him before on campus, but until then we'd never had classes together. He was one of those guys who was a presence wherever he went, unlike me who managed to be so unobtrusive that I'd only made one friend my first semester. He was in my novels class. I wasn't sure what I was doing there -- I'd never written anything longer than three thousand words -- but I was glad of it when he sat beside me and smiled.

We went for coffee after that first class and he told me all about the novel he was writing. He was articulate and knowledgeable. When he spoke of his work he used the kind of imagery I knew I could never hope to construct. The quality of his words as they interacted with each other was blinding. He was all the writer I ever wished I could be. I began to denigrate my own ability and wonder why I was even bothering to study creative writing.

Clyde was supportive, though. He liked my assignments that I wrote for the class. We began doing homework together, and it wasn't long before I realised that he was making a play for me. Me! I couldn't believe it because he was good looking and popular and had girls falling all over him all the time. And he seemed to be completely unaware of it. What was important to him was his writing -- that came before everything. And possibly that was what drew him to me -- the fact that I understood his need to write.

It was a new feeling to become involved with someone like Clyde after my experience with Euan, and I recognized that I'd been fooling myself all that time in England and Scotland. I thought it pathetic that I'd built up such expectations of Euan with so little encouragement. The difference in the behaviour of someone who was really interested in me was obvious. Clyde sought out my company, he bounced his ideas off me, and he listened to my ideas. My shyness began to fall away when I was around him.

"So, when are you going to let me read some of that poetry you write?" he said to me one day when we were sitting cosily together in the common room of my dorm.

"You've read some."

"I don't mean what you write for assignments -- I mean the stuff you are driven to write. The poems you told me that flow into your head sometimes. I want to see into your soul."

"It's not easy to show someone your soul," I said.

He lay down on the couch and put his head on my lap and smiled up at me. "I show you mine every day, so the least you could do is give me a little peek." And then he pulled my head down and kissed me very gently.

You can't say no to something like that. I no longer used that tattered notebook I'd had in Europe. I'd copied all my best poems out into a hand-bound book with vellum paper. It was something that I'd never shown anybody and I wasn't ready to show it to anybody yet, even to him. I told him to wait and I ran upstairs to my room and quickly copied two of the less personal poems onto a piece of paper and brought them down to him.

"And as water meets water
I hear the slow wail, the fire cry across the swell.
Seagull soars forward entering the day.
And I know the feel of edges meeting steel
and sand making waves turn away."

It sounded weird listening to someone read my poetry out loud. The intonation was all wrong -- not at all the way the words sounded in my head. The way Clyde read them they sounded pretentious and inane. Childish. And I wished I'd never agreed to show them to him. But he surprised me.

"I especially like that stanza," he said. "I can see you in it. I can picture the night you wrote it. I can hear the waves, and the gull, and the swords clashing."

I settled down and tried to be a little less subjective, a little less sensitive, and in the end it felt good to have shared my private work -- not violating as I'd expected it to be.

"So, why did you only bring me two? Are you afraid I'll steal your soul?"

"I can't just bare my whole soul in one day," I said, and he laughed.

"You own my soul already," he said. "It'fair exchange."

And little by little I showed him almost all the rest. There was one that I couldn't show him at all. I could never have brought myself to explain it to him. I ripped it out of my book altogether and buried it in the bottom of a junk drawer. Even though that poem was born out of a misconception it was too private and too revealing ever to share. I would still get it out sometimes when the sky was grey and tipped with light and read it, though I knew all the words by heart. You don't hear the sound in your voice but it tears in my ears and it whispers its fears and it hints what it's trying to do. For some reason, even though I knew it was foolish and completely unsubstantiated I could not let go of the idea.

I was sure that Clyde loved me the night he gave me the little butterfly pendant. It was gold with tiny topazes set into the wings. It was late spring, the semester had ended and we were about to part because of our summer jobs. We walked together in the Japanese gardens and as we sat on a bench beside the ornamental waterfall he told me to close my eyes and then placed the chain around my neck. The whole time I was conscious of his soft breathing, the feel of his hands on my skin, and the velvet sounds of the water behind me. I opened my eyes again and looked straight into his vibrant green ones, then I put my hand to my throat and touched the little ornate piece.

"A butterfly," he said, "because you are free."

"I can never be free when you have my soul," I whispered.

"And your heart?"

I lifted my hand up and brushed his golden hair back from his forehead. "Yours."

"I love you," he said tenderly and he pulled me to him and kissed me. "How am I ever going to manage in Banff for four months without you?"

"How am I going to manage in a library in Kerrisdale without you?" I countered.

We wrote to each other every day, but we mailed our letters once a week to save on postage and so as not to drive the mailman crazy. I moved from my dorm back home and worked all the hours at the library I could. I don't know what I found to write about because I did nothing except work and sleep, but every week I sent off an envelope fat with paper and every week I received one in return.

When he came back and we entered our second year of university, he vowed to never leave me like that again.

"I missed you too much," he said, holding me close and murmuring in my ear. "I couldn't write without my muse."

Our parents though that we were much too young to get married - that we should wait to finish university first - but we saw no problem with our choice.

"Mom, we're both twenty-one," I said. "That's not young."

"But you've barely known each other for six months!"

"Is there a time limit for love?" I asked. "Anyway -- it's eight months and seventeen days."

"You both have school to pay for -- neither of you can take on the responsibility of marriage," said my father.

"We have to support ourselves now," I answered reasonably. "What's the difference?"

"Where will you live? You can't stay in the dorm if you're married."

"We'll find a basement suite," said Clyde. "With both of us paying the rent it'll probably be cheaper than paying for our two separate dorms."

We were married at the end of October. We took our wedding pictures out of doors with a backdrop of autumn leaves. My dress was satin, mid calf with butterfly sleeves. Clyde wore a powder blue tux that made his eyes glow like emeralds. Our new apartment wasn't a basement suite, but the third floor of an old house. It had tall windows that let the sun stream in and a view of the park across the road. The rent was more than we'd counted on, but all the basement suites in the area had been dark and dank.

"Think of the inspiration this will give us," cried Clyde when we had first viewed the place, and he had spun me around the room.

"We can't afford it."

"Of course we can. We'll live on peanut butter sandwiches. Neither of us can cook anyway."

I loved his confidence and his positivism, so I ignored my nagging doubts. Both sets of parents gave us a bit of furniture and the rest we got in thrift stores. I found it difficult to overrule Clyde when he had his heart set on something. "We don't need a TV -- there's nothing good on anyway," changed to, "Okay, but we don't need a colour TV -- black and white's good enough -- we don't even have cable."

When I wasn't at school I was sewing curtains and trying to learn how to cook inexpensive meals like macaroni and cheese or pea soup. We decided to become vegetarians because it was cheaper than eating meat and I bought sprouts and dry beans and zucchini and then tried to figure out what to do with them. The little back room was turned into Clyde's office where he spent much of his time working on his novel with his old typewriter. It was when I was going to bed late at night that I would discover that I hadn't had time to write a thing, and lacked the inspiration and the energy to even do so.

But being married to Clyde was wonderful. We had a group of friends that we hung around with on campus and most of the girls eyed me enviously. Clyde still didn't notice the way they acted. We spent most of our free time at home together -- we would sit on our couch and read to each other and occasionally watch the TV. There were always fresh flowers in the house because Clyde knew I loved them, and he would even valiantly eat the strange concoctions that came out of our kitchen without once admitting how awful they really tasted.

Just before Christmas I realised we were not going to make it to the end of the next semester on our savings. I was working at the library for the break between terms and I asked if I could get evening work until I started again full time in May. They were only too glad to oblige me. Clyde was upset with me at first, saying that if anyone should get some extra work, it should be him, but I reminded him that he had a novel to write that would one day be a best seller. He did write two articles that were bought up right away by a small local magazine. It didn't pay very well, but he was published and we celebrated by going out to dinner and blowing almost half of the proceeds.

That summer my parents surprised us with another wedding gift. They wanted us to have the honeymoon we'd never had, and had bought us tickets for England. Two weeks to go and do what we pleased. I thought of all the people that I knew and loved there: Uncle Nigel, Aunt Phoebe, Uncle Reggie, Janey, Lucius, Okon, Kim, Douglas, and . . . yes, and Euan. We were going to go there two years almost to the day of that trip to Scotland. I wasn't about to go to England without seeing any of them, even if it was my honeymoon, and Clyde assured me that he couldn't wait to meet them all.

I think I bored him to tears talking non-stop about them as we pored over maps and planned where else we would go. I didn't say too much about the trip to Scotland however, and I barely said anything about Euan. I referred to him as my cousin and didn't make that distinction about his relationship that I had usually been so careful to do back then.

"I really don't know if I like the idea of you meeting your old boyfriend again," said Clyde.

"What?" I asked, all the colour leaving my face. "Wh . . . what boyfriend?"

"This Kim guy you keep talking about."

I laughed with relief. "Kim was never my boyfriend -- we were just friends."

"Just friends -- right -- that's what they always say." Clyde's voice had taken on an unusual tone.

I stared at him. "I can't believe this! You're jealous of Kim? I don't say anything about the girls who are always trying to flirt with you."

"That's because you have no reason to be jealous," he said angrily.

"Oh -- and you do, I suppose? What would you say if I said Kim is probably gay?" I silently apologised to Kim for even voicing this supposition of Sue's.

"Gay! Sure -- tell me another one!" yelled Clyde and he stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard that all the windows rattled.

I sat on the floor shaking all over and burst into tears. It was our first fight -- and over something so stupidly pointless.

Clyde came back three hours later with a bunch of rather bedraggled long stem roses and smelling of whiskey. He threw the flowers on the table, hugged me like he'd never get to hold me again, and began to cry.

"It's just that I love you so very much," he said. "I can't stand the idea of another man ever . . . I'm an idiot. I really am." He looked into my face. "Have you been crying? I promise never to make you cry again." He nuzzled my neck, whispering endearments.

I melted completely. We made love for most of the night and I assured him that it made no difference to me whether we visited Kim when we were in London or not, and he said that he felt just the same.

Chapter 15

We never did visit Kim, of course. Our first few days were spent in London, staying in Watford with Uncle Nigel. He treated us with his usual courtly grace and helped plan our daily itineraries. We spent a full day at Kew gardens, toured The National Gallery and The Tate, took that boat cruise to Greenwich that I had always wanted to go on, and visited the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, and all the other traditional venues of sightseeing in the city. As we were sitting and eating the worst hamburgers ever at the Wimpy Burger, I wished that I'd had the nerve to take Clyde to the wonton house in Soho. But I didn't want to do anything that would spark another irrational fit of jealousy. The fight we'd had had scared me more than anything. It had showed me a side of Clyde that I had ever since tried to convince myself wasn't part of him at all, but some sort of aberration. Something that I had caused in him rather than a true aspect of his nature. And I intended to do my best never to cause something like that again.

Aunt Phoebe met us at Bristol Temple Meads with the same rinky little car she'd had two years before. I insisted that Clyde sit in the front while I folded myself into the back seat with all of our luggage. Luckily she had not brought Poppet, so I was saved the dubious pleasure of having a dog sit on my lap. Clyde had charmed Aunt Phoebe completely well before we'd reached Frampton Cotterell.

Lucius was now five, and of course didn't remember me, but it didn't take long before we were playing in the back yard together just as we'd done before and had become fast friends again. Okon was just the same as ever, with his brash grin and joking boastfulness, and I was surprised that Clyde didn't warm to him like I had expected. Uncle Reggie greeted Clyde with a ‘Nice to see you again,' and looked at me rather vaguely. They played a game of badminton before dinner and Clyde was decent enough to let him win.

Janey was at home -- I'd only seen her fleetingly on that other trip. She took one look at Clyde and turned to me and said, "Coo, but aren't you the lucky one." And then she bombarded him with her attention, just like all the girls back at university. And he treated it in the same off-hand manner as he always gave that type of attention.

I was nervous about meeting Euan again, and I hoped more than anything that it didn't show, and that I wouldn't revert back to my old shyness when I had to face him. But I needn't have worried. He was his usual quiet, collected self. He greeted Clyde affably and invited us both to go to town with him the following night.

"You remember Douglas," he said to me. "I'll see if he can come along."

I really don't know what it was that I'd been worrying about. I still had that ridiculous habit of building things up in my head.

We went to a dinner club where a band Euan knew well was playing. And he brought a girlfriend along, which was something that I really should have expected, after all. She was small and pretty with long dark hair and big eyes. He held her hand occasionally throughout the evening and she barely took her eyes from him. She talked to me once or twice, usually when Euan had gone to get drinks or to visit with the band, but Clyde could have been a post for all the attention she paid him.

Douglas didn't stick around with us once dinner was done. He cruised the club, chatting with friends, and doing his best to try to pick up a chick. Clyde and I both had quite a laugh over that.

I felt oddly dissatisfied after our evening out -- I didn't know why. I should have been content to see Euan in a relationship that made him happy, and I told myself that I was. I think what was mainly bothering me was me. Why was I allowing myself to be unsettled by the whole Euan thing when I was happily married? Was I such a dog in the manger that I wanted a guy to pine over me for life? The whole thing was completely ridiculous, especially because his interest in me had all been in my imagination anyway, and there it remained.

Frampton Cotterell became our base, and every day we made forays out into the Cotswolds. The countryside was idyllically beautiful and our trip should have provided us with nothing but romantic memories for years to come but for one unfortunate occurrence that led to repercussions throughout the rest of our marriage.

We had the little wine room again and I was blissfully happy. The bottles on the wall of shelves had barely changed in two years and Clyde and I joked about drinking them -- a hilarious thought because they all looked so unappetising. The room was our own little private heaven and truly a honeymoon retreat. I woke up one morning a day or two before we were to depart. My heart was singing and full of love. I was ready first, so I left Clyde to dress and went looking about the house for someone to share my joy with. Music drew me to the dining room and there was Okon, playing the piano.

He looked up and said, "I'll play you your song."

I stood in the doorway and listened, amazed that he'd even remembered playing it for me that day when I was so sad. When he was finished he blew me a kiss and I blew one back at him. It was the sweetest, most innocent interlude I had ever experienced and it brought tears to my eyes.

Suddenly I felt my hand grabbed roughly and there was Clyde standing just behind me, his eyes blazing green fire. He pulled me out to the garden and down to the river before he said anything.

"What a sleazy little . . ." he exploded, throwing my hand away roughly.

"What?" I asked. "What?" My confusion had grown in the moments it had taken to reach the riverside from the dining room and I was in shock. He was out of control and I didn't know how to deal with him.

"You and that . . . that . . . kid!"

"Okon?" I asked, incredulous.

"Who the hell else?"

"He played me a song -- what's wrong with that?"

"I saw the look he gave you, and the look on your face too. I saw the kisses."

"We blew kisses. It was sweet and innocent."

"Innocent! I wonder what you two have been up to. Now and two years ago."

I reached for his arm and grabbed hold of it, but he pulled away.

"Clyde, stop acting crazy. He's like a little brother to me."

Clyde sat on the bank and pulled at his hair. "Go," he said. "Just go. I can't stand looking at you. To think you could do that to me after everything we've shared -- after this morning which I thought had been so special."

"It was special." My voice was pleading. "Clyde, I was so happy this morning -- that's why I blew Okon the kiss -- because you made me totally happy. I just don't understand how you are reacting now. There's no reason for it -- none at all."

"Just shut up and leave me alone. Can't you see you've hurt me enough for one day?"

I reached for him again, but he raised his head and glared at me. The look in his eyes was so frightening that I turned and ran along the river until I found my own secluded spot then I sat and lay my head in my arms and cried. I cried in anger, confusion, sorrow and frustration. But mainly I cried in fear. It was like I had just been with a stranger -- some kind of unpredictable beast -- not my intelligent, kind, and loving husband. What had I done to turn him into an animal? I looked back at my behaviour and could see nothing wrong with it at all. But was I just fooling myself? Had I really been sleazy? I knew I'd not been unfaithful in any way -- not in thought or in deed, but I had obviously made a mistake, thoughtlessly and unintentionally, and I had to be sure never to let it happen again. I wanted my sane and loving husband back.

I must have been crying there, at the edge of the water, for about an hour, oblivious to the frogs plopping from stone to water to stone again and the droning dragonflies. I dried my eyes but that didn't relieve the empty, shattered feeling inside me. I walked back along the path but couldn't find Clyde anywhere. I rubbed my face on my shirt and pulled at my hair, then headed up the path to the yard. Euan was playing on the grass with Lucius.

"Want to play football?" he asked.

"No thanks," I said, looking away. I knew my face must be a terrible mess and I didn't want him to see. I got that same feeling that I used to get when I was around him -- that he might be able to read my mind. But he was looking behind me, as if he expected something.

A moment later he asked. "Where's Clyde?"

"He . . . went for a walk," I said, beginning to choke up again. "Excuse me -- I have to go into the house." And then I fled. I knew that he was watching me all the way in, but I have no idea what he was thinking.

I couldn't go into the little wine room. It had been so filled with happiness -- I couldn't corrupt it yet by crying in there. So I shut myself in the bathroom and let the tears flow once more. Afterwards I washed my face over and over with ice cold water, trying to ease my swollen eyes, then I sat down on the toilet seat and thought. But I could find no explanation and no solution. The only thing I knew was that crying wasn't going to fix it so I had to do something more constructive.

When I came into the kitchen, Clyde was sitting and eating lunch with Euan and Lucius, looking like nothing was bothering him. I sighed quietly with relief and sat down beside him, taking his hand. He pulled our linked hands under the table and let go when they were out of sight, and then I understood that his seemingly normal behaviour was all for show. He was still angry -- I could feel the anger radiating from him where our shoulders touched. I took his hand again and squeezed it, tried to catch his eye and smile at him -- any type of conciliatory behaviour I could think of. Meanwhile he was talking composedly to Euan about the gypsy caravans he had seen on the other side of the river, pumping him for information that might be useful for his novel.

I looked over at Euan and then looked away. I saw compassion in his eyes and I didn't want any from him. I didn't want him to know there were any troubles in my marriage. I wanted him to believe that I was happy -- as happy as I had been that morning -- and I tried my best to put on the same act that Clyde was, but I was never good at acting and I doubt that I fooled anyone.

That night when we went to bed Clyde still wasn't talking to me. Oh -- he'd talked when people were around, and held my hand and laughed and even kissed my cheek, but there had been no real feeling in it. Now he just lay in bed and turned his back to me. I got in and touched him -- said his name -- cried.

"Don't shut me out. Please -- I'm sorry. I won't do anything to hurt you again."

"So you admit you did something?" he said in a hard voice.

"No," I said. "I didn't do anything, but I did hurt you inadvertently and I'm sorry for that."

"You did something," he said, "and it made me wonder if you really love me."

"It meant nothing," I sobbed. "I've only ever loved you. Ever."

"Promise me you'll never talk to Okon again."

"He's just a kid. After tomorrow we'll never see him again. What are you so worried about?"

"Just promise," he said.

I wanted the torture to end. I wanted Clyde to stop acting so invidiously. I wanted to be happy again. "I promise," I said and then I broke down crying because of what I had been made to do.

Clyde turned around and grabbed a hold of me, pulled me so close it was almost suffocating. "I love you," he said. "I love you. I don't ever want to lose you."

We made up the way lovers do and afterwards I lay there with him asleep in my arms, unsettled, unsure, and unhappy. I worried about how I could protect us from such pain. And I felt deep disappointment within because now I would have to treat Okon like a stranger to keep my husband happy. I wondered how Clyde would have reacted if I had ever disclosed the emotional confusion I had gone through over Euan -- what he would have done if he had ever read that poem -- and I was glad that I had never revealed it to him. I found it so ironic that he was angry about my innocent friendship with Okon, when it was really Euan, if anyone, that he could possibly have reason to get upset about -- and Euan was the person he gravitated to the most of all the people he had met in England.

I fell asleep thinking about Euan. This trip had shown me what it really was that was special about him. Not just his eyes and his voice that I had succumbed to in the past, but his character. His goodness, his compassion, his composure, his restraint. His unselfishness. I wished him well and hoped that his girlfriend was the kind of a girl that truly deserved him.

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