Today was a long day full of emotion. Well, strictly speaking it was more than a single day, but to Pamela it felt like one very long day, and so it feels to me. Last night Diana drove Pamela to the airport, and Pamela boarded the plane that would take her across the ocean to London.
I went with her on the plane, curious about this method of transportation. At first I was not at all impressed—the airport was crowded and noisy with people hurrying this way and that just to wait in very long lines. They spent their time looking at screens and signs and never noticing one another, although there they were, gathered for similar purposes in diversity and numbers that most do not find in their daily lives. The plane itself was a small space with seats packed tightly together and tiny windows.
But when the engines started, they roared with a power that I have not yet encountered on Earth. As the plane shot into motion, pressing the humans back into their seats, I could hear a collective exhalation of relief and even excitement, as if all of these people had been restrained and finally had been set free. You can truly feel the plane’s wheels lifting from the ground, and it is a dizzying and exciting feeling. And for the humans to see their Earth as we do is an amazing thing.
After several hours, however, the novelty wears off. Pamela did her best to sleep, but had trouble making herself comfortable. The person next to her was leaning on the arm-rest between their two seats, leaving her with not much room to maneuver.
Pamela’s interest, however, was not in that person but in the third occupant of their small row of seats. He was a tall young man with dark hair and fair skin, his long legs stretched out into the aisle. He wore a black jacket, pressed gray slacks, and a well-worn pair of sneakers.[1] And throughout the flight, across the snoring gentleman between them, his eyes met Pamela’s more than once.
I could feel the connection between them almost right away, and it worried me. There was something in the young man’s aura that I did not like. I tried to get Pamela to ignore him, but the attraction she felt was strong.
I had to leave her for a time, but I returned just as the plane was landing. When it docked at the terminal and the passengers were released, the dark-haired young man retrieved Pamela’s bag from the storage overhead for her, mostly as an excuse to talk to her.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling and wondering what her hair looked like and whether she had bags under her eyes.
“You’re very welcome,” he replied, thinking that she was beautiful. His accent was British, and Pamela’s attraction grew stronger. “I hate these long flights, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t mind them so much,” she said, “aside from coming out from them a big mess. But a long flight means that you’ve come a long way, right? And that’s always great.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said with an amused smile. Pamela turned away and started down the aisle, berating herself for not being as eloquent as she wanted to. It did not seem to bother the man, who kept an eye on her as they left the plane and went down to collect their larger bags. When her suitcase appeared, he stepped forward to lift it from the conveyor belt[2] for her.
His reappearance renewed her confidence. “You again,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were following me.” She gave him a smile and an up-and-down look that clearly indicated that she did not mind.
This made me anxious, as neither of us had any idea who this man was or what he might want. I took a moment while he laughed and replied to examine his aura and his thoughts closely. From them, I could tell that his name is Lyle Bradshaw, and he is a businessman returning home from a trip to New York City. The trip, it seems, did not go well, and so he was looking for something to cheer him up. Pamela was what he had decided he needed.
While he had no intention of hurting her, I did not like the idea that he might use her. Pamela does not have a good history with unattached sex partners, and I worried that if she were to get into any sort of relationship with this man, she might be hurt. So while they spoke, I did my best to discourage her from falling too hard for him. It was an exhausting task, for the attraction was powerful—I had to resort to such measures as pointing out that he had a mustache, a feature of which Pamela usually does not approve.
By the time they reached the taxis, however, I had convinced her to enough caution that she declined to share a cab with Lyle. He loaded her luggage into the back for her and gave her his number, though she did not give him hers. “You’ll just have to see if I call you,” she said teasingly.
“I’ll wait by the phone,” he said, showing her his cell phone and pressing it against his chest.
Laughing, Pamela got into her cab and watched him watching her pull away. I did what I could to make her forget the encounter, to tell her that it is likely she will never see him again. I am not sure, however, if what I told her is true.
Thankfully, the sights of London soon distracted her. It is an impressive city—not beautiful, per se, but with a strength of character and a brisk business that makes it hum along with the rush of the River Thames. Pamela liked it very much on sight, as did I.
She was welcomed to the home of Alice and Clay Beck, a young couple who rent out a room on the upper level of their townhouse in outer London. Being between tenants, they were able to offer the room to Pamela, who went to the same college that Alice did. Pamela made fast friends with the two, and they immediately began plans to show her around the city in the coming days.
When Pamela was settled into her room, however, she took out her phone again and looked at Lyle’s number thoughtfully. She did not call him before she fell asleep, but I am worried that she will. I hope not—if it goes badly, it could ruin her trip, and I would hate for that to happen when she has looked forward to it so.
I will be keeping close to her, naturally. When there is news, I will pass it on.
[1] These are shoes with laces that hold them tight to the foot and are usually meant for high activity. I have never known anyone to do any ‘sneaking’ in them.
[2] This is a fascinating invention: a long strip of material or of interlocking links of material that rotates around a track and as it does so carries objects along. There are also other forms of this invention that form walkways for people—one, called an escalator, can even carry them up stairs! If I could have, I would have spent hours riding these things.