Chapter 3 - London - hobbling home

After breakfast Mr. Holmsmith wrapped my ankle in a tight bandage so I could join everyone at the Petticoat Lane market. I wore my long loon pants to hide my ankle so it didn’t look like I was showing off with a bandage or anything. There’s no way I’d wear a skirt with this thing. My ankle is all swollen and the darkest purple anyone could imagine. It had been so sore last night that everytime I moved it stabbed with pain. I couldn’t have slept anyway. My mind kept going over the whole afternoon and the man and me running away and how scared I was, and I would get all hot and tearful. Then I’d try to turn over to go to sleep and my ankle would stab and so I’d lie on my back and the whole thing just kept repeating in my head over and over. At least my ankle isn't broken, I'd told myself, trying to look on the bright side. Sometimes you have to convince yourself of it, but there is always a bright side.

Petticoat Market was incredibly noisy and crowded; all the people selling things yell. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I bought a really cool leather belt with my last pound, and gave an old lady begging with a mangy cat on her lap my last small coins. Then we took the Tube to Marble Arch and walked to Hyde Park Corner, where people stand on boxes and talk about whatever they want; politics or religion or can openers. I thought some of them were kind of interesting and I wanted to stay and listen to them, but we weren’t able to stay long. There was one man there covered in tattoos. Completely covered! He kept taking his hat off to show his bald head decorated all over. He didn’t talk about anything, just showed off his tattoos.
Then we went through Hyde Park to a the Museum of Natural History in Kensington. It was really, really big and really, really full of bugs and old bones and stuff. I liked the building better than what was inside. My ankle was throbbing so I sat down a lot while the others looked at the exhibits. Mr. Holmsmith’s bandage worked pretty well, and he tied it so tight it hadn’t slipped all day. He told me I shouldn’t be walking on it at all, but I didn’t want him to make a fuss of me and I sure didn’t want to have to sit in a hotel room on my last day in London, so I kept telling him it’s feeling ok and I really just wanted to sit down awhile and look at the inside of the building. I’m not sure if he believed me. But actually it was the truth.

I hadn’t told him or anyone else about the wheezing man, only about the motorbike. He said I had been careless and that I should really stop this daydreaming nonsense of mine or one of these days something serious might really happen to me. I just nodded and said I was sorry. He has no idea! Thankfully he didn’t say much to the others, and no one said anything to me about walking with a limp. Except Avril who said in a voice I know she knew I could hear “Some people will do anything for attention.”

I wanted to walk through the parks and the streets to say goodbye to London in my own private way, but London streets aren’t quite so friendly and safe as I thought they were a week ago.
Our last meal at the hotel was roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables that were a little overcooked and soggy. The meat was kind of grey and the gravy was really watery, but it tasted pretty good. It reminded me of home. I’m surprised to find I’m looking forward to seeing my family again.

Packing up was complete chaos. Six girls in one room with way too much stuff trying to cram everything into six suitcases. Avril asked if anyone had extra space for some of her stuff, but no one did. Well, no one said they did. I had no idea I had so much. I was surprised to see how much room all the programs and ticket stubs and maps I’ve collected took up. I had to sit on my case to get it closed. I sure hope it doesn’t pop open on the plane. Well, at least I don’t have to bring those clunky broken shoes home that took up so much room. I just have to figure out what to say to Mom when she asks what happened to them.

Chapter 3 - London - almost molested!

The concert last night went really well. I didn’t play any wrong notes and we got lots of applause. It feels better getting applause from a real audience, and not just one that’s just a bunch of parents.

The British Museum is way too big to see everything so I chose some Greek marble things called Elgin that were good because they had horses, the Egyptian rooms and the Rosetta Stone. I loved studying about Egypt in Social Studies. Someday I have to go there. The Rosetta stone was just a hunk of black rock with white marks scratched all over it in three sections. Something so simple and yet it opened up the languages of thousands of years ago. Such importance from something so small. Like a map for languages.

My brain started to get that overwhelmed feeling it gets when I think of important things so I went out with Nina for lunch.

“Let’s go to a Wimpy’s”, she suggested.

“Hamburgers aren’t really very English.”

“But we don’t have Wimpy’s at home and we leave tomorrow. Come on.”
I went along with her because I can never say no to anyone. It’s so much easier to just go along. The burger was horrible, all greasy and tasteless. But Nina says now we can say we’ve been to Wimpy’s. Big deal.

I wanted to walk back to the hotel on my own. I’m pretty good about finding my way by now. I guess I was just kind of wandering and didn’t really notice that there was this old guy following me. At least I think he was old because I could hear him wheezing and snuffling. I was too embarrassed to turn around and have a proper look, but once I’d noticed he was there I also noticed he was walking along the same streets I was. When I turned the corner, he turned the corner. When I started walking quicker, he started walking quicker.

My heart started to beat faster. Was he following me? No, that’s ridiculous I told myself. Why would anyone want to follow me? I stopped in front of a big shop window pretending to look at the display, and he stopped too. I could sort of see him out of the corner of my eye, and he didn’t look so old after all. But he smelled awful, like booze and sweat. And his clothes looked lumpy.
Ok now I was getting nervous. What if he really was following me? What if he was going to rob me? He wouldn’t get very much because I’ve spent practically all my money, but that might make him mad and then what would he do? He might beat me up. Or rape me. Or whack me over the head and drag me into a car and drive me to the river and dump me into it when it gets dark and no one would see him do it and then bits of my body would wash up days and weeks later. I swallowed hard and decided to walk straight back to the hotel instead of wandering. I started to walk really fast, or as fast as I could in my platforms, and at first I thought I was okay but then I heard fast footsteps behind me and that wheezing sound again. My mouth got dry and I could feel my heart pounding so hard it was practically coming through my blouse.

‘Be calm’, I told myself. What would ‘Fakira the brave’ do in a situation like this? She’d probably turn and fight him, but I don’t have a weapon and he is bigger than me. Evasive action then. That’s it, take evasive action. So I rushed into a shop where I could see a lady behind the counter. I went right to the back of the store and looked at the magazines. I was relieved to see he hadn’t followed me inside. But wait a minute, there he was! He was standing outside with his back to the window. Standing and waiting for me to leave.

My throat was sore. Actually it’s been sore for most of the week, I think because of the pollution. My clothes get really dirty here, too, the cuffs on my white blouse are black at the end of every day. But now my throat is so sore I can hardly swallow. I asked the lady if she could recommend some lozenges, sort of hoping she’d show me about twenty packets and I could take lots of time choosing so that the guy might get bored and he would leave. But she only handed me one type called ‘Fisherman’s Friends’ that she said was really good for sore throats.

She said it in a weird way but maybe that was just her accent. I had to get her to say stuff three times because I didn’t understand. I think she was from Scotland because when I next asked for Scotch tape so I could wrap my presents, she said “Scotch is a drink. You mean Scottish.” So I asked for Scottish tape, and she said there was no such thing. I found some over in a corner with the birthday cards, and when she saw it she said “Oh, you meant “Sellotape. Yes, we have that”.

I looked out the window and couldn’t see the man so paid for my tape and lozenges and left the store quickly. The street looked completely empty and I breathed a deep breath of relief while popping one of the Fisherman’s Friends in my mouth. It tasted like some kind of poison or something. I spat it out and threw the rest of the package in the garbage. No way are those things supposed to taste like that!

Then I heard wheezing and I looked up. There he was, looking right at me and walking closer! He had green eyes and straggly black hair. I froze. Totally froze. Seeing him looking at me, I just couldn’t make my legs go. All I did was just stand there like an idiot watching him come closer and closer. My mind was racing, and telling me things like “He probably just wants to know the time or something. He’s probably just some smelly guy. Not really harmful at all. Don’t do anything that will make you look stupid or badly behaved.” I think I even smiled so that he wouldn’t think I was impolite.

When he was a few steps away he reached out a hand and said, “You’re a lovely lass, aren’t you? But so young to be out on your own. You might be lost, eh? Why don’t you come to my house? I have sweeties. Lasses like sweeties.” Then he made a quick lunge and grabbed my elbow and something snapped awake inside me. He is not harmless and I was right about him after all! I wrenched away and just ran. I don’t even know if I screamed or made any kind of noise. Probably not. I didn’t look back, I just ran, ran, ran. Sometimes I tripped on my shoes and ran on my ankles which hurt like crazy but I was not going to stop. I didn’t watch which way the traffic was going and no way was I going to wait for the lights to change so I just ran across streets as soon as it looked like there was a gap. All the time I kept imagining I could hear him wheezing behind me, catching up, ready to lunge at me again. I ran faster. A taxi squealed its brakes and the driver yelled at me.

Finally I could see the hotel. Just up ahead. One more street to cross. So many people and cars! I looked quickly both ways and ran across, just as a motorbike was coming. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye too late and couldn’t stop in time. I could even see the driver’s face and his eyes getting wider, but I couldn’t stop. It was almost like watching myself in slow motion. The pedal hit my ankle and I fell. Hard. Right on the street. I lay there with my eyes closed, feeling a sharp pain coming from my ankle. The motorbike driver stopped and ran over, cursing me, then asking if I was all right. All sorts of other people came over to look at me lying there in the middle of the street. My face got hot and my chest felt tight. I was getting that horrible fluttery feeling. How embarrassing to have all these people staring at me! I stood up and brushed myself off as I took a step. Yow, my ankle! And my left shoe had separated from the soul and heel. I almost fell down again it hurt so much. Someone said to call for an ambulance. Oh I couldn’t have an ambulance! What would I do? What would Mr. Holmsmith say? What would all the other students think? And my Mom! She’d be mortified.

“I’m okay,” I said, trying to sound calm although I could hear my voice was shaky. “Really. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt your motorbike. But I’m fine really. Just a bit of a bruise. My class is waiting for me. I must get back to them. I’m really sorry.”

I noticed that the awful man with the wheeze wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Thank goodness for that! I brushed past everyone, holding my breath and walked up to and into the hotel. My ankle was killing me and I kind of hobbled in on one broken shoe but I simply had to get back to my room before I could take it off. I could feel that I wanted to cry but didn’t want to do it in the lobby. I felt a wave of relief that I was safe from the man, and another wave of pain in my ankle, and a whole ocean of embarrassment. I couldn’t hold it back much longer. If Avril or any of the others are in the room, I thought, I’ll grab my towel and pretend I have to take a bath. Then I could run the water so no one could hear me cry. Maybe I’ll do that anyway.

Chapter 3 - London - shopping day

London zoo today. Zoos aren’t really my thing. I’d rather go and see animals where they really live, in the jungle or the desert. After the zoo I went by myself to see the Royal Opera House, where the ballet performs. I am really disappointed we won’t be able to see a performance, but I am glad I could at least see the building. I walked back to Regent Street pretending I was the black swan in Swan Lake, who is a much more dynamic figure than the white one, who always seemed to have things happen to her than doing things herself. I had about 2 hours to shop, and I’d heard Regent and Oxford streets were the best places. I’ve been pretty good so far about not spending my money, although it’s been really hard. There’s so much stuff here I want to get. I bought a book about growing English beans for Dad. Mom gets a scarf from an old shop called Liberty. It’s real silk and has peacock feathers painted in bright colours on it. For Sidney I found a cool tee-shirt from Carnaby Street ‘cause I know she’s heard of Carnaby Street and would think it was really fashionable. Sam is harder, she has unusual tastes for a girl her age and doesn’t really care much about things. But she likes candy. So I got her a collection of chocolate bars that are different from the chocolate bars you get at home. And I found a neat deck of cards for Granny with pictures of a lot of the places I’ve visited on them. Then when we play Canasta or Poker I can tell her about them every time she makes a discard.

I know they all expect presents, but I want to bring them something anyway. I hate it when I plan to buy someone a gift or write a special thank-you card on my own, and then someone ruins it by telling me I should do that very thing. And when I do something without them telling me to first I still never get the credit. On the first day of Spring I got Mom some bath stuff I thought she’d like. She said, “Oh this is a bit of a surprise isn’t it? I prefer Lily of the Valley. Why did you get French Fern?” I had spent hours picking out French Fern because I thought it smelled the nicest. Of course I didn’t show how I felt. I just shrugged my shoulders or something. We’re not a gushy family. I don't like going gushy in real life, it's so embarrassing. In my imaginings going gushy is what it's all about though. I wonder what it would be like to have my mother clasp me in their arms and tell me I was the most thoughtful daughter in the whole world and life would not be worth living without me. It might feel really good, but I think if someone ever did say something like that to me I’d suspect they were making fun of me.

Joel showed me what he got for Shari. He always seems to pay attention to me when he’s bored or missing Shari. Then, when he’s got stuff to do, it’s like I’m not even there. And when he does pay attention to me he punches me in the shoulder a lot. My bruise is in the purple stage now. I don’t think he really wants to hurt me, he just seems to do it when he can’t think of anything to say. The other girls are prettier and smarter than me, but once he said to me they are all too boring. I wonder if that means I’m not boring. I hope so.

I didn’t have much money left over after buying my presents, but I had enough to buy myself a little map of London in a frame that I can put on my bedroom wall and remember being here. It’s a map of what London looked like a couple hundred years ago and I love it. It will look perfect next to my map of confederate United States that Granny gave me last year when she came back from Reno, and other one of the world that the school librarian gave me because China got ripped. I want to fill my entire bedroom with maps someday. Then I could lie on my bed and follow the squiggly lines on them with my eyes and imagine following them on horse back, or on a train, or on a camel even. Back in the hotel room, everyone showed off their shopping. One of the juniors, a pretty flute player who’s really popular, told me the scarf I got Mom was ‘nice’, but Avril said it looked ‘flashy’. Why are some girls so bossy and know-it-all? Avril doesn’t know what my Mom’s taste is. As a matter of fact, she likes ‘flashy’.

I’ve noticed that the girls who aren’t that smart are the ones that most act like they are. Avril always tries to hang out with the popular kids even though she tells everyone else how inferior she thinks they are to her. She actually says that, out loud and everything. I wish I didn’t have to sit directly behind her in band class. She always turns around and tells me what I’m doing wrong and how I should be playing. Then I get so self-conscious and play really badly which only makes her criticize even more. Sometimes I want her to be wrong just because it would be good to see what she would say to get out of it. I remember once when her Dad, who owns a furniture store, was interviewed on TV with all his family. It’s weird to see someone you know on TV. Avril didn’t say very much, even when the interviewer asked her really easy questions. So I thought maybe she was shy, and that was something we shared. The next day I got my courage up to talk to her. “I saw you on TV last night”, I said. She looked at me and said, “Yeah? So?” I just looked at her. What could I say to that?

Chapter 3 - London - Hampton Court and nudity

I got up earlier than anyone else and decided to take the time to have a bath in the huge bathtub down the hall. It’s so big I can stretch out completely under the water and imagine I am an impossibly beautiful water maiden who wears green satiny reeds and drinks the dew from water lilies. I could submerge and open my eyes to see a watery human world above me, then let out a slow stream of bubbles from my mouth to see if I could change the view without obscuring it completely. My hair takes a long time to dry, but it was completely dry by the time everyone else was up and ready. No one seems to realize that we are in England and time is ticking! There’s so much to see and we only have a few days left.

After our second practice at Westminster Abbey we went to see Windsor Castle. It was a beautiful day and the Castle looked so dreamy. I could just imagine walking that long lane that leads up to it in a beautiful dress of dark green velvet next to someone really, really handsome in a long coat with tails and high boots and a fast horse and an English accent. I never get to imagine anything for long though, as we are hustled to and from each place and given a tour that lasts only about half an hour. I have millions of questions but never get to ask them. Well, I guess part of that is my own fault. I'm too shy to ask even one question so no one would know I have millions of them still unasked and trapped inside me.

After Windsor Castle we went to Hampton Court. It was weird to see modern cars in a parking lot next to such an old building. Like seeing an old lady wearing a mini skirt. That reminded me of Mom. I wondered how everyone back home was doing and if they missed me. Or even noticed I wasn’t there. I’ve never been away from home this long on my own before. I think about home, but I don’t really miss it. This place is too interesting.
In the evening we got to see a musical called “Hair”. It was really good, but a bit daring. I got kind of embarrassed seeing people acting with no clothes on in front of an audience all staring at them, but that's what made it kind of exciting. How wonderful to be an actor who was so confident that they could act naked right there on a stage. 'Fakira the brave' could do it, but I don't know if I ever could. I wonder what Mom would think if I told her about this play. Maybe I won’t tell her about the naked part. Mr. Holmsmith must be cooler than I thought to bring us here. The dancing was the best. I think I’m going to switch from ballet to modern jazz classes when I get home, then maybe singing.

I think I’ll have to live a long, long time in order to get all the things done and all the places seen that I plan to do and see. I want to have a life that’s both adventurous and long. Or, like a cat, have seven of them. I think I’ve already had two. The first one was last year in my ballet recital when I got so nervous about where I had to be that I fell into the orchestra pit, landed on the euphonium and the man who played it and fractured my collarbone. The doctor said I was lucky I landed on the euphonium player or I could have broken my neck. I sometimes wonder if the euphonium player felt so lucky. The second time, only really it was the first time because I was only eight, was on my way to school. I usually walk with my eyes down looking at the sidewalk because it’s easier to work things out in my head that way, but I got distracted that time. The crows were making an awful ruckus and I looked up to find out why and suddenly there were these two perfect bald eagles sitting in a giant cottonwood tree as calm as anything, looking out to the horizon. They were totally ignoring the crows who acted like schoolyard bullies as they flew back and forth, cawing and barking, but also keeping their distance like I’ve noticed bullies mostly do. I didn’t realize it but I was still walking and I walked smack dab into a parking sign and gave myself a concussion, two black eyes and a broken nose. That spring I also got the measles, mumps and chicken pox all at the same time so that’s gotta count for half a life at least, maybe. If I can survive all that surely there’s a reason for me to live. There must be something wonderful for me to accomplish. Or find.

It’s a big responsibility though, life. Everyone seems to know what they want to do when they finish high school, but I can never make up my mind. I think I’m interested in one thing and then I read about something else and that sounds good, and then I’ll meet someone who does something wonderful and I want to do that too. Lately I’ve been thinking seriously about being a nun. Mom would just die if she knew. She hates anything religious, and says all priests and reverends are shams who prey on people’s weaknesses and don’t contribute anything to society. I guess she didn’t like going to a Catholic school when she was a girl. But I think being a nun would be so romantic. I would stay in a nunnery and pray all day, make soap out of lavender and read books. No one would bother me. Perhaps I could care for the sick.

But if I was a nun I wouldn’t know what sex was like. Perhaps I could fall in love and have sex and then I could become a nun. That way I’d know what it was like and still be romantic. Maybe even more so because I’d know what I was giving up. Now that really would be romantic. Of course the biggest problem is that I don’t know if I believe in God. I imagine that it’s necessary for people who become nuns, but maybe that would come in time. My counsellor says I should pick one thing and stick to it, and Dad says I won’t look very stable if I keep changing jobs, but why do I have to only do one thing for my entire life anyway? Why can’t I do more things? Leonardo da Vinci did. And so did Captain Cook. Even Adolf Hitler did, even though none of them were good.

Chapter 3 - London - St. Paul's

It was really windy as we walked along the Embankment of the River Thames. We passed Cleopatra’s needle, which apparently has seen more damage in a few decades in London than in the centuries before in the Egyptian desert because of war and pollution. Weird to think that nature and time don’t do as much harm as man does.

St. Paul’s Cathedral is enormous. We climbed all the way to the top, stopping at the Whispering Gallery first. Joel volunteered to go to the opposite side of the dome and say something. We all waited with our ears pressed to the cold stone. His voice came through, “Mr. Holmsmith is a fairy.” We all giggled so I guess everyone heard it. Unfortunately so did Mr. Holmsmith. He was in kind of a bad mood after that. There was a great view from the top, and then we had all those steps to walk down again. I counted 532, but got a little dizzy after awhile, so don’t know if I got the number right. Everyone split up to go for lunch and the sophomores and some of the juniors went together into a pub. Pubs are really great. You can’t drink in them until you are 16 but you can go in and sit or eat.

Avril, who always has the most expensive clothes and even a car although she’s still only 15 and can’t drive it yet, sat right down on the only chair that was empty and promptly said, “There’s not enough room for all of us, so some of you will have to leave.”

No one seemed to want to go. Joel sort of hung around Avril and some of the others made a bit of a group. No one said anything. Silence can be awfully loud. I didn’t look up to see, but it felt like everyone was looking right at me, as if they were willing me to leave. Well, it was obvious I wouldn’t get to sit down at all if I did stay after all I thought. So I just left. No one came with me, but then I wasn't all that surprised at that. Nor bothered about it really. I went and bought a chocolate bar, and ate it on the stairs of St. Paul’s surrounded by pigeons. It reminded me of the scene in “Mary Poppins” with the old lady selling bird seed. I would have bought some of that if there had been an old lady, but there wasn’t. I sprinkled my chocolate bar crumbs on the ground for the birds to fight over.

I decided to go off for a wander and found a beautiful little building almost as old as St. Paul’s and built by the same guy, Sir Christopher Wren. There was an old lady sitting at the table. She had puffs of soft gray hair and wore a pink floral dress with a glittery brooch on her shawl. She had a nice smile and looked up to me as I went past.

“Hello, have you come to pray?”

“No, I just wanted to see inside, if that’s allowed and everything.”

“Now where are you from, luv? America?”

“Well, North America. I'm from Canada.”

“Oh, now my brother lives in Canada and I’ve always wanted to visit. It all sounds so nice and clean. He lives in Toronto. His name is Malcolm Porter. Maybe you know him? He has three boys and a girl about your age.”

“No, I live in Vancouver.”

“Oh is that near Toronto?”

“No, it’s almost, um, I guess about 2,000 miles away.”

“Oh my, no that can’t be right, surely you must mean almost 200 miles. And that’s still a long, long way.”

“Yes, it’s quite a long way.”

“Well, you just go on in, luv. Make sure you keep quiet and here’s some information about the history of the church and the work our women’s auxiliary does.”

I thanked her and went in. Why am I such an idiot? Of course Toronto is about 2,000 miles away from Vancouver. I know that, I’ve been there! Why didn’t I say anything when she was the one who got it wrong? Sometimes I’m such a wimp. Things like this get me all fired up inside and I have to redo the conversation in my head to get it right the second time.

Of course I can never make it right the first time, when it counts. Like that time I was nine. Doing SRA at school. I know the first two letters stood for Silent and Reading, but I never did find out what the A was for. Thinking about it still makes me flush with embarrassment. SRA was stories on colour coded cards. Colours like brown, sage, rust and olive were at the easy end of the program, and as you completed the assignments and got all the questions right you moved up through other colours, like green, fuchsia and cobalt up to magenta, scarlet, teal, and silver. Gold was at the top.

Now I have always been a really good reader – that’s something I can say without being big-headed. I could read before I was five, so I found SRA really easy and halfway through the semester I was almost at the top. I had just finished with teal and went to have my work approved before I moved up to silver. The SRA teacher was the school principal. About nine feet tall with short hair and red eyes. And old. Like, way over forty kind of old. When you asked him a question his eyes would pierce right into you without even blinking. Like red lasers. He scared me to death.

There were lots of other kids around him when I went up to get my work checked, and he was trying to mark and talk and listen all at the same time. I don’t think he even saw me when he took my paper to look it over, but that suited me just fine. I always got really fluttery when he looked at me with those red eyes. Even though I hadn’t done anything I always felt like I had. But this time, just as he was about to ask me about my progress Nathaniel Stevens came running up.

“Mr. Godfrey, Lindsay just put pencil marks through my paper, and I didn’t do anything to make her, honest.”

“Nathaniel, I’m sure she wouldn’t do that on purpose. Now why don’t we go over and talk to Lindsay and hear her side of the story.”

“Mr. Godfrey”, I said tentatively.

“Oh yes, very good, yes, fine, go on to olive now.”

Now olive was not the next level. Olive was one of the lowest levels on the whole program. I had passed olive months ago. But he was the teacher and he scared me to death. Besides, I thought maybe I had done something wrong. I went and took an olive coloured card.

About two months later during dinner, Mom said her usual “I hoped you learned something useful at school today.” Normally I just keep eating, knowing the others will fill Mom in with all sorts of things so that she forgets about me, but that night I spoke up, “Well, something good happened to me today.”

“What was that?” Mom asked, ignoring Sam who was trying to stuff a golden wax bean in her ear to make Sidney laugh.

“I finally got back to the reading level I was before I was sent down.”

Mom paused and slapped Sam’s hand, which had just stuck two Old Dutch half runner beans in her nose. Sam was always trying to make food funny. Especially beans. But never when Dad was around of course. He’d hate to see someone, even Sam, making fun of his precious heritage beans. “What do you mean, ‘before you were sent down’?”

That warning voice. I should have stopped there, but now I couldn’t. “In SRA. Silent reading. You know. I was sent back down to olive a couple of months ago, but I’m back up to silver now.”

“Why were you sent down? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know. Mr. Godfrey just said.” I could hear my voice faltering as I stumbled through each sentence. Idiot! Why had I said anything?

“Didn’t he tell you why?”

“No, he just looked at my work and said to go to olive.”

Mom didn’t seem to even notice the Jackson Wonder lima beans Sam had put on her teeth to make herself look like an old drunk guy who’d never been to a dentist. Sidney was crying with laughter, but Mom had a kind of far away look in her eyes. She sometimes got that look just before she punished us for something we did wrong. Had I done something wrong? I started to get that fluttery feeling in my stomach when I worry too much about something, and just finished my dinner as quickly and silently as possible. I spent the whole evening in my room reading and waiting for Mom to tell me off, but she never did and I got through an entire Narnia book. Voyage of the Dawn Treader. My favourite one.

The next morning, during Social Studies, there was a knock on the classroom door. Mr. Godfrey put his head in and asked if he could see me. To see me! I thought I was going to die. No one had even wanted to see me before. Everyone’s eyes riveted straight to me. I couldn’t move. My face got hot. Some of the kids started to giggle and whisper. I began to get that horrible fluttery feeling again. I tried to call up ‘Fakira the brave’ to help me out but either she didn’t hear me or she was off being brave somewhere else. Some alter ego she is, not coming to my rescue when I need her most! I can’t remember getting up but I must have done because I remember walking behind Mr. Godfrey in the hall to his office.

That walk along the hall was one of the longest walks I’ve ever walked. Mr. Godfrey was in front of me and didn’t say a word. Finally we got to his office and he went to the chair behind his desk and I stood in front. Would I get the strap? I’d never had the strap.

“Please sit down dear.”

‘Dear!’ I’d never heard him use that word before. I must have done something truly awful. I sat and stared in front of me but couldn’t look at him, at those terrible red eyes. I focussed on the edge of his desk instead. It had a bit of a nick in it that someone had coloured in with blue felt pen.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother called and asked me why I had sent you down in SRA and I couldn’t answer her. I went back over your progress card and saw where and when you went down. You’ve never had any wrong answers. You are an excellent reader. Why did you go down?”

“Because…” I stammered. “Because you told me to”.

“What? Speak up, I won’t bite.”

My face felt so hot I thought it would burst into flames. I tried to say it louder. “Because you told me to.”

“I told you too?”

“Yes. Maybe you were busy or something with the other kids and, and…I don’t know….” I faltered. What a stupid thing to say, a kid trying to make an excuse for a teacher.

There was this horrible silence. I couldn’t bear to look at him but I couldn’t bear not to either. I snuck a peek. He was just sitting there with his hand over his eyes. Then he took his hand away and I quickly moved my eyes back down to the nick in the desk. He said, “I’m sorry. You should have told me. I must have been distracted. Every one makes mistakes, even teachers, and you mustn’t be afraid to stand up when you are right.” He sighed. “Well, I would like to have made things right again, but you are back to the level you were before.”

I squirmed a little because I didn’t know what to do or say. I’d never heard a teacher say “I’m sorry” before.

“You may go back to your class now.”

Well, for someone wanting to make things right, this was a pretty pathetic way of doing it I thought! Now I had to walk all the way down that hall to the classroom by myself and interrupt the teacher while I crept in with my eyes to the floor. Of course everyone stared at me and I must have looked like I had done something really wrong, all red faced and trembling. I got to my seat and looked down. For the rest of the class I just sat there, letting everything go right through me – I don’t even know what the lesson was about. That was one of the most horrible experiences I’ve ever had in my entire life and it wasn’t even my fault.

By the time I had gone over the conversation with the old lady in St. Mary something’s church a few times with some different ways I should have answered, all of which were brilliant, I was at the Tower Bridge. I stood there awhile, watching the river sauntering underneath, washes of foam hovering along its sides. I guess that’s what flotsam is. Or maybe jetsam. I wondered idly what the difference between flotsam and jetsam was. When I took a photo of the Tower of London from the bridge, a puff of wind came up and I think I got a picture of my hair instead, so will have to buy a postcard. I stood awhile longer watching the boats bobble under the bridge and then looked at my watch.

Oh my goodness I have done it again! London has bewitched me! It was really late and I had to hurry to get back to the hotel, just in time to change and rush to the Royal Albert Music Hall. Good thing I could figure out how to get there with my tube and bus map all on my own. Everyone was waiting for me at the entrance but I made it. Just in time too. My heart was beating and I tried to ignore everyone’s eyes on me.

This time Mr. Holmsmith looked a little relieved to see me. He made me sit near him and told me I should pay more attention to the time. I heard Avril tell Lorna “I hear she’s a dunce in Math too. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to count as high as 7 o'clock.” They both giggled and my face got hot. I’m not stupid. Not about everything. I’m just not great with numbers that’s all. Someday I will prove it by doing something magnificent. Besides, I made better use of time by not napping in a stupid hotel room. But of course I never told them that. ‘Fakira the brave’ would have told them, or smitten them with a cold cruel look that would have struck them dumb. But I just sat there feeling hot and fluttery.

When the music started I began to calm down. The conductor was famous – his name was Leopold Stokowski and he’s 91 years old. 91! When I heard that lovely music soaring around the building, and saw the conductor’s white hair swirling along with his entire body, moving as if it was led by his conductor's baton, I suddenly felt so light, like a feather. My fluttery feeling left and I floated. All the stuff that went on today and the feelings I had seemed to disappear, like they never happened. I was amazed that this old man could make such music happen at 91 years old. He was alive in the last century! The wars, the governments, the books, the painters, the changes in medicine and stuff – he was born before the record player, the tape recorder, the telephone, the TV were made. Before the source of the Amazon River was found and Mount Everest was climbed. And here I was, in the very same room as him. I wonder if I will live that long or do anything wonderful.

At one point, the violins held a note of gorgeous agony, and I got one of my beauty pains. Like everything is going in slow motion around me in a perfect circle. I just know I’m going to remember this moment all my life. It’s not like it’s really an important moment; most of the ones I remember are kind of ordinary. But it’s as if I’m a little more alive for that exact flash of time. That my entire life is only one minute long, and that it’s filled with sixty separate one-second memories and this is going to be one of them. I always try to hold on to the feeling as long as I can, but it is only a flash of time, and yet it stays with me, and I just know it will stay with me forever.

Chapter 3 - London - coach travel and hallway loneliness

After breakfast we waited for awhile in the lobby for our private coach to pick us up to take us to Canterbury. I love the sound of the words ‘private coach’. It’s like a fairy tale or something. While we waited I looked in the window of the jewelry shop in the hotel. They have some neat silver charms. I kind of like the one of the houses of parliament and Big Ben. But it’s a little pricey. I have to keep multiplying everything by two and half to get the price in dollars and I’ve always had difficulties with multiplication. I’ve already spent most of my allowance on clothes for the trip so I only have a bit of money that Granny gave me secretly. She said it was an advance on my 15th birthday present but I know she will forget that. I have to bring her something really cool from here too. Maybe I will wait until I have bought all my other presents and see how much I have left before buying something for myself. That's what Fakira the brave would do. After she took down some bad guys and rid the world of cancer or something.

Canterbury Cathedral was divine! And then we went to see St. Martin’s church, the oldest church in England according to the guide. I can’t believe how old everything here is. At home things are called ancient if they’ve been around for 100 years – here there are things 1000 years old! We had fish and chips at a famous place called the Mayflower. The fish was called plaice. I’ve never heard of it but every restaurant seemed to serve it: plaice and chips, plaice and peas, plaice and chips and peas. Eighteen different ways to serve the same food. Dad would love it here.

We went to Rochester later in the afternoon and saw the castle ruins. They were so romantic. I’d love it if we had ruins at home. And ancient Cathedrals. And places like the one we saw that Charles Dickens used as a model for Mr. Pumblechook’s house in ‘Great Expectations.’ I’ll have to read that book next. Our guide said Dickens once got thrown into the moat here. You never find out this kind of stuff in books or at school. I just love travelling!

At one point we all went into this cute little tea shop, full of lace curtains and old lady waitresses. The woman at the door looked at her watch when we came in and said we’d have to wait until the tea service started at 3:30. We had to stand outside the shop for four full minutes! I bet that if you wanted to have a cup of tea four minutes after tea service stopped you’d have to forget it. They really like schedules in England. And line ups. Or ‘queues’ as they say here. I always thought I knew how to speak English, but there are sure a lot of words that are different in England’s English. Everyone stands in ‘queues’ here for everything. I saw a bus stop with only one person waiting but I could tell just by the way he was standing that he was in a ‘queue’.
When we got back to the hotel, everyone else went to have a sleep before dinner. I can’t believe these people sleep in the daytime when there’s so much to see! It’s been two days. Surely their jet lag is gone by now. I went out walking in an area called Belgravia. The houses were elegant, with lovely black gates. Each place is attached to its neighbours’ place to make one long, tall row all the way down the road. All the house doors are different colours, but other than that they are identical. There are big parks out front, but they all have gates with locks so I don’t know how the people inside them got in. Maybe all these houses in a row get to go in them to help make up for the fact that they don’t have any front yards. No privacy though – you couldn’t lie on the grass in your bathing suit or anything like you can at home. Sam would have a tough time not being able to run around in the nude.

I must have wandered a bit too much, because I lost track of time. Normally I am always early for everything and checking my watch when I know I have someplace I have to be, but for some reason I didn’t this time, I guess because I’m in a new place and imagining what it must be to live in one of those Belgravia houses, or to leave one of them all dressed up for a ball or the opera or something fancy. Each turning led onto another street with fascinating houses and a little green square, and I just couldn’t resist exploring that one too, and then the next one. When I did get back to the hotel the rooms were locked and there was no one around – everyone had left for dinner and I don’t know where the restaurant they went to was so I just sat in the hallway and waited ‘til they got back. I guess I could have gone downstairs to the hotel restaurant to eat something, but I just couldn’t go down there and eat by myself. I’d just die of embarrassment.
Probably I’m not really important enough for Mr. Holmsmith to notice I wasn’t there with everyone but I thought maybe one of the others would notice. I guess I’m not really the noticeable kind. I wish I was. I wish I was tall and had curves and clear skin and wasn’t so skinny. I always used to think nothing was as bad as having freckles, but having zits is definitely worse. Last winter I went to the library to try to find a diet book for underweight people, but every thing was for overweight people. All the books talked about how tough it is to be overweight and how self-conscious you can get. Well, what about us skinny people? Don’t our feelings count too? Mom said I should be grateful not to be fat and Sidney said I should buy clothes with wide horizontal stripes and Sam said I should become a doctor and then I would know what to do. Those types of suggestions do not help much.

I sat on the floor in the hallway outside the room, with my knees pulled up to my chest, and let my hair swing across my face. I pretend it’s a curtain, like in the theatre, and when it’s closed I’m on my own private stage, able to see out with no one seeing in. Of course there was no one there anyway and all I could see were the shiny cream coloured walls of the hallway that go up so high. I leant my head back against the wall and considered the ceiling. People don't notice ceilings much I decided. Ceilings are really tall in London. The shiny paint was the same as on the walls but there were cracks that looked like what rivers would look like from space. There were three light fixtures, stretched along at intervals along the length of the hall, that hung down like pendulums. They gave a sort of greenish light and made one patch of the brown carpet look brighter than the rest. It was like three muddy pools of carpet that blended into each other as the hallway stretched out in front of me. When I looked closer, the carpet actually had a pattern. It wasn't brown at all, but little green and black and cream diamonds. The bit down the middle was worn where hundreds of people had walked along it over the years. I thought of all the people that must have been here and walking along that carpet and then I thought of the muddy pools again and imagined I was lost in a swampy forest under a full moon, with the scent of jasmine and the sound of nightingales wafting on the air instead of teh old food smells I could actually smeel. If I think I can smell something other than what I really smell I can often convince myself I really can smell something different.

Finally I heard noises and everyone was back from dinner, but still no one noticed I hadn’t been there. I guess I don’t mind. It would be worse if they made a huge fuss about it.

Chapter 3 - London - my first full day as a Londoner

It was not much of a breakfast, just orange juice and a crusty bun with cold butter and marmalade. ‘Continental’ they called it. I’m not sure why. England is on an island. The dining room was really elegant. Tall windows and white linen. We were at three big tables in the corner by the window and I could see out onto the main street near Victoria Station. Some of the buildings near us are really old with lots of brick and plaster decoration. I tried to pretend what it would be like to live here and look out over this street every day, but everyone was talking and it was too hard to imagine I was anything but part of a big noisy group of band students. Especially when Justine McBride yelled out “Hey, where’s the jam? Don’t they know about jam in England?” The waiters gave us this look. When you are sitting at the same table it’s hard to pretend you’re not with the same group so I just took a larger helping of marmalade to try to signal that it is exactly what I wanted and I wouldn’t have jam even if it was available.

Cars drive by really fast in London and on the wrong side of the road. It takes me about five minutes to cross the street ‘cause I have to stop and remember which way to look so I don’t get smucked. We all walked to Westminster Abbey where there was a choir service on before we could have our practice. It was so beautiful I felt tears coming to my eyes. I didn't recognize the music but resolved right then and there that someday I would join a choir that sings music like that. It was almost as good practicing our piece with the sound floating up high in echoing awves. So much lovelier than playing in the gym at school. We went for a walk around the area after practice. Westminster Abbey is an imposing white building in its own park and right across the street is Big Ben and the houses of Parliament, just like in the photos. I can’t believe I am really here!

We got back to the hotel using the Underground. The tickets are made of yellow cardboard. You put them into a machine and it spits it back to you before letting you through. Then you have to keep the ticket because at the end you have to put it in another machine that swallows it then lets you out. There are maps of the Underground everywhere so we could work out how to get back. I love those maps. Every line has its own colour and the whole thing looks like a piece of art. I’ve decided to call it ‘The Tube’, because I heard people who look like they live here call it that.

Most of the others went to sleep in the afternoon but I didn’t want to waste one minute so I took my little walking map and wandered all over the area looking in shops and houses. I have to buy something really good to take back to Mom and Dad, Sidney and Sam, so I will have to do a lot of looking first before I choose what to buy. Normally I just buy the first thing I see but I am trying to change my bad habits.

Chapter 3 - London - really and truly!

This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me! I thought I’d die last year when Mom said I was too young to go on the band trip, but then it was to Montreal and I’d already been there. Which makes this year even better. I take back all the bad thoughts I said about her.
Packing was impossibly hard. Mr. Holmsmith said we were only allowed to bring one suitcase and only what we absolutely need because the musical instruments count as our second piece of luggage, but it was sooooooo hard to get everything I absolutely needed inside only one suitcase. There’s my two pant suits and the navy peasant skirt Mom bought me. And then one clean blouse for each day and some sweaters and I simply couldn’t not bring the new dress I got last week at Eaton’s. It’s baby blue with big white lapels and a tie in the back, the perfect thing to wear for a play or concert. The shoes were the hardest. I have only three pair, and I’ll wear the chunkiest ones, but the others are a tight fit. Platforms are so much heavier than the old style of shoe. But I want to be as stylish as possible in London, England!

Our flight left at 4:35 in the morning. It’s a charter flight which I guess means it’s cheap. Too hard to sleep before so I just sat up and read my National Geographic and Seventeen magazines until it was time to go to the airport. Mom was so excited you’d think she was going. Fussing around my suitcase and asking me over and over if I’d remembered to bring this or that. She must have asked me if I had my passport a hundred and fifty times! She almost made me late, which almost made me cry, but then at the airport she started to cry herself. I was shocked. My mom never cries. She hugged me in that ‘grab and thump’ way she has and when she moved away I could see she had real tears in her eyes. Maybe it’s because she really wishes it was her going. I can’t imagine it is because she is sorry to see me go.

I had to sit next to Joel Wiggan who spent the flight either sleeping on my shoulder or punching me on the arm. I just know I’m going to have a huge bruise there. I guess he probably wishes Shari could have come, and me being the one who sits next to her in the french horn section was why he sat next to me on the plane, because he talks about her a lot. I can’t think of any other reason he’d sit next to me. I’m trying to act cool, ‘cause I kind of like him. He’s good looking and a bit tough. But of course I can’t let him or anyone else know how I feel. It wouldn’t be fair to Shari because she liked him first and besides, I’d just die of embarrassment if people knew and made fun of me. I wish I was like other girls who walk around holding hands with guys in public. I could never do that. Once, I even saw Shari kiss Joel right in the middle of C wing. I wish I had that kind of courage.

We’re staying in a big hotel called the Grosvenor Victoria. There are eight of us girls sharing one big room all together. It took forever to get sorted out. There was only one drawer for each person and two left over and the senior girls took those. Some girls were getting really nit-picky with the others. Especially the juniors. They’re worse than the seniors for bossing everyone else. And we sophomores get treated like little kids. Why is it we are equal when we do things like protest against nuclear testing on Amchitka Island but get treated just like little kids for everything else? It’s not fair. There was no way anyone’s stuff could fit inside only one drawer. It was a total mess. I left my suitcase open to pretend it was another drawer and that works ok as long as I remember where it is and don’t trip over it.

My cot bed sinks in the middle and I can feel the ground when I lay on it. But I don’t want to say anything in case someone makes a big deal about it or thinks I’m showing off. There’s a sink in the room. I’ve never seen a room with a sink in it before. The toilet is in a tiny room down the hall. That means we have to get completely dressed just to go to pee. The toilet has this big tank way up on the wall with a long cold, wet chain that you have to pull to flush it. The toilet paper is the worst though. It feels just like waxed paper and certainly doesn’t clean up anything; it just smears it around. Which is kind of disgusting but intriguing because it's so different to the toilet paper at home. I have saved two squares to include in the scrapbook I intend to make of this trip. Maybe I will save samples of all the different toilet papers I see in every English toilet I visit - that would be unique and might break the ice at cocktail parties in case I'm ever invited to one that allows me to bring a scrapbook. Which seems a bit of a long shot at the moment but I live in hope for the future.