I
approached the nearest cab, tapped on the window, and he rolled it down. “Do
you know Capernwray Bible School?” I asked him. Google Maps had informed me it
was about a twenty-minute drive from Lancaster.
“Yeah.”
“About how
much will it cost to get there?”
“Oh,
probably around 15 or 17 pounds,” he hedged a little. Still, I didn’t suppose
that was terrible. And I really just wanted to get there.
“Great.
Would you mind if we put the bags in the back and I’ll just hop over the bridge
to the ATM?”
“Oh, I can
take you to an ATM.”
“Oh, it’s
just right over the bridge—I can run over—"
“Naw, it’ll
be easier—I’ll just take you past one.”
“Oh okay,
that’s fine,” I consented. He got out of the car and came around to load my
bags.
“You
certainly have a lot of stuff in here,” he huffed as he had to exert more force
than he had apparently anticipated to lift my bag into the back of the car.
“Yes,” I
laughed, self-consciously, “I’m over here for several weeks and I guess I don’t
really understand the concept of ‘packing lightly.’”
“Brought
the kitchen sink too, did ya?’ he chortled, lifting in my smaller bag and
shutting the back.
“Yes! That
too,” I said with another small laugh as I ducked into the back seat.
He stopped
at an ATM in Lancaster and waited for me, as promised, but other than that, the
ride was uneventful. I watched the scenery go by, investigating what would be
my new surroundings for the next two weeks or so. I saw a road sign for
Carnforth. Carnforth! A name I recognized. Brilliant. We kept going, getting
farther and farther into the country. I watched the red numbers on the taxi
meter begin to tick up past 14. Soon the only things I began to see were grass,
sheep, and the occasional house. Ah! A sign that said Capernwray! Excellent. I
realized fully, for the first time, that I was going to get to my destination.
On time and everything. I was so relieved I could have kissed that cab driver.
We began to
wind around several very small roads, finally entered a gate, and then kept
winding around small roads inside the gate before eventually pulling up in
front of a—well—a castle. Oh. Oh, a castle. Oh okay.
We finally
stopped when the meter had ticked just over 19 pounds. I was so grateful to finally
be standing in front of my destination that I gave him a 20 and told him to
keep the change. Probably a better alternative to kissing him. He seemed
pleased and smiled as he helped me unload my bags.
A sign in front of an enormous arched
wooden doorway with dark iron fastenings and a huge black ring handle read
“Reception” with an arrow pointing inside. The juxtaposition struck me as odd.
Reception. Right this way. Through the big castle door that King Arthur himself
might step through any minute holding a lighted torch in one hand and Excalibur
in the other. Just step right in.
My bags put up a fuss getting up
the stairs, but a nice guy who happened along just then helped me pull them up
and through the enormous door.
“Where do you need to go?” he
asked.
“Just here to reception, thanks.” He
nodded and rapped on a closed frosted window for me, which proceeded to slide open,
and then he disappeared before I could properly thank him.
“Hello, I’m Kendra—“ I began,
unsure whether or not Amanda—the lady I’d been corresponding with—was one of
the ones behind the counter.
“Hullo—Kendra! I’ve been expecting
you. I’m Amanda,” said a younger-looking woman with an interesting British
accent that I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll just come ‘round and take you to your
room,” she said, starting for the door.
I followed Amanda through a maze of
corridors (Of course corridors. It’s a castle. What else would there be?) while
she explained some of the policies at Capernwray and talked business. It took
both of us to haul my red suitcase up a flight of stairs and down another
corridor. I went back for my blue bag and met her in what was to be my room. It
was simple, but snug. And more than adequate. A small closet. A bathroom. Two
twin beds. A nightstand. DEAR GOD, a bed. As if in response, my eyes stung
vindictively, begging me to close them.
Amanda handed me the key to my
room, led me around to a few more places, and then left me to my own devices.
An overwhelming heaviness began to settle over me. I’d been surrounded by
people I knew and had structured time for almost a month. Thoughts of now having
no structured time and not a single acquaintance, as well as residual stress
from the day’s travels, pressed in rudely on my consciousness, and I suddenly
felt very, very alone. I walked slowly back up the stairs and down the corridor
to my room, turning my key over in my hand and fighting the sting of tears. I
felt silly. I’m just tired, I told myself. I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to think
better after I sleep.
I walked in my door, assessed the
room, and tried to figure out what was next. It was almost 5:30—teatime. I
looked closer at the bed in front of me. There didn’t seem to be any linens on
it. Crap. Was I supposed to bring linens with me? Bah. There was no time to go
back into town today. Amanda was gone. Guh. I didn’t exactly relish the thought
of sleeping on a bed without sheets.
There was a large towel, a small
towel, and an itty-bitty bar of soap sitting on the foot of the other bed. I
bent down to pick them up and my eyes swept the pillow. It was covered. Linens!
Ah! They just hadn’t covered both beds. Another small wave of relief swept over
me, and I welcomed it. I had made it. All by myself. Well, with the help of several
kind strangers. I’d even had money to pay for the cab. And to top it all off,
there were sheets on my bed. I meandered into the bathroom to place the towels.
I peered at my haggard reflection in the mirror, unwrapped the itty-bitty bar
of soap, and placed it carefully next to the faucet. I frowned. It suddenly seemed
my biggest and most pressing question now had become this: Was that itty-bitty
bar of soap going to last for two weeks?
THE END
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