I’m
normally an easygoing, level-headed person – I have to be in my
profession. Bedside manner, and all that.
But
over the last few months, it became apparent that it was high time I took a vacation,
even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Thinking first of
workload and staff time-off schedules, I floated the idea and potential timing
to a few co-workers and, getting general agreement, I made arrangements with some
colleagues to pick up the slack while I’d be gone. Over the next days, I spent some time
thinking where I might go. At last, I settled on a return to England; I
remembered taking a trip that was much too short, and hadn’t been back there in
nearly ten years.
My
first attempt at finding flights didn’t go very well; things had changed over
the years since the last time I’d tried to book air travel.
Calling
the travel agent had apparently been replaced by Google Flights and Skyscanner
and juggling dates and times and flights on-line instead of via the phone. Fortunately, my nurse, a more seasoned
traveller than I, was well-versed in navigating those websites and took over
the job.
At
last, we found what seemed to be a workable itinerary, one that on the outbound
flight would have a 17-hour layover in Reykjavik. Why not, I thought; that’s enough time for a
quick jaunt into the city and still get back to the airport in time for the
last leg of the flight to London. I would enjoy telling my
colleagues back at Prairie Medical Center, “well, I had some time to spend ...
so I stopped off in Iceland”.
My
nurse booked the itinerary for me. I later
overheard her telling a colleague, “It took some doing, but I finally got him
to agree to a holiday. He’s overworked
and grumpy and needs to get out of here for a while, before I strangle him”. I smiled; she’s terrific and knows me well.
And
so, a few weeks later, I arrived in Iceland in the early morning. The flight was excellent and I made my way
from the airport terminal to the Reykjavik city centre. After some meandering
and a bit of shopping, I settled down to enjoy a late breakfast at a small cafe. There was no language
difficulty; it didn’t seem to matter as apparently English is ubiquitous now,
and I was able to get by just fine in the shops I had visited. I was thrilled by what little I’d been able
to see of the city so far, and made a mental note to return someday when I had
much more time to explore and perhaps venture out into the countryside.
I
finished my coffee, stood up, paid the ticket, and walked out of the cafe on to
the street. I took a moment to light my pipe, and started
off for a leisurely stroll down the street.
It was a bright, warm day and the streets were filled with people chatting
and going about their business. For a
while, I had no place to be and intended to make a few more stops and find
small gifts to take back home, especially something special for my nurse.
Moving
along a few more blocks, I truly enjoyed the sights and sounds of a foreign,
unfamiliar city. I paused to remind
myself of the time of my next flight, wondering if I should take time for an
early dinner, since I might not get it on the airplane. I replaced my phone in
my pocket and continued down the street. Then, I stopped short. Unlikely as it seemed, I thought I saw a familiar
face. Fumbling in my pocket, I whipped
on my glasses and looked again.
Oh,
gods. No, it couldn’t be. But of course,
it was. Even after so many years, I
recognized him almost immediately. Colin.
It was Colin. That old familiar phrase came quickly to mind: the last person I expected to see.
Unbidden,
the memories quickly came back. How we’d
met, and got to know each other. How
we’d formed a tight friendship. A friendship that led to us spending
more than a few nights together at his small rooming-house back in Durham.
He was studying at the Anglican college in St. John’s, and I was on a
work-study program with a hospital in London, posted in
Durham.
Nights
that a student such as he was shouldn’t have spent; in each other’s arms
until the first light of dawn, marking the time for me to slip out and away as
quietly as I could. It was now so long
ago, long enough that it seemed as if it had all happened to someone else. Perhaps
in a story I had read or seen somewhere.
Pushing
quickly through the people on the street, I made my way over to him. For his part, Colin seemed as surprised to
see me as did I him. Other than the grey
that now streaked his hair, he had changed little ... and even after all this
time, I began to feel that same old ache.
Even more of the old memories filled my mind even as I tried to push
them away.
I might have spent my life with him; I would have abandoned my life back
in the States to be with him, but even then the Church already had
a hold on him I could never have overcome.
We
chatted for a few moments, wondered when we’d seen each other
last, and talked a bit of catch-up. He was in Iceland attending a conference.
We exchanged e-mail addresses, and made the usual hollow promises to ‘keep in
touch’. It soon became apparent that in
his mind I had long ago been relegated to ‘acquaintance’ status.
From
his manner and his dress, I realised that over the ensuing years the Church had tightened its grip on him.
Finally,
there was a shake of hands and a quick good-bye. “So good to see you again,” he said, turned, and
was gone, back into the crowd of people that lined the streets. In just a few minutes, it was as if our unexpected meeting had never happened. I
wondered, just for a moment, if the memories of what we had shared, what we had
been, came back to him as well.
At
last, turning away myself, I began walking back up the street, in the direction
of the stop where I would take the bus back to the airport. But,
needing to steady myself, I found another cafe, ordered another coffee,
and lingered for a long while with my thoughts.
Soon,
it was time to be on my way. Time to
make my way back to the airport and continue
on to London. Time to leave old memories behind … where, I suppose, they
belonged.
I
never went back to Iceland.