London Part 2

2. Gatwick

Gatwick is bizarre. It smells like smoke and I try to figure out who is English by the way they look. I follow the black man who sat in front of me on the plane. He looks familiar. He is safety but he steps on a conveyor and disappears. I am now on my own. There is an instant of panic when I feel like I can’t speak this language but I walk it off.

I pick the most congenial looking passport officer. He’s friendly but it’s a hassle. He wants a letter and I show him several. None of them are what he wants but he lets me go anyway. My bag is already off the conveyor. I walk through the doorway marked “Nothing to declare.” And to my surprise I am in the airport lobby. Without talking to anyone, without my bag being searched. I feel guilty.

I have walked into the ulcer I have been creating for the last month. My courage is gone. I think of all the better decisions I could have made but as punishment for not making them I spend the night in the airport.
What now seems like an adventure seemed like Hell at the time.

I find a bench and sit but I feel conspicuous. There are too many people so I go upstairs to the Mall. The benches are bigger here. Less people. So I sit but every time I get comfortable someone comes to mop under the bench. As it turns ten I am trying desperately to avoid the cleaning crew. I wander in circles trying to find the right spot

I finally get the courage to get some money—and panic when the ATM gives my card back. I can’t breathe. But the sign changes and the money comes out. It’s backward here. I look over my shoulder but I can’t find the rabbit anywhere.

I find a man sleeping and sit near but not too close. Finally I can read The Third Man but I can’t concentrate. I reread a page about every ten minutes. The shops close and more people come to sit down. I hope they are camping for the night. Some go to sleep. They are my imaginary companions and I can read a little better. People walk by periodically, late for their flights. Kids play video games. I am dead bored but I think I can make it. My head constantly calculates time zones. It is eleven in England and Six in Detroit but it feels like neither. At least I’m comfortable

Then these men walk by and smile at me. They look like taxi drivers or doormen but they have machine guns.
More sitting and reading and worrying. I look at the clock every two minutes. Whenever the hour changes I have to do more math. I get to chapter ten and see the machine gun men talking to boys at the other end of the benches. I panic again.

The boys pull out IDs and boarding passes. The machine gun men look unconvinced. I want to leave but don’t want to call attention to myself. Eventually the machine gun men leave. An old man who was sleeping asks a lot of questions but I can’t hear them. I stare at a page for ten minutes and then move downstairs.

There are more people here and it feels a little better. Lots of people are sleeping. I hope they are all spending the night. I take a seat across from a sleeping girl and I can read better. I try not to look at the machine gun men as they pass. At 1:00 I finish The Third Man. It has only been four hours—eleven more until my check-in time. I sit and do nothing for the rest of the night. I read a little but it doesn’t make time pass. I try to convince myself that it is ok to sleep buy I’m too scared. Around three, I close my eyes. There is no mental drifting. I count yoga breaths. Suddenly this seventeen-year-old girl pounces on the space next to me and lies down. I make room for her. A few minutes later she speaks. “How long you reckon you’ll be here?” I think she wants me to leave so she can have my spot but she just wants me to wake her at quarter to six. I accept. Around four, things start to change. Stores open again and flights arrive. Slowly, it gets busier. 5:45 finally arrives and the girl is tough to awaken. I have to shout “Hey you wake up” and she does. I feel like a Yank.

I spend the next hour between sitting and wandering. The airport gets really crowded. I force myself to sit until 7:00. Then I board the Gatwick express. I spend my first British money on the ticket. I’m afraid to look at the strange handful of bills and change I get in return.

I sit next to a couple from The States who talk about Egypt. And the train starts. My hellish first impression melts away. England seems so familiar and so foreign at the same time. The countryside recalls a movie but I cant think which one. I can’t help nodding off every ten seconds and seamlessly the country becomes London.